#looks like it's pretty mild but still oh my god this sucks

[insipid-drivel]

I got copper heavy metal poisoning for the holidays

I thought it was the flu but noooope, Alter-Personality Alex figured out it was my copper water bottle and chucked it out for me once I'd passed out

Be careful about where you source copper-lined water bottles from, kids

[ohsc]

₊˚⊹♡ mean | sam winchester x reader

requested - heyy could u make a sam x reader thing where he fucks rlly roughly but he’s really sweet during aftercare bc the idea that sam is rough during but sweet after makes me weak in the knees🫠🙏 (anon)

a/n - this is. probably the most filthy thing i’ve written. it’s just filthy smut. with a hint of sweetheart sam at the end. i need him so bad it’s not funny. still working on my longer plot fics but i wanted to get this out today to get back into writing!! hopefully you enjoy :) would very much appreciate feedback! <3

cws - fem!reader, 2.4k, nsfw 18+, meandom!sam turned soft!sam, oral f!recieving, praise, very mild choking, condescending words, p in v, mild overstimulation, tears, aftercare, fluff

other fics can be found on my masterlist

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

She was convinced that Sam’s mouth was a whole new kind of heaven.

He’d already made her cum once with his mouth alone, large hands pressed into the plush of her thighs to keep them spread, her hips stilled, which were twitching with every sweep of his tongue. He was skilled, drawing the pleasure out of her like it was nothing. Sam had easily spent fifteen minutes down there, eating her out like a starved man, like it was all he wanted.

And she didn’t know how she was still breathing. There was a relief that ran through her that Dean and Castiel weren’t in the bunker that night, because even though they were shut away in the privacy of their room, she was sure that she would’ve been heard. Sam had been pulling noises out of her all night, obscene lewd sounds that she would’ve been embarrassed about being heard if it wasn’t Sam with her.

He always made sure that as much as he made her feel, none of it was embarrassment.

His tongue flattened against her, licking a stripe up between her folds until he pressed against her clit and she shuddered, a horribly whiny sound pushed from her lungs when he closed his lips around the bead and sucked, like he was trying to pull the life out of her. Her hips jolted, unable to go anywhere as he had her pinned down, and she was practically seeing stars as Sam worked down there. She wondered if he was even breathing.

“Sam- oh my god—” She whimpered, hissed in a breath when he licked back down to her entrance and his nose nudged against her clit, stomach clenching as she reached her hands down to grasp onto his hair, fingers curled into the soft strands.

And then he pulled away.

His hands left her thighs as his mouth left her, but she didn’t have time to whine her complaints at the loss of sensation as his long fingers curled around her wrists, yanked her hands out of his hair. “What did I say, huh?” The tone of voice made her pussy clench around nothing. “Hands to yourself. You’re pretty bad at listening, baby.”

Sam shifted over her, his face over hers as he pushed her wrists down onto the pillows above her head, and she almost squirmed when she saw the look in his eyes, the way his lips were wet with her.

“Are you listening?” He squeezed her wrists as a reminder, and her eyes quickly flickered back up to his eyes. “Do I need to tie you up, or will you keep these here for me?” She knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do it. Sam could be such a soft lover — he’d kiss every inch of her skin, whisper praises and compliments, tell her he loved her a thousand times as he made love to her. But he could also be like this, mean and demanding as he fucked her silly over and over. She wasn’t sure which she liked more.

“I’ll keep them there.” She breathed out, her voice still a little too whiny. He’d gotten her so close to cumming again, the lack of stimulation was driving her crazy, her cunt throbbed as she stared up at him.

“Oh yeah?” Sam narrowed his eyes like he didn’t believe her, and let go of one of her wrists to take both into one of his large hands. Her eyes left his face to follow his second as it dipped down between them, fingering at the waistband of his boxers, until she heard a sharp, “eyes on me.”

Her gaze quickly flickered back up to his face. “See? You can be good sometimes, can’t you?” Sam cooed, boardering on condescending, as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her mouth, allowing her to taste herself. “You just need some reminding, don’t you, sweetheart? Get so lost in that pretty little head of yours when I’m making you feel so good.”

She’d been so distracted by watching his face, head spinning with his words, that she didn’t realise that he’d freed himself from his boxers until she felt the head of his cock nudging between her folds, gliding easily against her with the slick and spit collected there, and she mewled at the feeling, eyes squeezed shut as he nudged at her clit.

“Eyes open,” his hands left her wrists — which she knew now to keep still — and his fingers splayed across her jaw, squeezing unkindly until she looked up again. “Don’t make me tell you again. You wanna be good for me, don’t you?”

She nodded dumbly, sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth as he rubbed her clit with his cock. Teasing her. “Mhm, I will.”

“You will?” Sam gave her jaw one more squeeze, just for good measure, before he wrapped his fingers around the bare skin of her throat. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t put any pressure, just held her, but the threat was there. The head of his cock rested up against her slickened entrance as his head dipped down, lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “what’s your colour?”

They had a pretty rigid safe word system set out — it was something he went over with her every time they had sex, especially like this, when he was mean and grabby and knew that she wouldn’t like it every time. If she so much whispered the word red he’d be up and off of her before she could blink.

But all that left her words was a whiny, “Green, please Sammy.”

She felt his lips curve up against her ear as he smirked. “Good girl.”

Without warning he pushed into her and she sucked in a sharp breath, her own fingers grabbed at each other in an attempt to keep her hands still, and she shoved a breath out of her throat. He’d worked her open with his fingers when he’d been settled down between her legs, but she still felt the stretch, the burn as he settled his cock deep inside of her, and for a moment she had to remember to breathe back in.

“Fuck honey,” he grunted in her ear, fingers gripped her throat just slightly tighter, still only enough for her to feel pressure. “So tight for me, baby. Can barely take it, huh?”

He pulled back before he rutted back inside and she whimpered, squeezing her own fingers together so tightly so she didn’t break his rule. Needing to hold onto him somehow, though, her thighs clamped harshly around his hips, already trembly from the first orgasm he’d pulled from her.

He thrust in again, and again, and again, and soon she saw stars, gasping and whimpering with every drag of his cock against her gummy walls, pleasure rippling through her in waves that made her stomach clench, her cunt clamped down so tightly around him it was a wonder he could move at all.

“So noisy baby,” he crooned on a particular harsh thrust that made her whine, fingers a little tighter around her throat. “Can’t help yourself, can you?” He huffed with another thrust. “Need me to do all the work, hm? Greedy—” he grunted, “greedy girl.”

It took an embarrassingly short time for her to get close again. Sam was fucking her with determination, grunted every time he pushed himself back in, the head of his cock nudged the soft spongey spot inside of her that made her shudder again and again and again until she was a mess beneath him, lewd wet sounds accompanying her whimpers with each shift of his hips, her pussy fluttering around the stretch of his girth.

He didn’t slow down, didn’t ease up, didn’t give her a breather. She was close to tears by the time she was almost there, already sensitive from her first orgasm.

She clenched around him and his fingers, in turn, tightened on the sides of her throat. She trusted him, she knew he wouldn’t push it too far. Just enough for her to feel a little dizzy, for the bliss to wash over her like a high.

“Sam- mm- Sammy—” She was practically blabbering as her eyes filled with tears, gasping with each thrust, each smack of his hips against hers.

“Oh honey,” he cooed, condescending, mean. “Too much, hm? Need something?”

His hand loosened on her throat and she inhaled a little shakily.

“Please—” she whined, blinking through tears up at him. She didn’t miss the flicker in his eyes as the tears dribbled down her cheeks, but she knew that he knew she’d tell him if it was too much. It had happened before, neither of them messed around when it came to their safe words.

“Please what, huh?” He thrust in harshly and she groaned, cunt fluttering, so close— “Ah-ah, not yet. Don’t you need to ask me something, dolly?” He squeezed her throat once. “You remember what happens if you cum without asking, don’t you?”

Of course she did. The week prior she’d cum too soon, and he spent the next what felt like hours edging her, too skilled with his fingers, words too filthy that they made her head spin. He’d made such a mess of her that she hadn’t been able to even get up off of the bed for a little while after he finally let her cum.

“Mhm, mm, yeah—” she inhaled shakily, whining, thighs clamped tighter around his hips. “Please- please can I- please let me—” she groaned.

“Let you what?” He was dragging it out, the fucker, grunting into her ear as he leaned down over her, pushed his cock so deep her vision almost whitened out. “Tell me, honey. Use those words for me, c’mon.”

The tears were bubbling over faster, rolling down her flushed cheeks. “Let me cum, baby, please.”

“Asking so nicely,” he grunted, pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear. “How can I say no to something so pretty, hm? ‘Course you can, baby, go ahead.”

It wasn’t his words that did it for her, but the hand that snuck between them and pressed down on her stomach, the press of his cock suddenly so much more delicious that she almost fucking fainted.

She came with a breathless whine, hips jerked as she finally gasped a breath and whined again, her cunt throbbed around his cock as he kept pumping, rode her through it entirely. Her head tipped back, his mouth on her neck as her eyes squeezed shut, colours danced on the inside of her eyelids, her own little fireworks display.

Sam came shortly after, groaned into her ear in a way that almost made her cum again, and he rutted into her a few more times before he stopped, warmth spreading through her as he panted against her shoulder.

“Fuck,” he huffed, his own chest heaved, brushing against her bare skin. “Oh sweetheart.” The shift in his demeanour was palpable, soft kisses immediately littered across her shoulder and collarbone, palms flattened to smooth over her sweat-dampened skin. He could be so mean in the moment, so dominating and controlling that he left her a fucking mess underneath him, but afterwards? He’d probably feed her grapes and fan her if she asked him to.

She was still gasping for breath, head spinning, and when she knew she wouldn’t be told off for it her hands lifted, immediately clung to his warm shoulders. She loved the way his shoulders felt underneath her touch, muscles rippling with every movement.

Sam kissed up her throat and jaw before he landed on her mouth, and he kissed her slowly, huffed breaths into each other's mouths as he licked between her lips, sweeped behind her top teeth, their lips both wet with spit.

By the time he had pulled away, he’d so thoroughly kissed her that she almost had her breath back.

“You okay?” His voice was so soft it was like there was an entirely different person on top of her compared to five minutes prior. His hand left her throat, smoothed upwards and cupped her jaw. She felt him thumb away tears that had fallen, some clung to her eyelashes, somewhat cool against her hot and flushed skin.

She nodded as she stroked her fingertips along his shoulders with her fingertips, like she’d committed him to memory. She had.

“Hey,” he lightly tapped her cheekbone with his thumb. “Need words, honey.”

She couldn’t help her smile. He was so caring she sometimes wanted to cry. “M’okay,” she whispered, voice soft like she’d shared a secret. “Really good. You’re so good, Sammy.” She praised, tilted her head to kiss his wrist, and he smiled and blushed like he hadn’t just been the one to fuck the life out of her.

“Says you,” Sam leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You’re perfect. Love you,” another kiss. “Love you so much.”

She smiled so much her cheeks hurt. “Love you too.”

Sam smiled too, that soft smile that made his dimples peek out, eyes crinkled at the corners, and he stroked her cheekbone again. “M’gonna pull out, okay?”

Only when she nodded did he shift, slowly pulled his hips back until she was empty, until all she could feel was the wetness coated between her thighs.

“Christ, made a mess of you,” he murmured, not in the condescending tone from before, instead something closer to admiration. “You’re so pretty when you cum, y’know that?”

She blushed, hard, and shrugged as her cheek dipped to meet her shoulder.

Sam laughed, rolled his eyes as he leaned in and kissed her again. “Don’t get all shy on me now.”

She was still blushing when he helped her sit up, fingers delicately curled around her elbows to pull her upright, her back also damp with sweat. They’d need to change the sheets.

“Two options,” Sam murmured as he gently stroked hair away that was stuck to her forehead, baby hairs that clung to her temples. “We take a shower and let me wash your hair and then go get food, or you let me run you a bath and you wait there looking all pretty for me while I get you something we can eat in there so I can dote on you.”

“You just wanna wash my hair huh?”

Sam smiled. “Guilty.”

Her fingers found his, intertwined with a squeeze. “Bath sounds nice,” she eventually settled on. “As long as you don’t take too long in the kitchen. I’ll miss you.”

He was laughing when he pressed another kiss to her mouth. “Of course. Promise to not take too long, okay?”

She giggled and nodded, smiled against his mouth when he kissed her again. “Okay.”

[strangerstilinski]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐭. 𝟒 — 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; 𝘯𝘰 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺/𝘯, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘷𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹 (𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵), 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘺, 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨?, (𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦)

minors/ageless blogs please DNI.

REBLOGS are important. please reblog to share/save.

| 𝐩𝐭. 𝟏 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟑 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟒 |

“Stop squirming around, would you?” Stiles huffs in frustration from behind you.

He's been like this for an hour, sitting between your spread legs, long fingers groping and rubbing and kneading at the doughy flesh of your backside. It had started out innocent enough, his restless hands gravitating to your ass while you'd been sprawled on your belly getting some reading done for one of your courses, but he'd gotten increasingly more distracting as time went on.

His hands had eventually slipped beneath the revealing cut of your sleep shorts to touch bare skin, calloused fingers dragging over soft flesh and the thin cotton of your underwear. Rather than simply sitting criss-cross between your thighs, he's upgraded to laying on his stomach, one arm curled beneath your leg so he can prop his chin on one of your thighs while his fingers continue to squeeze and massage.

He was right, you had begun to squirm. It was getting incredibly difficult to ignore the heat that his attention was causing to pool between your thighs.

“Since when are you an ass man, anyway?” You question as you finally give up on reading all together, trying and failing to peek over your shoulder to get a good look at him, “You've always been more of a boob guy.”

“I resent that,” Stiles is quick to defend, the pad of his thumb tracing the crease where your ass meets your thigh, “I like your ass just as much as I love your tits.”

You can't quite hold back a scoff at the blatant dishonesty and he's quick to correct himself.

“-alright, maybe I favor your tits a little, but- Oh my god, will you sit still?” Stiles snaps in mild irritation when your thighs try to clench instinctively but are unable to do so given the person currently wedged between them.

“What are you even doing back there?” You ask, voice thankfully only sounding a little affected, “You know, aside from admiring my ass and groping me.”

Your hips shift a little against the mattress and you know just by the brief moment of silence before his response comes that Stiles has noticed.

“Why?” He seemingly perks up in interest, voice pitching in a self-satisfied little drawl. His thumb dips between your thighs while he tightens his palm around you again and the digit comes achingly close to brushing against the wet patch you know has formed in the crotch of your panties, “'s'it workin' you up?’’ He questions eagerly.

“Yes.” You huff and squirm again, but there's a sharp sting on the meat of your ass, a hard pinch that makes you yelp in surprise and pain, “Did- Did you just bite me?” You ask in breathless incredulity.

Another painful pinch to your skin is the only response you receive. Stiles gives the flesh a hard suck before releasing it from his mouth and this time you're pushing up with one hand when you look over your shoulder, eyes roaming over his mischievous little grin, his full pink lips, the way that his fingers have tugged the fabric of your shorts up over the curve of your asscheek to display the evidence left behind.

“Jesus christ. Stiles! Look at what you did, what the hell-”

He looks annoyingly smug as his thumb drags over the place where his teeth have carved little indents into your skin, one of them already threatening to darken into a bruise where he'd sucked a hickey into the flesh.

“I dunno, I think it looks pretty fuckin' good.” He grins, exuding cool nonchalance right up until you catch the way that his hips roll down against the mattress to provide a little relief to his stiff cock.

“If you wanted to work me up, you could've just left a few marks on my thighs and gone down on me,” You flip your textbook closed with a huff, “Y'know, if you wanna get a little territorial or whatever. 's fine, it's hot, but there are much better ways to mark me up-”

His hand comes down on your ass in a light slap and you give him a half-hearted grumble about that not being what you meant, but he's already putting more pressure on his hand as he pushes up, and then his weight is gone completely.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t actually mean that one-” He apologizes as he tumbles from the bed in a mess of long limbs.

“What-” You start to roll onto your side to watch him, but the shout he sends over his shoulder as he digs through a drawer at his desk has you freezing.

“Don't move! Alright? I mean it!”

You settle back onto your stomach dutifully, propped up on your elbows as your gaze leaves his frantic search to re-open your textbook with a sigh, “What are you doing now? What're you even looking for?”

“You'll see. Now, quiet.”

His admonishment meets your ears sounding oddly garbled, like he's trying to speak around something in his mouth, and you make to turn toward him in curiosity, but he's already climbing back in between your thighs and giving your right asscheek a light slap in reprimand for moving. He tugs your shorts and underwear down your legs in one go and you can't help but crane your neck now, but the moment your torso twists to get a better look, he firmly pushes your hips back down onto the mattress, a wide palm spreading out over your skin to hold you in place.

Your heart pounds in excited anticipation at the feeling of your lower half being exposed while he's still fully clothed. Again, you try to clench your thighs together for just the little bit of friction the action normally provides, but there's not much relief with the way Stiles has you spread around him.

Something soft and cool meets your recently exposed skin, the texture difficult to place as it drags smoothly across the roundness of your backside.

“What's that?” You question, fighting the urge to wriggle in response to the peculiar feeling.

“Marker.” Stiles says easily, his voice taking on that edge it gets when he's focusing hard on something.

A soft snort of amusement leaves you as your palms fall to brace on the glossy pages of your textbook, “You're drawing on my ass?”

“Not.. Exactly..” He mumbles distractedly.

Another huff falls from your lips as the cap of the marker gives the telltale little click that indicates he's finished with his mysterious artwork, “Sti, seriously-”

A quiet groan cuts you off, the sound of it familiar and wholly erotic as it rumbles up his throat.

“Christ.. Fuckin' look at you..” Stiles groans, the pads of his fingers tracing over the ink on your skin.

You nearly shiver, goosebumps threatening to pebble along your skin in response to the gentle brush of his fingers across your ass. You make to ask him a question — to please just touch you where you want him, to tell you what he's drawn on your skin, to let you turn around so you can climb into his lap and devour him — but he's speaking again before you can form more than the garbled beginning of an ‘um-’.

“God, it is insane how hot that is,” Stiles grumbles as he dips down and his mouth finds the meat of your asscheek again, biting down softly this time and giving a small suck to the skin that has you nearly writhing, your fingernails scraping across the glossy pages of your textbook. His lips release you with a pop and his thumbs find the crease of your backside, spreading you and giving another little groan at the sight of your cunt shining with arousal. “Shit, I really was working you up, huh, baby? So fuckin' wet right now.”

“You've been groping me for the past thirty minutes,” Your assessment comes out a little breathless, an embarrassingly weak sounding thing, “What were you expec- ohh.. Ho-oh my-”

You're interrupted when he sinks a finger inside of you without preamble, pumping only twice before another joins the first and stretches you a little harder. It's an all-too easy glide, two of his long fingers pumping within your walls in smooth strokes with the aid of just how wet you truly are.

“Well shit, I'm sorry, babe,” Stiles says, genuine apology in his words that are dripping in an aroused sort of surprise, “Didn't mean to leave you hanging, and on our anniversary no less. If I'd known you were wound this tight I would've fucked you twenty minutes ago.”

The innocence in how he says it contrasts sharply with the actual filth spilling from his mouth and it has you reeling a bit, your ass pitching up and spine arching just a little to better the angle of his hand. You're so focused on the drag of his knuckles against your sensitive walls that you almost miss what he'd said beforehand.

“Wh-ah.. Wha'd you say?” You gasp, “Our annivers-uh!- 'versary?”

There's a sharp smack as he slaps the unmarked cheek of your rear, his lips pressing a quick kiss to soothe the warmed flesh before speaking, “Cannot believe you don't know that today marks six months since we started doing this-”

This, of course referring to the addictive situationship you've both found yourself in behind closed doors, in secret from the pack consisting of your friends and family, behind your brother's back.

“-You're gonna hurt my feelings, sweetheart, honestly.”

“Didn't.. Didn't realize.” You pant, a keening exclamation of ‘oh my god’ slipping past your lips when you feel Stiles push a third finger into your entrance, the stretch sending your eyes rolling back and your mouth dropping open with a keening whine.

“And to think,” Stiles starts slowly, his voice rumbling with clear arousal in his throat. There's a lewd squelch as his fingers drive in and out of your soaking cunt, a breathy moan punched out of your lungs when his fingers curl to reach that spot that makes your brain turn to mush. “To think I was gonna be so good t'you later. Was gonna let my girl ride my face for as long as she wanted, longer than she wanted probably, if we're bein' realistic-”

“Fuck..” His words have you moaning high and wrecked and unashamed. Stiles twists his fingers as he pulls them out and then thrusts back in, wide knuckles pulling a keening whine from you. “Please, fuck, Sti-”

“What's wrong baby? My fingers aren't good enough for you?” His voice is dripping with that teasing lilt that makes you weak in the knees. Right now, it makes you lift your hips from the mattress just a little bit more.

“So unfair-” You gasp.

“Unfair?” Stiles repeats in a slow drawl, “Baby, no offense but I'm the one rockin' a painfully neglected hard on right now,” His fingers push in to the third knuckle, his hand driving in so deep that it has a pleasurable ache building between your thighs. “Meanwhile, you've got three fingers stretching you out. Seems like you got it pretty good, to me. What more could you want, huh?”

His fingers are heaven, and he knows exactly how to use them, knows exactly where to aim and how hard and fast you like it, but you still need more. He's not touching you enough. His fingers in your cunt and his weight between your thighs isn't nearly enough to satisfy the need building up and twisting tight in your belly. You want his weight to crush you into the mattress, need his cock to give you that extra stretch that his fingers can't, need his sweat on your skin and his hands on your breasts-

“Please,” You whimper again, “Babe, please, c'mon, need you inside me.”

You probably should've been expecting the easy snark that spills from his mouth in response.

“I am inside you.” He replies all too smartly, repeatedly rubbing that tender spot on your inner wall until tears actually prickle at your eyes, a sharp sort of pleasure burning in your gut.

“Stiles.” You demand desperately.

Your pleading seems to finally break his resolve and his mouth finds the heated skin on the back of your thigh. He places a small kiss to the curve of your ass, then the dimples at the base of your spine. His lips make a slow trail up, small kisses left behind on his journey to the curve of your neck. Stiles pulls your hair to the side and leans in to taste your exposed skin, his fingers finally slipping from your cunt so that he can pull you up onto your knees, your back falling against his chest as you both sit up.

“Wha'd'you need, babe, huh?” Stiles murmurs the question over the shell of your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine as it fans out over your overheated skin, “You know I'll give you whatever you want.”

He holds you to his chest with one arm locked around your waist. His right hand leaves a scorching trail across your tummy on its way to your cunt, fingers dipping between your dripping folds and collecting a bit of your arousal before moving back up to circle your sensitive clit. The glide of his fingers is slick and intoxicating, a breathy gasp leaving your lips as your head falls back onto his shoulder.

“This all you wanted?” Stiles asks, voice a whisper against your skin, “Just wanted me to play with your clit? Is that all?”

You shake your head, brows furrowing and hips bucking into his touch.

“No?” He questions, lips finding the spot just behind your ear, “What'd'you need then, babe? You gotta tell me.”

One of your hands reaches back to grab the back of his thigh, fingers coming into contact with the soft material of his lounge pants as you tug his hips to yours. You can feel the length of his erection pressing into you through the thin layers of his clothing, his cock warm and stiff where it presses into the curve of your ass.

“Need.. Need you t'fuck me,” You pant, his fingers already so close to pulling an orgasm from you as he continues to play with your clit, “God, please, Stiles. I want you inside, please, please-”

“How 'bout you come for me and then I'll let you have it, huh?” He murmurs against your skin, his hips bucking forward into yours in a teasing thrust as the euphoric heat beneath your skin spreads further. “You're close, aren't you?”

A pathetic whimpered excuse of a ‘yes’ slips past your parted lips, your free hand reaching back as well to grab ahold of the back of his neck. Your grip is tight as your climax begins to crest, fingernails digging into the top of his spine as a wanton moan is forced from your throat.

“Just gimme one now and I promise I'll fuck another one outta you, okay? Come on-”

You come so hard that your legs give out, the arm Stiles still has curled around your waist forced to tighten to keep you against his chest, his bicep bulging as he supports your weight through the throes of your orgasm. His fingers slow against your clit as you come down before stopping all together, his slick hand sliding up to rub soft along your tummy as you pant in exertion.

He gives you a moment to recover, but you're still breathing heavily by the time he presses a kiss to your cheek and urges you down on all fours. You assume the position easily, resting on your elbows with your sweaty forehead stuck against the pages of the textbook still spread out on the bed. Stiles strips down as your heart rate struggles to slow, the mattress moving under his weight a few times before the warmth of his body settles behind you again.

“You good, baby?” He checks softly, one wide palm running up the length of your spine to rub at your shoulder.

“'m good, 'm good, just hurry up.” You plead, arching your back when his hand trails back down. His thumb and forefinger pinch your backside, an effective reminder of the ink he'd stained your skin with, “Never told me what you drew on my ass.” You laugh quietly, wiggling your hips in the hopes of enticing him into picking up the pace of things.

“Oh,” Stiles chuckles, thumbnail dragging over the ink as he grabs ahold of his cock and guides the head through your slick folds, “Wrote my name.”

Your responding laugh comes out in a breathy burst of air as he teases your entrance, pressing the tip in only to pull back and run it along the length of your wet cunt again.

“My.. My ass says ‘Stiles’?” You question through a body-wracking shudder when he teases his tip at your entrance again, pressing in just far enough for you to feel the stretch of his fat cock before he's pulling out all over again, the head bumping your swollen clit on the next pass through your folds.

“Stiles? No way, babe. I went full-name for this one. Mark-h.. ohh..” He stutters through his words the next time he presses in, letting the first couple of inches push into the tight heat of your cunt, “Marked my property accordingly n' all that.”

You swallow down a moan as the head of his cock drags against your sensitive walls, already fluttering around his length as your fingers fist the bedspread in a white-knuckled grip.

“Oh, fuck off,” You gasp in mild incredulity, “Your property?” You bite back, though the thought of the image admittedly prompts a swarm of butterflies in your tummy.

“Mhm,” Stiles hums a little breathlessly as his restraint wavers, pushing in another inch or so as his grip on your hip tightens, “Don't act like you don't think it's super hot. My name marked on your skin-”

“Shut up,” You scoff weakly, “I do not.. Don't think it's hot.”

“Sure, babe,” Stiles agrees condescendingly, “Wanna write yours on my ass after we're done? Equality n' all that.”

“Somehow, I'm not sure having McCall scrawled across your ass cheek is gonna have the same effect, even if it's got my name in front of it.” You manage before rocking your hips back to force more of his cock in.

“Fine, fine,” Stiles huffs, “But don't say I didn't offer-”

“God, will you just shut up and fuck me alread-”

You're effectively cut off when Stiles drives all the way in with a hard thrust, a loud moan tearing from your throat.

“Better?” Stiles asks, already breathing a little heavy as he sets a punishing pace, the sound of skin slapping skin with each smack of his hairy thighs against the smooth backs of your own.

“Yeah. Yeah, fuck, like that-” You cry out in whimpered praise, “Harder. Sti, please, need it, harder.”

His only response is a groan as he pounds into you with redoubled effort, the thick head of his cock hitting your cervix in a hard jolt with each thrust.

It doesn't take long for you to begin to fall apart all over again, Stiles' fingernails biting into the skin at your hips as he tugs you back down onto his cock again and again.

“Feel so fucking good.” Stiles groans as you fuck yourself back in time with his thrusts.

A gasp tears past your lips when he slips an arm underneath you and drags you up until your back is flush with his sweaty chest again, the angle of his cock changing just enough to have you letting out a drawn out moan.

Your thighs settle on either side of his as he continues to pound up into you and then his hand is finding your face, forcing your head to the side so that he can draw you into a heated kiss. Your hand ensnares his wrist to hold Stiles' in place on your jaw, his fingers pressing into the sensitive spot beneath your ear as your mouths work in a sloppy mess of tongues and teeth and hot breaths.

His sweat-slicked forehead drops against yours, his cock managing to hit all of the right places as his thrusts slow slightly, each one a slow drag against your sensitive walls.

“God, you.. You look so fuckin' pretty like this.” Stiles tells you with another lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth.

The white-hot flame in your gut has you trembling in his arms and you reach back to tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, the soft strands trapped in an iron-tight grip as your back arches, your own head falling back against the curve of his shoulder.

“Stiles-” You whimper desperately, fingers tightening impossibly further around his sweat-damp hair.

He pants into your mouth, each of his slow, deep thrusts prompting obscene sounds from the place where the two of you are joined.

“You close, babe?” He asks breathlessly as he tries to hold off his own steadily approaching end, “God, I need you t'come. Need more? Need me to touch you, baby?” He questions in a rasp, ever attentive and desperate to please you as he always is.

Before you can even respond, he's already switching the placement of his hands on your body so that he can drop his right one down to cup your heat. His big hand finds the wetness between your thighs, fingers zeroing in on your clit with the sort of effortless precision that can only come from months intimacy, from hours upon hours spent learning every inch of your body, studying your reactions to his touch with a hyper-focussed intensity that was just so Stiles.

You cry out at the feeling of his fingers rubbing you with practiced movements, his cock driving against that spot inside of you only a handful more times before you're bearing down on him, mind whiting out with the toe-curling euphoria that takes over your body. The shaky moans that Stiles pushes from your lips as he keeps fucking into you are something that you'd be horrified to hear come from your own mouth if you had the brain capacity to process them through the fog of your orgasm — but as it is, they tumble from your throat freely, your body trembling against the tight cocoon of Stiles' arms curled around your ribs as he supports your weight.

Your ears are only just beginning to hear sounds beyond the high-pitched ringing brought on by the strength of your climax when Stiles' thrusts begin to falter. The jerky slap of his hips against the backs of your thighs, his heavy breaths into the curve of your neck.

His fingers find where yours are still tangled in his hair and he tries to pry your grip away, “Baby, baby 'm gonna come,” Stiles moans in warning, “Wanna come on your ass. Please. Please, baby, I wanna-”

You pitch forward easily, dropping onto your elbows with shaking arms and arching your back enticingly for him. Stiles groans loud at the sight, the sound of it getting caught in his throat as he pulls out and begins to jerk his cock in earnest. Lewd, slick noises fill the room over the sounds of your labored breathing, the wetness that coats him aiding the smooth drag of skin on skin as he fucks into his fist with a gut twisting sort of desperation.

With a little wiggle of your hips, you encourage him despite still being a little breathless, “Come on, Sti, give it to me. Paint it right there on your name-”

“'m gonna,” He promises in a weak groan, the fingers of his free hand biting into the plush flesh at your hip with a bruising grip, “Gonna fuckin'.. Shit, 'm gonna put it right there. Gonna.. Gonna mark my girl up so.. So fucking good. Fuck.. Fuck, I love you. Loveyouloveyouloveyou, I'm, shit, 'm coming-”

Your mind is reeling a little bit in the wake of his lust-fueled admission, the dull beat of your heart echoing with his words as the warmth of his come meets your skin, dripping down the curve of your ass in thick ropes.

Stiles plasters himself to your back as he catches his breath, entirely uncaring of the mess of bodily fluids between you as lays down on the bed and pulls you into his chest. His breath falls against the sweat-slicked skin of your neck in warm puffs while his voice rings in your ears still — the memory of those words, the wrecked rasp of them slipping past his lips.

Loveyouloveyouloveyou.

I love you.

You twist around in his arms, late-afternoon sunlight coming in through his bedroom window displaying the pink flush that lingers on his mole-speckled cheeks. Your head drops against the pillow currently underneath his own while your knee pushes between his hairy thighs, brown eyes finding yours, Stiles' gaze soft and sated.

“I love you too.” You whisper through the nerves twisting in your stomach.

A wide array of emotions flicker across his face, initial confusion quickly melting away into a relieved sort of surprise.

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes, wide palm coming up to cover your jaw. His thumb swipes the apple of your cheek with smooth strokes and his eyes flick quick between yours, his lips pulling into a grin that dimples cutely in his cheek, “I can't believe I- Shit. No, I do though, I.. I love you.”

“I love you.” You repeat in a daze, fingertips tracing idle circles through the dark patch of hair at the center of his chest.

“Does that mean you're gonna let me do this again when my name eventually washes off?” He asks with a mischievous little grin that makes your insides twist warmly, his brows jumping up his forehead playfully.

“You're an annoyingly territorial little shit, y'know that?” You laugh softly before your brows are drawing together in slow confusion, “Wait. Wha'd'you mean eventually? Why'd you say it like that?”

“Well, y'know, I used a sharpie, so-”

“You used a permanent marker?” You repeat incredulously, pinching his skin between your thumb and forefinger a little meanly as your nose scrunches up, “Such a dickhead.”

Stiles gives you a grin that spreads wide across his face until you can see those very same perfectly straight teeth that have left bruising love bites into the soft flesh on your backside. He dips his head and his lips find yours, the salty tang of the sweat clinging to his upper lip meeting your tongue as he speaks into your mouth with easy confidence.

“You're totally gonna let me do it again.”

And well.. He's probably not wrong.

𝐚𝐧; 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧.. 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬.. 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡. 🥴

𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲! 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭!!

REBLOGS are so important.

please have the curtesy to reblog to share/save your fave fics.

[wreckedandpolemic]

what baking can do - matty healy

(mdni) in which you try your hand at baking for your husband, but he comes home early and ruins you the surprise. part of the white and gold universe and promptober75 2024. 2922 words

warnings: unprotected sex, slight degradation, praise, mild dumbification, breeding kink, slight cumplay, a very inappropriate use for whipped cream lol

You’re humming to yourself, singing along to the song playing tinnily out of your phone’s speakers when Matty comes home. “Oh! Hi,” you gasp, setting the mixing bowl down on the kitchen counter so you can fold yourself happily into his arms. “Is it six already? I must’ve lost track of time.”

Matty kisses the top of your head, pulling you close with a relieved little sigh. “Hi, gorgeous. Nah, it’s just gone five, my last meeting got cancelled. Had a fucking shitter of a day, though,” he adds, cool palms cupping your cheeks as he leans down to kiss you.

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry. Are you feeling alright?” you say, eagerly returning his kiss, long and sloppy with tired affection.

He smiles, wandering a hand down to grab your ass. “I am now. Can’t stay mad with you around,” he adds, eyes liquid with an adoration that turns your heart to mush. “What are you making?” he asks, hooking his thumbs into the strings of your apron to hold you close.

“Pumpkin pie,” you grin, dipping your finger into the filling and holding it up to his lips. “Was supposed to be just out of the oven when you got home,” you add with a teasing little pout. Matty wraps his lips around your finger, sucking delicately and flicking his tongue in a way that’s deliberately reminiscent of how he teases your clit.

He releases your fingers with a lewd little pop and smirks down at you. “So sweet,” he says, and you can’t tell if he means the pie filling or you, but you’re inclined towards the latter. “God, I’m so lucky,” he murmurs. “Comin’ home to my gorgeous wife cooking for me, lookin’ like this?” His fingers toy with the hem of your little lace skirt, barely longer than your apron, and brush against your thigh.

You shiver, swatting him away with a smile. “Behave, or I’ll never get this finished.”

Matty shrugs, now fiddling with the top of your stocking, snapping the strap of your garter belt (okay, maybe you got yourself a little dolled up in the hopes he’d come home in this mood) against your skin. “I can live with that.”

Squirming, you carefully extricate his hand before he starts touching you properly and your mind melts. “Let me finish cooking, and you can do whatever you want while it’s in the oven, okay, Daddy?” you smirk, savouring his choked little inhale at the epithet.

Blunt nails dig into your hips, the heat of Matty’s body soaking into yours as he presses against you. “Alright, princess,” he says, stepping away as you reach up for a pair of wine glasses. “You need any help?”

You shake your head, retrieving two bottles of wine; malbec for him and rosé for you, and pour two healthy glasses. “No. Just relax and look pretty for me, okay?” you grin, taking a long sip of your wine and gazing lovingly into Matty’s eyes as he does the same.

Dumping the can of pumpkin purée into the bowl, you stir it through carefully, suddenly conscious of Matty watching you. “What?” Matty laughs, cupping your cheeks and pressing his forehead against yours.

“I can feel you watching me,” you whine, pressing your legs together when he catches your lips in a slick, messy kiss. “Stop it,” you giggle when you break apart. “I’ll never get done if you keep kissing me like that.”

Matty’s lips fall to your neck. “Like I said, princess, I can live with that.”

You roll your eyes teasingly. “You’re always telling me to be patient. S’your turn,” you pout, letting him steal one more sweet kiss before you back away to retrieve the heavy cream from the fridge. Matty’s still watching you as you cook, smiling and sipping wine and occasionally handing you spices to stir into the pie filling.

He comes up behind you as you bend to put the pie into the oven, grabbing your waist and grinding his hips against yours. “Finally,” he groans, spinning you around and untying your apron in one swift movement. “Thought you were tryin’ to break some kind of record for the longest time spent on one fucking pie,” he teases.

“Longest case of blue balls suffered by a thirty-six year old man, more like,” you retort, and he pinches your ass in response.

“Don’t be a smartarse,” Matty says, an edge of dominance tracing lightly over his tone.

You moan into his mouth as his hand slides up your skirt. “You love my ass,” you tease, lifting your apron and letting it slide to the floor. Greedily, Matty paws at your tits through your top as you kiss at his jaw and let his stubble brush your lips. He whines softly when you break away and waltz up to the fridge, confused until his eyes catch on the cool canister in your hands. “Got it for the pie, but I don’t see why we can’t open it now.”

Setting the can down, you hop up onto the kitchen table and let Matty pull your top over your head. He leans down to kiss your tits where they spill out of your bra, unhooking the garment and tossing it away somewhere over his shoulder. He picks up the can of whipped cream, presses it against your neck just to make you shiver. “Gonna make you even sweeter,” he grins, popping the lid open.

You groan. “That was awful. Don’t know why I let you have sex with me.”

“‘Cause you love me,” Matty teases in an echo of your earlier words, presses the nozzle of the can against your sensitive skin. He sprays the cream across the top of your tits, and you gasp at the coolness. “Jesus,” he mutters, pulling back a little just to stare as it starts to melt. “You’re a walking wet dream, you know that?”

His tongue runs sandpaper-rough over your skin as he laps up the cream, and you giggle and squirm under his attention. “Daddy,” you whine playfully, threading your hands into his hair as he kisses and licks at your nipple. He pulls back, eyes gleaming wickedly, and shrugs off his jacket.

Gently, Matty presses your body back against the table. “Lay down for me, princess,” he murmurs, tracing gently around the curve of your boob with one hand and sliding his jacket under your head with the other. “Good girl,” he praises, trailing featherlight touches over your hips and waist, your muscles tensing with need. “So pretty,” Matty coos, drawing a sticky line from the valley of your chest down to your waistband.

You writhe under him as he runs his tongue along your body, hands at your hips pinning you still. He looks up at you with lust-blown eyes and presses a kiss just below your belly button, laps at the skin there, laughs softly when you wrap your legs around him. “Please,” you breathe, your cunt pulsing with need. You don’t even know what you’re begging for, just melting into a desperate little puddle in Matty’s hands.

“You want me to take you to bed, sweet girl?” Nodding frantically, you reach for him and tug him in by the collar, teeth clacking together as you kiss him, deep and frenzied. “C’mere, darling, hold on,” he says, scooping you up and letting you bury your head in his neck and breathe deep as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“You smell good,” you mutter, half-dazed with lust and the blunt pain of Matty’s nails digging into your ass. A happy sigh escapes you as you fall on top of the sheets, your hands instinctively falling to pull off your skirt and panties in one motion. Matty watches you greedily, his own shirt now discarded on your bedroom floor, his familiar tattoos exposed for your viewing pleasure. “Need you,” you whine, spreading your legs to give him space to kneel between them as he tugs off his suit trousers.

Brushing a stray piece of hair out of your eyes, Matty leans down to plant a soft, affectionate kiss to your lips. “How do you want me, princess?”

“Please fuck me,” you murmur, mouth watering at the sight of his cock, flushed and dripping and beautiful. “Need you inside me, Daddy, please.” Your head swims, already picturing it so clearly you can almost feel him deep inside you, a sudden daze of thick lust enveloping you.

The memory of him buried in your ass swims to the forefront of your mind, then of his dick so far down your throat you could barely breathe, of his cum splashing on your tits. “What are you thinking about, angel? Y’miles away,” Matty says, palms rubbing circles over your body as he teases your hole with the tip of his cock.

You grin, a filthy, sleazy thing you know you’ve learnt from him. “Was thinking about you fucking my ass, Daddy,” you say as innocently as you can. He swears under his breath, mutters soft, filthy words that can’t seem to stick in your head as Matty draws slow circles over your clit and pleasure seeps stickily into your bloodstream.

“You ready for me, princess? You want Daddy to fill up this pretty, sweet cunt?” Matty coos. Jaw slack, you nod, arching desperately up towards him. “Yeah, that’s my good girl,” he says, pushing into you in one fluid motion and groaning as he bottoms out.

Whining, you clench your cunt around him, sinking your nails into the smooth, bare skin of his back. “Stay like this,” you moan. “Please. Just for a minute. I need to feel you.” Matty groans, buries his head in your neck, murmurs perfect girl into your skin. You stretch, pleasure coiling in your belly, moaning happily and luxuriating in the feeling. Pressing a hand to your stomach, you gasp as you feel his cock buried deep inside you.

Grabbing Matty’s hand, you rest it in the same spot, smiling stupidly up at him. “Shit,” he breathes. “I’m in your fucking guts, princess, fuck,” he groans, cock twitching inside you as he fights to stay still and not thrust messily into you. The vulgar words wash over you, dripping between your legs and grinding what was left of your brain into dust. “Such a good little slut for your Daddy, yeah? Always take my cock so well, baby. Y’look so pretty full of me, wish i could keep you all cockdrunk and happy like this all the time.” Long, calloused fingers trace over your cheek, electricity sparking between your skin.

“You feel so good,” you groan, rocking your hips up against his. “I almost don’t even wanna fuck, feels that good just like this. Almost,” you giggle, locking your legs around Matty’s waist to urge him to move.

He starts a slow, sweet pace, eyes wide with adoration as your own roll back in your head. “That’s my good little girl,” he murmurs, rolling his hips and filling you impossibly deep. “Always so pretty for me, love fucking you like this, princess.” Matty leans down, catches your lips in a messy, spit-slick kiss, moans lowly into your mouth. Gasping, his name falls from your lips in a needy whine. “Sweet, dumb little girl,” he coos, pouting down at you. “Can you open up for Daddy, baby?”

Obediently, your jaw falls open, letting Matty spit in your mouth and swallowing greedily before he even has a chance to tell you. The sticky slide down your throat makes you grin dazedly, and you clench around Matty’s cock as he keeps fucking into you. He kisses down your neck, sucks a little bruise into your collarbone as you moan into the air between you. His lips wrap around your nipple and he sucks greedily, his moan a visceral thing that rolls over you. “Perfect fucking tits,” he groans, burying his head between them and kissing at your soft skin. “Perfect cunt, perfect body, perfect fucking girl.”

Thick, calloused fingers trail down your body, a burst of dizzying pleasure coursing up your spine when they find your clit. “Daddy, please,” you whine, rolling your hips up to meet him. Ecstasy floods your body, your cunt pulsing around Matty as you writhe under him.

“Please what, princess?” he teases, rubbing tight little circles into your sensitive nerves. “You gotta tell Daddy what you want, yeah?” You whine, pouting up at him until he kisses you, moaning happily when his tongue sweeps greedily into your mouth. “You wanna cum for me, darling?”

Nodding helplessly, you arch up towards him. “Yeah. Please. Need you to make me cum, Daddy, wanna make you cum, want you to make me yours, fuck,” you whine, pleasure coiling tight in your belly. Matty slams into you so hard you can barely breathe, rough pace utterly foreign from the gentle, sweet smile on his face.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Whenever you’re ready, princess.” Pure, molten desire drips down your spine, pooling between your hips and dripping out onto the mattress. Matty kisses your neck, pinching your clit harshly and hitting your g-spot in the same split-second, and you’re fucking gone. You wail his name, echoing off the walls as your cunt pulses around him and ecstasy hammers between your legs. Eyes rolling back in your head, you ride it out, helpless under Matty’s deep thrusts.

An overstimulated whine falls from your mouth as Matty slumps on top of you, slack lips finding yours as he groans through his orgasm. “Fuck, so fuckin’ good, princess. Takin’ Daddy’s cum so well, darling, that’s it,” he moans, lifting his fingers, still wet with you, to his lips and sucking pornographically. “Taste so good, baby,” Matty sighs.

Pouting as Matty pulls out, you curl into his arms, sweaty and sated. “Love you. M’sorry you had a shitty day,” you say, giggling as he presses a kiss against your forehead.

He grins down at you. “Love, if you think I give a shit about what happened at the fucking office anymore…” Matty teases, tracing his fingers over your hips and wandering his hand down to your ass. “Y’so fucking beautiful, baby. Always take me so well, look so good full of my cum. Drive me fuckin’ crazy, pretty girl.”

Matty’s fingers are skating over your swollen, messy cunt, and you catch his lips in a sloppy kiss as desire drips out over his hand. “You can finger it back into me. I know you want to. Keep me nice and full, make sure I’m knocked up, yeah?” you breathe against his lips. 

“Jesus, princess,” Matty murmurs, slowly filling you with two thick fingers. “Such a little cumslut, god. Y’love Daddy’s cum, huh?” Nodding helplessly, you let a wave of pleasure overtake you, riding it out until you regain the strength to speak.

“Mhmm. But… m’serious, too.” Matty makes a soft, curious noise. “I wanna have your baby. Not right now, but… soon,” you murmur, biting your lip in trepidation at your confession.

Matty’s lips part in awe, eyes shining like you hung the moon. “God, every time I think you couldn’t get more perfect,” he groans, burying his head in your neck and sucking a harsh bruise into the skin there. “Are you sure?” he adds, rubbing softly over your belly like he’s imagining it already.

You whine as his thumb swipes over your sensitive clit, your cunt throbbing around his fingers. “Yeah. M’gonna— fuck— gonna come off the pill, n’you— shit, Daddy, please— can just keep makin’ sure I’m nice and full of you, yeah?” Ecstasy is pooling at the base of your spine, Matty’s pace slow and insistent, fucking his cum so deep inside you that it won’t drip out.

His fingers curl up, brush your g-spot, and you wail, the burst of glowing pleasure that ripples through you bone-shakingly intense. “Is that the spot, princess?” Matty teases. You gasp out something that must be an intelligible yes, because he grins down at you. “Good girl. Pretty, perfect girl. You wanna cum for Daddy, baby?”

“Please,” you whine, arching up as he crooks his fingers again and that same, mind-numbing pleasure washes over you. A few more slow thrusts and a long, messy, spit-slick kiss are all it takes to topple over the edge, a wail of Daddy spilling from your lips as euphoria floods your body. Your mind goes blank, your vision whiting out; all you can feel is Matty. His breath on your lips, his fingers still buried deep inside you, the heat of his body tangled up with yours.

A sleazy little grin paints Matty’s lips when you come to, and you stretch up to kiss it off. He lifts his fingers, still slick with both of you, to your face, gently prises your mouth open. You suck them into your mouth happily, swirling your tongue and moaning at the heady taste. “Good?” he teases.

“Try for yourself,” you giggle, rolling on top of him to press your mouth against his, licking greedily into his mouth as he takes your jaw in his palms. Panting and slightly dizzy from the lack of oxygen, you break away, curling up against him and resting your head against his chest. Your eyes slip closed as Matty traces gentle patterns on your shoulder and his heart thumps steadily, soothingly in your ear.

The sound of your smoke alarm screeching wildly snaps you out of your daze as Matty sits bolt upright. “The fucking pie!”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. “Shit.”

[shinestarhwaa]

APHRODITE || PARK SEONGHWA

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Bf! Seonghwa x fem reader

Word count: 2K

Tags/warnings: use of aphrodisiacs* (in the form of chocolate tablets), rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up!!), oral sex, fingering, vulgar language, needy sub!Hwa, mommy kink (mommy!reader), a LOT of cum, praise, degrading, spanking, dacryphilia, use of toys, mild choking, orgasm denial, squirting

*aphrodisiacs are foods/supplements(?) that boost your arousal, make you hornier and stuff like that, you can look it up online for more info because this might be false, be careful using them!

@anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @star1117-archives @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @lemonhongjoong

ENJOY!

"Y/N~ Come in here, nowwww? Pleaaase?" You heard Seonghwa's voice coming from the kitchen.

You rushed to the kitchen, wondering what was going on. You found Seonghwa on the counter with the special tablets you bought. He wasn't supposed to find them just yet.

"Seonghwa..." you gasped. "I-I wasn't sure what it was, I thought it was just chocolate, I-"

"How many did you take, Hwa?" You said, wide eyed at the sight of Seonghwa's squirming body and hard cock straining against the material of his jeans.

"Two...?" He said carefully. "Hwa, you're supposed to each take a half, oh God, how are you-"

"Please, please I need you, I need you!" Seonghwa said, jumping off the counter. He held your hands and pulled you closer. "Seonghwa, I-"

"No, no you're gonna let me, okay? Cause I have to get this out, I am gonna go crazy here."

"Let me at least take a half to spice myself up, you don't wanna stick your cock in me, dry," you sighed. Seonghwa whined at the uncomfortable feeling as he watched you take half a tablet.

"I'm gonna finish the laundry, I'll be back in 10 minutes, go to the bedroom babe," you assured him. Seonghwa nodded and ran off immediately.

After finishing your laundry you went into the bedroom, finding Seonghwa naked, his red angry cock standing against his stomach as he tried to rut on a bodypillow he bought a while ago.

"Oh?" You smirked, walking in. You could feel the aphrodisiac starting to kick in. You took off your clothes as you walked closer to your boyfriend.

"S-sorry, couldn't wait, it hurts," Seonghwa whined out. "Okay baby, okay, it's okay I'm gonna help you out." You said, stroking his cheek softly. You took the pillow away and laid him on his back.

"I'm gonna suck your cock now baby, okay? Gonna make my little prince feel good."

Seonghwa nodded eagerly and held onto the sheets as you lowered your face to his crotch. Before you even could take him in your mouth his hips already bucked up, thrusting his cock in your mouth.

You held his hips tightly, pushing him down and making him whine. You lightly sucked on the tip of his length. Seonghwa's breathing was heavy and he couldn't stay still just by how insanely horny he was.

"M-mommy, fuck!" He moaned out loud. "Mommy, mommy!"

You massaged his balls as you felt his cock pulsate in your mouth, painting your throat white with cum. Normally you would give him permission for cumming but you knew that if he took 2 whole tablets he could never contain himself.

As you swallowed his cum you got off his cock, licking your lips. "I'm s-sorry mommy I cou-" You couldn't help but chuckle. "It's okay sweetheart, mommy is going to take care of you," you smiled, "but you're gonna make mommy cum too, right?"

Seonghwa nodded eagerly and laid properly on his back. You smirked as you sat above him, aligning your pussy with his lips. "Are you ready, prince?"

"Y-yes, please give me your pussy, n-need your pretty pussy!" Your boyfriend begged. You smirked and sat down on his face, as Seonghwa told you to never hover. He wants you on him, he wants to be crushed, as he said.

You felt Seonghwa's tongue lick your wet slit, his hands grabbing onto your hips. You moaned out Seonghwa's name when his tongue landed on your clit. "That's it baby, lick mommy's clit... that's a good boy."

You rocked your hips forward, riding his tongue. His nose brushed against your clit, making you shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin. ''That's a good boy, yeah, fuck that tongue in mommy's cunt!'' you cried out. You pushed your cunt down, as much as you could, forcing him to be absorbed between your thighs.

Beads of sweat started to roll down your forehead, the heat of the room and the arousal inside you made an insane combination of pleasure. Your brain was hazy and your vision nearly went blurry as you felt your climax build up. Seonghwa's tongue left you breathless as you came undone on it, shaking and shuddering as he helped you through your orgasm.

A rosy flush rested on Seonghwa's cheeks when he looked you in the eyes as you got off his face. The mixture of spit and cum on his lips nearly made you cum again, nearly made you drool out of lust. You stood up, gesturing him to do the same. Seonghwa got up and looked at you with lustful eyes.

He felt like he was going to overflow with arousal, he was going to burst. He had to have you. Now. He lifted you up and pressed you against the wall, sticking his hard cock inside you.

''H-Hwa!'' you protested, but it was too late. He had you in his embrace and he rutted into you at a rapid pace, completely making you melt in his arms. ''H-Hwa, stop, bad bo-boy! N-N ah!'' But Seonghwa didn't stop. He kept on fucking into you, moaning out your name.

Your moans were whiny and loud, g-spot being stimulated like crazy. You pleaded, what for, you did not know. But you pleaded, for him. Seonghwa didn't seem to hear anything, continuously fucking himself into you.

He thrusted and thrusted, harder each time. Seonghwa sucked in breath through his teeth as he poured himself into you, filling your pussy up. He let out a loud moan as he did, immediately feeling the guilt as he saw your face.

''P-Put me down, Hwa,'' you said shakily. Seonghwa put you back down and looked down. ''I-I'm sorry, I couldn't hold ba-'' ''Nonsense. Bend over.'' you ordered him. Seonghwa nodded and bend over the window frame, taking in the view of the beautiful city.

You stood behind him, taking a deep breath, trying to recover from what just happened. ''Bad boy... You know better.'' A hard slap landed on his right asscheek, making him whine loudly. ''Oh you don't get to whine. You'll fucking take what mommy gives to you... Am I understood, prince?''

''Y-Yes, mommy, I'm sorry, spank me,'' he whined out. You rolled your eyes as you forced to contain your smirk. You spanked him until his legs and arms started to shake. When he stood up and turned around you saw the tears on his cheeks.

You licked your lips as you pushed him on the bed. Looking through the drawers of your nightstand, you found the pretty pink bullet vibrator he liked. You pulled it out of the drawer and moved closer to Seonghwa, who immediately spread his legs. Your boyfriend knew better than to test your patience now.

You poured a little lube on the vibrator before sliding it in his puckering, awaiting hole, turning it on on the lowest setting. He moaned softly at the feeling of the light buzzing. ''O-Oh god,'' he whined.

You hovered above him and guided his cock into your wet core. He moaned out as you started to bounce on his cock, until he was startled by the hand on his throat. ''M-Mommy, please!'' he begged you. ''What is it baby? Are you scared? Mommy's just gonna learn you a little lesson, hm? Taking two tablets... Grabbing mommy and fucking her without permission...,'' you scoffed, ''It's like you don't know how to behave anymore.''

''N-No I do! I know h-how to be a good boy,'' he moaned out as he watched his cock disappear into your body. You rolled your hips into his as you moaned out, lightly pressing your hand down on Seonghwa's throat. ''O-Oh, mommy,'' he whined, tears spilling from his eyes. ''Good, let mommy see those pretty tears now.''

Seonghwa's muscles were tightening, showing you he was so close to his release, again. ''Gonna cum again? That's a bit unfair, isn't it, sweetie? Isn't mommy supposed to be cumming?''

''Y-Yes, mommy, please cum, y-you look so pretty when you cum! C-Cum, cum, please, cum, cum,'' he cried out. His pleads, his tears and you riding his cock had you arching your back, eyes rolling back, shockwaves ripping through your body as you came.

Before Seonghwa could release inside of you, you stopped and lifted yourself off him. ''M-Mommy...'' he whined softly. You moved to the foot of the bed, laying on your back and spreading your legs for him. His eyes lit up as he moved closer to you.

Seonghwa burried his cock inside your abused cunt again, moaning at the feeling. ''You are not gonna cum until I tell you to. You already came, okay?'' you ordered him. Seonghwa nodded as he thrusted into you roughly. ''Good boy, goo-od boy, fuck my pussy, harder, harder,'' you panted out.

His hips snapped into yours, the sound of his balls and skin slapping together filled the room. Soon enough his hips started to stutter and you glared at him. ''Don't you fucking dare, Hwa, you're not gonna cum, keep on fucking mommy's pussy, earn it, earn this fucking pussy,'' you panted out.

''M-Mommy so good!'' ''Y-Yes baby, mommy's pussy is so good for you, fuck it, fuck it like the fucking prince you are, you're doing so well for me, baby!''

Seonghwa whined loudly, tears still flowing over his cheeks as he rutted into you at a brutal pace. You couldn't help but scream his name loudly as you felt your next orgasm creep up on you. The coiling tension became more present and you dug your nails into Seonghwa's shoulders.

''C-Cumming baby, m-mommy's cumming!'' you moaned out. ''Y-Yes, mommy! M-Mommy please cum for me, m-mommy, mommy, mommy!''

You came undone on his cock, your orgasm hitting you hard. Seonghwa rode out your orgasm and pulled out of you. You threw your head back, hanging over the edge of the bed as you panted for a little while.

When you regained your breath you got up again and made sure to turn Seonghwa's vibrator up to the highest setting. He whined loudy, body shuddering as he came untouched over the sheets.

''You're such a naughty boy...'' you sighed. Seonghwa immediately came closer to you, nuzzling his face between your breasts. ''I am so sorry, I cannot hold back, it's too much!'' he cried. He stayed hard no matter what, so you guessed the aphrodisiacs worked very well on him.

''Never eat two whole ones again okay?'' ''Yes, yes, never!'' ''Because mommy will get tired eventually and you cannot touch yourself. You're gonna deal with it if you stay hard when mommy's done.'' Seonghwa nodded and lapped at your nipples, making you whine softly. ''One more time then, Hwa, okay?''

His eyes were shining, head nodding so eagerly you almost laughed. You sat in his lap, chests pressed together as you rode his leaking cock. The arousal from before was still coating his lips and his skin was sweaty.

Seonghwa's hips snapped up, fucking into your pussy. You screamed out his name, holding onto his shoulders tightly. Your tits bounced up and down as you bounced on his long member. Your body was quavering, the pleasure becoming too much, for the both of you.

''Okay baby, cum for mommy now, you can cum for mommy,'' you breathed out. You sucked in a sharp breath when you saw Seonghwa's body shake. ''Y-Yes, mommy, gonna cum! Gonna pump you full of my fucking cum, g-gonna-'' He soon filled you again, his cum drizzling out of your pussy.

You couldn't hold it anymore either, orgasming on Seonghwa's cock and squirting around him, coating his abdomen in your messy arousal. Your pussy walls clenched around his dick as you rode out your orgasms, whining out shards of each others names.

Feeling his cock slightly soften this time, you lifted yourself from his cock and took out his vibrator. The two of you layed in each others embrace for the rest of the night, messy and completely spent from the most intense sex you ever had.

Maybe eating two tablets wasn't that bad...

[froizetta]

WIP Wednesday: Procrastination Edition

I told myself I'd work on (Love) Triangles this week, but instead I decided to impulsively write most of a borderline-crack superbatlantern fic. I guess that's just where my life is right now.

Excerpt below from the first scene, in which Hal and friends discuss their suspicion that Superman and Batman are fucking. (NB: It's just Hal, no-one else really believes this. (He's totally right though.))

“So what is up with them? They having another fight or something?”

“A ‘strategic disagreement’, Batman would probably say,” Barry said. “But yeah. A big fight, about plans for the upcoming mission. Superman was doing the whole paternalistic disapproval thing where he was really mad but trying not to act like it. And Batman was being all snarly and growly and throwing insults at him. It was, uh. A little more vicious than normal, maybe.”

“Yeah,” Hal agreed. “And they kind of looked like they wanted to kiss the whole time.”

Barry turned to him, mouth agape. “Dude.”

“What! I just say it like I see it! Is that so wrong?”

“You keep bringing it up! Why are you so obsessed with this?”

“I’m not obsessed,” he corrected with a frown. “Like sure, it’d be hot and all—” at this Barry made a face of mild revulsion “—but it’s not about what I want. I just don’t get how you don’t see it.” He looked consideringly between Ollie and Barry. “Maybe it’s just straight guys being oblivious? Dinah gets it.”

Barry, for reasons Hal couldn’t parse, looked deeply offended by this. Dinah just shrugged. “I mean, I guess I see it, yeah. Although maybe I’m biased? Bruce’s yelling-at-Superman voice sounds a lot like his sex voice.”

“Oh my god,” said Hal, delighted, just as Barry said the same thing with a tinge of horror. Which Hal didn’t get at all; this was fucking gold.

“I keep forgetting you actually slept with Spooky,” Hal went on, leaning forward conspiratorially. “What was it like? Let me guess: weird and intense, like everything else he does? Ooh! Did he try to suck your blood at any point, or is that something he saves for the fainting damsels he takes to his castle?”

She smiled. “Sorry, Hal. I can’t tell you or Ollie will get weird about it.”

“It’s fine, pretty bird,” said Ollie, “tell them whatever you like! As long as you also tell me later. Privately.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

She jerked a thumb towards him. “See? Weird.”

“Aw, c’mon, Di! Look I’ll give you my cell number so you can just text it to me later. Ollie doesn’t have to know.”

“I definitely have to know,” Ollie corrected, eyebrows still waggling.

At that, Barry, who’d been looking increasingly uncomfortable throughout the whole conversation, finally snapped. “Ugh. What are we even talking about right now? Can we just move on, please?”

“Oh shit, Bar,” Hal said, “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting you’re a prude.”

“Jesus, Hal— It’s not prudish to not want to talk about our coworkers’ sex lives! Coworkers I respect. If anything, you guys are way too comfortable with it.”

Hal leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “I mean at this point, it’s not about the sex stuff for me so much as it’s a point of pride. They’re just so obviously horny for each other. I feel like everyone except Dinah is gaslighting me.”

“We’ve been over this, Hal,” Barry said tiredly. “People disagreeing with you isn’t gaslighting.”

“Whatever. Point is, I can’t move on with my life until I know for sure if I’m right or not.”

“You could, though, is the thing,” Barry said, now with an edge of desperation. “You could definitely move on. You could move on so easily.”

Ollie was watching this exchange with amusement. “So what, Hal, you wanna bet on it or something? Because I’d take those odds in a heartbeat.”

Hal snapped his fingers and threw him a triumphant grin. “Now you mention it? Yeah. A bet sounds like a great idea. You always have such great ideas. Have I ever told you you’re my favorite?”

Ollie grinned back. “Not often enough, I think.”

Dinah looked between them, frowning. “And how the hell are you ever gonna settle this either way? You’re gonna sneak up on Superman and Batman and catch them in the act? You?”

“What are you doubting me for?” Hal said, rising to his feet. “I’m the motherfucking Green Lantern. I’ll figure something out.” He held out his hand. “You’re on, Ollie. Fifty bucks says they’re doing the nasty on the reg.”

“Fifty?! That’s chump change. How about 500?”

Hal, who had $150 in his bank account last he checked, shrugged. “You can pay me that if I win, if that’s more interesting for you. But I’m still only paying you fifty if you win. We can’t all be billionaires.”

“Fine! Fifty,” Ollie said and clasped his hand in a firm handshake. “Actually, you know what? If it turns out they’re making out right now, I’ll actually give you that full 500 for free. How’s that?”

“This is so deeply inappropriate,” Barry muttered.

[velvetwyrme]

This may be a stupid question but why do you like transformers? They look cool and I see people posting about them and get jealous but I don't know if I could really get into it myself... anything you would recommend starting with?

Not a stupid question! But certainly an interesting one!! Unsurprisingly, I ended up talking a lot.

I like Transformers for a lot of reasons! Partially because well... I like robots and mechanical things, and by association, mecha! But the reason I ended up getting sucked in past admiring the designs was because of the characters.

I'm a character and story driven person more than anything, so when I realised "oh my god Transformers is more than big robots battling it out" (still cool but not compelling to me) I knew I was doomed. Like yes, it IS about their 4 million year long war, but it's also about interpersonal relationships and revolution and morality (and the lack of), and also kind of going "what if this really fucked up thing happened? what then?" and a whole lot more.

I also really enjoy the way characters are portrayed differently across continuities, because sometimes you get really different interpretations of characters and I think it's fascinating and fun. (This should surprise no one, considering I also like UT AUs. like. Yeah. LOL. Of course.)

Honestly I was kinda feeling the same way you described up until... April? This year? (... Crazy. It has felt like WAY longer rhdjfhdjbfd) where TF kinda existed in my periphery but I was just like. Mild about it. I had some friends who liked it so it crossed my dash from time to time but I was kinda like. Meh??

But then I started reading a lot of Transformers fanfic because it had some specific tropes I wanted to read, and got sucked in because I was doing a lot of googling so that I knew what characters looked like. And then googling to find out what the fuck was up with characters (why does everyone write the weird blue helicopter like this? Oh... he's just... Like that. Okay. I love him.)

I also just... enjoy learning lore and worldbuilding facts and HO BOY. TRANSFORMERS HAS A LOT OF THAT. also fanon. I am learning new things constantly and its GREAT.

As for places to start...

=======

I mean, there's a pretty good movie that just came out ;]]!! TF One is genuinely a decent place to start imo. Other than that... I think I've actually answered this before actually ndhfjdhfkf but I'll answer again! I like talking. Evidently.

Depending on whether you like reading or watching stuff, you have a VARIETY of options:

Transformers IDW (2005)/IDW1 (Comic): LONG comic series. Really really really good though. IDW does... kind of require a reading guide though, and I have some linked in this post (under the cut!)

Some people recommend you start at the fan favorite series, More Than Meets The Eye (MTMTE), which follows a crew of mechs that is set after the end of the war. Fun adventures in space! Totally all fun and nothing bad happens ever. Personally I wanted to know about the war and so I read. everything else leading up to it first, but MTMTE is (somewhat) self contained especially for the earlier stuff, so I do think it's possible to start there if you want to!

Transformers Skybound (Comic): This is the current ongoing comic series, which probably makes it a good jumping on point, but it's also... very sad. And violent! With very little downtime. If you like that then bam go for it though. It's pretty good imo! It's a great intro to some of the characters. (Like Shockwave :])

Transformers Prime (TV Series): Fan favorite! I like it a lot and one day I'll get around to actually watching it I swear. I really love some of the characters in this... also I got really obsessed with Soundwave from this series and that's what spurred me to get into TF. Except I also NEEDED to find out what the fuck was up with MTMTE characters so I went and read IDW instead.

Transformers Earthspark, (but specifically the first season apparently): I don't... know what's going on with the second season and I've heard very mixed reviews of S3. Apparently S1 is good though! It's ALSO set after the war, which means you get Optimus and Megatron being besties which is fun whdjfbdjfbfk,, I haven't watched this one either but from what I do know of it, it's a decent jumping on point.

Transformers Cyberverse (TV Series): This one is aimed at a younger audience and so it has Short Episodes but it's still a pretty fun time! I'm... still only partway through season 2, and I've heard Seasons 3 and 4 are really good LMAO

Other notable options: The G1 Cartoon, Transformers IDW (2019)/IDW2 (reboot of IDW1, got cut short though :[...)

Alternatively you can also take the route I took and just read fanfic like a lunatic until you eventually cave and just go "FINE. I'LL GET INTO TRANSFORMERS." If that's the case, tell me so I can bumo up my schedule for making the fic rec list that I've been meaning to make anyway.

ALSO. Did I also mention that pretty much all the TV series can be found for free on Youtube? Because they are. Which is crazy to me but I'm certainly not complaining >:)!!

[agentstovring]

Play the (Summer) Game

Title: Play the (Summer) Game

Pairing: Spencer/Tommy (Smosh)

Rating: M for Mature

Notes: I wrote this as a gift for the wonderful @blondeforyou because they've been an invaluable pillar of support as I've finally found my way back to writing.

You can also find this on Ao3

...

Spencer has no idea how long they’ve been sitting there. His phone ran out of juice at least two hours ago, so he can’t check the time, and Tommy’s phone is currently sitting in a bowl of rice back at the beach house. Between the beach and the pool, someone had to drop their phone in the water. He wonders for the umpteenth time why someone would bother building a pool for a beachfront property; but it was damn convenient for Smosh, so he can’t complain.

After all, what would Summer Games be without the bellyflop competition? It’d be pretty tough doing bellyflops into the ocean; if they hadn’t found that house, they would have had to shoot the games somewhere else, and they would have missed out on all the beach activities they added. The sandcastle competition; playing volleyball with a person-sized beach ball; the ice-cream scoop on a spoon race; he couldn’t wait to see the footage.

Also, more pertinently, if they hadn’t shot the games right by the beach, this potentially life altering moment might not have been so aesthetic.

The beach stretches out for miles on either side of the lifeguard tower, and the ocean is impossibly endless in front of them. They’re both sitting on the deck, leaning back against the pastel blue structure, squinting in the low light. The mild ocean breeze is soothing; it’s late summer in California and they’ve been filming in the scorching heat all day. Spencer inhales deeply, smelling their warm skin, a hint of sunscreen, and lukewarm hard cider from the half empty cans between them, courtesy of one of their sponsors.

As the sun is slowly setting into the water, they’re bathed in orange light, and he’s scared to look at Tommy for several reasons. One, because Tommy might simply be too beautiful in this light, and Spencer is already in too deep; and two, because neither of them has said anything in a while.

He’s building up the courage to speak as he watches a small group of sandpipers running back and forth alternately following the lapping waves and escaping them. One of them, smaller than the others, gets too brave and gives a startled jump when a splash of water grazes its tailfeathers.

“How long have you known?” Tommy asks finally, still looking straight ahead.

“That I’m bi? Or that I’m in love with you.”

Tommy sighs. He sounds tired but not upset. “I guess we’ll do them in order. When did you realize that you like guys? I’m kind of hoping it was earlier today, since you haven’t told me about it.”

“That’s-“

“That’s not fair, I know, I’m sorry.”

Spencer picks up a cider can and turns it in his hands. “I didn’t tell anyone. I thought about telling Courtney, but I didn’t know what to say. ‘I think I’m bi, help’?”

“That would be a start.”

“I wasn’t sure; and the conversation that would have to happen for me to be sure would involve telling her that I like you.”

Tommy shifts, rolling his shoulder until it gives a satisfying pop. The wooden deck is not exactly ergonomic, but something tells Spencer that the conversation will end permanently once they leave this spot. If he doesn’t get it all out now, he might never get the chance again.

“You could have just told her - or me - that you like guys,” Tommy says.

“I’m not a good liar.”

“Saying you like guys is a lie?”

“I only like you. And women.”

Tommy huffs out a laugh. “Women in general, and me. I’m gonna try real hard not to wonder what that says about me.”

“That you’re special?”

“Which brings us to the second question,” Tommy says, evading the compliment. “How long have you known that you- about me?”

“Since you and Kevin broke up and it made me really happy.”

Tommy snorts, breaking into giggles as he facepalms. “Oh my god, you suck so much..”

“It started way before then, but that’s when I realized; before that I didn’t know what I was feeling. I thought it was just.. I don’t know, confusing friend feelings. I’ve never liked a guy before, what was I supposed to think?”

Tommy looks up, frowning. “You’ve been in love before though.”

“Not like this. Never like this.”

Tommy’s face does something complicated, like he is physically unable to process just how serious Spencer is about this. Even on his best days, Tommy can be pretty insecure; when someone compliments him, his standard response is surprise or denial; an earnest declaration of love is probably breaking his brain a little.

“I’m sorry.”

Tommy frowns. “For what?”

“For not telling you sooner, or maybe for telling you at all. For feeling this way, I guess, I know I’m putting a lot on you.”

“You’re not- I mean, yes, you’re putting a lot on me, because we’re somehow finding ourselves in a situation where I have to be the responsible one. But don’t apologize for telling me, and definitely don’t be sorry for how you feel.”

The tab on the cider can finally gives in to Spencer’s continuous wiggling and pops off with a metallic ting. He put it in his pocket, setting the can aside. His brain catches up to Tommy’s words.

“What do you mean you have to be the responsible one?”

“Well, we can just rush into this; even if we weren’t coworkers, we’re friends, and that’s complicated enough.”

Spencer’s heart thumps harder in his chest and, as much as he tries to fight it, he can’t help but smile a little, soft and disbelieving. “You like me back?”

Tommy sighs, refusing to look at him. “No, no ‘back’; I like you; you think you like me. You don’t know for sure. No offense, I’m not trying to invalidate what you think you feel, but you can’t know for sure. If you’d had even one crush on a guy before-”

“Tommy.”

Tommy sighs again. This time he turns to Spencer, looking tortured. “If I believe you and we do this, and it turns out it really was confused friend feelings this whole time, where would that leave us?”

“With the same homoerotic friendship we’ve always had. Purer, if you think about it, because we’ll have explored all options and made an informed decision.”

Tommy narrows his eyes at him, smirking in mock derision. “You wanna get in my pants so bad, you’ll say anything.”

Spencer swallows. “Is it working?”

Tommy just looks at him for a moment, face unchanging. The seconds tick by. Finally, he picks up the cider cans and sets them both aside. He scoots closer until his arm brushes Spencer’s, and when he looks up their faces are inches apart.

“I need you to use your excellent communications skills,” Tommy says, voice lower now that they’re close. He leans in slowly. “I need you to tell me exactly what you feel, as you’re feeling it, so I can respond appropriately.”

Spencer leans in as well, blood rushing in his ears. “I’m taking mental notes. I’m gonna make you a.. PowerPoint presentation.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Tommy murmurs, closing the distance between them.

Tommy’s lips are soft and Spencer almost whines as he pulls away too quickly, having barely given Spencer a taste. Tommy snickers, sensing his frustration, and leans in again, placing a light hand on Spencer’s thigh. He lets the second kiss last as long as Spencer wants, pressing his mouth firmer against his. He makes a scandalized noise when Spencer slips him the tongue but gives in all the same.

His hand feels like it’s burning through Spencer’s shorts and Spencer moans softly into the kiss when Tommy tightens the grip slightly, getting carried away. When he finally pulls back to catch his breath, he doesn’t go far. He feels as dazed as Tommy looks, and he’s not ready for this to end.

Clearing his throat, he says, “I really don’t think it’s friend feelings.”

Tommy laughs, shaking his head. “I’m starting to believe you.”

“I’m a good kisser, right?”

“Very good kisser, very convincing. There’s also that,” he adds, glancing at Spencer’s crotch where the tropical print of his shorts is slightly distorted by his obvious erection.

Spencer blushes, grateful that the sunset has turned red enough to mostly hide it. “Well, what do you want from me? I’m out here being felt up like a prom queen-”

“Good lord..”

“-and I bet you..” He falters, suddenly more nervous than he even was before he confessed. “Are you..? I mean, you liked it, right?”

Tommy’s expression turns impossibly fond at Spencer’s sudden loss of confidence, and he gently takes Spencer by the wrist, holding it loosely enough that he can pull away easily. He maintains eye contact as he guides Spencer’s hand to his crotch. Spencer’s gaze flickers down and he inhales sharply at the feeling of Tommy’s dick hard against his palm. Tommy lets go of his wrist, but he doesn’t pull his hand away; instead, he gives the hardness a slight, experimental squeeze.

“God,” Tommy sputters, pushing Spencer’s hand away even as his hips involuntarily roll to chase the touch. “Now who’s the prom queen?”

“Sorry,” Spencer chews on his lip, eyes switching back and forth between Tommy’s blown pupils and the bulge in his pants. “Can I see it?”

Tommy stares at him incredulously. “I’m genuinely afraid of what you’ll do to it, if I show you.”

“Okay, it’s not like I’d do anything weird, I just wanna see it.”

“I know you too well, you see with your hands.”

When Spencer is unable to defend himself, Tommy chuckles, leaning in to give him an appeasing kiss. “I’m not saying I don’t want to; I’m in fact showing great restraint right now.”

Spencer pouts a little. He’s too keyed up to be ashamed of his own behavior. Tommy laughs, shoving him. “Don’t pout! Do you really want your first mess-around with a guy to be here, like this?”

“On a secluded beach, in the light of a beautiful sunset? You’re right, that sounds terrible.”

Tommy laughs again and shakes his head, then turns to squints at the sunset. “It’s almost over; it’s gonna get really dark soon, and neither of us have working phones.”

“Yeah, we should probably head back,” Spencer agrees, hating the reality of it. He shoots Tommy a hopeful look. “One more for the road?”

“One more.. cock squeeze?”

“A kiss, jesus! If you wanna be a gentleman so bad, at least assume I’m gonna be a lady.”

Tommy pulls him in, clearly intent on making it count. He grazes Spencer’s bottom lip with his teeth, pulling a breathy moan from him that gives him goosebumps. He could get drunk off those moans. He thinks he might actually lose his mind when Spencer’s hand slides up his thigh, not going any further, just resting there in a clear attempt to test his resolve.

He responds by breaking the kiss and, before Spencer can protest, pressing his lips to Spencer’s neck instead. He gives it a small lick, tasting salt, and Spencer whimpers right next to his ear. He doesn’t want to leave a mark, but at the same time, he wants to eat Spencer alive. It would be so easy to push Spencer down and give him what he wants, what they both want; and he allows the thought to marinate for just a second before-

“Spencer! Tommy!” The voices are far away but coming closer with every new shout of their names. Tommy sits up straight, listening. Spencer gasps slightly at the interruption and seems disoriented, but then he hears them too.

“Tommy!” It’s Courtney.

“Spencer!” And Shayne.

Tommy groans, kissing Spencer once more, quickly. “We’ve been declared missing.”

“Damn it,” Spencer sighs, adjusting himself in his pants before getting on his feet. His lower back hurts from sitting on a hard surface for so long, and he’s secretly glad Tommy refused to take things further, lest they both suffer permanent injuries.

They quickly descend the ramp leading down into the sand, waving at their approaching friends. Courtney is jogging towards them, smiling now that she’s spotted them. Shayne trails behind, struggling to keep up. The flashlights from their phones sweep across the sand.

Tommy takes a deep breath, hoping he doesn’t look as horny and disheveled as he feels. “Here!” he calls out redundantly, reaching for Spencer once more. He squeezes his hand comfortingly and doesn’t let go as the other get closer. Spencer smiles and squeezes back. //

[corrodedbisexual]

Love blooms, love hurts, love prevails

Steddie | M | angst (but the bittersweet kind) with a happy ending | ~5.5k

AO3 link

The flower sickness is ruthless; its seeds grow on love, and if love is locked away in secret, inside the cage of one's heart, nowhere to go, it will eventually kill its host. When Eddie starts coughing up blooms for Steve, he has no choice but to confess his feelings. He never expected his straight friend to reciprocate; but at least his worst fears don't come true, Steve still seems happy to have him around. And, with his feelings out in the open, Eddie's no longer at risk of choking to death on another flower, so there's that to be thankful for. After overcoming some initial awkwardness, Eddie finds joy in whatever closeness he can have, in Steve just letting him love him in small, seemingly insignificant ways. Their friendship grows, eventually blurring the edges between platonic love and something more.

So, uh. I read this post about hanahaki with a twist and immediately became obsessed. I mean. OBSESSED. Huge thanks to OP @lovedumbandbroke for this inspo. I am kissing their brain.

@sidekick-hero thanks for the encouragement my dear! 🧡

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

"Son, you can't go on like this."

Eddie's uncle sits next to him on his bed, rubbing his back gently as Eddie still wheezes, struggles to get his breathing back to normal. A giant, fist-size peony blossom lies on the floor in front of him, looking pretty and innocent, as if it hasn't just nearly choked him to death. 

“Whoever it is," Wayne insists. "You gotta tell him. I know it’s scary.” 

“Terrifying,” Eddie croaks, wincing. Using his vocal chords right after another… incident, always feels like sandpaper on the inside of his throat. 

“I know, buddy. Look,” Wayne pulls on his shoulder, makes him look up. “What’s the worst thing you think will happen? Can he hurt you?”

“No.” Eddie shakes his head, confident. At least there’s one thing he’s sure about. “No, he wouldn’t. I think…” He takes a breath that’s suddenly a little too deep for his lungs, and he coughs again; thankfully, no petals come out this time. He takes another careful sip of water from the glass his uncle brought. “I think he just wouldn’t wanna be around me anymore. And that would really, really suck.”

They sit in silence for a moment. 

“Promise me you’ll do something about this, Eddie,” Wayne finally asks. “I just… I can’t keep wondering if you’re gonna make it through the night.” 

Eddie lets out a sigh, is grateful for the lack of coughing to accompany it, despite the burning in his chest.

“Yeah. Okay. I will.” He nods, determined. “I’ll tell him. Tomorrow. M’sorry for worrying you.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s my job to worry.” Wayne squeezes his shoulder once more before standing up. “I’m gonna make some mint tea, should be good for your throat.”

When his uncle leaves the room, Eddie picks up the flower, absentmindedly starts tearing the petals off of it, one by one. He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, his brain stupidly supplies, and oh no, he’s not doing that. He throws the tattered remains of the flower across the room, experiencing mild satisfaction when it lands right inside the trashcan. 

Eddie flops back on the mattress with a frustrated groan. Fuck, he was so careful. His whole teenage life, he stayed far away from all the straight pretty boys, precisely for this reason. They were dangerous. Getting close to anyone that way was dangerous, he knew he had the seeds of the disease in him; his mother died from it, too scared of his father to do something about the feelings she had for another person. 

And just as he was almost safe, has almost graduated, almost out of Hawkins and on his way to Indianapolis or Chicago or any other place he had a real shot of meeting someone he could be with… Steve goddamn Harrington had to barge into his life, literally save him from the brink of death, and then stick around, god knows why, maybe just to torture Eddie with his stupid doe eyes and sunshine smiles. 

The rest on AO3

[sesamestreep]

there's something fiction about the way that reality's going

(read on AO3)

SUMMARY: It's bad enough that Foggy has to spend his Saturday morning giving bad news to some overly-ambitious campaign manager. It's unforgivable that he turns out to be hot, of all things. [AKA - The West Wing AU] A/N: here's part 1 of that west wing au i've been talking about writing for months. I put copious notes (including a mild content warning for the 90s as a time period in general) on AO3, so I'd recommend reading there if you want more info. big thanks to @firstelevens for talking me off several ledges during the writing, editing, and posting processes for this fic!

“You know what’s sick, Karen?” Foggy asks, as he rounds the corner of her desk.

“Sick like bad, like the flu?” she asks, not looking away from her computer. “Or sick like good, like a skateboard trick?”

“Sick like disgusting and perverted.”

“Ooh, I am not sure I want to know.”

“Too bad,” he says, as he tosses his duffel bag into his office. It collides with a filing cabinet, but doesn’t knock anything over, which is pretty good from this distance. “I have reached a new level of depravity.”

“Congratulations?”

“Thank you. Ask me how.”

“Must I?”

“Yes.”

Karen sighs. “How did you reach a new level of depravity?”

“I found myself thinking, while flying with the President on Air Force One, ‘god, this sucks!’”

“That’s your new level of depravity?” she asks, unimpressed.

“Karen, I’m telling you I’m bored of flying on Air Force One! The President’s private plane is boring to me. The novelty—of Air Force One—is gone!”

“And that’s all?”

“‘That’s all’?! Karen, I—”

“I heard you the first twelve times," she says. "You’re a real sicko, Foggy, I get it.”

“This revelation means less to you than I anticipated,” Foggy says, idly fiddling with the things on her desk. 

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she says, filing something. “I kind of thought you picked up a new, exciting fetish while in Pakistan.”

“Unfortunately, no. At least, not that I’m aware of.”

“There’s always next time,” she replies. “Did you bring me back anything?”

“Also no. In my defense, you didn’t tell me you wanted a new, exciting fetish while I was there.”

“A good boss would know without having to be told.”

“Oh, no. They’ll take away my ‘world’s greatest boss’ mug for this!”

“You don’t have one of those,” she says, frowning.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Looks like we’ve both got some work to do,” she says, turning her attention back to her computer.

“Speaking of that, what are you doing here on a Saturday?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Almost always, but in this case…”

Karen looks at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “Foggy, you have a meeting.”

“I don’t schedule meetings for Saturday mornings,” he says. “And certainly not after I’ve been away in Islamabad with the President for three days and on a plane for 15 hours.”

“Yes, but this is Marci’s meeting,” Karen says. “The one you promised to cover for her, since her cousin had to move her bachelorette weekend up two weeks to—”

“This weekend. Fuck!” Foggy closes his eyes. “Oh, I should not have agreed to this! This was so stupid. I’m so jet lagged right now and I’ve been wearing the same suit for like two days.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Ew, why?”

“I packed in a hurry and I miscounted—you know what, forget it! I would still smell like airplane, regardless.”

She steps around her desk to put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not even that—Good god! That is not what airplanes are supposed to smell like!”

Foggy sniffs his shirt and winces. He was kind of hoping he was just being dramatic. “Pakistan is a very populous country,” he says, weakly. “And we were in the capitol, so lots of people, in close quarters…”

“So, unless this guy has a sinus infection, he’s going to be able to smell you from down the hall.”

“Karen, please! I am begging you…”

“Do you have another suit?”

“Not one that smells better !” Foggy exclaims. “Do I have time to go out and buy a new suit?”

“Your meeting is in 30 minutes, and I’m guessing you still need to read the briefing packet Marci left you, so you know what this guy wants to talk about.”

“This is the guy from the Bryant campaign? Mitchell…something?”

“ Matthew Murdock, yes.”

“I know what he wants to talk about,” Foggy says, waving a hand at her.

“Oh, just read the damn packet!”

“I need to find something to wear that doesn’t smell like I walked here from Islamabad, okay?”

“I’ll ask around,” Karen replies. “You prep for the meeting.”

“You’re going to ask around ?”

“Yes."

“To see if someone in the building has a suit I can borrow? 

“Foggy!”

“I feel like you’re vastly underestimating how weird of a request that is!” 

“Not all men are as suspicious as you.”

“Most men are more suspicious than me, firstly,” he says. “And secondly, even if you found someone in this office to accept this absurd request—on a Saturday, no less!—suits are supposed to be tailored. I’m going to look weird in someone else’s suit!”

“What’s worse: looking weird in an ill-fitting suit or smelling weird in this one?”

“Maybe he will have a sinus infection,” Foggy muses.

“Yes, because praying for that is less weird than my plan,” Karen says, with an eye roll. “Wait, you have a gym bag!”

“In my office? Yeah…”

“And last week, that budget meeting got rescheduled and you couldn’t go to the gym after work because it was already closed when the meeting wrapped up!”

“Yes! Why are we excited about this?”

Karen’s practically bouncing on her feet. “Because if the bag is still here but you didn’t go to the gym, that means the clothes are clean!”

“You want me to meet with the manager for a congressional campaign in my gym clothes?” Foggy asks.

“Your clean gym clothes!”

“I can’t meet him in my gym clothes!”

“Why not?”

“It’s unprofessional!”

“It’s Saturday! You’re…laid back! You’re chillin’!”

Foggy shakes his head at her, because it’s extremely clear to him that she’s never said that word in another context before in her life. “Just chillin’ at the White House! Now there’s a TV show I’d watch!”

“ Foggy !”

“It could be like this President’s version of FDR’s fireside chats! You’re a genius, Karen!”

“I’m being helpful and you’re being such a dick about it,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You’re right,” he says, putting his hands on her shoulders in a conciliatory gesture. “And I appreciate it. But I can’t wear gym clothes to this meeting.”

“It wouldn’t be that weird! You could come up with an excuse—”

“No, I understand. It’s just—I barely look good in a suit. I can trick people into taking me seriously in a suit. If this guy sees me in basketball shorts, he’ll never take me seriously.”

“You look good in a suit, no qualifiers,” Karen says, firmly. “And honestly, it would probably be charming to him if you were in gym clothes. And lastly, you are the deputy chief of staff at the White House, Foggy. People take you seriously. You are serious.”

“That was wall-to-wall bald faced lies, but I do love you for it,” he says, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “And if I’m being honest with you, I’m nervous about the optics of dressing casually for a meeting where I know I have to give someone bad news.”

Karen frowns. “What’s going on?”

“The campaign this guy is running, it’s Bryant’s campaign in the 21st district in New York State. It’s a district that, historically, a Republican always wins. From what I know, and what Marci’s told me, this guy wants more help from us, and more funding from the DNC, to get Bryant elected instead.”

“But we’re not going to do that?” Karen asks.

“No, we’re not.”

“Why not?”

“Because Bryant sucks,” Foggy admits, with a small, mirthless laugh. 

“Worse than the Republican who’s running?”

“He’s the incumbent and we know what to do with him, at least.”

“Still,” she interjects, frowning deeper, “it’s not…great…”

“It’s political maneuvering to be sure,” Foggy says, “but that’s the business we’re in, like it or not.”

“Yeah, so…”

“So, showing up to this meeting looking ready for an aerobics class and then telling this guy he’s up a creek and the DNC isn’t going to throw him a paddle might be a bad look. At least if my suit’s wrinkled and I smell bad, he can write it off as me being an overworked staffer.”

“Which, you are.”

“Exactly!”

“Yeah, okay. I get it,” Karen says, moving back to her desk. 

“I have a few minutes?”

“Yeah, read the thing on your desk.”

“I don’t need to—”

“Marci wrote it so you could—”

“Marci’s secretary wrote it, and you know that.”

“And Marci’s secretary’s work has less value than Marci’s because…?”

“Ah, okay,” Foggy says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ll read the thing.”

“Do you need coffee?” 

“Desperately.”

She nods. “Okay, I’ll get you some, so you can read.”

“Thank you. And while you’re at it, see if Jeri’s secretary is in and ask—”

“Excuse me,” a voice behind them says, and they both startle.

“Hi, can I help you?” Karen asks, automatically and politely, as she turns to face the man.

“I hope so,” he says. “I’m looking for Karen Page.”

“Then I can definitely help you,” she replies, cheerfully. “That’s me.”

“Oh, excellent,” the man says, offering her his hand. “I’m Matt Murdock, from the Bryant campaign. I have a meeting with Mr. Nelson at 10.”

“You’re…from the Bryant campaign?” Karen asks, hesitantly. 

Foggy knows how she feels. Absolutely nothing about this guy says ‘campaign manager’ except for the quality of his suit. He’s so glaringly handsome in a professional-athlete-who-also-gets-modeling-gigs kind of way that it takes Foggy a full minute to clock that he’s wearing sunglasses indoors (something a professional athlete/part-time model would do) and carrying a white cane. Bryant’s campaign manager is blind. That’s almost as unexpected as him being hot.

“Yes, I know. I’m a little bit early,” he says, either willfully or obliviously attributing Karen’s surprise to the wrong thing. 

Karen recovers quickly, though. “Not to worry,” she says, finally taking his hand and giving it a polite shake. “We appreciate your punctuality.”

“Well, I appreciate that handshake,” Matt offers, charmingly. “Very commanding, very firm!”

Much to Foggy’s amusement and vague annoyance, Karen lets out a hopelessly charmed laugh at that. “Thank you, I—uh, I do my best.”

Foggy gives her a wide-eyed look, and she gives him a helpless and slightly embarrassed one back. He shakes his head before inclining it towards Matt, who either hasn’t noticed him or is avoiding acknowledging him, for whatever reason.

“Would you be so kind as to let your boss know I’m here?”

“That, uh, won’t be necessary,” she says. Karen never stammers. This is so funny. “He’s, um—well, he’s right here! Foggy, are you ready for Mr. Murdock?”

Foggy does his best to hide his smile. “Am I ever!” he says, gamely, and steps forward to shake his hand. “Franklin Nelson, at your service. Everyone calls me Foggy, so you should too!”

This, somehow, catches Matt off-guard, which given his otherwise smooth and unflappable exterior, is kind of impressive. He very clearly expected to wait to be seen, and possibly hoped to have more time to flirt with Foggy’s assistant, judging by the looks of things. 

“Hello,” Matt says, stiff with awkwardness. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” Foggy replies. “Delighted to make your acquaintance! I am holding out my hand for you to shake, for the record.”

“Oh, right. I’m so sorry,” he says, as he hurries to take it. 

There’s an awkward moment as he sort of guesstimates where Foggy’s hand is before making contact and Foggy’s left to wonder if he could have made that less weird somehow and feel slightly embarrassed that he doesn’t know the protocol for this situation. And he’s already feeling pretty embarrassed that he smells like a 15 hour flight in front of this very handsome stranger, who can probably smell him even more than the average person. Unless that stuff about depriving one sense making the others stronger is bullshit, which it might be. Foggy’s tempted to ask but that seems likely to make the situation more awkward still.

Matt’s palm is a little rough in places, which is kind of nice. Foggy’s is, he knows, not even a little bit rough. He’s got the smooth baby soft hands of someone who has always been an indoor kid and then grew up to be a lawyer. No calluses to speak of whatsoever. It makes him wonder where Matt, likely a lawyer himself, got his from. And now he’s been holding this hot guy’s hand for too long. Perfect.

“Well, why don’t you step into my office?” he asks, dropping it quickly.

“You’re sure? I know I got here before our appointment.”

“No trouble at all,” Foggy says, with more enthusiasm than he feels. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Oh, yes,” Karen pipes up. “We have coffee, tea, soda, water—”

“I’m good,” Matt says, with another charming smile in her direction. Foggy’s still waiting for his. “Thank you, Karen.”

“Yes, thank you, Karen,” Foggy says brightly, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

“Actually, Foggy, could I borrow you for a second?”

“Absolutely.” To Matt, he says, “You can go right in and I’ll be with you shortly. There’s a chair in front of the desk, where…chairs normally are in an office.”

This, for whatever reason, makes Matt snort in amusement, which is somehow better than getting a smile out of him. “Yes, I think I can manage,” he replies, and moves towards Foggy’s office.

“Great. Be right there!” Once he’s gone, Foggy leans in close to Karen. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to point out that you should have listened to me and worn your gym clothes after all,” she says, flipping through a file on her desk disinterestedly.

“Yes, yes, I know. Karen Page the Wise, let her instincts never be doubted again,” Foggy says, miming genuflection.

“Do you still want a coffee?”

“I’ll grab it when I’m done. Hopefully, this won’t take long,” he says. He leans in even closer and drops his voice to a whisper. “By the way, is this guy a real campaign manager or is he just auditioning to play one on TV?”

“ Foggy ,” Karen exclaims, with an eye roll. 

“I’m sorry, but he’s, like, stupid handsome!”

“I hadn’t noticed,” she sniffs, feigning disinterest.

“Uh huh,” Foggy says, unimpressed. “Well, he noticed your firm handshake, that’s for sure.”

“You really are more perverted than when you left, aren’t you?” Karen says, amused. “Now, get in there and disappoint that beautiful man.”

“Lucky for him, that is something I’m very good at.”

Karen snorts at that, and returns to her work. Foggy goes back to his office and is pleased to see that Matt has managed to find a seat.

“Sorry about that,” he announces, as he settles into the chair behind his desk. “We’re a little bit scattered this morning. I just got back from Islamabad about twenty minutes ago.”

“Well, I appreciate your time.”

“Don’t mention it. Listen, Michael…”

“Matthew,” he says, surely seeing through the power play but not pointing it out. “Matt, if it’s all the same.”

“Right, sorry. Hey, at least, I knew it was one of the gospels from the Bible, right?”

The unbothered, generically pleasant expression on his face doesn't falter as he says, evenly, “There is no gospel according to Michael in the Bible.”

“Maybe not in yours,” Foggy replies, hoping he covers his nerves well enough that Matt can’t hear anything in his voice. “There’s a Saint Michael, though, right?”

“Yes,” Matt says, cracking a barely-there smile. “He’s an archangel, too.”

“An angel and a saint? Sounds like a lot of work. What’s his deal?”

“His ‘deal’?”

“Yeah, like what’s he the saint of?”

“Oh, like his patronage?”

“Yes,” Foggy says, snapping his fingers. “Like is he the guy to pray to when I’ve got a hangnail or a flat tire?”

“No,” Matt laughs, shaking his head. “He’s considered the patron saint of police officers, the military, paramedics, the protector of the Jewish people and the Vatican, as well as Germany, the Ukraine, and Brussels.”

“Wow, can you do that for all the saints?”

“A good amount of them,” Matt replies. He shrugs before adding, “I went to Catholic school.”

“That must come in handy.”

“You’d really be surprised how little it comes up,” he says, drolly. 

“Really?" Foggy asks. "Not even when you have a flat tire?”

“I would probably call AAA first, in that scenario. The saints tend to take their time.”

“Solid point.”

“Listen, Mr. Nelson—”

“God, please, like I said: call me ‘Foggy’. I’d do the classic ‘Mr. Nelson is my father’ bit but I’m pretty sure no one calls him that either.”

“‘Foggy?’ Really?” Matt repeats, incredulously. 

“Yes, it’s—not important why. It’s just—it’s what everyone calls me.”

“Fine,” he says, leaning forward in his seat. “Foggy, then. As much as I appreciate the opportunity to show off the benefits of my Catholic upbringing and education, I didn’t come here to talk to you about the patronages of various saints.”

“Yes, I knew that, actually. I’m sorry. I was stalling.”

Matt slumps back in his seat at that. “You’re going to tell me you can’t help me.”

“Listen, if this had been my meeting from the start, I would have told you not to bother coming down.”

“In your colleague’s defense, she did tell me that.”

“Well, then, I’m surprised you did it anyway.”

“You wouldn’t be, if you knew me better,” Matt replies, with so much confidence it borders on cocky. He gets five percent hotter in Foggy’s mental estimation from that alone. 

He clears his throat. “Your candidate is running for a seat in New York’s 21st district. Democrats never win in the 21st. It’s simple math.”

“Yes, historically, this district goes red in elections, but that doesn’t mean, with the right democrat and proper funding from the DNC—”

“That’s true,” Foggy allows.

“So, what’s the issue?”

“You don’t have the right democrat.”

“I…what?”

“I’m saying, Bryant isn’t the democrat to flip the 21st.”

“According to whom?”

“According to me.”

“Is there anyone else I can talk to, then?” Matt asks, clearly keeping his patience on a very tight leash if the state of his jaw is any indication. Not that Foggy is admiring his jawline at a time like this.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Foggy, I came down here—”

“A waste of time, as promised, but hey, at least you made a new friend!”

“You and I are not friends.”

“I meant you and Karen," Foggy says, blithely, "but ouch.”

Matt's jaw somehow clenches even tighter. “I want to talk to someone who’s going to take me seriously!”

“You are talking to someone who’s taking you seriously,” he says, earnestly. “Trust me, Matt. It’s not you, it’s your candidate.”

“Well, that’s a new one,” he says, deflating.

“Bryant is a centrist—”

“It’s a Republican stronghold!” Matt exclaims. “Who else has a chance to flip the seat? Do you want to put a diehard socialist on the ballot instead and see how they do?”

“More than anything in the world, yes,” Foggy replies. “But this isn’t about what I want.”

“The incumbent is a right wing clown and he lends legitimacy to their rhetoric. I think the country would be better off with him out of a job. I’m sorry that the White House and the DNC disagree, but—” 

“You’re right.”

“I’m right?!”

“You’re right,” Foggy says. “With an asterisk.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Just a tiny footnote, really. He is a right wing clown, and he should be voted out of office, but he’s also a boon to the DNC.”

“How exactly does that make sense?”

“Every time he opens his mouth, the DNC pulls a quote, puts it on a direct mail campaign, and raises tens of thousands of dollars off of their members’ outrage. As long as we keep him in front of a microphone, we can basically print money for ourselves.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “What a reassuring thing to hear from a representative of my government.”

Foggy laughs, unexpectedly, which just makes Matt glare in his general direction. “Technically, we are the only ones who should be printing money, but that’s beside the point.”

“Are we at least approaching the point sometime soon?”

“You’re familiar with the phrase ‘better the devil you know…’”

Matt sighs. “‘Than the devil you don’t’. Yes.”

“Bryant’s the devil we don’t know. Dashwood’s the one we do.”

“Bryant is a democrat, Foggy.”

“Barely, and I don’t want it to be my job for the next six and a half years to make sure he’s not going to be the swing vote on every measure we want to get passed through the House. And it will be my job, Matt.”

“Well, if you keep selling out viable democrats like this, I don’t think you can count on re-election as a matter of course like you just did, so let’s call it two and a half years to be safe.”

Foggy leans forward onto his forearms. “Sweetheart, you don’t have a viable democrat on your hands, and that’s the nicest way anyone in this building is going to put it, so let’s quit while we’re ahead.”

“Easy for you to say,” Matt replies, standing. Foggy mirrors him. “I appreciate the condescension, by the way. No one’s called me ‘sweetheart’ in a long time.”

“No trouble at all,” Foggy says. “Feel free to stop by anytime you need your ego stroked.”

Matt laughs, or really huffs, putting his hands on his hips. He’s either getting a second wind on this argument or they’re about to get into a fistfight. He might have made that last retort too flirty. Some guys, by which he does mean most straight guys, will really take any opportunity. Luckily, a knock at the door cuts their standoff short.

“Foggy, the President wants anybody who’s available in the Oval Office in five,” Marci says as she barrels in without waiting, before her eyes land on Matt. “Oh, sorry to interrupt.”

“Marci, this is Matt Murdock, from the Bryant campaign,” Foggy says, begrudgingly. “Matt, this is Marci Stahl, deputy communications director. I believe your original meeting was supposed to be with her.”

“Yes. Hi,” Matt says, cheerfully enough, but the set of his shoulders remains tense.

“Matt, so nice to meet you,” she trills, giving Foggy a wide-eyed look over his shoulder as they shake hands. Of course she immediately clocked how attractive he is. Sometimes he thinks that an unfortunate side effect of them dating and then staying friends for so long is that they basically have the same brain. “I’m so sorry for sticking you with Foggy here. There were some scheduling issues with my calendar.”

“Not to worry,” Matt says, tightly. “Foggy’s taken excellent care of me.”

Marci purses her lips in amusement. “Isn’t he just the best?” she says, grinning at Foggy sadistically. “If I had my way, I’d foist all my downer meetings on him, because he always handles people so gently. Not my strong suit, I’m afraid.”

Foggy rolls his eyes, but Matt beats him to the punch. “‘Downer meetings’?” he asks, deceptively pleasant.

“Yes, well, it’s a pity about Bryant, but you’re young, as I can now see. You’ll have other campaigns, ones you can actually win.”

“We haven’t technically lost this one yet.”

Marci gives Foggy a look, before shaking her head. “So true,” she says, giving Matt’s arm a squeeze. “Anyway! Safe travels! Foggy, like I said, five minutes.”

“I’m in the middle of a meeting,” he replies, annoyed.

“It’s the Cruz case.”

“That’s going to—”

“It came back 5-3 against,” she says, cutting him off with a significant look at Matt. “That’s why I canceled my trip. We’re all hands on deck.”

Foggy sighs, but only because it would be inappropriate to swear. “Okay.”

“Five minutes.”

“I said, ‘okay’.”

Marci nods and departs in her usual cloud of Chanel perfume and hyper competence, her heels clicking down the hallway until the sound fades completely. Foggy rubs his face, thinking miserably about how this is just the beginning of what will most likely be a very long, bad day. He’s going to need to send Karen to his apartment to get him some clothes. He’s going to need twelve coffees, ideally right now, but he’s got to deal with Matt first. When he looks over at him, he’s standing there, shell shocked.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, because he honestly is. “She’s—it’s not always like this.”

Matt seems to spring back into action like a spell has been lifted. “It’s fine,” he says, picking up his briefcase and his stick. “You have to get going.”

“It’s not—”

“Don’t say it’s not important, for my benefit. It sounds important.”

“I can walk you out,” Foggy says, coming around the desk towards him.

“I can manage on my own,” Matt says, not unkindly but not meekly either. The implication that he wants to end this interaction sooner rather than later is barely implied. 

“Of course. It was, uh, lovely to meet you.”

“Sure,” he replies, not reciprocating the sentiment but extending his hand as they pause in front of Karen’s desk. Foggy takes it and gives him a firm handshake. 

“Karen, could you—?"

“I’m fine,” Matt interrupts. “Thank you, though. Karen, a pleasure.”

“You too,” Karen offers. “The hallway behind you leads right to the exit. You’ll need to sign out with security.”

“Thank you,” he says, and departs without further fanfare.

“How’d he take it?” Karen asks Foggy, once he’s gone.

“Super well,” Foggy chirps. “In fact, we’re thinking this summer for the wedding.”

“That’s fast,” Karen says, barely hiding her smile.

“What can I say? When you know you know.” He sighs deeply. “Marci told you about the Supreme Court thing?”

“Yeah. You want me to go grab you a change of clothes from your place?”

“Yes, please. You need my keys?”

“I have your spare still,” Karen says, as she gets up and puts on her coat. “Need anything else while I’m out?”

“The world’s largest coffee, with as many espresso shots as the law allows.”

“Got it,” she replies with a nod. She’s already on her way out when he grabs her by the elbow to stop her.

“Am I, like, the world’s biggest asshole?” he asks, earnestly. “And be honest, because I feel like the world’s biggest asshole right now.”

“You’re not,” Karen says, immediately, squeezing his arm. “You’re the best person I know, but you’re jet lagged and overtired and stinky and now you have to spend the rest of your day talking about the death penalty. That would put anyone in a bad mood.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says. “Thanks.”

He lets her go, then, because they’ve all got work to do, but her words don’t reassure him like they usually would.

Foggy waits on the sidewalk out in front of St. Patrick’s the next morning with ten minutes to spare before the 10 AM mass gets out. He finds himself wishing he had cigarettes, which he only ever wants when he’s nervous and needs something to do with his hands. He’s complained about this before, unwisely, with his mother in earshot, which had led to her snapping at him to take up knitting if he needs something productive to do with his hands. The worst fight he can ever remember having with her was when she found cigarettes in his room when he was home from college once. What is it about being within spitting distance of a Catholic church that brings up all his repressed guilt like that?

He probably could have brought coffee, but he’s not sure if Matt declined yesterday to be polite or if he genuinely doesn’t drink it. Either way, Foggy couldn’t begin to guess how he’d take it, so it’s probably better to just skip it entirely. He doesn’t need to bribe him, and he doesn’t need anything to occupy his hands. He’s senior staff at the goddamn White House. He doesn’t need to be nervous.

Over his shoulder, he hears the sound of voices starting to drift over from the doors and of footsteps on the stairs. When he glances over, he sees crowds starting to form at the entrance. He remembers, suddenly, from a few christenings he was forced to attend for various cousins, how much people like to stand around and gab after mass and hopes that, by virtue of not being at his own church, Matt won’t be stuck talking to a bunch of old ladies for too long.

Thankfully, it’s only a few minutes later when he emerges from the crowd, easy to spot with his glasses and his stick, head down and separate. Foggy hesitates for a second, worried this will be an intolerable intrusion on something, well, sacred, but he did go out of his way to talk to him. It will be even less excusable if he doesn’t go through with it.

Matt’s head swivels in the correct direction when he hears his name called and Foggy would guess he’s good at identifying voices, both in general and in his line of work, where schmoozing and networking are so essential. Matt’s already at a disadvantage, not knowing people by sight, so he can only imagine he’s found a way to compensate for it. He’s guessing he knows who it is before Foggy even says, “on your right,” and approaches him.

“Foggy?” Matt asks, and he’s not sure if he’s guessing or just expressing surprise.

“Hi,” he says, and it comes out weirdly shy, because of course it does. Matt’s still dressed nicely, like he was yesterday, though he’s ditched the tie and thrown a sweater over his dress shirt instead. It’s like he knows about Foggy’s childhood crush on Mr. Rogers. 

“Hi,” Matt says, with a laugh. “Did we—don’t tell me this is your church.”

“Yes, I moonlight as an organist at St. Patrick’s. Just for the tips, though.”

“I—what?”

“Sorry, I’m kidding. I don’t go to church here. I went to see you at your hotel, I was hoping to catch you before you checked out, and the receptionist said I’d just missed you and that you’d gone to church.”

“She told you where to find me?”

“No, I guessed. I mean, St. Patrick’s is the closest Catholic church—you mentioned Catholic school yesterday, so I figured it was the best bet—and of course, it’s, you know, historic and beautiful, with all that stained glass and the, um…”

Matt tips his head to the side, considering him as he fumbles for words. He looks amused, at least, and not deeply offended, which is probably a good sign. He also looks like he’s waiting for Foggy to admit defeat, which is never going to happen.

“The acoustics are probably also good,” he finishes, pathetically, and Matt laughs, not like he did yesterday, all guarded and cynical with disappointment. He laughs big and unrestrained and maybe even delighted. Foggy gets the sense that he’s a little surprised by it himself.

“Yes, the acoustics were wonderful,” he says, and his eyes are crinkling attractively at the corners.

“I’m an idiot,” Foggy says, in the direction of his shoes. He doesn’t need to hide a blush from Matt, he figures, but he does it anyway.

“No, that was…” Matt takes his time searching for the word, and Foggy’s heart races. He shakes his head, helplessly. “‘Acoustics.’ You're cute.”

“I…” Foggy has fully lost his train of thought. He tries to remember a single time he has said something coherent in his entire life and fails. His brain has shut down, possibly permanently and forever.

“Sorry, that came out wrong," Matt clarifies, after a moment's pause. "What I meant was, that was a cute thing to say.”

The part of Foggy that was wondering if it would be weird to ask a guy who just got out of church if he was, perhaps, a friend of Dorothy immediately withers and dies on the spot. That was the straightest point of clarification he’s ever witnessed in his life.

“Well,” Foggy says, remarkably normally after the emotional journey he just went on, “you don’t know this, since you can’t see, but you were right the first time. I am adorable.”

Matt, thankfully, laughs at that too. “I’ll defer to your expertise on the matter.”

“I appreciate that.”

“So, you were looking for me at my hotel?”

“Yes!”

“Can I ask why?”

“I—right. That is the sort of thing that requires explanation.”

“Yes, it is,” Matt says, patiently.

“I wanted to…apologize for yesterday,” Foggy says, letting the words flow out on an exhale. “You didn’t catch any of us on our best day, and while nothing I said to you was factually incorrect or inaccurate to our position, I feel like you weren’t treated with the respect you deserve and I really regret that. None of that is how we do things, and it’s not who we are. I hope, at my best, it’s not who I am, either.”

Matt doesn’t bother to hide his surprise. After a moment, he says, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t worry about it. I fully acknowledge that I ambushed you—at a church, of all places—so I’ll just…”

“I appreciate it,” Matt says, suddenly. “The apology, not the ambush. Although, I guess they’re sort of intertwined at this point…”

“Sure,” Foggy laughs.

“You really didn’t have to—”

“I felt bad. It was badly done, and I wanted to try to make it right.”

“Still, I’ve been in professional politics for almost a decade now, and I can count the number of heartfelt apologies I’ve received on one hand. It’s not the sort of thing everyone does.”

“Well, it’s a thing I do, when I’m wrong. And I was. I’m genuinely sorry.”

Matt acknowledges this with another tilt of his head. “You weren’t wrong about everything, unfortunately.”

Foggy frowns, trying to parse what this means. “I’m not sure I—oh my god! Matt!”

He winces. “Do not gloat!”

“I’m not!” Foggy practically shouts. “I won’t. I promise! But, if I’m understanding you correctly, you know?”

“About Bryant? Of course I do! I work for him!”

“That begs the question of why?”

“Why do I work for him?”

“Yes!”

“I’m not in politics just for the love of it, Foggy. I’m a professional political operative, I need the work!”

“Yeah, but Bryant?”

Matt makes a face at him. “Do you imagine there’s a seller’s market out there for blind campaign managers?”

“No, but—” Foggy pauses and really considers this. Matt keeps things upbeat, from what he can tell, brushing off references to his disability easily enough by all appearances, but it must actually be brutal out there for him. “No, you’re right. It’s got to be tough. Even for someone as good as you.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it to flatter you. Considering you’re working in a district that virtually always votes red, and you’ve got a dud for a candidate, your numbers are very impressive. I mean, unless you’re handing out headshots at campaign stops, I don’t understand how you’re doing it at all.”

“Headshots?” Matt asks. “Of me?”

“Okay, don’t you dare try some sort of aw, shucks routine with me. I know you know you’re handsome.”

Matt laughs, tucking his chin in a remarkably shy gesture from such a confident asshole. “That’s a good one, though. Headshots. I’ll have to write that down.” 

“Maybe the 21st district will flip after all.”

“Okay, I know I’m not that handsome.”

Foggy wants to argue the point, but he’s also done enough embarrassing himself for one day and it’s not even noon yet. He’s got to stick to the matter at hand. “Listen, what I said yesterday—”

“Consider it forgotten. Really.”

“No, uh, what I said reflects the opinion and the decision of the White House, even if the delivery left something to be desired. But the administration, specifically the President, wanted me to be clear with you that, Bryant aside, if you ever found a viable candidate, we’d get interested in a hurry. We remain very impressed by your work, if not your candidate.”

Matt appears intrigued by this. “Did anyone happen to specify a better candidate by name?”

“Well, the suggestion was raised that you might fit the bill.”

“Raised by whom?”

“That I couldn’t say,” Foggy demurs, and Matt does that little head tilt again, so he mimes locking his mouth and throwing away the key before he realizes Matt can’t see or appreciate it. It’s also a very dorky thing to do, so that might be for the best. 

“You want me to run for office?” Matt asks, instead.

“It’s just a suggestion,” Foggy says, putting his hands up defensively. “Something to think about for the future.”

“The distant, distant future, maybe…”

Foggy shrugs. “Sure. Either way, you’ve made some friends in D.C. this time around. Your next campaign will be easier, I promise.”

“Well, I have to make it through this one first,” Matt says, grimly, running a hand over his jaw in distress. God, even distressed, he’s still ridiculously handsome.

“Hey, if all else fails, you can always pray to Saint Thomas More.”

Matt gives him a baffled look. “What?”

“You know,” Foggy says, putting his hands in his pockets, casually, “the patron saint of statesmen and politicians.”

Matt’s smile of delight and comprehension is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, which is a sentiment Foggy would have dismissed as overly and unnecessarily poetic and saccharine probably twenty minutes ago. His words to Karen yesterday— when you know, you know— come back to haunt him and it is so unfair and yet completely expected that this would happen to him, of all people. He’s known this guy for probably thirty minutes total and still, he knows Matt is special. That this is the beginning of something, even though it probably isn’t going to be what he wishes it could be. This is, bizarrely, a talent of his. He knows when someone is going to be important to him, usually right from the start. He knew it with Marci. He knew it with Karen. He knows it now too. 

Son of a bitch, he thinks. This might hurt.

“Where did you learn that?” Matt asks, his voice gone kind of breathless around his smile.

“Not to brag, but I have access to many things in my line of work,” he replies, trying to stay casual, despite the revelations, “including several volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica.”

“Fancy,” Matt says, with a laugh. “I appreciate the tip.”

“I couldn’t find the saint to pray to specifically for car trouble, but Saint Christopher or Saint Frances of Rome are the patron saints of drivers and Saint Catherine of Alexandria is the patron saint of mechanics, so any of them would do in a pinch. In case you were wondering.”

“Saint Christopher,” Matt replies, “is the patron saint of all travelers, actually.”

“Show-off!" Foggy exclaims. "You didn’t even have to look that up!”

“Every Catholic household has a medal or something for Saint Christopher kicking around,” he says, with a smile. “You didn’t stand a chance, I’m afraid to say.”

“What gave me away?”

“Oh, everything. I can spot a Protestant at fifty paces, especially the Christmas-and-Easter variety. It’s like the first thing they teach you in Catholic school.”

“Sure. I mean, what else are they going to do with all that time they’re not teaching you how to put condoms on bananas?”

Matt laughs another one of those big, unexpected laughs, almost staggering back with the force of it. “Yeah, abstinence only makes for very short lesson plans.”

“I’m guessing you all managed to figure out the basics anyway, just from the CDC data I’ve seen,” Foggy says, fully blushing all over with the pride of making Matt laugh and his own stupidity at bringing up Sex Ed in a moment like this. Sometimes he just truly cannot stop himself. 

Before Matt can confirm or deny that he knows how to use a condom (seriously, what’s the matter with his brain?) Foggy rushes to add, “Also, thank you for giving me the credit of going to church on Easter. My mother will be pleased to know I’m fooling people into thinking I’m a nice young man, rather than being obvious with my true heathen nature.”

“You are a nice young man,” Matt says, softly, with the appearance of having sobered slightly. Maybe Foggy shouldn’t have called himself a heathen. Maybe he was being too obvious, the coded aspect of the code word too unfortunately crackable. Oh, well. “At least, I assume you’re young? I’m guessing, from the sound of your voice.”

“I am. I mean, I guess I am. Is 34 young?”

“For the deputy chief of staff for the White House?” Matt asks, eyebrows raised. “Yes! Are you serious?”

“Well, then.”

“You’re my age.”

“And?”

“You’re very successful.”

“I got lucky," Foggy says, with a shrug. "I was in the right place at the right time. That’s all.”

“Yes, because being in the right place at the right time is something to scoff at in our line of work,” Matt says, looking unimpressed. “And definitely completely negates the fact of you being good at your job.”

“I don’t know if I’d call that a fact, per se…”

“I’ll settle for it being my professional opinion, then, and people generally pay me good money for that kind of thing.”

“Well, I left my checkbook at home, unfortunately,” Foggy quips, and is rewarded with a sharp, almost shark-like smile from Matt. “All I can offer you is my gratitude. I mean, unless—?”

“Yes?” Matt asks, when he doesn’t immediately finish his thought.

“Well, you probably have to catch a flight or a train or something soon, right?”

He nods, brow furrowed. “Yeah, my train is out of Union Station at 1:30. Why?”

“Nothing, I—I’m sure you’ve got to—and I should, probably—”

“You should probably just say whatever it was you were initially going to ask me,” Matt says, head tipped, once again, with interest.

“Right,” Foggy laughs. This is so, so stupid. “I was going to say, if you had time, I could buy you a cup of coffee, to complete my apology for yesterday and to chip away at your consulting fee.”

Matt visibly hesitates, which, of course he does. Foggy made the world’s worst first impression and insulted him yesterday. He apologized for that, sure, but Matt’s still probably not pleased about the DNC’s decision and this wasted trip to D.C. to talk about it. One pleasant conversation doesn’t make them friends or anything. 

“That's not necessary," he eventually replies, though not with a great deal of conviction, which is strange. With anyone else, Foggy would assume they wanted him to insist, but somehow he has trouble imagining that's the case here. "I'm sure you'd like to get back to your Sunday plans."

"My Sunday plans are this conversation and going into the office to debate the finer points of the death penalty. You have a pretty low opinion of yourself if you think your company ranks lower than that."

Matt seems to relax at that, oddly enough. “So," he says, with a self-deprecating smile, "this is probably the part where I should admit to an unhealthy amount of curiosity about where you’re at with the Cruz case.”

Of all the things he expected Matt to say, that certainly had not occurred to him, which means he blinks in surprise for what turns out to be a little too long.

“Sorry,” Matt says, mistaking Foggy’s pause for something it isn’t and wincing in apparent embarrassment, “I heard about it on the news. The Supreme Court’s decision, I mean, and I’ve been following the case for a while. When Marci mentioned it yesterday—I shouldn’t have said anything, but—”

“No, not at all,” Foggy says, hurriedly. “I’d honestly love to get your opinion.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I mean, you just admitted to following the case, and you’re a lawyer by training, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“Right, so that, and you know the political landscape we’re situated in at the moment as well as anyone, running this campaign, dealing with the DNC. Even if you want to give me your opinion as a Catholic, I’ll take it. It’s…we’re basically taking all bets, at the moment, if that’s not insulting to admit.”

Matt laughs lightly. “Not insulting. I think on average there was a majority of flattering sentiments in there.”

“Good,” Foggy says, sighing in relief. “That’s how it was intended.”

“I take it the President hasn’t made a decision on whether to stay the execution or not?”

“No, that’s why I’m heading into the office on a Sunday. We’re all trying to figure out our options.”

“Well, I have thoughts.”

Foggy laughs this time. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“I will, however, defer to you on the subject of where to get coffee in this neighborhood,” Matt says.

“Oh, right. Well, actually, if we cross up here—”

Foggy steps forward to gesture in the direction he means before he remembers that it won’t do much good. At the same moment, Matt steps forward too, towards Foggy, and holds out a hand in what looks like a conciliatory gesture. Foggy pauses, waiting to hear his objection or question, and not thinking too hard about how close they are now.

“Could I—that is, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, as we walk, could I hold onto your arm?” Matt asks, and he doesn’t sound embarrassed so much as tired. Foggy gets the sense that he doesn’t like asking for help or relying on people very much. “It makes navigating the sidewalks and everything easier. If not—”

“That’s fine,” Foggy interrupts, feeling only slightly bad that he’s this eager to comply. He’s mostly doing it to be nice, but there is a small part of him that’s excited because a cute guy will be touching him, which feels sort of bad. “I mean, I’m happy to—”

“Thanks,” Matt replies with just a small quirk of his mouth. If he’s noticed Foggy’s eagerness, he’s not calling it out, which is kind of him.

“Do you…know where my arm is?” Foggy asks, like a moron, making Matt laugh.

“It’s, well, it’s in this general vicinity, right?” Matt’s middle finger ends up jabbing into Foggy’s stomach, which is ideal, of course. Now Matt knows he doesn’t have abs of steel, a thing he was definitely going to pretend to have until directly contradicted. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Foggy says, and just grabs Matt’s hand to get it over with. It’s not important or monumental in any way—they shook hands yesterday, so it’s not even the first time they’ve touched—but his pulse starts to race nonetheless. He places Matt’s hand on the crook of his elbow as quickly as he can without making it weird. Except that now he’s trying to remember the last time he held hands with someone and upon consideration, he thinks it’s been a while, which makes him sad to think about. 

“That’s my elbow,” he says, stupidly, because anything else he could say at this moment would somehow be more embarrassing, which is impressive.

Matt laughs, just a little huff of amusement, but his eyes crinkle adorably again and that’s good enough. “I figured that out,” he says. “Thank you, though.”

“Right. Um, so as I was saying, if we cross the street here, I know a place only a few blocks away. Hopefully, it won’t be too busy on a Sunday morning for us to get a table.”

“Okay,” Matt says, nodding. “I’ll follow your lead.”

“Great,” Foggy says, but doesn’t move. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, not sure where this temporary immobility is coming from. “I, uh, I’ve never done this before.

“Gotten coffee?”

“No, uh, that I’ve done, actually, if you can believe it," Foggy says, with a laugh. "I’ve never led someone before? I just don’t want to make you trip or anything.”

“It’s just an extra precaution,” Matt explains, calmly. This is probably something he explains a lot, Foggy realizes with some amount of shame. “I can get around fine on my own, but especially someplace new, this helps.”

“Should I point out obstacles or something? Does that help at all?”

“You’re taking this very seriously,” Matt says with a smile that might be at his expense. In which case, Foggy thinks, it is fully worth it. It’s a good smile.

“Yeah, sorry, I just—”

“You can point things out, that’s fine, but I trust you won’t lead me into any open manholes or anything like that.”

“That’s a lot of trust, man,” Foggy says, and Matt laughs. “I mean, you’re talking to someone who loves some Looney Tunes shenanigans.”

“Well, then I guess if someone paints a wall to look like a train tunnel, we’re both in a lot of trouble.”

“I’ll try to be strong,” Foggy says, “and vigilant.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Foggy realizes this is probably the moment they need to actually start walking, otherwise they’re just two guys who have linked arms outside of a church. He moves hesitantly in the direction of the crosswalk, tugging Matt gently along with him, and it doesn’t feel anywhere near as awkward as he was expecting. It just feels nice.

“You see?” Matt asks, leaning against his arm. “It’s just like walking with a person!”

Foggy digs his elbow into Matt’s side in retaliation, which just makes him ping-pong away from him before bouncing back, already laughing. “Have all the fun you want,” Foggy says. “Just remember, your life is in my hands.”

“And how very capable they are,” Matt says, mildly, still grinning. 

Foggy feels himself blush and he’s very thankful at this moment that Matt probably can’t tell. It’s the only advantage he has in this situation. Naturally, of course, he decides to cancel out that advantage immediately by saying something stupid.

“By the way, this is what I normally smell like,” he says, as they wait for the walk signal.

Matt raises his eyebrows at him. “Oh?” he says, while giving nothing away, like a total bastard.

“There’s a lot of good reasons not to take a meeting straight off of a fifteen hour flight, it turns out,” Foggy says, trying not to die of embarrassment. Maybe Matt hadn’t noticed. He thought he’d just been too polite to say anything. “I want it on the record that I, you know, shower regularly and wear deodorant and everything.”

“Noted,” Matt says with another cryptic smile. He might even inhale a little bit deeper, though Foggy might be imagining that. 

“Fine, I might even smell a little better than normal. But that’s all you’ll get out of me!”

So what if he had put on cologne that he usually forgets to wear? It was a drop if it was anything. And he only did it because of what a clusterfuck yesterday had been. He’d felt he had something to prove to Matt after that conversation went so poorly. 

Matt, of course, seems to be enjoying himself immensely. “I’m impressed,” he says, as they cross the street. “If you’re willing to go to these lengths for the likes of me, I can only imagine what you’d do for someone important.”

He doesn’t mean it like that, Foggy reasons. It wasn’t intended to make him sound like, well, a bit of a whore, but it lands like that, for whatever reason. Like he’d been strategically deployed by his superiors to smooth things over, to butter Matt up to avoid burning a bridge they might want to cross someday. But, as much as he’d love to slather him in butter right now, that is not the case and, unfortunately, it’s also not a way that Foggy’s allowed to think about this person.

“You’re important,” he says, after a moment’s pause. “We’re fucking democrats, Matt. Our whole thing is that we think everyone is important, right? And, even if you somehow weren’t, I’d still be here. Even if no one asked me to be.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Of course not,” Foggy says, more breezily than he feels. “But my point still stands. I know all this stuff with the DNC is discouraging, but don’t let it sour you on all this. You could very well be the future of the party.”

Matt laughs, nervously. “I don’t know about that.”

Foggy shrugs, which he trusts Matt can feel. “I’ve been told I have good instincts for this kind of thing.”

“Now that I can believe,” Matt says.

When Foggy turns to look at him, he finds Matt already regarding him with interest. He thinks again of his conviction from earlier that this is no irrelevant run-of-the-mill meeting—one of dozens he'll take this week, and hundreds he'll take this year—but rather the beginning of something important. He feels certain that this won't be the last he sees of Matt Murdock and wonders if the same thing is going through Matt's mind too as they walk together. If he's willing to be honest with himself, he can admit that's not just something he suspects will be true; it's something he hopes will be true too.

🏳️‍🌈 💖

[turtlemagnum]

so, just had my final driving lesson. here's a summary of all that went wrong:

leg cramps on my driving leg! real fuckin distracting! lemme tell ya, hard to concentrate when your leg feels like it's trying to ouroboros itself. god, i feel like i know what it's like to be my mom now.

didn't knock any cones over but i definitely scraped em a few times! and that's a few more times than i scraped em last time! no clue how i simultaneously performed better and worse than last time! i think it's just that i could deal with mistakes better than before? i dunno

driving instructor who, until now seemed like a relatively chill guy (albeit a bit off), outed himself as a racist, sexist, and climate change denier! all within minutes of each other, even. here's how that went down

so, he casually tells me he's not looking forward to the one scheduled after me, and assuming he's dealt with this person before and had a negative experience i just went "that bad, huh?", to which he responded "oh, well, i shouldn't say this, but... it's a black female, hasn't drove before, so..." so like. look, i understand not being enthused about getting behind the wheel with someone who's never drove before. but aside from like, one time before our lessons, that was pretty much me, and he seemed to trust me pretty quickly. so, yeah i don't think it's that much of a stretch to say that's him being prejudiced, right? even if it's in a somewhat mild, conservative boomer kinda way, that still fuckin sucks, ya feel me? also made me feel a bit relieved that i'm pastier than elmer's glue and was born with a fat nutsack, because something's telling me he might've not been as patient with me if i weren't white or god forbid a Femoid.

so, we finish up with the cones, and right as i'm pulling out he starts talking about the weather, i mention how it's supposed to get colder tonight, he says he's hoping for some snow this year and i casually say that i miss when it'd snow more. this prompts him to ease into a bit of a tirade about how the past couple of years were "unnatural", and that while he doesn't believe in global warming he still thinks something fishy is going on, and how global warming is a ploy by the government to get more tax money (?) and how it was the same in the 70s (???) . and it's like. oh, man, i'm glad you waited for the last possible opportunity to go full mask off on this huh. and like, i feel like i should count my blessings because it definitely felt more like, generic conservative boomer and not like White Nationalist Hate Crimes Guy type, so i guess it could've been worse? like i got the feeling any bigotry he had was less out of outright hatred and more out of a vague discomfort/lack of empathy, which, y'know. still bad. didn't get the vibe that he was a klansman, y'know? could've been worse i guess??? God. guess i'm just glad he took until basically the last possible moment he could've to out himself like that. i'll definitely take 30ish minutes of uncomfortable hmms rather than the 6 or so hours i spent with him total.

anyways my leg still sucks. i need to eat more bananas. or maybe pickles, i hear drinking pickle juice can help with leg cramps. the takeaway i guess is just God I'm Glad That's Over. not even really mad that he technically dropped me off just a bit earlier than he should've

[honeydazai]

how the Arcane men eat your pussy

feat.: Viktor, Jayce Talis, Silco, Vander

warnings: nsfw content, oral sex (reader receiving), pet names, mild degradation, hair pulling, praise

The sight of VIKTOR between your legs is enough to make you whimper with arousal, though the way he puts his mouth to use causes you to mewl and moan properly — he's unfairly skilled and picks up quickly on what motion garners the strongest reaction from you.

One of his hands is placed on your thigh to keep your legs spread for him, the other presses down on your lower abdomen to stop you from bucking your hips up as his tongue expertly swirls around your clit.

He encourages you to pull on his hair and you do so willingly, yanking on soft strands of dark hair while you tell him how good he's doing, how amazing his tongue against your cunt feels, and he revels in the praise; whimpers and whines that resonate against your folds escaping him. With a sly little smirk, he pushes two, then three of his lean fingers into you, making you cry out, though you quickly gain the upper hand again when you tell him just how pretty he looks right now, his cheeks flushing at your words. He thinks he's being discreet when he starts rutting against the mattress, but he's really not.

“You certainly look like you're enjoying yourself right now, dear. To think you were just teasing me a few minutes back — it seems you've lost all your confidence, no? Ah, love—, yes, do that again, please. Oh, that's good, please pull my hair again, dear, please—”

Honestly, JAYCE just wants you to sit on his face, plain and simple. He's laying on his back with your knees on either side of his head, your hips grinding against him ever so often.

He's unashamedly pawing at your soft thighs with big hands while thrusting his tongue into your hole and, god, he lets out an utterly filthy moan as you pick up the pace and ride his face in earnest. Jayce is so eager to please you; honestly, he could probably cum just from eating you out like this.

If you choose to praise him for how well he's doing, his efforts redouble; his lips closing around your clit to suck or his tongue flattening against your wet folds. In fact, he's so enthusiastic that he wouldn't mind staying between your thighs forever and vocalises his pleasure through deep groans and whimpers that have you moaning.

“Come on, babe, don't be shy. Just grind on my face; you'd never crush me, promise. Yeah, like that — fuck, that's a good girl, oh my god. You taste so damn good, baby. Just like that, keep going.”

While SILCO isn't very fond of the idea of eating you out, he might do so as a special sort of reward for good behaviour — like right now, when he has you sit on his office chair while he's between your spread legs. Even though he's the one kneeling, it's obvious he still holds all the power; you can only arch your back and moan prettily while you take whatever he decides to give you.

Silco's grip on your thighs is unyielding, no matter how much you ache to instinctively close your thighs at the pleasure of his mouth on your cunt, and you can only whine and mewl as you dig your nails into the armrests of his chair.

He's rather skilled too; his tongue just teasing over your loose hole, pressing in only a little, while his thumb rubs circles around your clit, never giving you as much stimulation as you crave but enough to keep you on the edge. Yeah, you're in for a long night.

“Oh? Don't tell me you're already close, dear. We've barely begun. I intend to make you writhe on my tongue for far longer than that. Even though I guess I might take pity on you if you ask me nicely enough — try your luck, then.”

VANDER isn't particularly picky about the position, he likes about anything, though he did choose his favourite for today; you're sitting on his face, your back turned to him, and while his tongue slowly encircles your clit, you're reaching down to jerk him off with one hand. If your size difference wasn't this large, you probably would have been able to suck him off at the same time — shame, but he's not complaining about a hand job either.

He's a fan of eating you out messily; honestly, the more you grind your dripping cunt onto his face, the happier he is. Also, his beard is scratching nicely along your inner thighs, adding another intoxicating sensation that has you mewling as your legs tremble in his grip.

Vander eats you out like a man starved, all tongue and soft lips and rough beard, and he most likely cums at the same time you do, his hips bucking up into your fist.

“Ah, doll, you're so good. So damn hot. 'm so close already, you feel so good around my tongue, darl. Fuck, wish it was your mouth around me instead of your hand—, god, you're doing so well. Just like that.”

notes: this was just gone for some reason?? so here's a try at reposting it 🙏🏻

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[otakugoddes]

"Pretty Boy" Keiji Akaashi x Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Featuring: Keiji Akaashi

Warnings: ⚠️MDNI! Riding, Mentions of blowjobs, Orgasm Denial, Dirty Talk and mild profanity, Overstimulation, Pet names (pretty boy), Implied fem bodied reader.⚠️

Type: SMUT

Scenario: Keiji is just so fucking pretty, and you cant help but wanna turn him into an even prettier mess.

Fem bodied reader (no pronouns)

"My pretty boy"

A/n: He really is fucking pretty and I would die for him. Like he could pour hot soup into my lap and I'd say thank you Keiji-sama (coz I love soup). Dont mind me being a simp for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're so pretty...even when you're falling apart under me!" You cooed at Keiji who was currently a whimpering mess beneath you due to being overstimulated.

He was sensitive after being sucked off twice and now being ridden by you like your life depended on it. But somehow you were preventing him from cumming for the past three times in a row, clenching every time he got close and stopping.

"You like this, don't you? You like it when I'm mean and fuck you for my own needs huh?" He heard your words but could only groan out loud when you bounced faster on his aching dick.

He supposed he was being punished for something he did or something he didn't do, but it was torture nonetheless. Being less than an inch close to the pure bliss of releasing and having it stripped from him all because you decided it would be fun to toy with him.

"But I suppose you would be falling apart, since I barely let you cum! You must be oh-so desperate for it, aren't you pretty boy?" You taunted, watching his lips part and those deliciously attractive pants and whimper-come-mewls escape them.

He was a damn Greek god in all his beauty, looking like he stepped out of an aesthetic portrait that ought to be hidden from undeserving, prying eyes.

His silken raven locks now messier than ever sticking to his skin, the apples of his cheeks now flushed with crimson, his soft lips spewing profanities and distorted versions of your name here and there.

But his eyes were holding you in place.

Because by the heavens were those lustful, dazed, teary eyes doing things to you.

"Please...," a soft whisper, almost inaudible over the sound of slapping skin.

You perked up, "What was that pretty boy? Tell me what you want?"

He bit his lip at your sadistic tone, not wanting to say it but desperately wanting to cum this time around.

You saw his hesitation and stilled, stopping riding him.

"I said tell me what you want!" You demanded with a smirk, knowing that stopping was drawing his chance of release away.

You pressed further, leaning closer to him and teasing your slit up and down his throbbing dick, making him pant and whine.

"Please...," he whimpered.

"Please what, pretty boy?" You leaning down and biting his lip.

"Please let me cum baby...please please please let me!" He gave up and begged, begged you like a bitch in heat, which was satisfying to hear your normally composed boyfriend's voice crack and such a high pitch in a whine.

The smirk on your face was definitely showing how the way he begged went to your ego.

"That's my pretty boy!" You chuckled and he gasped aloud when you lowered yourself onto him again and rode him faster than before.

"You gonna cum pretty boy?" You asked him in shaky pants when you felt his dick twitch inside of you.

"G-gonna cum!" He stuttered and you giggled, bouncing off his dick until you felt him shudder and he finally let go (for real this time).

The sound that came from him when he did cum was heavenly, a mix between a whimper and guttural groan.

You got off him and he lay beside him panting for air, just like he was.

"So...pretty! My pretty boy!" You kissed his jawline.

Keiji laid his head on your shoulder and tried to catch his breathe, and if he was being honest....he liked the name "Pretty Boy" waaaaay to much coming from your lips.

And if you liked it, then he'd be your pretty boy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[loser-boyy]

Eddie Munson x trans male reader smut ;)

WARNINGS: smut obvs, (sub eddie, dacryphilla and edging) mild tr@nsph0bia, cursing, violence?? idk

THIS ISNT PROOFREAD AND I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG BUT ENJOY DNDENJNDIOVRHIDOEWHIJOREUGIO

i walked out of my room and down the stairs, waving a goodbye to my mom.

“no later than 11, honey!” she shouts from the kitchen, packing my little sisters bag.

“alright!” i shout back, closing the door behind me.

/\-school-/\

i stared at the clock, bouncing my leg.

c’mon lunch.. c’mon c’mon c’mon please hurry up-

“mrs [l/n]? are you paying attention?” my teacher asks.

i fucking hate my french teacher. she’s literally the only one to use she/her/maam/mrs etc.

she’s a cow and i hate her.

“erm.. yes..?” i say, uneasy.

“really? what are we talking about young lady?” she says, practically spitting in my face.

“french.” i say, glancing at the clock.

she scoffs.

any minute now.

any minute.

“wrong actually, mrs-” RIIIIIIINGGGGGGGGG

i grab my bag and run out the door.

see you in hell, mrs scott.

-

i was so hungry i practically ran to the cafeteria. the basketball boys were pumped up as always, shooting me the dirtiest looks you’ve ever seen. i joined the queue, quickly grabbing my food and sitting at my lunch table. “oh shit, hey y/n!!“ eddie says, his face lighting up as soon as he saw me. i tried to hide my pink face, but god something about his smile.. “yoo!!“ i say, a big, dopey, lovesick, smile plastered across my face. mike and dustin exchanged glances, looked at us, and looked back at eachother.

weird.

“what were you just in?” eddie asks. i laughed softly, “french,”

“french? fuck, man that sucks.” he groans, “hope that teacher dies, honestly” “i’m so close to doing it myself at this point,” i laugh, “one more she/her im going to she/hurl her down a flight of stairs.”

under the table, my leg is bouncing anxiously.

shit shit shit shit stop that right now

while maintaining conversation with someone at the table, eddie puts his hand on my thigh to stop it bouncing.

oh fuck.

i almost drop my milk carton in surprise. my leg stops bouncing, of course. however, his hand moves inwards, towards my inner thigh.

oh god oh god oh god don’t do anything stupid.. please..

i groan softly, biting my hand

oops.

still continuing his conversation across the table, a smile forms on his face. but not a happy, innocent smile, no, no. but a dirty, lust filled smile.

i squeeze his cold hand and give him a quick glance. “i’m off to the toilet i think..!” i say, staring at him, wide eyed. eddie blinked at me for a second, confused, and then stood up. “oh shit yeah uh.. me too definitely.” he said, standing up, and slinging one arm around my shoulders.

as if my face wasn’t red enough..

dustin and mike looked at eachother in a really ‘i know what’s going on’ way.

—

we laughed and ran down the empty halls, and i took his hand in mine. i squeezed it and twirled my self around, landing myself right in his arms.

“by the way, it’s pretty obvious you liked me,”

“fuck.. really?”

“yeah.. it’s a good thing i really liked you too, dipshit” eddie says, planting a kiss on my forehead.

i un-twirl my self from him, dragging him into the janitors closet.

he grinned, looking me up and down.

“ohh.. i get it..” he says, a little softer, holding me close.

i kiss him. i kiss him the way i’ve wanted to since i’ve met him. the way i’ve wanted to for all these years.. those chapped stupid lips that said the most out of pocket, sexual things. i thought back to the time i pulled his hair as a joke. what happened again?

only one way to find out.

i moved my hands up his side, to his soft, curly hair and gave it a soft yank. eddie let out a gasp and a moan.

“oh you bitch..” he says, quietly.

“what is it munson?” i ask, a mischievous smile on my face, “what you gonna do?”

his face lit up in the dim storage closet. god i loved his eyes. “i’ll do anything i want, doll.” whispered, voice raspy and low. i snickered. “will you, yeah?” i pulled his hair softly again, making him whine.

“please..” he mewls.

oh. my. god.

i ran my other hand along his back, moving him closer to me. “god you’re pathetic.” i grin. eddie tries to avoid eye contact but i move my hand from his hair to his chin, grabbing it and making him look at me.

“you’re like a puppy with those eyes,”

he blinks.

“but i know you, sweetheart. you’re nothing but a slutty mutt, and i’ll make sure that you know that.” i say, sealing my words with a rough kiss. he pulls apart and looks at me dead in the eye with his beautiful dark eyes, filled with lust. i put my hands on his hips and tug at his waistband, “can i?” i whisper. eddie smiles, cocking his head. “please, go ahead doll,” he places another soft kiss on my cheek. it was pretty cramped in the closet, but there was just enough room for me to kneel. after pretty eagerly yanking down his pants and boxers, i knelt on the cold, sorta dirty ground. he groaned softly as the air hit his dick.

“you alright up there?”

he nods.

i smile up at him, and grab it.

eddie winced and grabbed a mop.

“sure you’re alright big guy?” i ask, smiling at the way he was holding an old dirty mop.

he takes a shaky breath.

“i’m fine..”

i place soft kisses along his inner thigh, as i begin to jerk him off. Eddie gasps, and grabs my shoulder. "fuck..!" he whines, his usually deep, harsh voice going higher each time he spoke. it was fucking pathetic and i loved every second. he threw his head back, hitting the wall. eddies soft curls covering his eyes, which were clenched shut. "you're doing so good for me," i say, kissing the inside of his thighs, "so good.." i begin to move my hand quicker making eddie bite his hand to keep himself quiet. he was so cute all embarrassed like this. i begin giving his tip soft little kitten licks, causing eddie to grip my shoulders with both his hands, his rings digging into my shirt.

"fuck, fuck, fuck FUCK- please, stop this I'm so -hnghh- close I'm gonna-" eddie cries out, gripping onto my shoulders.

"quiet, mutt. don't want anyone hearing us, do we?"

he shakes his head.

"attaboy."

my hand moves faster as i kiss all over his dick. eddies breathing is heavy and loud. its cute, really.

"please please please im- im so -hahngh...- close..-" he groans.

and no no no, we can't be having that. not. at. all.

and so, i take my hand away, making eddie let out a needy whine. he looked down at me, on the verge of tears. I've got him just where i want him now. a complete mess. my mess. "are you crying, munson?" i say with a laugh. his breathing is shaky and heavy, as he goes to speak.

"n- -sniff- no.." eddie sobs.

"you really are just a pathetic little mutt, aren't you?" i giggle, "you wanna cum, don't you?" eddie nods.

"too bad." i say with a smile, pulling his boxers and pants up. "But-" he begins. i cut him off with a kiss before opening the closet door.

"love you, stupid"

[1tad0ri]

what abt gojo taking reader’s virginity ;))

warning: virgin!reader, praising, fingering, eating out, penetration, mild overstimulation

gojou satoru x fem!reader

say less, this man owns my entire heart

“how are you doing?”

the question would’ve been almost cute if he wasn’t knuckle deep in your cunt, two fingers curling with seemingly no rhyme or reason to your hazed brain, but somehow working—yes, they were definitely working. it was the fact that he didn’t even look like he was remotely trying but was still somehow getting results that really got you—you don’t know why you expected anything less from him.

satoru’s lips wrapped around your clit, sucking, the feeling sharp yet... warm? the unfamiliar sensation made you hiss.

the top of a third finger nudged your entrance, slowly, carefully pushing in—the stretch; you didn’t know how much more you could take. your hips bucked against him, you throwing one of your legs over his shoulder and wrapping around his back to push his face closer, the flat of his tongue pressing on you. (not that you had much say in the matter anyway; the arm locked around your thigh pulling you closer to him wouldn’t let you get very far even if you did try to move away.)

“my god, satoru—” you propped yourself up on your forearm and then promptly let yourself fall back onto the pillow, face burning at the sight. even with his blindfold on, you could tell he was watching you, looking smug, attention focused so fully on your aching core. oh god, this was embarrassing—

“you were taking too long to answer,” he mused, mouth pulling back from your pussy enough to talk, fingers still pumping in and out. the third finger was working its way in still, the fit tight but he knew you could take it. of course you could.

“so?” his eyes flicked back up to yours behind his blindfold. “how are you doing?”

it was hard to talk aside from your irregular pants and you tilted your head up to look at the ceiling, trying to slow the racing beats of your heart. you nodded, swallowing. “good,” you managed out, then sucked in a harsh breath, “very good.”

“that’s my baby. so proud of you.” third finger in, he watched your face, allowing you to adjust, and when you didn’t protest, he curled it tentatively. the sharp rise and fall of your chest at the action spurred him to continue, stretching you further, your walls squeezing his fingers. “you’re doing so well.” a light kiss to your clit made you gasp—he was having way too much fun.

your slick dripped down his hand, perfectly matching the wet sound of him fucking his fingers into you. your leg pressed down more on his back—you didn’t know what to do, squirming in place, wanting more yet still barely handling what he was already giving you.

“do you think you’re ready?” satoru asked after a moment, voice soft—the vibration of him talking so close to your folds did not help though and you ran a hand down to grip at his hair.

“i think...,” a pant when his fingers bumped against you just right and you had to resist screaming from how he was going to drive you insane at this rate, “i think i am.”

that was all the confirmation he needed before he removed his fingers. you didn’t even get the chance to mewl in protest before his tongue replaced the digits, pushing itself into your still tight hole, flicking against your sensitive spot and fucking you.

“satoru, fuck, oh my god— satoru.”

and then he was pulling back again, tongue running up and down your folds and lapping up your juices before he sat back to observe you.

towering over your form spread before him, satoru decided that waiting for this moment was worth the pretty sight. “good girl.” he squeezed your thigh reassuringly, letting you catch your breath, and then setting about ridding himself of the remaining pieces of fabric.

his blindfold discarded to the side, you didn’t even have it in you to be embarrassed when he shoved his boxers down, cock bouncing free. you were already thinking about how it would feel, caught up in the lust of the moment. things were hazy... so sharply realistic yet mixing with the muddled euphoria from all of his touches from before.

satoru settled back between your legs, lifting them up around his waist. you automatically locked them around him, drawing him close enough that you could feel his cock bump against your clit as he tried to get comfortable. the sensation alone filled you with shockwaves of electricity and you wriggled against him, impatient.

he leaned over you, forearms planted on either side of your head, and carefully guided his cock to run against your folds. you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck and pull his chest flush to yours, tits pressing against his front.

“please,” you murmured, forehead against his and eyes squeezed shut, “want you. so bad.”

“fuck, so pretty just for me, aren’t you?” smiling, he moved to kiss your neck and the simple touch made you shiver. “so impatient.”

you pulled at his hair, brows furrowed and face hot. “shut up.”

satoru kissed the corner of your mouth and then nibbled at the area. “you’re so cute like this. so pretty—ow.” another tug at his hair made him ease up on the teasing (plus he had to admit he was ready to finally do this too).

“okay, okay. i’m going to take of you, baby. going to take care of you so good.” he breathed in, touch reassuring where it rubbed circles into your sides. “okay?” satoru pressed his lips to your cheek when you nodded, steeling yourself. “just tell me if you ever want to... stoppp—fu...ck,” the end of his sentence mixed together into a groan as he started to sink into you, cock stiff and hot. he was so careful, so slow, you almost wouldn’t think he wanted to fuck you into the mattress right now. nails against his back, you buried your face into his neck, breathing heavy.

“don’t stop.” the words spilled out of you when he tried to give you time to adjust, your legs pushing him in further. “god, do not stop.” your lips tickled against his skin and he pressed his forehead into the pillow beside you—you were so fucking tight. all for him. completely his.

as he eventually bottomed out after what felt like an eternity, he leaned back to look down at you, your looped arms about his shoulders not letting him go far. “i love you.” his words melted into your mouth when he leaned back down and his lips sucked against yours in a kiss, open mouthed, messy, and so good. hands tangled in his hair, you tilted your head up to meet him with the same fevor.

in between the meager chances he let you take a quick gasp of air before diving back in, you were able to get out your own sentence. “i love—” another wet kiss cut you off. “—you too—” and another. “—so much.”

attention focused on your mouth, satoru began to pull out just the smallest bit and then snap his hips back into yours, relishing the hot breaths you were releasing against his face. hums of contentment and hands flitting all over his hair, head, face, and back trying to find purchase were the responses he got from you as he continued with the shallow thrusts, lengthening them bit by bit until he was pulling almost all the way out to slam back into you.

the vibration of his grunts and moans, knowing you were the reason he was like this, it was too much. the brushing of his cock against the sensitive spot buried deep inside you had you cursing, messy lips and saliva mixing in until you turned your head to the side to breathe, gasping for air.

and then when one of his hands rubbed against your clit before you even realized what was happening, you clenched around him (earning you a low growl from him as you squeezed his cock even tighter than before), gritting your teeth. somehow he knew exactly what to do to get a rise out of you, even if this was your first time.

“are you going to cum for me, baby?” teasing yet lust-driven, his words went straight to the coil building up in your stomach, your whole body hot as he nipped at your neck and you took shuddering breaths.

“y... yes,” the broken word fell from your lips, throat suddenly sore from the tension, “please make me cu... ah,” he pressed down on your clit at just the right angle, rubbing in a perfect circle—god, so perfect, “please, just—”

satoru soothed you with quiet coos, capturing your lips once more. it wasn’t long until you completely let yourself go, slick coating his cock as you saw stars and the pressure released from within you.

“i’m almost... there...” he gasped against you, hips snapping against yours as he continued to fuck into you. the overstimulation was so good, fuck, you didn’t want to come down from your high. the feeling of his chest tensing up against you as he came had you clinging to his back all over again, muscles taunt under your touch.

it took a while for both of you to calm down, sweaty foreheads pressed together, breaths mixing and lips brushing.

when he could finally speak, satoru brought his hand up to cup your face and he pressed a kiss to your lips, one that was a sharp contrast to the unhinged nature of the ones previous. “i love you. you were so good.” satoru squished your cheek, laughing a little. “love you so much.”

you nodded, feeling feverish, still burning from the thrill, and leaned up to kiss him again, drawing him down into a slow, smooth lapping of mouths against one another. “i love you too.”

[wrenqueenisboss]

DSMP x gn!reader heacanons (reader with bad sleep schedule)

Them reacting to you having a really shitty sleep schedule. Warnings: cursing (mild), mentions of wounds, showed cuts, cleaning on injuries (tell me if I forget anything, please)

Dream:

(you and dream live together in Florida (without Sapnap))

Dream had been in a call with Sapnap and George for hours and it was 2 am at this point

he had been screaming/shouting and laughing so consistently you had developed a headache (another reason it was difficult to sleep)

he had recently broken another speedrun world record so he was celebrating with his besties 

you hadn’t gone to bed yet because you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep without your boyfriend there

(both you and Dream really like cuddles. neither of you can sleep well without the other)

so you stayed on the couch, scrolling through twitter on your phone as you laid down

Finally, you heard Dream end his call, saying goodbye to his friends. His door creaked the slightest bit as he opened and closed it

Dream was so shocked to find you sitting on the couch at this hour. he was concerned too

“Babe? You’re still awake?”

you chuckled. “obviously”

he walked over to you and cuddled into your side. “You should be asleep. It’s late.” his voice was slightly muffled because of how he had his head nuzzled into your neck

“I couldn’t sleep without you there,” you mumbled, running your hand through his soft blond hair

Dream suddenly felt guilty “staying up this late really isn’t good for you. But if it helps you get to sleep, I’ll go to sleep earlier too”

you hummed happily before falling asleep cuddling your boyfriend

you were so tired you didn’t realize Dream had picked you up bridal style and taken you to your guys’ bed

Sapnap:

(you guys are in different houses for this) (he’s streaming and is also on a discord call with Karl and Quackity)

he was streaming at 2:30 in the morning when he got a random text from you “hi :) ,” it said

He rolled his eyes affectionately before responding “it’s late, idiot” “go to bed”

you sent back “I can’t” 

Sapnap looked back over at his stream. The chat was spamming questions on who he could be texting that would make him smile like that

finally, Karl from the discord call noticed how quiet Sapnap was being

“Sap? is everything okay?”

Sapnap looked up. “Oh yeah. I’m fine. I was just texting someone.”

“Who?” Quackity asked?

Sapnap made sure to mute on stream. “My partner.”

Karl and Quackity were shocked.

don’t worry, you and Sapnap had discussed that you were okay with his friends knowing about your relationship, but you wanted to keep it off stream and private

“You never told us you had a partner!” Karl said, happily.

“Well, I do. And they desperately want my attention, so I think I’m gonna end stream.”

“nooooo!” Karl and Quackity said dramatically in unison. “Your partner is evil, taking you away from us!”

Sapnap laughed then unmuted, giving an excuse before he ended stream to FaceTime you

George:

(you live in Brighton with George) (the internet knows you guys are dating. They ship you so much)

George was in a discord call (without camera on) at a pretty reasonable time, but you were exhausted

you hadn’t gotten more than four hours of sleep in the past three days

Wanting to be near George you just walked into his room

he whipped his head around, surprised by the sudden noise of you opening his door

he took one look at your tired face and asked “are you okay?”

You laughed. “No, not at all. My sleep schedule is shitty and I feel like shit. I haven’t gotten proper sleep in three days”

George winced.

Sapnap and Dream screamed hellos into George’s headphones which made him take them off with a grimace

He unplugged his headphones and you heard your boyfriend’s friends’ greetings

you unenthusiastically waved before speaking in a tired voice “I’m taking your best friend. He’s needed for Cuddle Duty”

George smiled and shook his head playfully as his friends shouted in protest

“no!” dream shouted. “He’s-” he wheezed like a broken tea kettle “he’s my boyfriend” (George rolled his eyes at that)

Sapnap yelled, “don’t take him!!!! you’re a best friend stealer, Y/n! Shame on you!”

You frowned with mock malice. “Well, suck it up. ‘Cause I’m taking him.”

George actually laughed at that. “I guess that’s it. Bye, guys! I’m gonna help Y/n finally get some good sleep.”

Wilbur:

Wilbur was doing a YLYL stream when he needed to go get a glass of water

keep in mind, it was sorta late. Like, midnight.

so he walked into his kitchen only to find you snacking on some popcorn (potato chips for my friends with braces ;] )

he looks at you with fond sadness “my love, why aren’t you asleep?”

you look up at him with a sheepish smile “Will, you know I have a very shitty sleep schedule. I’m not gonna sleep tonight, I don’t think.”

Wilbur frowned. “I think not!” he said, moving to hug you from behind

he rested his head on your shoulder, breathing in your scent

“we’re gonna go to bed,” he mumbles. “It’s late”

“Uh... not really,” you said. “midnight isn’t that late. And plus, you’re streaming.”

Wilbur frowned again, remembering his stream 

“Oh yeah, my stream. That’s fine, I’ll just end it early. Laugh at a couple videos to make the perfect excuse.”

“That’s actually... a good idea.”

“Why do you sound so surprised, Y/n?”

You just chuckled and gently pushed yourself off from the counter, prompting Wilbur to let go of you and step back

You walked to your shared bedroom to get in bed

As you tucked yourself into bed, you finally realized just how tired you were. Your eyelids began to close as you were lulled into sleep by the sounds of your boyfriend’s laughter next door.

c!Technoblade:

he was just coming back from a patrol (protecting your guys’ home) pretty late at night when he saw you brewing potions at your desk

because it was so late, you had several lanterns lit around your workspace so you could read the tomes and instructions that you needed

Tech honestly didn’t expect you to be up this late

The voices (who love you) immediately erupt with concern

‘are they okay?’ ‘why aren’t they asleep?’ ‘are they hurt?’ ‘if someone hurt them... blood for the blood god’ ‘they look so tired’

Techno dropped his weapons in one of his chests then began to undo his armor

Noticing his presence, you dropped what you were doing and hastily walked over to him

“Let me help you,” you murmured as your fingers undid the buckles and clasps of his armor one by one

He thanked you when the armor was stored away as well, taking some more time to examine you

your sleep-lidded eyes had dark circles under them. Your movements weren’t as precise as normal, and to put it plain and simple, you looked exhausted.

“My love,” techno prompted, gently tilting your head up to get a better look at your eyes and face. “is everything alright?”

you huffed. “not really. I can’t sleep anymore and it’s really getting to me. It’s making me so clumsy.”

Technoblade’s shook as he chuckled. “I could tell. I’m surprised you didn’t knock into table on your way over to me.” It was true. On your way over to help him with his armor, you nearly ran your knee right into the heavy coffee table in the living room

You rolled your eyes and pointed at your work table. The desk that was usually so neat and organized now looked like a mini tornado had ransacked it

“The exhaustion has me so clumsy I broke a glass. I made a mess trying to clean it up, too.” 

You raise up your arms to show him the cuts on your hands and arms. There was some dried blood on your arms as well.

The Voices in Techno’s head once again exploded with comments of concern. He takes your hands in his, gently brushing his callused fingers over your wounds.

“I’ll help you clean these up and then we’ll get to bed, okay?” He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips 

“okay”

and you do just that

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