#it's pretty cool it's one of those felt tips

[standamianwayne]

yandere!batfam/damian’s twin!reader (conner kent edition!)

quick warning: cursing, one (1) mention of a gun

Conner looks stupid.

He thought he looked good when he and Clark first left the house. Sure, he wasn’t in a three piece suit or nothing, but he had the button up and slacks! Though, he probably guesses his leather jacket cancels out the fancy image. God, why did he think this was a good idea? He is not meant for these Wayne galas.

He feels the heat creeping up his neck to the tips of his ears. The second people start looking, he just wishes he could fly away.

Clark was the one who initially asked him to come, but the one who convinced him was nowhere to be found. When he had told you he was thinking about coming, you had been so excited and practically begged him to follow through. He would, of course, but damn he wished you had been the one to ask him here in the first place. He wished you asked to come to these galas in general (you do, just not the way he wants).

Conner remembers the first time(s) he met you (both in and out of the mask). He met you, as in Damian’s twin sister, Bruce Wayne’s daughter, one of Jon’s best friends— that you, first. It was Jon’s birthday and he had invited his two best friends over to celebrate. They were Wayne kids, from what he had told Clark (which Conner had ‘overheard’), so obviously they were too cool for parties. Jon had all the faith in the world that those two would show up, and, to your credit, you did!

Oh, the first time Conner saw you he knew he was done for. Jon had practically ran outside when you and Damian showed up, and he got to see you as you both stepped into the house. You were slightly overdressed, nothing crazy but it was obvious that your definition of ‘party’ was very different to his. Only half an inch shorter than him* and as pretty as the sun, you truly were a sight to see. He could’ve sworn you looked at him a little longer than everybody else. Which, you did, but mostly cause you were trying to remember how familiar he looked (it’s cause you remembered he was Tim’s friend).

Then, he met you again. The all-black-and-red wearing, night-stalking, crime fighting vigilante— that you. He had been slinking around Gotham in the late hours of the night. When the sky went dark, save for the moon and stars, and the real bad guys and boogeymen came out to play. So dark and gloomy, the polar opposite of Metropolis.

He knew someone was in the alley he was walking past— of course he did! But honestly? He was bored out of his mind. So, he just pretended to be oblivious and walk by, waiting to see what would happen.

Conner wishes he could say it was a surprise that he was met with a gun pointed at his head. He can’t recall what exactly the guy said to him, but it was probably a threat about giving him his wallet.

No, he can’t remember that guy. But he does remember you. Now, at the time he didn’t know that it was pretty-girl-from-Jon’s-party you, but he did know that you looked really fucking cool when you took down that guy. A swift kick to disarm him, a punch to his face, and the guy was out! Damn, Batman’s kids really are strong, huh?

You turned to look at him, and he felt just a twinge of disappointment at seeing the helmet covering your face. But then you spoke to him and he almost swooned at your voice. Granted, it was a bit muffled and you may have used a voice synthesizer— but that doesn’t matter! You asked if he was okay! Ugh, you are just so considerate.

A quick warning to stay away from this corner of the city (and honestly every corner of the city), and you were off. He likes to reminisce about that day often. When he got home, he found himself smiling at the ceiling as he thought of you. Both you — little miss Wayne — and you — ass-kicker of the night. Later, when he put the two together, he liked that you guys had at least one thing in common.

Now he was here, at one of your family’s galas, looking for you. He could almost cry when he finally spots you. You look beautiful, as you always do, and you’re talking and smiling with a group of older women. ‘Of course,’ he thinks, ‘your family would probably throw any old man that comes near you out a window.’

But he can’t dwell on that thought for long. Not when he sees you for the first time tonight and feels almost desperate to be near you (what else is new?). So he begins to make his way to you, wiping his now sweaty palms on his pants.

You notice him approaching, because duh! He’s wearing his stupid leather jacket, which definitely makes him stick out like a sore thumbs. You excuse yourself quickly from those women.

“Conner,” He almost feels his breath catch in his throat. He’s seen you in so many outfits but somehow every single one gets him the same way. Maybe it’s not the outfits. “you came.” You say with a smile on your face.

He says your name back, the sound almost coating his throat and makes his tongue feel like lead. “I did,” he gives a smile back, one he hopes to be charming but knows to make him look like a dork. “You look” ‘Say beautiful!’ he urges in his head, “… nice.” ‘Damn it!’ “Like, really nice.”

You let out a breath, one he can recognize as amusement. “Thank you. You dress up well.” You reply, though he catches the look you give his jacket. He feels heat crawling up his neck and painting the tips of his ears. It only gets worse as you brush your hand over his bicep. Brushing off dust or coping a feel, he wouldn’t mind either honestly. Any touch of yours makes him feel like he’s going to faint.

“It, uh,” he leans in a bit, that same dorky grin on his face, “It’s a part of my look.” He thinks you’re the only girl to make him nervous.

Your eyes hold a mixture of amusement and skepticism, a slight furrow of your eyebrows and a widening of your own smile. “Your look, right. Well you’ve certainly found a way to stand out from the crowd. Congratulations, that’s no small feat.”

And now you’re teasing him. God, he really likes you, doesn’t he? “Why, thank you.” He gives a small bow and thanks his super hearing for being able to pick up on the slightest chuckle leaving your lips. “Are there any snacks here?” He asks after standing up. He could just make idle conversation, but it’s more likely that you won’t get stolen away if you’re showing him the ropes.

“They’re called hors d'oeuvres” ‘Yeah, whatever you say, beautiful’ “and yes, we have them,” You take his arm (holy shit you take his arm) and start guiding him wherever.

Alright, Conner admits, maybe he doesn’t look that stupid.

*realistically, given Bruce and Talia’s heights, reader would be about 5’8.5, while Conner is 5’9 canonically. the only reason this is here is bc i want tall girl rep tbh, so just ignore it if you want, it’s not important

merry early christmas (if you celebrate), here’s a gift! this is my first ever attempt at writing an actual ‘story’ (one shot? blurb? idk these terms guys help) so i hope it’s alright.

i kinda want to characterize conner as like a cocky smartass who loses that cockiness around the girl he likes. because! why not! i just think it’s cute

and dw if you don’t want conner as the only love interest, cause i assure you there will be more (blame it on the wayne genes tbh LMAO)

as always, any comments, requests, criticism, anything! is appreciated greatly. happy holidays, bye byeeeee ❤️

[sunsburns]

okay but logan taking an interest in neighbor who works in fashion?? he always sees her carrying stacks of magazines, dressed in her chic attire that is sometimes a bit too tight in all the right areas, glasses slipping off her nose, always making calls on that damn phone, and yet he always wishes she looked his way…

oh anon ur cooking here. i think this is what's pulling me out of my writing slump 🥴 (wade breaking the fourth wall, suggestive 16+)

the first time he noticed you, it wasn't even in your building complex, but rather the stairs to the subway station down the street. you were rushing up the steps while he, wade, laura and al were just about to enter. it was al who noticed you first, calling out your name and poking your side with her walking staff.

you shrieked, dropping one of the fabric rolls you had been carrying, a curse at the tip of your tongue before you realized who it was. "al," you sighed, a little relieved, when you saw her and wade, who was dressed in a "i love nyc" t-shirt.

logan, being the gentleman he was, picked up the roll you dropped, handing it back to you. it was then that you looked at him, or well, briefly glanced his way with a quick "thank you" before wade started fucking talking.

that son of a bitch.

he didn't even have the courtesy to introduce the two of you to each other.

it was obvious you were in a rush, lips in a tight smile as you nodded and tried to smile at wade telling you all about how they were about to "hit up" times square.

logan felt bad for you, but only a little bit. the longer you stayed to listen to wade's painful monologue, the more he could look at you. he was a little shameless about it, perhaps not the most gentlemanly thing he could've done, but god you were just a sight for sore eyes.

a pretty thing in a mini skirt despite the cool late september breeze that was starting to kick, white, lace and ruffled. delicate with tall brown leather boots. and a washed-out denim vest you wore as a top, two buttons undone, a little pink bow tied to the pocket. logan didn't know a lot about fashion, but he liked the way clothes looked on you.

and then you were gone, al kicking wade across the shin to shut him the hell up when she realized you were in a rush. she let you go, and you left, quickly trading numbers with laura and without saying much of a goodbye or another glance logan's way.

but he watched you go, watched the way your skirt moved with the wind too.

"yeah, look at it bounce. god, i am no better than any man. " wade hummed, leaning all his weight on logan's side. "i didn't peg you as a creep, honey badger. with the way you were undressing the reader with your eyes, i would've thought you were on a registered sex offender's list."

"shut the fuck up, wade."

logan could hear the way laura snorted, her and al continuing their way down the stairs.

wade held his hands up in surrender before logan could try anything (and by anything, he meant to cut him to pieces. wade can't deal with that right now, the blood would take ages to get off his white shirt). "i'm just saying, after living with us for a few months, i would've thought you'd met her by now."

logan raised his brow, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"i mean, she literally lives across the hall." wade turned his head to the side, pointing his thumb at logan, "he can't possibly be this stupid, right? it's gotta be for the plot to build up tension or something."

from that day on, logan's started to notice you more. not that he was looking for you, he's not that big of a creep. but he's spotted you out the window some days, running down the sidewalk, always in a rush. then he was able to hear the way you slam your door shut when you leave in the mornings or when you get back home.

every single day, you're usually out and about. unless it's a sunday, those are the days you stay in your apartment, sewing and hanging out with blind old al and sometimes even fucking laura. turns out, you were the one who got laura all of those new clothes, made them for her.

jesus christ, how out of the loop was he?

you stood out like a sore thumb, always carrying something. whether it be magazines, sketchbooks, fabric rolls, or bags, you're always struggling to open your door when you get home, keys sometimes slipping from your grasp as you're trying to juggle everything.

one day, logan had come back from a run and spotted you in the hallway. well, he had heard you from floors below and was able to pick up the lingering scent of your perfume by the time he entered the lobby. it took him a bit of courage to walk up the few flights of stairs knowing he'd bump into you.

what the fuck was this?

he was a grown-ass man for god's sake. you had him overthinking and blushing at the mere thought of being in the same space again.

when he saw you in the hallway, you were on the phone, the device tucked between your ear and your shoulder, cursing under your breath as you tried to pick up your keys. you were wearing a black dress that day, a black hat and a big maroon scarf around your neck, "no, emily, don't fucking buy it in that colour. it looks like fucking vomit. i don't care what amy told you, she's basically colour blind-"

you stopped mid-sentence when logan appeared in front of you, grabbing the keys for you. "oh- uh. thanks."

"yeah, no problem."

he noticed your nails and glasses were dark red to match the scarf. lipstick too.

you didn't mean to grow flustered in his presence, he could tell from the way you froze, as if you didn't know what was supposed to happen next. he had disrupted your daily pattern, everything in your life moving constantly and quickly but all of a sudden everything is slower. it left you breathless.

"you're logan, right?"

he furrowed his brows. he hadn't expected you to remember him, nevertheless, remember his name. "yeah."

"wade told me all about you," you said, and your eyes dropped from his face a little, then lower, a smirk not too different from a sly cat's. you were staring shamelessly, eyes following every part and curve of his body, the way his long-sleeve shirt clung to his skin with sweat. "you don't seem austrailan."

logan tried not to groan. the picture of wade's stupid face in his mind now that you've mentioned him. he hated that the two of you seemed close. "i'm canadian."

"aren't you full of surprises?" you laughed, a smooth, teasing sound, and finally pushed the keys into the nob, unlocking the door. you turned, lingering by the door as if you were about to invite him in, but then the voice from your phone was trying to get your attention and you nearly seemed disappointed. "i'll see you around, logan."

and you were gone again.

logan liked to see your different outfits every day, dawning a different style every time you walked out that door. it was like you could never settle for one style, but you managed to look so fucking good in everything and every colour you put on.

he could never get tired of it. never get tired of you.

you and your tiny bottoms that he swore were getting smaller and smaller every day, even though the city grew colder and the days shorter. you and your stupid phone calls that sometimes went on late at night. you and your clothes, every single one different from the last.

you and your sketches, the ones he had started to find loose pages on the floor of the small hallway between your apartments, pretty designs of lingerie on a model that looked a little bit too much like you for it to be a coincidence.

though you never made another attempt to talk to him, you knew he was watching you. but you never chased, your heels were too expensive for that. you were just trying to give him a reason to come on you.

to you**

to come to you.*

sorry. typo.

[grimmweepers-archive]

— ★ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: afab!reader. dry humping. premature cumming. ok it’s his first time, he’s trying. reader is a tease. 0.8k words. MDNI. 18+ only.| masterlist

Virgin!Alhaitham who is known for being one of the brightest minds to come out of the Akademiya in years. A genius in his own right who can speak over 20 languages and executes everything he tries to perfection. But still has one thing that’s completely out of his realm: sex. 

He acts like it’s no big deal, shrugging off the idea of casual flings just to get his dick wet. It was beneath him, a pointless distraction from his personal goals. Instead, he turned to erotic literature, dissecting it for information like he would any other subject. It’s still educational, he reasons, a way to learn without getting tangled in something that would just waste his time. 

But then Virgin!Alhaitham starts dating you, and suddenly everything he’s learned doesn’t seem so abstract anymore. He’s thorough, methodical— he thinks he knows enough to ensure his first time with you goes off without a hitch. And yet. 

The first time you grind on his clothed cock, he was unprepared for the intensity, the friction, the heat— before he knew it he was already twitching and soiling his pants, his face flushing with embarrassment as he squeezes his eyes shut, white-knuckling your thighs at the realisation that he just came prematurely. 

“Did you just cum?” You ask with a playful lilt in your voice.

“I didn’t mean to…” he mutters, slightly mortified.

But really, who could blame him? You’re too much for him. Too beautiful. Too sharp. Too incredible with just the right amount of taunting. The way you look at him is overwhelming. Every touch leaves him on edge and every kiss is so sloppy because he wants you so badly, he can barely think straight. 

It happens again and then again after that. No matter how much he tries to keep his cool, to stay calm and focused, he can’t handle it. You make his brain fog up, his thoughts scatter, and he curses himself because all he wants to do is fuck you without cumming at just the sight of your pussy. 

However, you don’t let him off the hook that easily. After he’s ruined his boxers, you love to tug down the waistband and admire the mess he’s made, smearing his seed on your fingers and licking it clean with a grin. Just give it a minute and his cock will be hard as rock all over again. 

When he finally manages to put it in you, it’s with one big, unexpected thrust. He can’t help it— the way your walls gripped the tip sent his hip jerking forward as it moved on instinct. 

“I’m… sorry,” he breathes out, though there was no regret in the way his cock throbbed in you. 

And the worst part? You know exactly what you’re doing to him. You bat those pretty lashes at him, feigning innocence while you’re driving him wild, watching him try not to nut just from groping your tits and hearing you sigh his name with that breathy, sweet voice. 

He’s in over his head and you’ve completely flipped the script. Alhaitham has spent his whole life being the one in charge, always knowing what to do, but with you, he’s just a bundle of raw, needy energy. 

And now— he burns with a desperate need to fuck you harder, faster, to feel every inch of you clenching around him that he’s completely lost in it. You’ve made him realise how much he’s been holding back and now he’s ready to give you everything he’s got. 

So when he starts thrusting, it’s deep and unsteady, driven by hunger he’s never felt before. And poor Alhaitham, so out of his element, feels his usual self-control slipping away with each thrust. He thinks the least he can do is stay quiet, to maintain some semblance of composure. But then you whisper in his ear, telling him he can be as loud as he wants. 

And the moment those words reach him, he breaks, unable to hold back the sounds that had been clawing at his throat. He lets out strings of groans and grunts, each one rougher than the last, filling up the room with his lewd noises. 

He’s determined to keep going, to fuck you senseless but you’re so wet and tight, you’re damn near milking him. Between your occasional praise and begging him for more, he finally snaps with a guttural moan, burying himself inside you. His body trembles as he spills into you but even then, he doesn’t stop. He keeps moving, slower now, to savour every last second, despite the sensitivity.

When it's all over, he collapses on top of you, so utterly spent. All those late nights he allowed himself to indulge by jerking off at the thought of you, feeling a little guilty while trying to imagine what it would be like, was nothing compared to the real thing. 

As he lays there, panting and dazed, he tells himself that this will be a problem.

Because now he can’t do it any other way. If this is what he wanted, he was going to have to get better at it. And being the diligent person that he is, there is only one way to improve: practice. 

And who better to practice on than you?

a/n: the idea of virgin!alhaitham has me breathing into a paper bag

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[disgustingtwitches]

141 as clients for sexworker reader!

//König and Nikto are here too//

MDNI

Ghost

You rarely see him, but you look forward to hearing from him. He always books multiple hours, sometimes even overnights. It's just hour after hour of pounding. Every hole you can take it. You tell him not to leave marks, but you don't really mean it. You know it. He knows it. Bitemarks and bruises are on your skin for days afterwards, he pays for you to send pictures of them healing. Thank God your regulars don't give a shit about the marks. Even if they did you wouldn't stop him from leaving them. Can't really stop him from leaving them. He asks you to wear makeup so he can fuck it off your face. You recently found out he's been stealing your fake eyelashes when they fall off, he collects them like trophies(???) Only praises you when he's felt you've earned it, which was rare. Never said I love you. Don't think he knows those words.

Gaz

Ugh, perfect client. Always a gentleman and really hot. Like "why are you hiring me when you can fuck anybody?" hot. Such a pretty dick too, has a little beauty mark on his shaft you like to kiss. He books three hours every other week just to cuddle and fuck. Really big on pleasing you, so he'll request you not to wear underwear just so he can pull your pants down as soon as you walk through his door and start eating you out. Sometimes when he really wants the "girlfriend experience" he'll slide into you while your spooning and watching Netflix. Has accidently said "I love you" once while ploughing into you, his lips pressed right up to your ear. You don't bring it up.

Price

One of the older clients. Big pussy eater. Huge. Likes to hire you to do stuff around his flat in a skirt and g-string so he can pull it to the side and eat you out while you're doing whatever he asks you to do. Watching TV? Cleaning the windows? Folding laundry? Sometimes he just straight up wants you to sit on his face, holding the skirt up so he can still see your face. When he's finally satiated, he'll get his. Sitting you on his lap and helping you bounce up and down, still in that skirt. Says I love you, but not to you. To your pussy. Literally looks at your pussy and says it.

Soap

So, so weird. Likes to act out scenes he sees in porn. Seriously. Like "help me I'm stuck in the washing machine" or "did you order a pizza with extra sausage". He'll buy outfits for the scenes; cheerleader, nurse, maid, even has a oddly realistic army uniform, right down to the boots. You get the point. One day he wanted to "try ass stuff", because he thought it "looked cool". He said I love you as soon as you stuck the tip of your strap-on in him and continues to do so every time you fuck him in the ass.

König

Yeah... Sorry to be basic but he's a bondage guy through and through. He likes to switch it up sometimes but he's mostly the dominating party. Not the kind to care about fancy shibari, really just hogties and knots that will keep you in your place. Taught you a few moves to take him down when he wants that. Wants you to use him for your pleasure when you're dominating, just like he uses you for his own. Doesn't say I love you. But he does teach you to say "I am yours" in German. So whenever he asks you a question in German, your line is always "Ja, Ich bin dein, Oberst."

Nikto

Very clingy. He was odd off rip. You were kind of uncomfortable with him because you didn't really understand him. Then he became endearing when you finally "get" him. He's sweet. Doesn't want to be alone. He'll pay anything just to have you sit next to him. Watching TV. He sits on the floor between your legs while you sit on the couch and play with his hair. He tells you lame jokes while eating whatever you wanted that day. One day you decide to tell him a corny joke too.

"We... don't think that is very funny."

Of course, he has needs. It depends on the day, but he's always changing the dynamics. Very much a switch at heart. He'll have you bent over the table while holding your jaw to look up into his eyes. Making you say thank you everytime he strokes into you. Other days he'll want to be rode while you hold him, "handsome man," you say between every kiss, "love you so much," while he whimpers under you, "you deserve to feel good." He says I love you. A lot. You say it back. Whether it's because you want to continue getting paid or you actually care about him, you're not too sure at this point.

[starkeyisthelastname]

a trailerpark!rafe blurb for @islandclubchampagneroom 🚬 this is a lil filthy.. you’ve been warned. 😶💦

You looked like a little gorgeous doll, skipping from trailer to trailer with your basket full of goodies you made. You came across your new favorite place, which was Rafe’s trailer. It was kinda run down, but that didn’t matter to you. To your surprise, he was outside already, washing his beat down pickup. You couldn’t help but ogle him a little as he was shirtless, his toned upper body on full display. He made your tummy feel funny every time you were around him, especially when you heard him speak. “It’s a lil’ hot for you to be outside, ain’t it’ baby doll?” He would rasp out.

He held a cigarette in the same hand as he did the hose, rinsing off the rusty truck as the other one brought a can cheap beer to his lips. His hooded blue eyes would stare you up and down, the nasty thoughts already running through his mind as he soaked up every inch of your stunning little self.

“I made cookies! Do you want some?” You asked, voice sweet as you ignored his question about it being too hot.

He eyed you, gulping down the rest of his beer before smashing the can and throwing it behind him. He brought the cigarette up to his mouth, motioning you to come closer. He wrapped an arm around your waist, peering down into your basket. “What kind you make, sweet cheeks?” He asked, squeezing your hip roughly.

You felt giddy every time he touched you, biting your glossy bottom lip as you felt the heat shoot down to your core. “Sugar with sprinkles and umm.. chocolate chip with pink frosting. It’s kinda getting melted though…” You pout, not realizing his hand had slipped lower to feel the lack of panties you had on underneath your cotton dress. He blew out the smoke away from your pretty face, before chuckling darkly. “Well how about you come inside and cool off for a lil’ bit and you can set those pretty cookies down..” He suggested, knowing you’d fall for his trap.

He’d be three more beers in, last cigarette in his hand as the other lifted up your dress. “Why you walkin’ around the trailer park with your cunt all out?” He finally asked, large hand coming down to give it a firm smack. He’d have your back, pinned to his broad chest, his sparse facial hair, tickling your neck. You wiggled against his denim covered lap, the funny feeling in your tummy growing the more he touched you.

“You think this sweet lil’ hole is ready for a grown man’s cock?” His voice in a low drawl as the cloud of cigarette smoke blew down your body.

You were an adult, but your father had kept you sheltered away from everything that was bad. You never had been touched by another man until you met Rafe, and you were desperate for more. You didn’t know what his words meant, but they sounded dirty and your poor little self couldn’t help but nod. He shuffled a bit behind you, putting out the cigarette bud into the overflowed ash tray and lifting you up a little from his lap.

With a pop of his jeans and tug of a zipper, his fat cock smacked against his lower abs as he positioned you back against him. He ran the tip along your dripping folds, loving your whimpers as he teased your greedy little hole. He felt you tense up, gasping as he began to slowly push up into your untouched flower. It took every ounce of him not to completely ram up into your fluttering pussy, your cunt squeezing the fuck out of his dick. “That’s a tight fuckin’ cunt.” He grunted to himself.

You were so full, already dumb on the older man’s cock as the pain subsided for a pleasure you had never experienced. You were at a loss for words, body lazily collapsing against his muscled chest as his dirty hands hooked under your thighs. He began to thrust up into you, his light mustache grazing the smooth skin of your shoulder as he started talking dirty to you. “This is why you don’t come around a bad man like me, sweet baby doll. You get your fuckin cunt ruined.”

You were already too attached to him. Your head spinning as he said the most filthiest things you had ever heard in your sheltered life. Even if he was the exact type of man your father told you to stay away from, you didn’t care. You just didn’t know any better but to be obsessed about the first man to ever give you attention and that happened to be one of your father’s tenants.

“I own you now, sugar. Got that?” Rafe groaned in your ear, the sounds of your pretty moans getting increasingly louder throughout his messy trailer, while he fucked you through your first orgasm. “That’s right.. cum all over daddy’s fat cock, make a mess all over that shit my little fuckdoll.” He told you, feeling you clench around with a scream.

Oh how he was gonna have some fun with you…

[mariasont]

Tie a Tie - S.R

a/n: i'm a slut for a good tie

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

summary: you ask spencer to teach you how to tie a tie

warnings: cuties being cute!

wc: 1.2k

"How do you tie a tie?" 

The question and the voice attached to it made Spencer do a double take, his pencil pausing mid-stroke. He directed he gaze upward, and there you were. Beside his desk. Looking angelic as ever.

Today, your hair was embellished with ribbons, pretty pink bows tied neatly above your two braids. It was cute.

You hardly visited at his desk, in fact, this might be the first time. He had always been the one to seek you out at your receptionist desk.

He realized the lapse in conversation had gone on longer than what social norms dictate. He cleared his throat and reached up to rub his neck, offering you sheepish yet attentive look. 

"Do I have something on my face?" The question came with an uncharacteristic frown that didn't suit you. A shimmering nail reached up, brushing your cheek as he fought the urge to replace your hand with his.

"No, no sorry," he assured quickly, a sense of equilibrium returning as your mouth flipped into a bright smile. "Just--, you want to know how to tie a tie?"

His intention wasn't to question you, but he was curious. What did you need to know how to tie a tie for? The answer seemed clear, yet unwelcome, as he begrudgingly considered the possibility of a significant other in your life, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

"Yes," you affirmed, nodding like one of those dashboard bobbleheads, sending your ribbons dancing. "There's this outfit on Pinterest that I wanted to recreate, but it needs a tie, and well, I immediately thought of you, Dr. Reid. You're the tie expert, after all. I know you're super busy, so it's totally okay if now isn't a good time, but maybe you could text me? Or write it down, or--" 

The tension dissipated from his frame, and he interjected with a soft smile. "Yeah, no problem at all. I'll teach you," he said, rising to grab an empty chair. He placed it opposite his, motioning for you to take a seat. "And please, It's Spencer."

He doesn't know how many times he's told you that Dr. Reid sounded too formal coming from you. 

"Oh, right, Spencer." They way his name rolled off your tongue sent a wave of warmth through him. You bit your lip, crossing one leg over the other, the tip of your kitten heel brushing his calve in the process. "Thank you so much. I tried to watch YouTube tutorials, but it wasn't really working out."

"It's no problem," he said, trying to keep his cool as his surveyed the vacant office, immensely grateful the team was out on a case, and he was left behind to work on documents. 

It wasn't that he was embarrassed by you, he would be an idiot to feel that way. He was embarrassed by how utterly out of control he felt around you. "Uh, here--"

His hands moved with practiced ease, a brief hesitation passing before he placed it around your neck. Your smile was disarming, compelling him to avert his gaze to prevent any impulsive actions. Gently, he swept your hair aside at the nape of your neck, careful not to entangle it with the fabric.

Spencer's fingers stalled, suspended over the smooth silk encircling you. The awareness of your focused gaze was palpable, almost tangible.

"Okay," he started, his tone even despite the butterflies attacking at his stomach. "The first thing you need to do is cross the long end over the short end, like this."

He illustrated the motion, his hands lightly skimming over your collarbone, eliciting a soft giggle from the unexpected tickle.

"Like this?" you repeated, your tongue making a brief appearance against your pink stained lips, trying to follow his lead.

"Exactly," he confirmed with a nod, smile inching across his face. "Now you bring the long end up through the loop around your neck."

His touch was light on the fabric, his fingertips just grazing the skin below your ear, a reaction visible in the slight shiver that traveled over you, goosebumps taking over. 

You watched his every move, your head tilting to the side, a lock of hair falling into your face. "And then?"

"Now, you fold it down through the knot you've just made." Spencer's voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he focused on the task at hand. "Pull it all the way though, and then adjust the tightness by holding the short end and sliding the knot up."

With his guidance, you managed to complete the knot. "I did it!"

The excitement in your eyes was infectious, and he felt the rosy hue take over his face, a blush he couldn't contain at the sight of you. His laughter spilled out in response.

"You're a quick learner." His hands remained on the tie, a touch too long, maybe. 

The intrusive ring of his phone fractured the moment, like a glass dropping on hard ground. He glanced at the caller ID--Hotch, of course--and sighed.

"Sorry, I have to take this."

"It's okay. Thank you for the help, Spencer."

--

Spencer almost died the moment you entered the bullpen the next morning, almost toppling over and dying of asphyxiation because of how easily you took his breath away.

There you were, in what he could only deduce was the Pinterest inspired outfit, a pink tie neatly arranged around your neck, its tail slipped into the waistband of your skirt.

"Spencer, you forgot your tie yesterday," you called out, extending the forgotten piece of fabric with a smile.

A red akin to a ripe strawberry bloomed across Spencer's face as he watched Morgan and Prentiss freeze mid-step, exchanging knowing looks as they glanced between you two.

"Reid, what's this about a tie?" 

Of course, Morgan was butting in, because it just wouldn't be a normal day of work if he wasn't.

"It's not--We didn't--," he faltered, his eyes meeting yours, finding an innocent cluelessness to the implications around them. Opting to dismiss the others, he focused on you, taking the tie with hands that weren't quite steady. "I mean, thank you."

You simply beamed at him.

"Do you like my outfit?" you asked, doing a little twirl that made the hem of your skirt flare out. He had to avert his eyes, knowing that the way he was looking you over would certainly not be perceived as innocent. "I got your text with the instructions. It was so sweet because I definitely did not remember everything you said yesterday. It gets kind of confusing with all the steps."

He was momentarily lost for words. "It's... you look... amazing."

Spencer was still fumbling for words when you stepped closer, the soft scent of your perfume wrapping around him.

"Well, it's all thanks to you."

Before he could respond, your rose onto the balls of your feet and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. It was quick, innocent, but it left his knees feeling like they might buckle

As you pulled away, his skin tingled where your lips had been, and he stood there, utterly dumbstruck, his face a canvas painted with various shades of pink.

Morgan stared at him, his eyebrows raised in silent question, but Spencer didn't care. For a short moment, he didn't care about anything else--not the case files, not the teasing of his colleagues, not the world outside. There was only the warmth on his cheek and the sudden lightness in his chest. 

He decided this was his new lucky tie. 

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[tojirights]

Honestly think you're one of the best writers for Alastor in this fandom! Your stuff is always brilliant and the characterisation is perfect!

Had the idea last night: Alastor and reader going multiple rounds, and reader still wanting more and being full of energy but Alastor being absolutely out of it and completely shattered, so he uses his tentacles instead, because what kind of gentleman keeps his lady wanting?

Just an excuse to request tentacle sex with everyone's favourite "deer".

a/n: im gonna be so real with you, im not really sure if the tentacles are like, real apendages or if they're part of his shadow soooo i wrote them as the latter. hope it makes sense!! thank you love :') y'all are too nice 🩷

if there was one thing you weren’t expecting to still have in hell, it was your damn hormonal cycle. you didn’t necessarily have a period, but by god, you swore you still ovulated. it felt even worse than before, the primal need threatened to burn a hole through you. you always felt like a bother to alastor during this week of the month, begging and pleading for him to fuck you for hours. but, alastor never turned you away.

today though, you were especially needy. alastor had already made you cum a handful of times and had cum twice himself. he was exhausted. yet, there you were at the edge of his bed, eyes still filled with lust. “my goodess…” alastor chuckles, shaking his head. “i’m not sure i have much left in the tank, darling.” he cups your cheek, watching tears well up in your eyes. “i-i’m sorry-” he shushes you before you can continue. “did i say anything about stopping? i’d never dream of leaving my lady hanging when she needs me.”

“but…” you frown, watching alastor’s smile turn to smirk. “i have a few tricks up my sleeve, my dear. lay back.” your eyes widen as there’s a flash of green light, followed by five tentacle-like appendages sprout from alastor’s back. “w-what?” adrenaline surges through you as well as a mix of excitement and nerves. “you’re gonna… use those?” you gulp, watching the tentacles slither towards you. “why of course!” alastor snickers, seeing your apprehension. “don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours." he coos, watching with hungry yet tired eyes.

the shadow apendages wrap around your thighs, cold to the touch but not unpleasant. as they slowly spread your legs, another slides between them. it's almost embarrassing the way your legs shake with anticipation, the cool tip of the tentacles swiping up your slit. "o-oh, that's..." you sigh in relief when you're suddenly being filled. "how's that darling?" alastor hums, watching as you open wider around him. "that's... oh god alastor..." you pant, every slow thrust of his tentacle-like shadow making your head dizzy.

the foreign feeling of being stretched so wide has you already teetering on the edge. without warning, alastor curls the apendage while picking up pace, making your eyes roll into the back of your head. "gonna-" you mewl, hips arching off the bed with every thrust. "k-keep going please. 'm gonna cum." every whine makes alastor almost wish his cock was back inside of you, knowing just how hard you're clamping down on his shadow.

but the sight of you writhing, gripping the sheets like you're life depended on it was something he's grateful to be seeing from afar. the buildup to your orgasm comes strong, the coil in your stomach snapping from the tension and- "oooh, you really liked that, hm?" alastor's voice is heavy with arousal, pulling you back to reality after cumming. your vision slowly returns, heavy breathing filling your ears. you barely register the soaking mess you've made on the bed. "oh my god. did i..?" your face goes red, embarrasmemt setting in once again. "yes, my sweet. you did, and made quite the mess for us to clean up."

[just-an-anon-reader]

The Forgotten Sister

Pairing: Ekko x Fem!Reader

Tags: Minimal use of Y/N, no specific description of the reader, friends to lovers, CW blood, CW injury, CW, violence, CW guns, TW death.

A/N: Soo I just couldn't wait! My brain was goin into hypersimp

Prologue — Chapter II

Chapter 1

It's been seven years since then. You've grown and changed. Granted, your leg remained weak, leaving you limping, but the rest grew strong. Responsibility tends to have that effect on the people who bear it. Almost immediately after Ekko founded the Firelights, group consensus made you the resident saw-bones.

How? You hadn't the slightest idea. You did, however, have a lingering suspicion that Ekko had a hand in it. Especially with his vastly exaggerated recounting of the time you popped back Vi's dislocated wrist after she thought it would look cool to punch a concrete wall with her bare knuckles. Although you initially accepted the role reluctantly, you performed it in great stride. Applying everything you knew from your own experience as a sickly child while learning the rest from tomes Ekko would you bring every now and then from their scavenges. You grew to become a pretty skilled makeshift doctor. From common colds to bullet wounds, everyone entrusted their lives to you. Ekko, most of all. 

And today was supposed to be just another day as a makeshift doctor. 

Just beneath a set of branches on the firelight tree stood your infirmary. Big enough only to house ten patients at a time, it was considered one of the largest areas in the hideout. It might not have been the prettiest, made up of strewn-together sheets of steel and wood bolted at the seams, but it did just fine. Inside, standing in front of a row of cabinets, assumingly counting the stock of medical supplies, was you. Your lab coat swayed with the gentle breeze that drafted in from the open doorway. The wooden floorboards slightly squeaking as you leaned against your cane. Mind adrift to the events from earlier that morning. 

"You be careful out there, Ekko. Salve and bandages can only do so much," you say, stuffing his right jacket pocket with supplies.  Bandages, salves, ties for bleeding, pain meds... were you missing something?

"You make it sound like you haven't saved lives with those," he chuckles.  

Noticing the subtle trembling of your hand, Ekko reaches for it. Pausing your mission to stuff his pocket with the whole infirmary and instead giving it a gentle squeeze in the hopes of comforting you. It always worried you every time they went out on missions. They never ended cleanly. Some would never come back. While others would end up rushed into a cot in the infirmary. Their blood soaking the floor, staining it red. It was never a pretty sight. 

"Salve won't magically close bullet wounds or weld back hacked-off arms," you bite back, returning his comfort with your own. 

"Just... come back home. In one piece, preferably," you say, looking up at him. 

"We will, Firelight," he replies, gently bumping his forehead against yours. Closing his eyes as he breathed in the scent of you. Antiseptic and lavender. Weird, but uniquely you. 

You did the same. Basking in his warmth, in the feel of him. Letting the butterflies flutter in your gut as you felt the tips of your ears flush. After a moment, you step away from each other. Confident and resolute. Ekko gave you a firm nod before walking away... 

"-C! DOC!" A voice boomed, snapping you out of your reverie with a squeak of surprise. 

A man stood beside you. He had large wing-like ears and a cut pink button nose that looked out of place on his gruff face. Scar. 

"Geez! You scared me! And when did you get here?" you say. 

"I've been calling for you since I got in here. Get your head back on your shoulders. You got a few to patch up. Nothing serious this time, " he said as three boys from the group started filling the space. 

You saw to them, one by one. A couple of bruises, some cuts, a nick or two from a grazed bullet that'd need a few stitches. But nothing too serious. Good.

"What happened out there?" you asked, cleaning away the filth and gunk that stuck to the dried blood on one of the boy's shoulders.

A hush fell over the conversation. Confused at the sudden silence, you turn your attention to the chimeran. Scar had that look. The one you've gotten used to since the situation with Silco started to escalate. Started to turn more... violent. When it began to become... personal.

Jinx...

"I see, and Ekko?" you ask as you grab a pack from the cabinet. 

"'Course you'd ask about him." Scar teased. Earning a glare from you. "He's fine. Just finishing up. I'm sure he'll come over soon." He says, walking away, his tone not any less teasing. 

You could only scoff at his antics. For such a rough and gruff person, his penchant for teasing certainly takes some getting used to. Focusing on the task, you tenderly clean the area around the wounds. Expertly stitching and bandaging with a quick and skilled hand. Before long, all three boys lay fast asleep on their cots. Ice towels on their bruises and bandaged arms or legs angled away to keep them from snagging. Satisfied with your work, you started cleaning up. Throwing away bloodied gauze and used needles while saving the rest for future use. After all, supplies down here in the under city don’t come cheap. Just as you were about to put away the last pack, Ekko's voice called to you from the entrance of the infirmary. 

"Firelight! Get over here. There's something you need to see," he said, tone urgent. Almost... somber. 

Worriedly, you hobbled to him as fast as you could, a difficult task when you're also trying not to trip over your cane. 

"Hey! What's wrong? You hurt?" you ask, hand on his shoulder, nudging him left and right as you inspect him for any wounds he may or may not be hiding from you. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine... but there's someone else you should see," he said, placing a hand on yours on his shoulder. His eyes shifted to something to his right, then back. Pointing. 

"Who-"

You felt your breath catch and the wobble in your knees. There stood a young woman. With wild pink hair that glowed where the sun would hit it. And blue eyes that sparkled as they looked at you. She looked tired and haggard. Like she hadn't had enough sunlight in years. But that face... you knew that face. It may have aged over the years, but it was still... hers. 

"Vi?"

"Hey there, shortstack. But I see you aren't so short any more. And, I guess it's Doc around here, huh?"

With a stumble, you shuffle towards her. The thunk of your cane against the hardwood floor being the only sound between you two. You stop in front of her at arm's length. Slowly, nervously, you reach out to her, hand trembling as you carefully cup her cheek. It was warm, it was soft, it was... real.

"You're... real?" you whispered.

"I sure am," Vi whispered back. Her own hand reached out to cup yours. Thumb gently rubbing circles on the peak of your cheek.

"You're not a nightmare? Or some ghost here to haunt me 'cause you're still bitter about that time I popped your wrist back wrong?" you said, wet hiccups mixing with blobs of tears gushing out of your eyes. Sniffling as you felt snot beginning to drip from your nose. You always were a messy crier. Pulling you in, Vi embraces you tightly, letting you sob against her shoulder. Drenching the fabric of her jacket with tears and snot.

"I missed you, baby sis. So, so much. I'm so sorry I left you alone. It'll never happen again. Ever." Vi says, holding you tighter. Feeling her own tears beginning to fall, staining your white lab coat gray.

"I missed you too..."

[starhrtz]

NOW PLAYING . . . SUPERPOWERS

summary : a skater completely smitten by a street guitarist.

characters : skater! kinich, guitarist! gn reader, skater! mualani

note : hi gang im back again after 5 monthz, might do a heizou or akito shinonome ver

skater! Kinich who is known as a skate prodigy in the skate scene at the park you would always perform at.

skater! kinich who'd always push his limits with tricks no one else dares to try, and he’s rarely seen without his skateboard.

skater! kinich seen as professional had one weakness, you. somehow, whenever he sees you nearby, it seemed like he forgot how to skate at all.

❝ IT'S CRAZY TO SAY THIS BUT YOU ARE THE GREATEST. ❞

skater! Kinich who would start timing his daily skate routes to pass by the spots where you're usually playing. He pretends it’s a coincidence whenever he shows up, but it’s obvious he’s there to hear you perform.

skater kinich! who would follow your socials and find out if you're going to be at a specific place for a gig, he’ll be there early, even if he has to skate across town. He’ll sit on his board, leaning back with his usual calm expression but hiding how much he’s enjoying listening to you or even just seeing you.

Skater! Kinich who'd think you would probably never notice him since he can't seem to gather the courage to approach you. Not like he didn't try, after your shows he would always try and approach you but would always get pushed by your fans.

skater! Kinich who'd start daydreaming about what it would be like to impress you with his skating skills, maybe even doing a few tricks in sync with their music or perhaps you just looking at him astonished with those pretty eyes he could get lost in.

skater! kinich who would eventually try skating in front of you and pulling off his best tricks, hoping it’ll make you smile or give him a little applause yet much to his dismay you seem much more focus on your performance.

skater! kinich who was dragged by mualani to interact with you after she caught his gaze lingering on you far too long and whenever they hang out to skate, you're always somewhere nearby.

skater! mualani who decided to become cupid as she set up a plan for both of you to interact more.

skater! mualani who easily befriended you and asked you if you wanted any skating lessons, telling you you'd be in good hands with a rather... Excited grin on her face? You reluctantly agreed as she bounced around from joy.

❝I'LL INTRODUCE YOU TO HIM RIGHT NOW!❞

skater! kinich who's heart nearly exploded when he hears that your the one he'd be teaching on how to skate but he masked it quite well.

skater! kinich heart pounds every time he has to help you balance or hold your hand for support. He’s careful not to make it obvious, but his cheeks betray him with a soft blush he can’t quite hide no matter how hard he tries.

skater! kinich can’t believe he’s actually teaching you to skate. He’s barely holding it together, trying to keep his usual calm attitude, but his heart is racing. He casually says, “Don’t worry, I’ve taught plenty of people to skate,” even though he’s never felt this nervous about showing someone the basics.

skater! kinich starts by showing them how to stand on the board, giving a few tips on balance. When you wobble abit, you instinctively reaching out to grab his arm for support. Kinich stiffens for a second, then quickly relaxes, hoping they don’t notice the slight blush rising on his cheeks and heart rate increasing.

skater! kinich who can't help but get lost in your eyes when you look at him for reassurance, feeling a rush of emotions he’s not used to. He manages to keep his cool, but his heart is pounding.

skater! kinich who would try and confess his feelings for you after a while.

skater! kinich keeps himself busy practicing tricks to calm his nerves. He tries to focus, but he’s so jittery that he almost falls on some of his simplest moves. He’s more nervous than he’s ever been, and he can’t stop rehearsing what he’s going to say in his head.

skater! kinich who's so lost in thought that he doesn’t even notice when you arrive—until you called out to him. His heart skips a beat, and he has to take a deep breath to steady himself.

skater! kinich who'd starts with a casual line, trying to play it cool. But the moment he starts speaking, he realizes he can’t stick to a script. Instead, he just lets the words flow out.

“You know, I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” he begins, trying to control his beating. “Being around you… it’s different. Good different. You make me feel like I can do anything, and I… I just really like you.”

skater! kinich who hopes you like him back.

[sstargirln]

❞ ᝰ .ᐟ cowboy!art donaldson x reader

based on this request :

Anonymous asked:

art donaldson cowboy au where he works as a ranch hand for your dad.... and then he fucks u in ur daddy's grand farm mansion when he isn't home. hello im hard! ~ 🌸

TW : use of y/n ( 1 ) , smut MDNI - oral ( f receiving ) , swearing , not proofread

word count : 2264 (THIS IS SO LONG WHAT THE FUCK)

¡! ❞ a/n : uh im bricked anon! also basically dodge mason and panic reference ! and this is kinda shit im sowwy . REPOST BC LAST TIME IT FLOPPED AND IDK WHY .

choose ur own adventure type c.ai bot based on this here 

there was something about your pretty little accent that got art's damn mind spinning. clear, sort of clipped and lilting, the typa accent one could only get from living in the big old city of new york. you were his boss's daughter, which made it all the more sinful when he imagined that accent in... other (less proper) situations he shouldn't've been. unlike the other ranch-hands, he kept a polite distance. he didn't leer or ogle at you as you walked by — his momma taught him better than that — but he sure as hell wanted to as you bent down to pick up something from the front seat of your convertible. tiny little white skirt rising higher and higher and higher and higher and art was hooked. oh how he would love to ruin you, daddy's dear little girl visiting carp for the summer. oh how he would love to grab you by those meaty thighs, defile you 'till you were crying his name. oh how he would love.

he trudges through the mud up to the ranch house, all done for the day and ready to wash up in the worker's quarters in the back. his legs feel like lead after hours of wrangling the cattle and fixing fences in the blistering sun. the thin flannel he wore today clung to his skin, soaked through with sweat. before he even gets to look in mirror, he knows his face is all ruddy-like and burnt, even though his hat supposed to be protecting the damn sunburn that made his cheeks string.

he splashed cold water on his face. he grabbed an old rag to wipe his face, just about ready to head to the showers, when he heard it—that damn voice, right behind him.

he turned, and there you were. standing in the doorway, looking a little out of place in your crisp, white summer dress. your eyes scanned the tiny room like you weren’t sure if you should be there or not, and art figured you probably didn’t have much reason to be back here.

you gave a sheepish smile. "hi… i, uh, think i got a little lost. do you know where the main house is?"

he’d dreamed 'bout this moment before, though maybe not quite like this. you, standing there all pretty, looking gorgeous in your spotless attire, while he was still dripping in sweat and grime. the polite distance he’d vowed to keep suddenly felt a lot tougher to maintain now that you were looking at him, lips slightly parted as you waited for an answer.

he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, trying to focus on your face. "main house is back that way," he drawled, pointing out the direction you missed. his voice came out rougher than he meant it to. "reckon you took a wrong turn."

you smiled wider, stepping a bit closer. damn near makes him swallow his own tongue. "thanks," you reply, your tone light, conversational. "still trying to figure out my way around."

art nodded, eyes flicking up to meet yours, though his heart was beating faster than it should’ve been. he shifted on his feet, gaze shifting from your eyes down to your lips down to your chest down to your thighs down to — back to your eyes.

"i can walk you back if you want," he offered, tipping his hat back slightly, trying to stay cool about it, but hell, you already had him wrapped around your finger and didn’t even know it.

you gave him a slow nod, tongue flitting out to lick at your lips. "i'd appreciate that, thank you."

as the two of you made your way back to the main house, art tried his best not to tip over sideways at the sheer thought of you being this close to him. he feels like a pathetic little dog, all worked up over you just walking in line with him, brushing your arm against his every once in awhile. he's so focused on keeping his cheeks from flushing that he doesn't hear you the first time.

"hello?"

art blinked, shaking himself out of his daze. "huh? oh, sorry, darlin' —didn’t catch that."

you tilted your head slightly, a playful smile on your lips as you repeated your question. "what's your name? i'm y/n."

"art," he cursed himself for his curt response, but you didn't seem to notice, bright smile still holding as you nodded.

"nice to meet you, art." your gaze held his with a sort of lingering intensity that unfortunately made art's pants tighten even further than before. "so, what do else do you do here in carp when you're not showing lost city people around?"

art shrugs, hands stuffed in his pockets. "dunno. i work, i guess."

you roll your eyes slightly and nudge at him with your elbow. "okay. what about for fun?"

art shifted awkwardly, feeling your elbow nudge him gently, sending a spark down his spine. he cleared his throat, "fun?" he repeated, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "ain’t much time for that out here, if I’m bein’ honest. mostly work, and maybe a beer with the boys now and then."

you let out a soft laugh, the sound teasing him in all the right ways. "that’s all? no girls? no beautiful maiden waiting around for you to finish all this hard work?"

art swallowed hard. he glanced down at his boots for a second, trying to collect himself, then back at you. "no, ma’am. no one special like that," he muttered. "guess I ain’t much for courtin’ these days."

your lips curved into a lazy smirk. "hmm. that’s a shame. a guy like you? figured the girls would be lined up." your eyes glint with a darkness that art knew all too well. it was the same hungry look he felt in his own gaze, pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded with desire.

art rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to flush under the heat of your stare. he bit at the inside of his cheek, his self-restraint fraying as he fought the urge to just jump at you right then and there.

as you neared the main house, art's mind shifted to your father. the last thing he wanted was for the boss to catch wind of any unprofessional behavior. with a deep breath, art managed a strained smile, trying to redirect the rising heat in his chest. "well, here we are. better get you inside before your dad starts wonderin' where you’ve been."

you glanced at him with a smirk, seemingly unfazed as you adjusted your skirt. "funny thing, art," you said, your voice low and sultry, "i think daddy's still out of town. he won't be back 'till tomorrow." you took a step closer, hands reaching out to dust off art's collar.

he swallows hard at the feeling of your finger brushing against his neck. "we got the place to ourselves then, huh?" art drawls, voice rough and husky with barely contained desire.

"looks like it." your arms wrapped around his neck, finger curling around a stray blond locked as you watched art's face contort. deciding, deciding, decided. his hands found your hips, and with a light tap to your thigh, you jumped into his arms, kissing him hard.

your lips were warm and soft, and they parted slightly as art slipped his tongue inside, his one hand scrabbling for the front door handle. it clicked open and he stumbled inside, heading straight for the living room. your fingertips brush softly against his back as he sits down on a couch, letting you straddle him at the hips. he's still sweaty, but you seem to like it, burrowing your head in his neck as he nips at yours, breathing in the sharp, musky smell of him.

the both of you pant heavily as you scrambled to take of his shirt, and then him your dress. art presses slobbery kisses down your chest and torso, salivating at the sight of your little blue panties, pressed down against his crotch. little sighs and moans left your lips as he trailed his fingers along with his mouth, to the very top of your underwear, kissing along the seam. before you can object, he's shifted you over and laid down. "hop on, darlin'," he mumbles, referring to his mouth as you pull off your panties. hesitantly, you crawl up his chest. apparently not quick enough for art, he hooks an arm around your waist and places you on his face himself, moaning at the pure scent of you.

he starts by kissing the inside of your right thigh, then suckling the inside of your left. he revels in your scent for a few more seconds before burying his face inside you, lapping you up with long, thick licks against your folds. you squeal when you first feel his (clearly) expert tongue against you, flexing and swirling as he find your sweet spots immediately. it hasn't even been 5 seconds when he stops with a pop! - peeking out from under your thighs with a wild expression on his face. his hat is tipped over under him, the rim sticking out from behind his unruly blond locks. "you're hoverin'. " he was right, you were, too scared to put your full weight on this poor man you had met not half an hour ago. "sit on my face, baby, please," he practically whimpers.

and how could you say no? eyes wide, face slick with your juices, looking so goddamn angelic — you couldn't. and even though you were scared to crush him, craving the feeling of his tongue inside you again, you sit — nice and proper this time.

he starts up again with a kind of feverish intensity you could only expect from a starved man. you moan and whimper on his face, scratching against his scalp as you looked for something to grip onto. art groans in pleasure against your folds when you tug at his hair, his grip that of iron as he holds you down by the hips hard enough to bruise. his other hand is groping at your tits, pinching and swirling at the nipples as he watches you shake on his tongue.

his own dick is being completely ignored, even though it's brick-hard and leaking enough pre-cum you can see it through his pants. the only pleasure he needs is your sweet little whines and needy moans as he laps up your juices like your pussy is the holy grail. before you even know it, he's driven you through orgasm after orgasm, happily sucking away at your cunt as you squirm and scream on top of him. "ohmygod, art. oh my fucking god!" your yells are loud enough that your little boyfriends from new york could probably hear you.

and after he's been there for so long your head's rolling, and your clit is swollen and overstimulated, he's finally done, pulling back to rest his face on your thighs. his cheeks leave your own slick against your legs, nose shiny at the tip but with a big old stupid grin on his face. you're panting, pussy throbbing and puffy as you rake your fingers though his hair, looking down at him with your mouth agape. "holy shit, art."

his grin grows even wider as he watches you, fingers rubbing lazy circles on your hips as you struggle to compose yourself. "am i good?" he asks, already certain of the answer, but eager to boost his ego even more.

you nod, eyes dazed and glossy as you ran your hands over his cheeks. "so good, art. holy fucking hell." you could already hear him boasting to all the other ranch hands in his stupidly attractive little southern accent — i made that city girl cum 5 times on my tongue!

he nods slowly in response, pretty eyes looking up at you all proud. "that's what i like to hear, darlin'."

the next thing he heard made his heart sink all the way from where it was, up in the clouds all dazed, to his stomach. the front door click open, and the booming voice of your father, "baby, i'm home!"

you'd heard it before him, and you jumped off of his chest and pulled your dress back on before poor art even had time to register what was happening. you sat straight up next to him, looking perfect — albeit a little red, as your terrifyingly massive father stomped into the room. his expression changed from exhaustion to pure anger as he took in art, sprawled half-way up on the couch, shirt off and hair a mess. "what the hell do you think you're doing?" he roared from across the room.

"get out of my damn house!" your father bellowed. art scrambled off of the couch, grabbing his hat from under his head. clumsy and hurried as he fumbled with his shirt. you were too stunned to move, thighs still throbbing, as he sprinted out of the back door before your father could make it to him. the barrel of a man slammed the door behind him, making you wince.

as art scurried down the backyard and past the worker's quarters, shirt still off and hat placed haphazardly on his head, the first thoughts in his head was — 'i am so fucking sacked.' the next ones placed a lazy smile on his face. 'goddamn, that was worth it.'

¡! ❞ © sstargirln 2024

[eddiesghxst]

no thoughts just loser!eddie losing his shit when he sees you over at his house for the first time, rifling through his things like any normal friend does.. but you stumble upon a box.under his bed. it’s like slow motion when he walks into his room and sees you open the lid and he nearly drops a glass of water, literally biting his fist in pain, trying to stop you but then you’d only get more curious of what he was hiding.

you. he has polaroids of you except they’re the dirty cum covered kinds. he has your underwear with his stains in it. he has your perfume bottles, your rings (he would totally get hard seeing how tiny they are compared to his, and imagining the dainty stones on the rings on your ring finger like an engagement stone)

it’s like a fucking shrine for you and he thinks he’s gonna pass out as your eyes widen.

but you only turn to him and smile, and his knees weaken. literally almost fainting when you kiss him because you have definitely slept with his sweatshirts, came to the idea of eddie, etc. he’s just such a fucking loser but that night he makes you cum so much you see stars and he’ll have a scrapbooks worth of polaroids (just from that night alone lol)

anyways do you think you could write a lil something based loosely off that? 🫶

BESTIE I MIGHTVE DIED YES. YES YES YES.

also this ended up longer than I'd intended but who cares its pervy!loser!eddie

18+ — MINORS DNI

word count: 1k

————

Eddie’s not sure if he believes this is real. There’s no way this is real, right? There’s no way he has his best friend naked on his bed, covered in sweat and cum— his cum, at that.

He almost thinks it’s all another one of his sick, perverted dreams, but then he’s reminded that none of those dreams have felt this real. None of his dreams have felt this vivid to where he can actually feel the tremble in your hands as you wrap a fist around his wet cock, the shift of the bed as you clumsily scramble to your knees, the lewd and unmistakable shlick sound of your hand fisting his spent cock. It’s never been this vivid— that’s how he knows this isn’t a dream.

You’re blissed out and cock-drunk as you shuffle to lean on all fours, lowering your mouth to suckle on Eddie’s leaking tip. Your toes curl at the sound of Eddie groaning above you, a hand resting on the back of your head to shove himself further down your throat. “Take it all the way in, that’s it— fuck,” Your center throbs at his words, a wet gagging noise emitting from the back of your throat when Eddie’s tip meets the tight space. He curses with a groan, head dropping back for a moment before he looks back down at you with a lazy smirk.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you gag on my dick, sweetheart.”

You whine, your hips grinding back against nothing, the cool breeze of his room sending shivers up your spine when it graces the wet heat of your cunt. Around you, scattered on the bed, are the many polaroids you had just discovered earlier. Snapped photos of you in bed, in the shower, getting dressed in your room; all images that would’ve sent anyone else running for the hills. Eddie was so sure you would never speak to him again when you found that box full of all things you, but to his surprise (and sinful delight), you were just as fucked up as Eddie, if not more.

Eddie’s eyes dart all over the bed; polaroids, lace panties and matching bras, dainty jewelry, lipsticks, and perfume bottles. Eddie Munson was a perverted thief, and it somehow landed him balls deep down your throat. 

He reaches down and picks up a particular Polaroid, one of his favorites; a picture of you laid on your stomach in your bed, one leg hiked up to form a comfortable sleeping position. You’d forgone your sleeping shorts this night, and Eddie took it upon himself to jack off and cover your ass in sticky ropes of his cum, snapping a photo as the white substance dripped down between the folds of your ass to stain your pretty panties (Eddie stole those panties that same night).

He takes the picture and holds it up between two fingers. “So many nights of wasted cum… you’ve got a lot to make up for, sweet girl.” His voice is low and teasing, and you whine against him, nuzzling his cock further down your throat until your nose brushes against the curly hairs surrounding his base.

Eddie’s knuckles are tight against your scalp when he pulls you off his cock, shivering at the wet gasp you take, bleary eyes blinking up at him as your spit drips onto his thighs. “Think you’ve been good enough for it?” He wraps a hand around himself and rubs his throbbing tip against your lips, humming in approval when you open your mouth to offer your tongue. He slaps himself against your tongue a few times, chuckling when you whine and squeeze your thighs together. You can feel the sticky feeling of his cum and your arousal sliding against the insides of your hot thighs, and your eyes roll at the sensation. You lean forward and nuzzle against his cock, “Please, Eds— want it so bad. I’ve been so good, I have.” Your words are nearly slurred; the only thing on your mind is the overwhelming urge you have to feel Eddie’s cum in the back of your throat.

You don’t see Eddie reaching for his camera, too focused on licking your way down to his balls. “Fuck— look at me, sweetheart, give me those pretty eyes.”

You slowly blink up at Eddie, wet lashes fluttering and pouty lips grazing his cock as you gaze at the camera. A flash and a snapping sound echo through the room before a white card come out the bottom, a curse falling from Eddie’s lips as he shakes the paper and tosses it to the side for later. He nods down towards you, “Love on it, baby; show me how much you love my cock.” You don’t wait for another second, licking a thick stripe up his cock, rounding your lips around his tip to suck eagerly. Eddie takes another picture, and you whine.

“Shit, I’m gonna come— keep sucking baby, keep taking me in.”

You shuffle forward, nose brushing against his pelvis once again, and Eddie takes it as permission to secure a hand atop your head and begin fucking himself into the back of your throat. Both of your hands are fisted into the sheets below you, watery eyes gazing up at the blissed-out Eddie above you. His hips falter during the last few thrusts; he doesn’t last much longer. 

“I’m gonna come… don’t swallow, okay?” You nod as best as you can, and without further directions, Eddie’s cum floods your mouth until you nearly choke on it. 

He pulls out of your mouth with a moan, instructing you to open your mouth and show him your tongue, which you immediately obey. He reaches for the camera once more, snapping one picture with you on all fours, gazing up at the camera with your tongue out, white sticky cum coating the inside of your mouth. He takes a second picture, this time with his hand cradling your jaw. The third and last picture he takes is with his hand still cradling your jaw, but his thumb is now pressed against your tongue, smearing his sticky mess across your tastebuds.

And when he tosses the newly printed photos into the pile of new Polaroids, he catches a glimpse of one clear picture of your pussy freshly fucked and covered in his cum. Eddie can’t help it when his cock twitches against his thigh once again.

It’s safe to say that Eddie had to get a new box the next day <3

[heartcereql]

heaven is a place on earth with you

art donaldson x fem!reader || soft moments in your fresh new home

cw: smoking, minor cursing, no use of y/n (1240 words) a/n: writing about my sweet baby art during finals bc why not

you swore you could have stayed like this forever. tangled in silky bedsheets, soft rays of light that tingled on your face, body pressed against art's. one of those moments you wished you could pause and settle in for an eternity.

the mattress was on the floor, and cardboard boxes were scattered all around your apartment. your apartment. it felt blissful to say it. a life awaited you there, between the beige and baby blue walls that screamed for another hand of paint. it was far from the ideal, but it was perfect because it was yours. art's and your world. didn't it sound so pretty?

you looked over at him. eyes closed, lips slightly parted, his head a blond mess of curls and his skin warm despite the moring breeze that slipped inside the room through the opened balcony. art looked otherworldly. he always did, in your eyes. and you felt like the luckiest woman on earth with him, because he looked at you, because he touched you, because he loved you. because he felt for you what you felt with him.

and you two were fucking living together. the thought was enough to bloom a grin on your lips. a pure, joyful smile that made you want to jump and dance all around. pressing a feather-like kiss to his temple, you sat up, careful to untangle yourself from his arms and slinging over one of his standford t-shirts.

you reached over to your bedside table- well, the brown leather suitcase on which you had left some stuff. a provisional nightstand, let's leave it at that. you took a cigarette out of the box, holding it between your lips as you grabbed the lighter and your sketchbook and pencil.

the cool air of the early morning greeted you as you stepped out onto the balcony, goosebumps appearing all over your skin. you lit the cigarette with the pink lighter art had gifted you on your fourth date, all that time ago, when you mentioned you kept losing all your lighters. it was safe to say you'd kept this one. it had fake rhinestones forming your initial on one side. you recalled thanking art with a very excited hug and an even more excited peck.

"you made it?" you had ask him, the glint in your big eyes almost matching the glimmer of the rhinestones under the streetlamp. when art nodded, you gushed, hugging him again. "it's beautiful, art, i love it."

"i'm so glad," he smiled. you looked ethereal, all the eagerness painted on your face, cheeks rosy from the cold, babbling about how sweet you found it.

"hey, do you have any more rhinestones left?" you asked.

"yeah, yeah, here," he handed you the stickers, watching you start putting some more on the other side of the lighter. "what are you-"

but he was shut as he guessed the shape of his own initial, a very shimmering 'A'. once finished, you showed it to him proudly.

you both broke into laughter, cheeks flushed and hurting from the smiles, but it didn't matter. not when you felt so safe around him. and certainly not when he pulled you in for a kiss.

taking another drag of the cigarette, you traced your fingertips against the initials on the lighter. call it luck or fate or whatever, but none of the rhinestones had ever unstuck from where you both had originally placed them.

you sat on the beach chair that you'd placed on the balcony last night, before getting trapped between art's arms and lips, and getting lost in him. tipping the ashes off of the end of the cigarette, you opened the sketchbook. it was actually another of art's little thoughtful gifts that he loved to give you, and you loved to receive.

on the first page of it was a sweet little dedication art had written.

'for my angel girl, so you can be an artist and carry me always with you (get it? because i'm ART and you're an ARTist? so funny, i know.) love you forever baby <3'

it always made you smile when you read it, and reach over to kiss him for no apparent reason, leaving him a curious, flushed mess.

on the page you were currently at, there were some seashell doodles from your last trip to the beach. art had picked them out for you, and peered through the whole process with his head resting on your shoulder. beneath the collection of seashells was a watercolor drawing of art's beautiful, dual colored eyes, and a little sketch of a couple of figs.

looking over, your eyes settled on the pastel colored laundry your neighbors in front had hanging and swaying lightly with the dawning breeze.

your traces were fast but precise. soon, the laundry was replicated under your pencil. shirts and pants and socks and even a bra. the cigarette dangled from your lip, forgotten amidst your concentration.

you were so absorbed in drawing little daisies on the socks you didn't hear the sheets rustling as art stirred awake, or his soft footsteps as he approached you. thus, when you heard his voice, you were startled for a second.

"hey, artist."

you turned to him, eyes big. the movement was so sudden the cigarette fell to the floor.

"hey, art," you smiled, setting down the sketchbook and pencil and standing up to greet him.

his hands were on your waist in no time, pulling you in for a kiss. you nuzzled your head onto the warmth of his chest, running your hands on his back.

"morning," you looked up to him. art smiled. god, that smile. it drove you crazy, made you weak at the knees. your soft fingertips drove up to trace his smile lines, trailing down to his jaw in no time.

he tucked some strand of hair behind your ears, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "were you drawing?" art asked, spinning you around so you both faced the view, his arms around your waist.

the sky was not fully blue yet; pink and purple hues shining over the horizon.

"mhm," you hummed. "i want to colour it later, will you help me?"

"of course, baby," he mumbled, pressing kisses to your cheek.

it was something silly you two did sometimes. after pouring you both some coffee (you made it for art the way he liked, as he prepared yours as he'd learnt from several coffee dates), you'd pull out some colour pencils or sharpies and paint the little doodles you had drawn.

"hey," art whispered. "we live together."

you smiled. "yeah, we do. it's perfect."

art huffed at that. "the walls are on the verge of falling apart. and the people from the bar downstairs were noisy as fuck. and the shower-"

"shut up," you playfully hit his arm, rolling around again to face him once more. "it's you and i. sounds perfect to me."

he gifted you another smile. "you're right. it's ours. that's more than enough."

was this your own personal heaven? you found yourself thinking that often, as you got lost in his always tender eyes, or the sound of your laughters together, or the tingles he left on your skin, or the way you loved each other. as he lifted you up and carried you inside for your first breakfast at your place, you were sure of the answer. yeah, of fucking course it was.

© heartcereql, 2024 || thank you for reading ! 𓆩 ♱ 𓆪

[stargirlrchive]

ROOMMATE!SIMON

cw: simon riley x fem!reader, fingering, d/s dynamics, finger sucking (brief), m!masturbation, he’s not as manipulative as the first two installments (like it’s more subtle, in my opinion but he’s still soooo)

one - two - three - four

roommate!simon who’s staring down at your wide, blown out eyes. a lazy smile on his face as he tries to appear cool and collected but internally he’s a mess. his sweet girl was beneath him, wanting and desperate for him.

you were in nothing but your underwear and his eyes greedily drank you in, from your lips, to the slope of your breast, down to the wet patch on your panties.

a low growls falling from his mouth as he pushed his thumb against your clit. and the noise that fell from your mouth had his cock leaking pre, and he knew he’d cum the second he sunk into you.

“all you needed was for someone to take care of you. huh, baby?”

you nodded beneath him, your hips pushing upwards and against his thumb as you gnawed on your lip.

“m’glad you finally realized that i’m the only one who can do it.”

he had to play his cards right, he needed you to be just as desperate for him, as he was for you. and if he came within the first few seconds of fucking you, he wouldn’t leave a good first impression.

so he teased at your clit, pushing his thumb against it as he rubbed lazily. your eyes already rolling back as you whined and squirmed beneath him.

“poor little thing, no one’s been able to touch you properly, hm?”

and he knew it, gods he had been the cause of that. sabotaging and plotting against any man that showed interest in you. but he wanted to hear it from your pretty mouth, “no one, si’. no one’s been able to take care of me.”

even when you had rebelled, simon was sure to tell you how you never seemed satisfied. how you were louder when you fucked yourself on your fingers then when you let any of those pathetic losers take you to bed. so it was best if you stopped entertaining them all together.

it happened so often you started to believe him, and he’d never lie to you, right?

but a low growl ripped from simon’s mouth as you rolled your hips desperately against his hand. recalling the one time that your moans were so loud and delightful, that he fisted his cock as he imagined it was him fucking you. and not that stranger from the bar.

his fingers had slipped into your underwear, and a whine almost tore from his mouth as he felt how wet you were. gliding his fingers through your folds as he wasted no time in circling the tip of his finger against your entrance.

a gasp ripping from your throat as his finger slid deep into you. curling and massaging against your walls as you desperately tried to fuck yourself against his hand.

simon had imagined this, far too many times to count, but the real thing was far better. his imagination could not even compare to how good you felt against him, under him.

wanting nothing more than to stuff you full with his cock. but he had to be patient, he had waited for so long, what was a couple of days?

he lowered himself a bit to be able to whisper in your ear, fucking you slowly with his thick finger.

“can you feel how your pussy just swallows my finger, baby?”

a low whimper fell from your mouth as he curled his finger inside of you.

“keeps sucking me back in, like you can’t get enough.”

you nodded, fisting at his shirt as you cried out, desperate for him to make you cum.

“s’like your cunt knows it belongs to me.”

you tightened around his fingers, a loud mewl ripping from your mouth as he pushed his thumb against your clit again.

white hot pleasure pulsing right between your thighs as you came, his fingers relentless as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“say it, pretty girl. tell me this pussy belongs to me.”

you nodded stupidly, babbling out as whined beneath him, “s’yours, i’m yours.”

simon removed his finger from your cunt, pushing it into your mouth as you sucked and licked at his digit obediently.

“good girl.”

[bandgie]

Buttons | ARMAGEDDON EVENT

Request: Wrath | Jeong Yunho (ATEEZ) by anon🎀! song!

warnings: MDNI18+, fem!reader, public sex, mean!yunho, pussy play, pussy slapping, nipple play (brief), PIV, cumming inside, no protection, ruined orgasm, squirting, reader is a menace, super slight, gagging

2.4k words

The best part about Yunho’s anger is that he’s never destructive. 

He never yells. He never breaks things or makes a hole in the wall he’ll have to plaster later. It took what felt like centuries to control that sickening desire to harm when his top blew off. Yunho knows he struggles with keeping his cool in the heat of the moment, but at least he tries and tries until he succeeds.

He’s trying to control that anger now. Your manicured fingers feel over the crotch of his slacks repeatedly with that mischievous look in your eyes that only pisses him off more.

“I told you to stop that already.” Yunho isn’t looking to pick a fight at the movie preview. He was invited to watch a showing with a plus one, his lovely girlfriend. That’s the last thing you are, however, as you keep pestering him.

“Stop what? Can’t I touch my boyfriend?” Those glossy lips twist into a knowing smile. Yunho briefly looks down at the hand and forces his head back to the big screen. “You’re doing more than touching, you know that.”

Neither of you can speak that loudly considering the movie had already started and other invitees have been watching dutifully. 

But you only hum, in agreement or disagreement, Yunho doesn’t know. All he can feel is your hand rubbing over his thigh to find where he might have hidden his cock. It doesn’t take long in the dark, especially when he’s sitting down which causes him to bulge.

He shoots you a glare. The pretty vein sticks from his neck as if he’s keeping himself from speaking too loudly. But you only stare back in challenge when you grope his cock. It’s warm even through the fabric. You cross your legs tightly and let out a tiny sound.

Shit. You look good. It was your idea to match tonight and you decided to bring out your finest black dress. It makes your boobs squish for extra cleavage that even Yunho had a hard time looking away from. Now it’s all he sees as he peers down on you, switching between your breasts and smooth thighs that continuously rub together. 

His jaw ticks.

“Babe,” he leans down, burying his nose in your hair and getting a whiff of your rose-scented strands. “You’re pissing me off.”

But like a child who finds joy in pulling a cat's tail, you grip him harder. “I am? Why? Do you want me to blow you instead?”

You have to keep in your laughter at his reddening cheeks. “I don’t mind getting down and dirty in the theaters. Nothing we haven’t done before.”

“When we were high schoolers,” Yunho pulls away from your alluring scent to look into your seductive eyes. “We’re adults now. Act like one.”

You roll your eyes. If he truly meant that, he would have slapped your hand away the moment you began to feel him up. Instead, Yunho widens his legs and keeps still while you make him hard. It’s not as easy considering it’s a horror movie playing in the background, but your persistence pays off when you feel him throb.

“At least someone’s happy to see me,” you whisper. It’s pure enjoyment you feel when his cock finally strains against the confines of his pants. When you could just barely make out the outline of his head from the dim light. 

You use your thumb to run over the tip, over and over until Yunho’s breath gets caught in his throat and his hips instinctively raise off his seat.

As quickly as he feels pleasure, he feels infuriation. Something in his honey eyes snaps. You nearly yelp when he stands, pulling you along with him in haste and you don’t have time to grab your purse. 

“Yunho!” You try to yell with your breath. “I almost knocked over the popcorn!”

He doesn’t say anything. Can’t when he's bubbling underneath the surface and his cock painfully aches against his boxers. You embarrassingly smile at the people in the theaters, giving a polite ‘sorry’ and ‘excuse us’ while Yunho aims for the exit.

You stumble over your heels and you swear they threaten to snap under your feet.

Wooyoung, a colleague of your boyfriend’s, gives you a weary look as if to say ‘you good?’ Yunho doesn’t pause to let you tell him that yes, you are all right. 

You just probably won’t be walking for the next few days. 

The halls of the movie theaters are much brighter, but just as quiet as inside. It’s now that you can talk freely. “You can’t just drag me outta the theaters right in the middle of the movie!”

He passes the main bathrooms, heading for the ones that are nearly abandoned way in the back of the building. 

“But you can be a slut in the theaters. Is that right?” He turns to spare you a look full of annoyance, arousal, and everything in between. “I’ll give you what you want if it means you can be decent in public.”

Yunho yanks the door open to the men’s restroom. He doesn’t bother checking to see if anyone occupies the stall as he drags you in, capturing you between the sink and his arms. 

Your dress had ridden up from walking so quickly. Yunho doesn’t allow you to fix yourself before he spins you around, facing your reflection. It’s him you focus on in the mirror though. His heaving chest and the redness of his neck only accentuate the veins there. He stares at the exposed part of your ass and wordlessly pulls the material higher until it bunches around your waist.

You jump, but arch your back to give Yunho a good look at your clothed cunt. 

“What if someone walks in?” “Oh well.”

That makes you clench with something you think isn’t fear. “I don’t think this is a good idea. If you get caught-” But a slap to your ass shuts you up. It’s a yelp that comes out rather than the end of your sentence. You turn your head to see Yunho’s heavy hands soothing your ass, then grab it in a warning.

“Now it’s a bad idea? You really are trying to get on my bad side, huh?”

That isn’t true. Well, sorta. There’s just something about pushing Yunho to his limits that you love doing, which makes you get in trouble that’s worth it in your eyes. Deep down, maybe you did want him to treat you like this. But you just can’t stop yourself from pressing his buttons a little more.

You fake a pout. “I don't want someone walking in.”

You got him. He bares his teeth and reaches for his neck to undo his tie. It slaps against his chest before he finally wraps it around your lips. You cry out, tilting up as Yunho ties a knot to the back of your head. The silky cloth sits tightly between your lips, drool already beginning to seep from your mouth.

“Then this should shut you up.”

Putting his hands back on your ass, Yunho tugs your underwear down to your thighs. His fingers find your pussy before the cold air does and he’s pleasantly surprised to feel that you were already wet. The pads of his fingers rub circles on your clit. 

The pleasure is immediate. You perch yourself on the counter and grind your hips in his hand, shamelessly muffling your moans into his tie. He lets you, despite his demeanor, and follows your movements. It only takes seconds for his palm to grow slick. He maintains his other hand on your ass to keep you moving.

You ooze with arousal, knowing that it’s Yunho’s hand collecting it all. You would feel bad, but it makes your cunt slide against it so much easier. He’s not applying enough pressure to make you cum, but it’s enough to make you desperate. To make your walls clench in hopes of being stuffed. You whine, looking at your lover in the mirror with spit seeping down your chin.

Even with his dark eyes, he laughs. The sound sends shivers through your body and you know his smile is far from genuine.

He pulls his hand from you, smiling wider when your hips wildly buck and your fingers aimlessly grasp for his. “No! Nonono! Yunho!”

The smile on his face disappears. It’s replaced with a stern look that makes you regret raising your voice. He whips you around, effortlessly planting your ass on the counter and ripping your underwear off until it’s nothing but a lump on the bathroom floor. 

He pulls your thighs apart, staring at your core before he raises his hand and comes down on it. 

You squeal. Your hips buck in the air as he comes down again, again, and again.

“Who” slap! “are you” slap! “talking to like that?” slap!slap!slap! 

Strings of white cream connect to his hand every time he pulls away even for a second. It's hot pleasure that’s on the brink of pain when your clit throbs under his touch. Your cunt spasms and convulses. The makeshift gag can’t let you cry properly. All you can do is drooly apologize. Closing your legs isn’t an option. It would only make things worse for you.

“Shorry ‘m shorry!” You squeal again when his hand comes down, but he doesn’t move it from your core. Yunho flicks his wrist rapidly so his palm rubs tortuously on your pussy. It takes everything in you to keep your thighs from snapping shut. You lean against the cold mirror and try to keep your jerking hips under control. 

Something not quite like an orgasm, but not quite like normal arousal builds in your stomach. It's a stark contrast to the painful pleasure on your clit. It’s warm, it’s sweet, and it makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

You realize what it is too late. The only warning you manage to give is a wide-eyed yelp as clear fluid shoots from your cunt right onto Yunho’s fine tux.

It releases in floods. Making you embarrassingly moan and gasp for air as your stomach can’t help but continuously squeeze the squirt out. Yunho stares in awe, still flicking his fingers across your clit to help get it all out. 

“Fuck!” You can feel your makeup ruining from your tears. “I dinn’t- Yun’o I dinn’t mean ‘o.”

It’s not anger you see, but a pleased grin. As if soiling yourself was the only thing that could have made him feel better. With his wet hand, Yunho undoes his belt. He doesn’t bother removing it from the loops as he tugs his slacks just low enough for him to pull his cock out from the slit on his boxers.

“You’re fucking disgusting.” But Yunho is anything but repulsed. He runs his flared head over your messy clit, watching little droplets of your juice dribble into the counter and his cock. “I have to fuck you.”

You can’t argue if you wanted to. The cloth between your lips is completely drenched with drool and your cunt is so sensitive that it can hardly feel Yunho tap his tip before finding your entrance.

It’s too easy for him to push in. There’s no need to stretch or warm you up when his cock can reach the hilt in one go. You gasp at the pressure, your hazy eyes meeting his fired-up ones as he quickly finds a pace.

Each thrust earns a moan. Each moan earns a thrust. You grip onto his broad shoulders that easily cover your entire body as your body bounces. He groans, reaching for the top of your dress to spill your tits.

They’ve been hard for what seems like hours. Your nipples beg for attention that Yunho happily gives. He leans his head down to suck on your bud, rolling his tongue around the hardness while keeping his hips pounding into yours.

You clench around him. Your back naturally arcs into his form as he tugs on your nipple. None of the sounds you make are pretty. It’s all whines and gasps from the constant way he slams into you. 

Yunho lets go of your nipple, pressing a last kiss to the one he neglected in apology before raising back up again.

He’s going to cum. You can feel it in how his thrusts turn sloppy and his eyebrows scrunch in pleasure. His hands find your waist as he moans, screwing his eyes shut and throwing his head back.

Every pump resonants in the empty bathroom. You can feel his pelvis touching your clit with every thrust and you know you’re not too far from your own orgasm. 

He looks down at you, deciding it’s your tits (and face) he wants to look at when he finishes. You think he might kiss you with how he’s begun to lean towards you, stopping just inches shy from your mouth. 

Everything feels warm. Yunho reaches down a hand to play with your clit. You wrap your legs around his torso as your high approaches closer. It’s Yunho who cums first. He finishes inside, ignoring how you can’t pucker your lips or you can’t beg for a kiss with how much you’re moaning and the tie in your mouth. Instead, Yunho spurts his cum deep in your pussy with a knowing smile. The blood vessels on his forehead sticking out with how much he pours into you.

Still, you cum with him. Your walls clamp around his cock as he rides out his high. He stops too soon though. There’s not a chance to come down from your orgasm as Yunho cruelly pulls out of your needy cunt, ignoring how it squeezes him to stay and finish what he started. 

You cry against the gag, trying to keep your legs wrapped around his hips that he easily pries apart.

His cock shines with your arousal and cum, with the orgasm he ruined perfectly.

Yunho scoffs at your whining form, the crocodile tears he’s learned to not be affected by. “What? Don’t tell me you thought I was gonna let you make more of a mess.” You were planning on begging when he finally untied the tie from your lips, but he shushes you with another slap on your cunt.

“You just want to piss me off today, huh?”

[redvexillum]

@nyx91 Here's my take on your prompt, baby! 😘 Also, please check out these awesome writers - @whatswrongwithblue who wrote her prompt HERE and @redfoxwritesstuff version HERE! @inuhalfdemon I'm pretty sure Nyxy sent you this one too. Now, we are all waiting on yoOoooOooOu 👻

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, p in v, gentle s♡x, love making, established relationship, relationship on the rocks, alastor is bad with feelings, hurt/comfort

Your fingers clenched the glass with a force that belied the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. The cool rim pressed against your lips, the burn of the hard liquor a welcome distraction from the storm brewing in your chest.  

As the amber whisky slid down your throat, a shudder rolled through you, the heat searing into your veins, but it couldn’t touch the icy rage you felt. Slamming the empty glass onto the bar, the sharp sound echoed in your pounding head. You ground your teeth together, more in irritation than from the sting of the alcohol.  

Alastor’s voice, smooth and syrupy, drifted through the air like poison. He was laughing, entertaining the hotel crew with his usual cruel charm – those passive-aggressive jabs cloaked in that ever-present smile. You could barely stand to hear him, let alone look at him, so you kept your eyes fixed on the empty glass before, staring at the last remnants of whisky as your mind spun. Dizzying feelings of anger and the growing buzz of the alcohol swirled around in your head.  

Shaking your head, you shoved the glass toward Husk, who regarded you with his typical unimpressed expression. His long red eyebrow arched, but he continued to lazily wipe down the glass in his hand, barely giving you more than a glance.  

“You know,” Husk muttered, his voice low and smooth, “you should just talk to him.” The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, though he delivered them with a shrug, as if they held no consequences.  

A harsh snort escaped your lips. “’nother one,” you slurred, your voice thick with the effects of the liquor. You could feel the heat of it, spreading through you like wildfire, numbing the ache in your chest just enough to make you feel bold – foolish, but bold.  

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Husk asked, though his hands were already moving to grab the bottle of whisky from beneath the counter. He poured two fingers’ worth of the amber liquid, the sound of it hitting the glass like a promise of paradise.  

Your lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Nope, still mad as ‘ell,” you muttered, the words ‘nope’ punctuated with a sharp pop of the ‘p.’ Your gaze cut back to his eyes, “So, no, Husk, not nearly enough.” 

As your fingers reached for the glass, Husk slid it unreachable with an ease that only irritated you more. “He’s been staring at you all night, you know,” he grumbled, eyes narrowing. “He practically wants you to talk to him.” 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes so hard it made your head spine even more. “I’m not giving him the satisfaction.” The defiance in your voice felt hollow, and yet, you clung to it, desperate to keep the walls up between you and Alastor across the room. He didn’t deserve to meet your eyes tonight, or any other night for that matter.  

You slumped forward, elbow resting on the bar, your head propped in your head as you levelled a bleary stare at Husk. “What are you supposed to be tonight, anyway? A bartender?” You leaned closer, your body swaying slightly as the alcohol pooled in your system, your blouse straining against your chest as you moved.  

Husk sighed, eyes rolling as he muttered, “And you’re drunk.” His tone was flat, but before he could push the drink further away, you snatched it with a triumphant grin, tipping it back with a wink.  

The burn of the whisky barely registered anymore; it was nothing compared to the fury simmering under your skin. You could feel it, crackling just under the surface, mixed with the alcohol that made your limbs feel light and your head buzz.  

Standing up from the barstool, you leaned in close to Husk, a wicked grin spreading across your lips. “Guess what I’m dressed as?” you whispered, the words dripping with mischief. Without waiting for him to respond, you giggled, “That’s correct! A bar wench!” 

Your blouse hung low, teasingly revealing more of your cleavage, but you barely noticed. The tight girdle you wore cinched you in all the right places, but it wasn’t enough to keep the flush of heat spreading over your skin. It felt almost suffocating, the mix of alcohol, anger, and something indescribable all coiling tight inside you.  

Husk muttered something unintelligible, but you pressed on, your mind a swirl of emotions too tangled to untangle now. “You’re right, y’know,” you slurred, the words tumbling from your lips without restraint. “I shouldn’t be down. I should help you tonight – I'm already dressed the part.” You patted his shoulder with a grin, your hand lingering as you tried to ground yourself at the moment.  

He stared at you, eyes narrowing again, but there was something softer there too. “You’ve known him for over a decade,” Husk said, his voice gentler now, more serious. “You knew exactly what you were getting into when you decided to be with him.” 

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, unfortunately sobering you right up. He didn’t have to say Alastor’s name – just the thought of him was enough to make your stomach churn, the bile rising in your throat. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, the fury still eating away at you, or the hollow ache of knowing that Husk was right.  

It was probably all of it.  

Your smile faltered, fading slowly as the memory of last week came back to the forefront of your mind without mercy. Ten years. You had been with Alastor just over a decade, but those years were fractured, seven of them consumed by silence and shadows. He had disappeared without a word, leaving you to wonder, to hurt, to grieve the love you thought you had.  

When he returned, it wasn’t the reunion you had once dreamed of. No, instead, you found out that he had traded away his soul for something – something he refused to tell you about. The secret gnawed at you, hollowing out the trust you had clung to for so long.  

Your fingers dug into the fabric of your black skirt, the material bunching between your knuckles as your grip tightened. You thought ...God, you thought you meant something to him. Enough for him to confide in you. Enough for him to trust you.  

But he didn’t.  

He kept you at arm’s length, always. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into the abyss, never quite knowing if he’d catch you if you fell.  

Your breath hitched as your eyes blinked rapidly, fighting back the stinging salt of unshed tears. You had cried for him – cried for him night after night when you couldn’t bear to stay in the same room, couldn’t bear to let him see how deeply he had hurt you. Alastor didn’t deserve any more of your tears. Not after everything.  

Taking a shaky breath, you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a smile, even though your heart felt like it was breaking all over again. “Anyway,” you said, your voice wavering for a split second before you forced it into a false cheer. “Looks like the Halloween party’s going great! But...there are empty cups in people’s hands!” You threw on a laugh, trying to mask the pain that threatened to claw its way to the surface. “As your best bar wench,” you continued with a grin that didn’t quite reach your eyes, “I believe it’s my duty to serve the customers!” 

Husk’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, his gaze piercing through your forced cheer like he could see every crack in the facade. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he could read you like a book. Husk always had that way of understanding, even when you tried so desperately to hide behind a smile. Still, he stayed silent, though his look spoke volumes – volumes you weren’t ready to face.  

“Well,” he finally said, his tone lightening with a smirk, “I ran out of whisky because someone,” he raised a brow at you, “polished it all off.” 

You rolled your eyes, trying to play along, even though your heart wasn’t in it. “There’s more in storage, Husk,” you replied, puffing out your chest in an exaggerated display. “I’ll just go get more! Look at that, I’m not only a gorgeousbar wench, but also a problem solver!” You tried for a grin, but it felt empty, the effort it took to keep up the pretense was exhausting.  

Husk chuckled, shaking his head. “Just hope you don’t remember this tomorrow,” he said with a snort, though you could see the concern still lingering in his eyes.  

With a heavy sigh, you let out a toneless laugh. “I’m not drunk, just a liltipsy.” The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but you turned on your heels before he could call you on it. You needed to get away for a moment – away from Husk, away from the party, away from him. 

As you made your way to the storage room, you caught sight of Charlie and Vaggie dressed as an angel and a devil, the irony of their roles not lost on you. They looked happy, content in their costumes, and for a brief moment, you felt a pang of envy. They didn’t have to worry about the walls that separated them. They didn’t have to question their place in each other’s lives.  

But you didn’t look at Alastor. Not once. You could feel his presence in the room, could almost sense his eyes on you, but you refused to give him the satisfaction. Not tonight.  

When you entered the storage room, the dim light from the hallway cast long shadows over the crates stacked along the walls. “Let’s see...” you mumbled to yourself, running your hands along the wooden boxes, searching for the whisky Husk needed. The quiet soothed you, a welcome relief from the noise of the party.  

Suddenly, the door creaked shut with a heavy thud, plunging the room into darkness. You whipped around, heart almost leaping out your throat. “What the-?” 

Before you could finish, you heard the unmistakable click of the lock sliding into place, sealing you in. Your breath caught, the air thick with tension.  

“My, my. Good evening, darling,” came the voice you simultaneously missed and dreaded. Alastor’s voice, rich and smooth, like velvet soaked in poison. It slithered through the darkness, wrapping around you, making your skin prickle with both longing and anger.  

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest, not bothering to turn toward him. “Alastor, I don’t want to play games,” you muttered, the exhaustion in your voice apparent.  

He chuckled, the sound low and dark, echoing off the walls. “Alastor? Oh no, my dear,” he purred, amusement lacing his tone. “It’s Captain Alastor tonight.” 

With a snap of his fingers, green flames flickered to life, casting an eerie glow around the room. The shadows danced wildly on the walls, but it wasn’t the flames that held your attention. No, it was him. Alastor, dressed in a pirate’s costume, complete with a crimson bandana tied around his head. His jacket was adorned with gold buttons and buckles, his black leather booth shining in the sickly light. He looked every bit the part, but the smile that curled his lips was still the same – a smile that could hide an infinite number of secrets.  

He stepped forward, and instinctively, you retreated – one step, then another – until your back met the cold, unforgiving wall. Your heart raced, ever nerve in your body on high alert as Alastor closed the distance between you, his presence overwhelming. His looming figure cast a shadow over you, but you refused to look at him, your gaze darting anywhere but his face.  

“What do you want?” you mumbled, the question trembling on your lips. You couldn’t muster the strength to sound defiant, not when his proximity made your breath hitch.  

Alastor’s smile widened, that ever-present unsettling grin that never seemed to face. “What I’ve been wanting since you rudely left my bed eight nights ago,” he answered with a playful lilt, his tone too bright, too casual for the tension building between you.  

Another step. And another. Until his chest hovered mere inches from you, the heat of his body radiating through his pirate’s costume. You found yourself staring at the third gold button on his jacket, unable to meet his eyes. It felt safer that way – safer than confronting the emotions threatening to spill over.  

“Rudely, huh?” you shot back, the alcohol in your bloodstreams emboldened your words, your anger simmering, bubbling up from your chest. “Well, I guess I’m just a rude girl now. So, if you’ll excuse me-” 

You tried to slip past him, but instantly, his arms shot up, trapping you between the wall and his body. The sharp intake of your breath was loud in the enclosed space, and your heart hammered against your ribs.  

“Look at me, darling,” Alastor’s voice was soft now, coaxing, almost tender, a stark contrast to the playful lilt he’d used moments ago. He leaned in, his breath a warm whisper against your lips, his words sending shivers down your spine. “It’s rude not to look at the person you’re speaking to.” 

The tip of his clawed fingers grazed your cheek, feather-light, as though testing the boundaries of your resistance. “Look at me,” he murmured again, his voice a gentle command, his finger caressing your skin like you were something delicate, fragile.  

Your body betrayed you. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the exhaustion of holding your emotions in for so long, or maybe it was the undeniable pull he had over you – whatever it was, you tilted your head up, finally meeting his gaze.  

You wanted to glare at him, to summon all the fury and hurt you felt into one look. But the moment your eyes locked with his, something inside you fractured. Alastor’s grin softened ever so slightly as he gazed down at you, and the intensity of his red eyes stripped you bare. 

Thus, the dam that you were so desperate to hold back, broke.  

Tears welled in your eyes, stinging as they gathered, and your lips trembled despite your best efforts to hold steady. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t cry for him anymore – he didn’t deserve it, not after everything.  

But here you were, standing on the precipice of breaking all over again. The anger you had been clinging to melted away, replaced by an overwhelming, aching sadness. Why did he have to do this to you? Why, after all the betrayal and heartbreak, did your heart still soften the moment you saw him? 

“I need to go now, Alastor,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, weak and fragile. “Please unlock the door-” 

But before you could finish, his lips were on yours, sudden and firm, silencing the rest of your plea. The kiss stole the air from your lungs, igniting the familiar flames of passion within you. His body pressed against yours, enveloping you in a heat that was all too familiar, a warmth you had craved even when you hated yourself for wanting it. One hand cradled your face, the other settled on your hip, grounding you in a way that made your head spin.  

You should push him away. You should resist. Every part of your rational mind screamed at you to fight back, to remember the betrayal that had shattered your trust, to remember the anger that fuelled you for days.  

But you didn’t.  

Tears spilled down your cheeks, hot and unrelenting, as you allowed yourself to sink into the kiss, your body – your heart – betraying your mind. His lips moved against yours, tender and desperate all at once, and you stayed – tethered to him by something stronger than rage.  

When he finally pulled back, his breath came in shallow bursts, his forehead resting gently against yours. His thumb brushed away the stray tears on your cheek, a wistful sigh escaping his lips as his eyes searched yours. There was something in his gaze – something vulnerable, something he rarely let you see.  

He grinned, but it was softer this time, almost bittersweet. “Now, miss,” he said, his voice filled with mock grandeur, the teasing note returning. “What will you do now that you’re stuck here with a dastardly pirate such as myself?” 

The lightness in his tone didn’t match the intensity in his eyes. They bore into yours, searching for something – an answer, perhaps, or maybe forgiveness.  

You knew exactly what he was doing. Alastor, for all his bravado and showmanship, didn’t know how to bare himself – didn't know how to peel back those layers of invulnerability. Instead, he hid behind his endless masks, each one more carefully constructed than the last. And tonight, he wore the perfect one for you – the one designed to charm, to coax a smile from your lips even when your heart felt heavy.  

Your fingers trembled as they reached up, brushing against his cheek. The smoothness of his skin beneath your fingertips stirred something delicate within you, something raw and aching. Without a word, you threaded your hand into his hair, pulling him down until your lips met his in a kiss so soft it could’ve shattered.  

You wondered, in that fleeting moment, if Alastor even realized that he didn’t need to be perfect for you. That his strength wasn’t what made you love him – it was the rare glimpses of vulnerability, the moments when the masks slipped, that captured your heart.  

His body softened in your embrace, tension melting away as he pulled you closer, his need for you palpable in the way his hands clutched at your waist. His kiss deepened, urgent now, as though he were trying to communicate all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say. And perhaps you were complicit in this – playing along in his games of pretense, the dance of make-believe you both performed so well. Even now, wrapped in costumes, the charade continued, masking the truth neither of you had the courage to face.  

The words that should have been spoken – of hurt, of longing, of the chasm growing between you – were swallowed up in the heat of the moment. Alastor pressed his hips against you, the hardness of him dragging along your core as his hands roamed your body, setting your skin alight. His breath hitched, and soon the room was filled with the rustle of fabric, hurried movements, and the unmistakable clink of his belt being undone. Your skirt was pushed up, your underwear forgotten as it slid down to your ankles.  

But then, just as the urgency peaked, he paused. His eyes met yours, the glow of the green flames flickering around you casting half his face in shadow. His expression was unreadable, half hidden by the darkness, yet you could see the question in his gaze – the hesitation that belied the playful swagger he always wore.  

You lifted one leg, wrapping it around his waist, pulling him closer as the warmth of his length pressed against your core. Slowly, you moved, the friction between you drawing a soft moan from his lips. His eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure evident on his face as his hands gripped you tighter, his forehead resting against yours.  

Darling,” he breathed, his voice no longer playful, no longer teasing. It was soft, almost vulnerable, and the way he held you now – so tightly, as if afraid you might disappear – felt like the truest moment between you in a long time.  

Your mind, fogged with alcohol and the haze of lust, seemed to slow the world down around you. Every sensation was amplified – the heat of his body against yours, the way he trembled with each stroke, the way your own heart ached even as your body burned with desire. The initial anger that had driven you to this moment began to melt away, replaced by something deeper – an aching sadness, a profound loneliness that slowly eroded the edges of your soul.  

In the silence that followed, neither of you spoke. This act, this intimacy, had become the only place where the two of you could find any semblance of honesty. Here, with his lips pressed to yours, his hands clinging to you like you were his only lifeline, there was no room for masks. It was the one moment where the roles you played for each other dissolved, leaving nothing but raw, unfiltered emotion etched across his face. 

And in his face, you saw it.  

His red eyes, glowing and intense, were softened by the flickering green flames around you. He kissed you again, slower this time, murmuring soft praises against your lips – telling you how good you felt, how much he needed you, how right this moment was.  

But just below the tender words, you could feel the weight of everything left unsaid. The weight of the love you shared, the pain, the misunderstandings – the endless cycle of pushing and pulling, hiding and revealing. And as his body pressed closer to yours, as his lips lingered on your skin, you realized that this, for all its imperfections, was the only truth you and Alastor had left. A truth buried in the way he held you, in the way you couldn’t let him go, even when you knew you probably should.  

Slow languid kisses mingled with the heat radiating from his body, his hard length pressing insistently against you, grinding you in a steady rhythm. Each motion sent an addicting pulse of need through you, until the blunt tip of him nudged against your slick folds.  

“Darling,” he murmured, the words drenched in need as his lips found yours once more, dragging the kiss out as he slowly sank into your warmth, his voice trembling as he repeated, “my darling.” 

The sharp gasp that escaped your lips seemed to be all he needed, a soft moan slipping from you as he fully sheathed himself inside you, stretching you, filling you, pressing against every tender nerve. You clenched around him, your body naturally responding to the feel of him, and he shuddered, his breath quickening as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. There, hidden from your gaze, he could allow himself to be bare, raw, vulnerable – away from the performance, the masks.  

His hips rolled in slow, deliberate motions, the wet, intimate sounds of your bodies coming together filling the small, dimly lit space. The hardness of the wooden wall at your back contrasted with the softness of his touch, his hands gripping your hips, your fingers tangling in his hair as you held him close. Each slow thrust was a burst of sensation, your nerves alight with every deep, lingering stroke, every inch of his dragging along your sensitive walls. 

“Alastor,” you moaned softly, his name slipping from your lips as if in prayer, and you felt his body tense, his hips pausing mid-thrust. His breath ragged as his red eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw him – truly saw him.  

The trickery, the menace, the lies – all gone. In its place was something fragile, something real.  

Are we still okay? 

His eyes, wide and searching, asked the silent question, his gaze never leaving yours.  

Do you still love me? 

The soft brush of his fingers as they tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the tender way he touched you, begged for an answer he couldn’t bring himself to voice.  

Will you stay with me? 

The kiss he pressed to your lips was slow, pleading, as if asking for more than just the physical – asking you to give him reassurance.  

Tears welled in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the weight of it all. Tightening your hold around him, you slowly moved along his length, a moan catching in his throat as you took control, your body guiding his. The motion elicited a sharp hiss from him, the intensity of your choice, your desire, giving him all the permission he needed to abandon his restraint.  

His pace quickened, the cold metal buckle of his belt grazing your inner thigh as he began to thrust with more urgency, his hips pistoning into you, driving as deep as his can. The pressure against your swollen clit with his hips sent shocks of pleasure through you.  

His breath came in short, ragged gasps as he lost rhythm, the intensity overtaking him, his body seeking yours with increasing desperation. Each thrust drove him deeper, harder, the friction, the closeness pushing you both toward the edge. Your own breath stuttered, your muscles tightening, your abdomen clenching as your release built, the pleasure mounting with every stroke, every brush of his hips against your throbbing core.  

Your orgasm hit first, tearing through you with a force that left you breathless, a small cry slipping from your lips as your body trembled in his arms. Your fingers gripped the back of his jacket, holding on as your walls fluttered around him, pulling him deeper into your pleasure.  

Alastor’s moan followed, guttural and raw, his hips stuttering to a halt before resuming their slow, deliberate thrusts, each one sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you as he spilled into you, the warmth of his release filing you in hot, pulsing bursts.  

He slowed, each thrust dragging out the last moments of bliss, his cock throbbing inside you as he emptied himself completely, your name slipping from his lips in a breathless moan. His arms tightened around you, pulling you close, his forehead pressing against yours as he held you there. His chest rose and fell with the effort of his breathing.  

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your shared breaths, mingling in the quiet. No words were spoken, no conversations ventured into the unresolved matters that still hung heavy between you. In this small, stolen moment, it was only the two of you, lost in the aftermath of passion.  

You two were held together by something far deeper than the words you could never quite say.  

As he slowly withdrew from you, the heat of him still lingering inside, you felt the absence keenly—the slow, sticky glide of his cock slipping free, slick with the evidence of your union. His release, warm and thick, trailed down your thighs in lazy rivulets, a tangible reminder of the intimacy you had just shared. But even as your body still hummed with the aftershocks, there was a heaviness in your chest that clashed with the physical satisfaction. 

He gently tilted your chin, his fingers warm yet commanding, urging you to meet his gaze. And when you did, you saw it again—the familiar mask sliding effortlessly back into place. 

The trickster’s grin. 

“Well, I suppose I must whisk you away to my ship tonight, darling,” he teased, voice playful, yet it didn’t quite reach the depths of his eyes. Leaning down, he kissed you lightly, a fleeting brush of lips, more teasing than tender. “You will warm my bed tonight, right, darling?” 

Your head swam, still fogged from the orgasm that left your knees weak, the faint haze of alcohol mixing with the ache of something unsaid. His words were playful, light, but they didn’t settle right in your heart. They rang hollow, echoing against the unspoken truth between you. You opened your mouth, ready to ask the question that ate away at your heart. 

How much longer must we play this act, Alastor? 

The words formed, heavy and desperate, but they never made it past your lips. Instead, something else took over. The familiar script. The comfort of pretending. You rose onto your toes, closing the space between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that tasted too sweet for the bitterness welling inside. It was soft, tender, and yet... it was a kiss laced with unshed tears, a quiet plea neither of you would ever voice. 

And as his arms wrapped around you, as his lips moved against yours with practised ease, you felt it—how easy it was for both of you to slip back into your roles. To hide behind the costumes, the masks. His touch was warm, grounding, but the distance between your hearts felt greater than ever. 

It seemed you and he still weren’t ready to shed the costumes after all. 

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[steddie-island]

Tender Headed

I saw this post by @mothofmyth and couldn't stop myself. I hope this does your idea justice. ❤️ ao3 | Divider by @cafekitsune

Someone else was standing at Steve’s usual station, instead of his usual girl. 

It wasn’t a girl at all. 

“Hey! Do you have an appointment?” not-regular-stylist asked.

“No– yes? I, uh– I have a standing appointment. With Kayla?” Steve brushed his fingers through his hair and looked around at the otherwise empty salon. 

He’d been looking forward to this for weeks, practically since the end of his last appointment. The thought of having to cancel, of having to reschedule because she was out sick or something– it made Steve’s skin feel too tight, itchy.

It made tears prick at his eyes like this was a bigger deal than just a stupid haircut. 

Which. Okay, maybe it was for him, but it’s not like any of the stylists, like this stranger , needed to know that. 

“Are you okay, man?”

Steve blinked, bringing the man back into focus again. He was pretty, with long curls piled up on top of his head and a delicate black hoop hanging from his septum. His cut off sleeves showed the ink decorating his arms and disappearing under the fabric. 

He had to shake himself to bring the man’s voice back, to stop ogling him. 

“--won’t be back for a few months,” he was explaining. 

“What?” Steve knew this guy probably thought he was an idiot, but his mind was thick and sticky and nothing this guy was saying was sticking. 

“Early maternity leave,” he said again, patiently. “I’m Eddie, I’m taking her station over while she’s gone.” He gestured to the empty salon again. “I don’t have any appointments right now, if you’re cool with a substitute…” 

Steve almost turned around, but there was something about the wide brown eyes that fixed on him that made him stay. 

“I… sure. Yeah.” It wasn’t like he was that attached to his hair anyway. Yeah, he wanted it to look good, but not to the point that everyone else thought he did. 

It wasn’t about the haircut. 

He followed Eddie back to the washing station. Even though this was a stranger who was going to be taking care of him, Steve still felt a shiver go through him as he got situated. 

There were a few clinks, metal against ceramic. Steve tipped his head back enough to see Eddie removing several chunky rings and placing them in a little dish. A towel was rolled up carefully and placed beneath his neck. 

“Tell me if this is too much.” 

The water was cool, which Steve was prepared for. What he wasn’t prepared for was the way those long delicate fingers touched him. Kayla was gentle, but it was nothing like this. 

The way Eddie scrubbed so carefully at his scalp made Steve melt. Each fingertip was so deliberate in its movements, in the way his hair was gathered back and brushed out of his face. Eddie’s fingers trailed over his ear and Steve had to bite his lip. 

Maybe this was too much, but he couldn’t stop it. 

He’d never been handled like this. No one had ever touched him like he was a delicate, breakable thing. Sure, he cuddled with Robin. He got to hug the kids, and Joyce, and Claudia.

But this was… something else. 

Eddie wasn’t getting anything out of this– not the same way everyone else got something, like, paying him for his service was different, right? 

Steve was going to see it as that, anyway. He imagined Eddie wasn’t touching him like this because he was getting a big tip from it. 

He imagined that Eddie was brushing water off of his forehead with a knuckle because he just wanted to know what the skin felt like there. Those calloused fingers were tucking the hair behind his ears because he wanted to study the curve of his tragus– maybe wondering what Steve would look like with a hoop there, like the one in his own ear. 

Eddie’s thumb was wiping away water from his cheeks because he wanted to know if Steve’s cheeks were rough with stubble or not, and not because this was just a professional courtesy.

Only maybe this wasn’t a professional courtesy. 

Because it wasn’t just water that Eddie had sprayed on him. Steve was fucking crying . 

He wanted to run, but before he could even get up Eddie was putting a damp hand on his shoulder. 

“Stay. You’re okay.” Eddie’s voice was a low rumble that Steve wanted to hide in. “I’ve got you, big boy.” 

How was Steve supposed to not listen to that? He settled back into the chair and let Eddie rinse away the shampoo. Then those nimble hands were working the conditioner into his hair just as gently. The touches were a little more solid now, though. Eddie’s fingers grazed his neck, touched his cheek, wiped more tears from his cheeks. 

“You’re not the only person who comes in here for this.” Steve couldn’t even find the words to ask if he was that transparent. It wasn’t like the crying couldn’t have been from him being tender headed, or from the water being too hot. He was too focused on Eddie speaking to him to try to make excuses for himself. 

Eddie’s voice was soft and low. It was comforting, and it wasn’t hard for Steve to imagine how he would sound if he were singing, the way the words would wrap around him. Would it make him feel the same way he felt with his hair wrapped around Eddie’s hands? 

He was in the shampoo chair for three times as long as he normally would be. Eddie took his time with the conditioner and gave it extra time to sit. He was just as thorough about rinsing it, then about working a smoothing serum through his strands. 

By the time Eddie was wrapping Steve’s hair loosely in a towel and sitting him up, Steve was feeling lighter than he’d felt in months. He figured he should have felt raw and vulnerable, and there was a little bit of that, but Eddie’s presence was calming. Maybe it was the way he chattered as he started working on Steve’s hair. He talked about other customers, about his uncle, about how he’d been doing his own hair for years. He even brought up the time he’d burnt his hair with bleach so bad he’d had to give himself a buzzcut, because that was better than the spongy mess he’d left himself with. 

Steve started opening up, too, by the time Eddie was drying and styling his hair. He talked about his own worst haircut, about the time Robin had let him bleach her hair and she had ended up with a streak of green in her hair instead of blue. At least it had been cute, though. 

Eddie spritzed Steve’s hair once… twice… a third and then a fourth time before smiling at their reflections in the mirror. This close, and without tears in his eyes, Steve could see the dimples in his cheeks. 

“What do you think?” Eddie brushed his fingers over the ends of Steve’s hair, then dropped a hand to let the weight of it rest against his shoulder. 

“I think it’s great.” Steve smiled back at him. It looked the same as it did when Kayla had worked on it, but he’d never looked this good before. Maybe it was the cut, or maybe it was just the way Eddie had put something bright back into his eyes. 

Steve pulled his card out to pay but Eddie refused. 

“I think we both needed today,” he’d said before smiling and sliding his card across the counter. “I hope you come back and see me sometime, Stevie. I’m happy to take care of you anytime.” 

Normally Steve might take that as flirting– and maybe it was, the way Eddie’s dimples popped even more and his eyes really sparkled under the light. It wasn’t just flirting, though, and that made warmth blossom in Steve’s chest. 

“Yeah, man. Definitely.” Steve tucked the card away and turned for the door. “Actually…” He looked back at Eddie, who had picked up the broom. “Do you maybe want to get a drink after work?” 

Eddie’s grin was bright. “Hell yeah. Why do you think I didn’t charge you?” he teased. “I get off in an hour.”

Steve laughed with him. “Cool. I’ll see you in an hour, then.” 

---

As it turned out, Steve didn’t need to come back in an hour because he hadn’t left yet. He was still there, helping Eddie clean things up. They talked about the kids Steve babysat, and Eddie pointed out that maybe it was okay for him to just say they were hanging out, because fifteen and sixteen year olds didn’t tend to need babysitters anymore. 

They picked up food in Eddie’s van, and they drove to the quarry to eat sitting in the back of it, with the doors open and two milkshakes between them. 

When they shared their first kiss that night it tasted like salt and fake strawberries. They parted ways with plans to see each other again the next day.  

Maybe it was okay that Steve didn’t have a standing appointment with his usual stylist anymore.