#they can't keep their hands off each other

[tojigasm]

Bucky is the type of attentive boyfriend that is automatically grounding you when he notices you start to get anxious

He's learned your ticks and the way you mean 'I'm getting overwhelmed' when you begin to cower in on yourself.

Buckys been there himself far too many times to count.

So he's soft in the way that he brings his hand to your back, rubbing up and down your spine.

His touch –the reminder that he's there. It's enough to send you almost into tears.

"Y'okay, sweetheart?" He asks quiet enough so that it doesn't disrupt conversation between the other Avengers.

Nat meets your eyes briefly before she's shifting to give you privacy –as much as she can in the middle of the Avengers tower den.

You can't speak. You feel hot and a little neasueas.

Bucky seems to understand even with your lack of communication.

"Is it gettin' to be too much?" He asks, pressing a comforting kiss to your temple.

He notices how clammy your skin is and the way you're shaking in his grasp.

You try to nod, but it just manifests as an uncomfortable shiver.

"M'kay, gonna get you out here. Just hold on fr'me, baby."

Bucky nods to Steve, who understands almost immediately and instantly moves to take the attention off of the two of you, guiding the conversation towards himself at the other side of the room.

The two of you clumsily make your way out of the room into the hallway where the AC is running on high and the noise isn't so constricting.

You're smashed up against Bucky's chest, the weight of his arms helping to hold you down and ground you – working as a weighted blanket of sorts.

"Deep breaths fr'me." Bucky guides, keeping a hand at the nape of your neck, preventing you from looking around and working yourself up over anything else.

You struggle against it for a moment, too deep in your headspace to relax.

"Listen to me." His voice is lost amist the swarming thoughts in your head.

You feel like you're underwater. Like you can't breathe and like the air around you is growing denser by the second.

"Hey, hey," Bucky calls to you, but his words are lost on deaf ears. "Gotta relax, baby. You're gonna make yourself sick."

Bucky is there, though.

He's always there.

His touch is faint, but you hold onto it the best you can in the chaos of your heavy head.

Before you know it, you're hyperventilating and trembling and sobbing into the navy fabric of his shirt.

You can't shake the self-induced panic. The heavy dread of whatever is awaiting the mental shadowed corner in your mind. It's exhausting and all the same terrifying, and you find yourself unable to succumb to the safety that Bucky so willingly provides.

You do, however, hear his stern demand through the thick fog as he tells you to: "Settle."

Bucky only ever uses that tone – a deep and commanding timbre that leaves zero room for repulse when you're lost deep in your mind like this.

It's happened before.

You both know it'll happen again.

It takes you a long couple of moments and deep breaths with Bucky's hand splayed out against your spine; helping to ground you as air fills your lungs.

His metal hand rubs as the knots at the base of your neck, the cool surface easing you back into the present.

You both stay there. Breathing into one another and holding onto each other.

"Y'okay?" Bucky strokes his metal hand over your head, guiding you to lift your face from his chest.

Your eyes are tired.

You nod.

"Can breathe again."

Bucky gives a weak chuckle at that.

"Yeah, I bet."

Bucky decides that's enough friend time for the night for the both of you.

[azzo0]

Let's talk about Katsuki, who happens to be dating a med student. Both of your guys' schedules are hectic— rising with the sun and sleeping a few hours before it rises again.

But still, you manage to make time for each other. He makes sure to drop by your place on the weekends with your favourite drink even though he knows your nose will be buried deep in your laptop or a textbook. You're not hearing a single complaint from him, though. You can study while he's still there. On his lap.

He'll silently lift you from the chair and sit on it, dropping you on his thighs. You'll kiss his temple and continue working on your laptop while he scrolls on his phone with his forehead resting on your back, or he'll simply close his eyes with his arms wrapped around your waist while his lips lazily kiss your hair or the back of your neck. He lets you study all you want, but sometimes, he feels like being mischievous.

His breath will fan your jugular while his hands slip under your shirt or move ever so slowly down to your thigh, where he'll give it a firm squeeze, pull your legs slightly apart and draw circles with his thumb on your inner thigh. He likes watching you try to pretend like you don't care what he's doing when you're really crumbling with every touch. He keeps toying with you until you finally give up and turn around to give him a rough kiss and order him to carry you to the bed.

He's not the only one who pays visits. Sometimes, after class, you drive to his agency even if he's not there. You wait for him in his office, in his chair, while doing your own thing. Usually, when he's back, he has a bruise or an ugly gash from a fight with a villain. He insists he'll get it checked from the clinic, but you know he won't, so you tend him instead.

He knows med school isn't easy and that you can't be hanging out with him all the time. He knows you like holing up in your room and distancing yourself from the rest of the world when you have exams and tests coming up, so he gives you the space you need. He also knows how much burden you put on yourself during these days, so his brain has developed an alarm system where he automatically knows you're having a bad day. He drags you out of your apartment by force if he has to so you can take in some fresh air, or he simply drops by to make you your favourite dish and clean up for you. He can tell when you just need his company, so he sits on your bed while you study, his presence comforting your nerves a little bit.

He loves watching you study, but his favourite bit is when he is a part of your study/ practice. He willingly gives you his arm to practice drawing blood, even if takes you a few tries to insert the needle properly. Oh, he loves presenting his arms to you, his veins already protruding out. He doesn't miss the glint in your eye or the way you subtly bite your lips before meeting his gaze.

He loves loves loves when you have an anatomy exam most of all. It's not really studying, but damn, it's so hot when you're straddling his lap with his shirt off, your fingers roaming on his bare skin, while you yap on and on in a dead-serious tone about every muscle and structure.

Once, you were sitting on his lap during a similar session and you grabbed his chin and tilted his head head upwards, making him look to the side. You ran your fingers on the strong muscle of his neck that popped out, your touch sending shivers down his spine.

"This, Katsuki, is your sternocleidomastoid." You said.

He turned his face to you again, his pants tightening a bit too much for his liking. He couldn't make out the complex words falling out of your pretty lips because he was patiently waiting for you to point out every muscle of his and then just kiss him. He knew you were well aware of his erection poking your crotch, but you went on despite it and fuck, it pissed him off and turned him on at the same time.

He took your hand and smoothly guided it down to his hardened, clothed dick, "And what is this called, Doc?"

You gave him a coy smile, your fingers playing with the band of his pants, "You see, there are a lot of parts to name here, so I might need to take a proper look to name them all for you."

And all he could do was try not to come undone while you looked up at him through your long lashes while telling him about his own anatomy.

[lay-z]

COD VACATION AU | PRT. 1 — SURPRISE

— poly!141 × fem!Reader

— 18+ | established romantic relationship; eventual smut; fluff; humor; cussing; all the good stuff:)

You've already booked and taken care of everything by the time your four boyfriends return from their deployment—much thanks to Kate Laswell for giving you a 48 hour head start with her call (the one that nearly gave you a bloody heart attack).

Once they walk over the threshold of the house you five share, you go through the usual routine with them—lots of welcome home cuddles and kisses, a hearty meal and a stiff drink, long showers and, depending who is up for it, sex.

Kate didn't exaggerate when she said they need a break; their eyes are sunken with dark circles, their bodies battered with bruises and sore muscles, their poor hands calloused and swollen from handling gear and weapons for weeks, their tummies too flat and lean for your liking after losing a bunch of weight again.

Johnny's bright blue eyes are lacking their sparkle and his mohawk has grown out, Kyle's usually flawless skin and plump lips are dry and chapped, Simon's acne on his face and back has returned full force, and John's beard looks like a rat's bushy nest.

It's quite a sad sight, truly, and it triggers your maternal caretaker instincts like crazy.

"So, uhm–" You're shifting on your feet in front of the large couch they're currently all sprawled on top of each other like a bunch of lazy alley cats.

"I've got some exciting news."

That makes their heads perk up in unison.

"Ye're pregnant!" Johnny exclaims first, eyes wide and regaining some of that sparkle until he earns a light smack against the back of his head from Simon, who's shushing him gruffly.

"Let 'er speak, ya numpty. 'm bloody tired of yer voice."

Johnny pouts. Kyle snorts, hazel eyes half-lidded and glassy with fatigue as he glances over at the two. He's snuggled up to John, his head resting on the older man's broad shoulder.

The Captain, who's been holding his breath since your little announcement, keeps his steel blue eyes trained on you like a hawk while his arm wraps around Kyle's shoulders supportingly.

"Go on, sweetheart. What's it you'd like to share with us?"

You flash a sugary smile, wanting nothing more than to make them feel better now that they're finally back home with you, safe and sound.

"Okay, so," you make a vague gesture at them, "you're all clearly exhausted and in dire need of a nice break–"

A gruff chorus of yes and aye comes from them, making you giggle as you shush them.

"Anyway, so... I booked us all a very nice apartment for ten days in Mallorca. Islas Baleares, baby!"

Crickets. Nothing. Your smile slowly fades by the milliseconds as you gauge their—nonexistent—reactions.

Kyle's chest is rising and falling slowly as he nuzzles John's chest, his lips slightly parted. Simon's head has tipped back against the sofa's backrest, his mask rucked up and exposing his open mouth as he snores, his large hand buried in Johnny's hair, kneading the short brown strands self-soothingly while the latter is snoring just as loudly, his bearded face buried into Simon's neck.

You really can't blame them, but your bottom lip still juts out in a pout.

"Not the best time for big announcements, love." John chuckles all gravelly, still somewhat conscious, though his eyes have fluttered shut as well. "Sounds great, though. I can't... wait." He yawns mid-sentence and your heart flutters as you drink in your sweet bunch of tough, yet very sleepy, soldiers.

"Yeah, I figured." You whisper, though more to yourself, as you walk towards the switch to turn the light off. "I'll try again tomorrow."

John gives a small approving wave, hand barely lifting off his thigh, before he's knocked out cold as well.

As you make your way upstairs towards the master bedroom, your steps feel a little lighter and you can breathe a little easier knowing your men are asleep downstairs—and you know, they'll come crawling under your blanket one by one as the night progresses.

Let's get these men to a tropical island, shall we? ☺️🌴🌤🌊⛱️🍹

[mokasccino]

(🏩) ㅤㅤ𝐇i𝐆𝐇𝐄𝒮𝐓ㅤ 2 ㅤ𝐋𝒪𝐖𝐄𝒮𝐓ㅤ..ㅤ txt's sex drive.

ㅤㅤ( this was sooo fun to think abt ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱⸒⸒ )

𝐇i𝐆𝐇𝐄𝒮𝐓 ᡣ𐭩

ㅤ

O1. ㅤsoobin is absolutely insatiable, wants you every hour of the day and he'll never be above begging. feeling his morning wood pressed up against your ass in the early hours of sunrise as he whispers in your ear, are you up for it, baby? he'll plead with you even when he knows you js can't say no. he sends you pictures and voice notes while you're at work, god he just wishes you could be together all day, and when you're finally home in the evening he pounces on you, mouthing at your neck and tugging at your clothes the second you get in the door. it's almost like an obsession with him, fucks your pussy til it's raw, your mouth til your jaw aches, and your thighs til you're so worked up you want him in your pussy again. he never gets tired of you or the sex, always so obsessed with your body and how beautiful you look under him. he tries to keep that image fresh in his mind; you're the only thing he thinks abt when he gets off.

O2. ㅤhueningkai is the horniest angel you've ever met. you didn't know it was possible to be so sweet and considerate about constantly wanting to fuck—when the two of you are sitting on the couch, your legs thrown across his lap, and he looks at you with his big, dark, sparkly eyes and you know exactly what he wants, it's impossible not to give in. he kisses all over your face while he fingers you open and you know he's hard and dripping in his sweats, but he's so dedicated to making every time perfect for you that he doesn't care. he's always ready to go, too—in the mornings when the first thing you do is turn over and climb on top of him, on lazy, languid afternoons, on nights where the two of you have barely stumbled in the house before clothes are off, drunk and desperate and sloppy. kai's always eager for a quickie between classes and shifts, always thinking about you.

O3. ㅤbeomgyu is a tease, but he's only ready to back it up half the time. he knows just what gets you going, pushes all your buttons just for fun, just to see how you'll react. presses himself right up on you in a crowded room, moves you around with a hand on the small of your back, always has one protective hand on your thigh cause he knows how much you like it. he doesn't always mean for it to lead to sex, but when he does, you know—it's always accompanied by an earnest look on his face, sweetheart wants you to understand that he's not playing around this time, that he really does want you here and now.

O4. ㅤyeonjun's sex drive tends to correlate with his schedule. after a long day of work, all he's trying to do is snuggle up with you and a movie, let you kiss his pretty face to wind down before bed. when he has a day off it's a whole different story, like uncorking a bottle of champagne, a week or two's worth of not having sex finally bubbling over. he can't hold himself back and you wouldn't even dream of asking him to, not when he's eating you out like he's starving, moaning like it's him on the receiving end the whole time, feeling almost delirious with pleasure. you're always both so sensitive from waiting that every touch feels electric, amplified, and you fall apart under each other's touch.

O5. ㅤtaehyun's sex drive comes in bursts. most of the time, he's happy to have you get off against his thigh or use his fingers like toys, but every once in a while you do something that just makes his horny brain fire off on all cylinders. he holds you in place while he runs his hands all over your body and makes sure you know exactly how gorgeous you are in his eyes, how sexy you are, how much you turn him on, because even if you don't do this often, it's mind-blowing when you do.

ㅤ

𝐋𝒪𝐖𝐄𝒮𝐓 ᡣ𐭩

ㅤ

[revelboo]

I can't stop thinking about the bots giving their little human partner jewelry made out of their plating

Oughhhh

And none of them actually bothering to explain the significance of Conjunx gifts. I think normally, a bonded pair would exchange bits of their plating that could then be melted down and incorporated into their partner’s plating as a design that becomes a part of them. Some partners regularly exchanging bits of themselves to form elaborate tracery or each other’s names.

With humans, they’re having to be a bit creative. Most of them opting for an ornament their partner can wear. But it could literally be anything made from a piece of them (Vortex’s knife) or TFP Meg’s very obvious harness (because he wants everyone to immediately know that’s his human). I can see quite a few of them completing the ornament as they put it on the human, basically making it so it can’t be removed unless they help you or going back and pinching shut or welding the clasp if it’s a necklace and their mate keeps removing it not knowing it’s not just a pretty ornament. Humans with multiple mates end up with multiple ornaments and if the mechs are competitive, they’re constantly adding to their own to make it more ornate to outdo their rivals.

Everything Is Alright Pt 160

Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• “I swear if you two don’t stop squabbling, I’m moving in with Soundwave,” you snap and his wings tuck close to his frame guiltily. Ignoring the warlord cradling the protoform, he joins you and mass shifts offering you an arm and you eye him before leaning into him and letting him pull you close, resting his chin on your head. Had wanted to wait until you were alone with him, but he reaches into subspace to remove his gift and pulls one of your arms to him. Wants to prove his loyalty to you, because you know how awful he can be. You’ve seen him at his worst, but he wants you to understand that he’s trying to be better.

• Head resting against his shoulder, you watch him remove something shiny and intricately formed of the same colors as his plating. Exactly the same colors. It’s a bangle, you realize as he wraps it around your wrist and pinches the ends together so it’s loose, but you’re definitely not getting it off over your hand. Eyes narrowing as his lips twitch, it’s gorgeous, but it better not be the alien equivalent of a doggie collar with tags or you’re going to smack him. “I think humans do rings to signify bonding claims?” He mutters. “Cybertronians decorate each other with bits of themselves to signify their commitment.” It’s an alien wedding ring?

• Head turning to watch you hold up your arm, Starscream’s conjunx gift glittering and delicate looking around your wrist, Megatron’s lip curls in annoyance. “You’ll wear mine as well,” he mutters, hating that the words become a question. And you look up at him in surprise. “I’m sure Soundwave will want to mark you, too.” Venting as he imagines your bare skin decorated in a piece of him. Of taking you wearing nothing but that.

• Running a servo over your soft skin and the bangle, it soothes him in a way he didn’t expect to see you marked with him. Spike stirring behind his plating as you intertwine your fingers with his servos. “Our young will be well protected,” he mutters sullenly, glaring at Megatron watching him and you with an unexpectedly raw hunger on his face. Understanding the warlord even as he doesn’t want to. “With three of us to guard and raise them.”

• That cost him. Can tell by the way Starscream’s jaw clenches and it makes you love him even more for trying because he doesn’t want to. But he knows you want him to. Reaching up to tug his head down, you kiss him. Hear him growl as he drags you into his lap to straddle him, mouth sliding against yours. Unable to actually tell Star that you’d already decided to raise the kids like they have three dad’s since you’re stuck with all three of them. Because you’re not looking forward to that fight. Little steps, little battles. Feel his servos tunnel into your hair, the kiss becoming a hungry demand as Megatron loudly clears his vents and you ignore him.

Previous

[gloomysoup]

a secret worth keeping

@steddiebingo prompt: sneaking around | rating: m | word count: 2319 | tags: secret relationship, rockstar eddie, hockey player steve, modern au | ao3

🏒 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 🏒

“I can't believe I let you two drag me to a hockey game,” Eddie grumbled as they moved through the crowd to get to their seats. “It's too cold in here. And I have to watch sports! This is, like, the exact opposite of how I wanted to spend our off day.”

“Come on, Eddie! It'll be fun!” Gareth said, knocking his shoulder into Eddie’s.

“What about this is fun, Gareth?!” Eddie screeched, drawing a few stares from those around them. “It's hockey! It's cold, and it's sports, and you know I can't stand sports! I am already miserable. What makes you think I’m going to have fun?”

“Christ, Eddie, can't you just try to enjoy something someone else likes for once in your life?” Jeff grumbled with an eye roll. He sat in his seat, decked out in his favorite hockey jersey, which he always takes on the road with him. He claims it's for luck, but Eddie secretly thinks he just doesn't want to leave it at home with his slightly psychotic girlfriend. Eddie never did like her. He still doesn't understand why Jeff doesn't just break up with her, but he'd never say that out loud. He's had his own fair share of bad relationships that the guys graciously don't make fun of him for… anymore.

“It's not my fault you guys picked the one thing you know I can't stand,” Eddie shot back.

“Eddie, man, just shut the fuck up for once,” David snapped. “Hockey isn't really my thing either, but you don't hear me complaining.”

Eddie, clearly outnumbered by his so-called friends, huffed and flopped down into his seat at the end of the row. Curse Gareth and Jeff, and their stupid hockey team. Eddie slouched in his seat, arms crossed, as the teams came to the bench. Their manager, Chrissy, had scored them seats in the front row, right behind Gareth and Jeff’s team’s bench. It didn't take long for Eddie’s friends to be on their feet, cheering and yelling with the rest of the crowd.

Eddie couldn't possibly care less.

-

He loathed to admit it, but hockey was actually… kind of interesting? He had zero clue what was going on, like, at all, but there were some moments that he couldn't help but be intrigued. Particularly when the players landed some hard hits on each other.

What really got his attention, though, was the fight.

They were reaching the tail end of the second period. The game was tied, 3-3. Tension was high. A player from Gareth and Jeff’s team— he didn't catch the number— took a shot at the goal just as an opposing player slammed into him from the side. The guy went straight into the glass, and then he pushed the player back. He got a stick to the side for his troubles. Within seconds, they were shoving each other, sticks left forgotten on the ice. It wasn't long after that the refs broke it up, sending both players to their respective penalty boxes. Eddie watched in fascination as the player from Gareth and Jeff’s team pushed his way into the box, slamming his stick into the wall and ripping his helmet off.

It was like a Greek God was walking among them, playing hockey of all things. The man was gorgeous. Eddie watched in pure wonder as he rubbed a hand over his face, combed his fingers through his hair, and whacked the glass with his stick again. He could see the frustration, but he was too absorbed in his staring to care.

“Who is that?” Eddie asked, barely sparing a glance towards his friends as he continued to stare.

“Who’s who?” Gareth asked, tearing his eyes away from the game for the first time since the period started.

“That.” Eddie nodded toward the box, where the Greek God of a hockey player was shoving his helmet back over his head and talking to the guy standing in front of the door.

“The guy in our box? 23?”

“Yeah. Him. Who is he?”

“Steve Harrington. He's from Indiana too, actually. Second overall pick from Ohio State two years ago. He's good.”

“He's hot.”

Jeff whipped around to give Eddie an incredulous look. “Dude….”

“What? Can’t a guy appreciate a good-looking man?”

“And what about your doctrine, huh? Thought you had a thing against jocks? Or does that not apply to dating?”

Eddie shrugged. “Who said I had to date him?”

Gareth wrinkled his nose. “Gross, dude.”

Eddie’s eyes didn't leave 23 for the rest of the game.

-

This was stupid.

What the hell was he thinking.

Eddie laid in his bunk on the tour bus, staring at his phone screen, stuck in an endless loop of internal turmoil.

He hit the backspace button until the message was gone. His thumbs tapped across the screen. Delete again. Type again.

He set his phone down on his chest and blew out a long breath.

This was so fucking stupid.

He picked it back up and looked at the message again… only to realize he’d accidentally hit send.

Fuck.

Eddie sat up quickly, momentarily forgetting where he was, and whacked his head off the top of the bunk.

“Shit!”

His phone tumbled from his hand and clattered to the floor. A string of curses fell from his lips as he scrambled for his phone. The bus turned, sending his phone sliding across the bus and bumping into Jeff’s bunk down at the end of the row.

“No, no, no, I got it,” Eddie rushed as Jeff reached down to pick it up. Too late.

“What's got your panties in a twist?” Jeff asked as he picked it up. He started to hand it back to Eddie, but obviously caught a glimpse at the screen. He snatched it back before Eddie could grab it from his hand, looking intently at the screen and cackling. “Oh my god, you did not!"

“Shut up,” Eddie hissed, reaching for his phone. “Just give it back!”

Gareth poked his head out from his bunk, eyebrows furrowed and clearly still half asleep. “What's goin’ on?”

Eddie glared at Jeff. “Don't.” Jeff just grinned maliciously right back at him.

“Eddie slid into Harrington’s DMs.”

Gareth perked up, much more awake with the new information. “Oh, no, he didn't.”

“He did!” Eddie hid his face in his hands, already feeling his cheeks burn. “Wait, he's texting back!”

“Give it back, Jeff,” Eddie begged hopelessly, knowing it wasn't going to do him any good. Jeff held his phone out of reach, watching the screen for the message that was going to come through any minute.

“Dude, I can't believe you actually sent him a message,” Gareth commented with a laugh.

“And I can't believe it worked,” Jeff added. “He said, ‘Glad to see I have a fan’. With a winking emoji.”

“This is stupid,” Eddie huffed, snatching his phone from Jeff’s hand. “Y’all suck. I'm going to bed.”

Eddie thought that would be the end of it. He sent a stupid message, got a trained reply, and that was that. Oh boy, was he wrong.

He didn't tell a soul. It was their little secret. And honestly? Eddie thought it was kind of fun. Sneaking around, meeting in hotel rooms on the road, texting every day. It was thrilling. Eddie’s never had a secret that fun before. His friends still poked fun at him for the initial message from time to time, but Eddie always blew off further questioning with a simple, “It didn't work out.” But he would sneak off to meet with Steve every chance he got.

Eddie was playing a dangerous game.

With every secret meeting, with every text sent and night spent together, Eddie fell more and more in love with Steve Harrington. He'd probably be more upset about it if Steve hadn't made it so easy to fall. Steve Harrington also made Eddie take risks he wouldn't normally take. Like sneaking him into the hotel room that his bandmates also had a key for.

“I missed you,” Eddie murmured against Steve’s lips, fingers tangled in his still-damp hair. It was late. Steve had an evening practice and went straight to Eddie’s nearby hotel after. A hotel that Eddie specifically asked for, because he knew it was close to the rink.

“Missed you too,” Steve whispered back before kissing Eddie again, hard and deep. “It's almost playoff season. I'll be done soon, 'til next season. I can come see you more.”

Eddie loved how breathless Steve sounded. Loved that he was the reason.

Their clothes dropped to the floor piece by piece as they migrated to the bed, leaving a trail of wandering hands in their wake. Eddie pushed Steve back onto the bed, taking a moment to admire the way his hair fanned out beneath him and his skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat. He couldn't keep his mouth off of him for long, though. He trailed kisses across his torso, sucking a bruise here and there. He slipped his hand between them, toying with the button on Steve’s pants before finally popping it open and sliding the zipper down. Steve’s eyes were closed, eyelashes brushing across his cheeks, and he was already panting. Eddie watched as he pulled his arms up above his head, stretching his torso more. Eddie couldn't help it. He ran his hand up Steve’s abs, relishing in the shiver he received. His hand trailed back down, fingers scratching against the hair beneath his navel, dipping lower and lower and-

Click.

“Yo, Eddie!”

The door pushed open, and there were his bandmates.

“Oh my fucking god.”

Eddie’s head collapsed onto Steve’s stomach as he groaned. Of course this would happen now. Eddie couldn't even bring himself to look up, to face what was happening. He knew he would have to. He couldn't get out of this one. But now he's dragged Steve into it too. Perfect Steve, who has been so good to him and didn't deserve to be put in the middle of Eddie’s band’s bullshit.

“Eddie, what the actual fuck.” Jeff’s voice broke through after what felt like hours of silence.

Eddie took a deep breath and lifted his head, knowing it was time to face this head on. “Guys, Steve, Steve, the guys.”

“Eddie. Dude. You cannot be serious right now.”

“Yeah, man,” Gareth added. “You owe us an explanation.”

“I don't owe y'all shit,” Eddie muttered, still very much aware that he is still in a compromising position. “What I do in my free time is none of your business.”

Jeff crossed his arms and raised his brow. “Uh huh. Sure. So it was none of your business when you caught Gareth losing his virginity to that model? Or how about when David was on that ecstasy kick a while back?”

“Dude,” Gareth hissed, smacking Jeff in the shoulder. “Do you really have to spill our fucking secrets like that in front of Steve Harrington?”

“That's different,” Eddie argued.

“How is that any different than this, Eddie? Is it because this time it's you? You can butt into our business, but when we catch you with Steve Harrington, it's none of our business?”

Eddie grumbles, knowing deep down Jeff is right. This isn't any different than the other times. They've always shared everything with each other. His business is the band’s business, and vice versa. That's how they've always been. No secrets. Well, not until this. Not until Steve. Which… actually isn't much of a secret anymore.

“How long has this been going on?” Gareth asked. “Because, y'know, we asked. How long were you lying, Eddie?”

Eddie knew they were just joking. He knew they weren't taking it that seriously. But still. Did they have to take digs at him like that?

“It wasn't like that, dickbags,” Eddie snarked. “You're just too nosy. Can't have anything to myself.” Eddie couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips.

Jeff rolled his eyes, but he was fighting a smile of his own. “Whatever, man. We still expect to hear about it later. Don't do anything stupid, because I am not giving up my hockey team for you.”

With that, the guys left, closing the door with a soft click behind them. Eddie groaned into the duvet. He only looked up when Steve started laughing; a little snort turning into a fit of giggles.

“I'm sorry,” Steve said through his giggles. “It's just- it was just- so funny. I'm sorry.”

Eddie shook his head, a smile on his face. “You, Steve Harrington, are absolutely ridiculous.”

“And you're not?” Steve challenged, still fighting through his giggles.

Eddie shook his head again and leaned up to kiss him. “They're never going to let me live this down.”

“Oh, baby, neither am I,” Steve whispered with a smile against Eddie’s lips.

Eddie leaned back a little to see Steve’s face. “That mean you're gonna stick around? Even after that whole debacle?”

“Well, I think I have to now.” Steve’s smile was soft, filling Eddie with a warmth he's not sure he's ever felt before. “Can't make it awkward for Jeff, can I? With the hockey team and all.”

Eddie chuckled before leaning in and kissing Steve again. The heat of the moment was gone, but that was okay. Eddie was content just to be there, in the moment. They spent their night trading lazy kisses and drawing patterns on their skin with their fingertips. In the morning, Eddie knew he’d have to face his friends. He'd have to explain everything, because Corroded Coffin didn't keep secrets from each other.

Oh well.

Sneaking around was fun while it lasted, sure, but now he gets to annoy the shit out of his friends talking about Steve whenever he wants. It was a win-win for him.

The guys were really about to regret dragging Eddie to that hockey game.

[rauferes]

There's never a bad version of "Emmrich feels conflicted about jacking off to Rook" (delicious, keep it up guys) but can I just say my favorite version of this is taking it to its natural conclusion.

Emmrich, a gentleman, refuses to continue after the first time or two his base impulses get the best of him.

But the problem, see, is that his little... fascination... with Rook does not improve with time. Eventually, Rook is the only thing he can think about.

So he stops touching himself entirely.

Unfortunately for Emmrich, killing gods takes rather a lot longer than one would hope. The first couple weeks are fine, of course. Perhaps even the first month. Emmrich is a man who knows how to handle himself. But the days wear on, and Emmrich only grows more and more reactive, more desperate. He flusters easily; he very quietly gets riled up, with nothing to betray him but a faint blush and the frozen, mortified expression of a Victorian gentleman with considerably more honor than good sense.

This isn't the first time this has happened to him, but it dawns on him slowly that the last two crushes he strangled in this fashion were on academics. His contact with Rook is in admittedly more... vigorous contexts. There's rather a lot of delicious muscle being flexed, incredible feats of athleticism, flushing cheeks and fine sheens of sweat, and as much as he might try not to notice it... rather a lot more bouncing than is strictly speaking comfortable.

It's not improved by the fact that Rook is an opportunist: if there is a quip to be made, or an appalling pun, they'll do it. Flirting, by Emmrich's assessment, is no different for them. They aren't really interested, of COURSE not-- but try telling his leaping heart (and, ahem--) that.

There are some days he very much wishes to strangle his unruly anatomy-- except, at this juncture, it would undoubtedly be taken as encouragement.

If waking hours weren't already enough of a torment, this is when he becomes haunted by The Dreams. Rook bent over his desk, moaning. Rook pulling him into an alleyway and pressing him against the wall, eager with their kisses. Rook's hand impatiently undoing his sash. Rook's grin. Rook's hot, clever mouth--

Emmrich wakes up breathless, grinding down on his bed, and he can't stop. He tips over the edge almost immediately.

It should come as a relief. It doesn't. Things only get worse.

(When Rook finally has their impulsive way with him-- when they are busy kissing and pawing each other like teenagers and Rook's hand slips down and Emmrich breathlessly says, "Perhaps we should slow down?" and Rook tilts their head to the side, considers for a fraction of a second, and says, "Nah."-- the first sound Emmrich makes is a loud groan of pure relief.)

[blank-potato]

Kitchen Hazard

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader x Yelena Belova

Summary:

“I…” Bob says, stepping forward to take one for the team before Yelena stops him. Patting him on the shoulder as if throwing herself on the grenade for him. You smile at her as she takes a small bite. As soon as it hits her tongue, her mouth is immediately assaulted with an overwhelming burst of sourness and a hefty helping of… salt? What on earth did you put in them? “It's delicious,” She wheezes with a smile, a single tear rolling down her cheek. It was not.  You can't cook for shit. Or You can't cook, and you're a massive distraction in the kitchen, but they love you regardless.

WC: 2.0K

A/N: A little fluff kinda crackfic I started the night after I watched Thunderbolts, and I'm finally getting it out my drafts

You were trying your best, the whole team could see that.

“Somebody taste this.”

You weren't exactly the most well-adjusted, but thankfully, no one on the team was. But one of the only things that made you feel calm was cooking. It was your way of getting away from all the stabbing, shooting and kicking your superhero day job affords you. It also allowed you to show the team how much you loved being with them and how much you cared about them. Because the way to someone’s heart is through their stomach, at least that’s what you’d learnt from TV.

You pout, looking around as you offer your cupcakes, but no one has even moved, except Ava, who had phased out of existence as soon as you turned around with the tray in your hands. 

“Bob? Yelena?” You ask, fluttering your eyes at them. You knew they could never say no to you. You were each other’s something, you hadn’t exactly put a label on it, but they loved you, they loved each other, and you loved them, which means they were more often than not your cooking test subjects.  

“I…” Bob says, stepping forward to take one for the team before Yelena stops him.

Patting him on the shoulder as if throwing herself on the grenade for him. You smile at her as she takes a small bite. As soon as it hits her tongue, her mouth is immediately assaulted with an overwhelming burst of sourness and a hefty helping of… salt? What on earth did you put in them?

“It's delicious,” She wheezes with a smile, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

It was not. 

You can't cook for shit.

The first time you made cookies, they came out so hard that they could’ve been used as weapons. In fact, you ended up leaving a small bruise on John’s head when you threw one at his head when he said they had more in common with rocks than cookies. You apologised profusely afterwards, but you still thought they weren’t that bad, maybe John’s head was just soft. 

But that was hardly the last time you hurt someone with your food. Like when you almost poisoned and killed Bucky with your experimental fusion noodles, which tasted, according to him, like what he imagines jet fuel must taste like. 

Or the time you attempted to make soup for Ava when she was sick, and you managed to overcook the meat and vegetables in it. She had no voice, a fever, and still managed to croak out, "Is the soup supposed to be black?"

Not to mention that every other thing you made was unbearably spicy. At one point, John even started inspecting your spice usage like he was defusing a bomb. 

Your cooking could be considered biological warfare.

“You really like it?” you ask, your eyes sparkling with pride. You really tried this time. You measured things (mostly), followed instructions (kind of), and only deviated from the recipe a tiny bit to add your own special touches. Which, in reality, meant you went completely off the wall and threw in everything that looked “inspired.”

“It’s…” she says slowly, her eye twitching just a little as she fights to keep the smile on her face, “…perfect.”

There’s a beat of silence before she clears her throat and adds, “Really… unique flavour profile.”

“Great! Dig in,” You exclaim, pushing the cupcakes in front of her. Bob feels his stomach lurch at the thought of having to eat it all and is eternally thankful to Yelena and her seemingly iron stomach. 

“I can cook dinner too—”

“No!” came the resounding chorus from everyone in the room, except Alexei, who somehow didn’t mind your food and would always be reaching for seconds with alarming enthusiasm.

“That’s not necessary. Let Bob and I do it,” Yelena cut in quickly, a flicker of fear in her eyes like she was remembering the great ‘Turkey Incident’ of last Thanksgiving. They still got war flashbacks every time a turkey was so much as mentioned. 

You blink, the hopeful smile on your face slowly melting into a confused, almost pouty frown.

“But… I can help. I want to help,” you say, your voice softening with genuine intent, oblivious to the silent, panicked glances being exchanged behind you.

Bob watches you for a moment, and he understands that feeling all too well, wanting to be of use to the rest of the team and not feel like dead weight. He smiles gently, leaning over the counter and taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin.

“You can keep us company instead,” Bob suggests softly, his eyes warm and reassuring.

You nod slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing as you return the faint smile. “Sounds good,” you murmur, squeezing his hand in return.

The three of you enter the kitchen and look around. 

“So, what are we making?” you ask, hopping up onto the counter briefly before deciding maybe that’s not the best idea with Yelena around. You have found yourself pinned against one or two with intense makeout sessions following after and you should probably let them actually cook...probably.

“Creamy tomato pasta. If we try anything else, I’m scared we’ll burn the place down,” Yelena replies dryly, already grabbing tomatoes and garlic from the counter with practised ease.

You watch them fall into a rhythm, working in surprising harmony. Bob is boiling the kettle and starting to gather other ingredients, while Yelena multitasks like a pro, heating oil and prepping a pan. It’s almost domestic. Who are you kidding? It is domestic.

“Do you know where the basil is?” she asks, not looking up.

“Grab it for me?” she adds a beat later.

Bob reaches over her, brushing slightly against her side as you snag the fresh basil from the windowsill planter, handing it over with a little flourish. She smirks, not missing the theatrics.

“Can you open this for me?” Bob suddenly asks, holding out a stubborn jar to Yelena.

You raise an eyebrow. “You could crush that jar with your pinky.”

“I know,” he says sheepishly, “but it’s more fun when she does it.”

Yelena rolls her eyes but takes it, popping the lid off with a casual twist like it was nothing. “Hopeless,” she mutters playfully, setting it down on the counter.

He lingers, sticking closer to her, hovering a bit too obviously over Yelena’s shoulder as she preps ingredients. You exchange a glance with her, trying not to laugh.

“What?” she asks with a knowing smirk, catching his gaze.

“Just go cut onions,” Yelena adds, nudging him away with her elbow.

He obeys, letting out a sigh before grabbing the cutting board and starting to slice.

Both you and Yelena keep a not-so-subtle eye on him, watching his clumsy but careful movements. His eyes dart to both of you.

“I’m being careful, okay? I won’t cut myself. Invincible, remember?” he says, feigning confidence.

You don’t say anything, but you remain close. Curious, quiet, and maybe a little mesmerised as you watch his hands work. There’s something oddly calming about the way Bob moves: precise, steady, almost delicate despite his size. He’s focused, thoughtful, and your eyes follow the subtle shifts of his fingers, the crease of his brow, the way his lips part slightly in concentration.

It’s… entrancing.

Your skills of observation come in handy a few moments later when you notice his nose twitch ever so slightly. He clearly doesn’t want to break focus, but it’s distracting him.

Anticipating his needs, you reach over and gently scratch the side of his nose for him.

His shoulders relax, and he exhales with a laugh. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Turning your sights over to Yelena, you notice she forgot to put on an apron—again. With a dramatic sigh and a teasing shake of your head, you grab one off the hook.

“Let me put this on you,” you say, holding it out.

Yelena raises a brow but obliges, dipping her head slightly with a smirk tugging at her lips.

You slip the apron over her and step behind her to tie it, fingers brushing gently against her back as you secure the strings. You can feel her tense ever so slightly under your touch, but she doesn’t move away; in fact, she leans back just a bit.

“There. Now you won’t ruin another one of your ‘cool assassin’ shirts with tomato sauce,” you say with a playful nudge to her shoulder.

“I would make tomato sauce look badass on my shirts, but I get your point,” she quips, turning her head to glance at you over her shoulder, that smirk now fully formed.

“I’m the best sous chef anyone can ask for,” you chirp with a confident grin. Seeing a smudge of sauce on the corner of Yelena’s mouth, you lean in and kiss it off, marvelling at the taste as your lips brush hers.

“It tastes so good,” you murmur, cooing over the tiny bit you tasted on her lips before turning back to the pot, taking a spoonful and humming in delight.

“Yeah?” Yelena muses with a smirk, clearly amused by your enthusiasm.

“Bob, you have to try some,” you say, not even giving him a second to react before you reach up and kiss him quickly on the lips. “Good, right?”

Bob flushes a bright red, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, it’s uh—” he stammers, coughing slightly as his body tries to recover from you making his heart skip a beat. 

“You guys might just be better than me at cooking,” you say with a playful grin, leaning in toward him. His hands immediately fly up, cradling your face, but then he pulls back.

“Wait, my hands are onion-y, I don’t want to make you cry,” Bob says, a little sheepishly.

“Then don’t use your hands,” you tease, eyes sparkling.

You lean in again to kiss him, and he’s forced to keep his hands by his sides, despite clearly wanting to cup your face and deepen the kiss.

Pulling back with a mischievous smile, you reach out, grabbing Yelena and tugging her closer. “I’m cooking.”

“Not anymore,” you declare firmly, determined to kiss your not-quite-girlfriend, not-quite-boyfriend, because honestly, dinner didn’t matter anymore. 

You wrap your arms around her, starting to kiss her neck as Bob’s lips trail over yours. His hands grip your hips firmly, pulling you closer.

“We need to—” Yelena starts to say, but neither of you are listening.

Your hands are wandering, and honestly, you don’t even know whose hands are where anymore. Nothing could pull you apart.

Well, except for a fire.

Suddenly, the only sound in the room isn’t the soft brushing of lips or the quiet gasps—it’s the loud whoosh of a pot catching fire, flames licking upward, smoke building fast, filling the air.

You dramatically scream in pure horror, as Yelena rushes forward, swearing fiercely in Russian while searching for something to smother the flames.

“I’ve killed us, I’ve killed us all!” you wail, like you’ve discovered you had actually been switched at birth. Melodrama seemed to suit you quite nicely, another cute attribute they liked about you. 

Bob quickly wraps his arms around you, his voice calm and steady as he gently strokes your hair. “It’s just a small fire, see? Yelena is taking care of it.”

Within seconds, Yelena smothers the fire, the smoke beginning to clear.

She turns to you both with a sharp look, her tone a mix of warning and amused exasperation.

“What did we learn?”

“Never leave the stove unattended,” you say with a pout.

“And?” Bob asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t distract the cooks when they’re cooking…” You reply, giving a small shrug.

“Can we just order food?” you suggest, admitting defeat. They both nod in agreement, no way they're letting you anywhere near the kitchen for a while. You were a hazard, whether you were actually cooking or not.

You start to help them clean, the some smoke still comes out as Ava walks in, eyes wide. “What did you do in there?” she asks, taking in the smoky room and the faint scent of burnt tomato sauce. 

Masterlist

[swampgallows]

Image description and text transcription (as is):

Panel 1: [A red-tinted person with long hair and nose bridge piercings looks off-screen, anxious. A crowd of faceless green-tinted people is behind them.] It's very fascinating to me, that people have a unified front on not trusting the government, but fully expect them of being upfront with we, the people, about public health standards. Panel 2: [Three overlapping images of a red-tinted person with long wavy hair crying, lying face down on the floor, and hunched over in pain.] I've gotten covid at least three times in the last four years, and I've also become physically disabled. I can't stand or sit for long periods of time without searing pain all over my body and joints. And knowing that as I age, I will get worse. With each reinfection I risk accelerating my condition. This is not a unique experience to me. 1 in 10 people develop Long Covid and risk becoming disabled after each reinfection. Panel 3: [A green-tinted person with a ponytail holds a cane in one hand and the other behind their head, looking off-screen.] I now use a mobility device to help manage the pain, and despite my risks as a performer, I try to mask constantly in public enclosed spaces to keep myself from picking anything up, or risk spreading anything to others. It's a little difficult to NOT mask knowing that people you love and care about who are already immunocompromised, will be put at risk due to YOUR personal feelings of inconvenience. Panel 4: [A red-tinted person with full, wavy hair wearing loose flowing garments looks to the right. Round swathes of green cover the foreground.] I'm supposed to be celebrating my graduation, but struggle due to limitation from me and my loved ones being disabled. If there are no safety precautions put in place for the immunocompromised in public, do you expect us to hide away? Not go out if we are at risk? Cut off family and friends who refuse to care enough to take any precaution for our safety? Panel 5: [A red-tinted person in the foreground has tears in their eyes and an agonized expression. In the background are several semi-transparent images: a graph of National Estimate of Covid Wastewater Level from January 2022 to January 2024 with a sharp incline; Donald Trump and Joe Biden during a presidential debate; a woman in a head scarf and surgical mask with the captions "North Carolina House reviewing bill that would ban wearing face masks in public" and "Opponents are worried the bill would stop anyone — including cancer patients and anyone else who is immunocompromised — from protecting themselves."; the logo for Project 2025 - Presidential Transition Project; Canadian Conservative Party leader Pierre Poilievre.] This ongoing pandemic and politicization of public health has shown how the public feels about disabled people and the need to fit in with one another. You'd rather pretend the world is the same as before, than actively be flexible and act as a community to protect one another. Panel 6: [Three people, tinted blue, green, and red, embrace one another, each wearing a different style of mask and/or respirator.] Wearing a mask and advocating for clean air in gatherings is an act of resistance. It's an act of pro-blackness, an act of queerness, an act of disability advocation and an act of solidarity for BIPOC communities that are more at risk. Panel 7: [Text boxes on a blank background.] If you want to make a difference, start by building community, especially in the coming years. The world doesn't have to be survival of the fittest.

End transcription.

I think I need to get this off my chest before I start producing more art regularly. The world is fucked up, but it doesn’t have to be. It would be nice if in a pandemic we can continue looking out for one another instead of the ignorance many opt for now.

It really hurts to see what people prioritized over the years.

Include disabled people in your activism, wear a mask to keep yourself safe, and the people you love safe. The world has changed, and that’s okay, we can’t move forward if we don’t work together.

[yo-ri-su-ki]

Hello, how are you? This is my first time here and I would like to know how to make a request if it is okay and if you feel comfortable.

I'm wondering how Vergil would react to Reader, who is half human and half angel, coming to him and asking for help combing her wings, since they are heavy and she keeps them inside her body as a tattoo on her back. But she uses them in battle to help with agility and combat. However, she can't keep them in a hurry for too long because the feathers get tangled and often get knotted. She keeps them hidden because she has suffered from people who have tried to pull or even rip off her wings. She opens and combs them and is liberating, but there are places she can't reach and everyone in the DMC building left. However, not everyone...

Thank you and have a good weekend 😊☺️

Unfurling Feathers

Vergil Sparda x Female!Reader

An: URGHHH THIS IS AN AMAZING IDEAAA I SHOULD'VE THOUGHT OF THISSSSS

The hum of the city outside the Devil May Cry building faded into a dull murmur, muted by the thick walls and the lingering weight of a long day. The clang of weapons being cleaned had gone silent. Nero had left hours ago with a grin and a joke about getting drunk before Kyrie dragged him home. Lady and Trish had followed, bickering about who had the highest demon body count this week.

You were alone.

Or so you thought.

Steam curled in wisps around you, the hot water from the shower doing little to ease the tight ache in your back. Your fingers trembled slightly as they hovered above the base of your neck, where the inked tattoo stretched across your shoulder blades in the shape of folded wings. The dark design shimmered faintly, alive with hidden magic, pulsing with the desire to unfurl.

You drew a steady breath and whispered the command.

The tattoo rippled—then burst outward in a sudden, silent motion. Feathers, long and glowing with subtle gold, blossomed from your back like petals from a sealed bud. The weight of them hit you like a second spine. Always heavier than you remembered, always aching with the effort of staying hidden inside flesh and ink.

You exhaled shakily.

Stretching them felt like stretching parts of yourself that weren’t meant to be seen. Not here. Not anymore.

You stepped into the lounge slowly, towel tucked tight around your body, your wings half-draped behind you. Each movement stirred a fresh tangle in the feathers. Your hands worked at the knots carefully, trying to untangle the ones you could see—brushing, tugging, whispering soft apologies when one snapped under your fingers.

You couldn’t reach the worst parts. The ones near the top. The base. The inner curve.

Frustration burned behind your eyes.

You used your wings in battle for speed, evasion, sudden aerial bursts that gave you the edge in combat—and every time, they ended up matted. Twisted. You never had time to properly tend to them. You couldn’t. People stared. People touched. Some even tried to rip them out.

You clenched your fists at the memory. The feeling of claws, chains, greedy hands—

Footsteps.

Your heart stopped.

Vergil stepped into the doorway, Yamato glinting faintly at his hip, his long coat dusted from whatever training he had just finished. His silver hair was loose at the tips, slightly mussed in a way that should’ve been impossible for someone so controlled. His sharp blue eyes landed on you—and the wings.

You froze.

Neither of you spoke.

His gaze didn’t travel down your body, didn’t flinch at your half-state of dress. He only stared at your wings.

You opened your mouth, hesitated. “I… I didn’t think anyone was still here.”

He blinked slowly. “The others left. I remained behind to meditate.”

Of course he did.

You swallowed hard. “I… I know this is strange, but—”

“You are in pain,” he said plainly.

You stiffened.

“It’s not… nothing I can’t handle,” you lied, brushing at another knotted feather that made you wince.

“You cannot reach the base.” He took a step closer, voice quieter now. “May I?”

You looked at him, stunned. Of all people, you had never imagined asking Vergil for help with something so… personal. Your wings were a part of your soul. You had only ever let one person touch them before—and they had betrayed you.

But Vergil didn’t move any closer. He waited, eyes unreadable.

You nodded.

He gestured for you to sit on the couch, and you did, folding your wings forward slightly to allow him access to the tangle of feathers near your shoulders.

His touch was… unexpected.

Gentle. Deliberate. Not clinical, but precise. As if he understood instinctively what not to do. He combed through with fingers like blades dulled to velvet, smoothing through the feathers, loosening knots with slow, practiced care.

“I have read that angelic feathers are sensitive to both pain and memory,” he murmured. “They store remnants of emotion. Is that true?”

You nodded slowly, voice soft. “Yes. Some call it a curse.”

“A burden, perhaps.” His fingers paused on a particularly thick knot. “But not a curse.”

He worked in silence for a while, untangling each section with unwavering patience.

“…You’ve done this before,” you said finally.

“I’ve trained with beings who had wings,” he replied. “Long ago. I learned how they function. What they carry.”

His hand brushed the base of your wing, and you flinched. Not from pain—but something deeper. An echo of fear.

He stilled.

“I won’t harm you.”

You looked over your shoulder. He wasn’t even looking at your body. Just the feathers. As if they were something sacred.

“I know,” you whispered. “I just… don’t let anyone see them, usually.”

“Why?”

“Because when they do, they try to take them.”

Vergil was silent.

Then, very softly: “Fools. They see only beauty. Not the strength it takes to carry them.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He resumed combing, slower now. With reverence.

Minutes passed. You felt your heart beating too fast, your wings lighter than they’d been in months. Your eyes prickled.

When he finally stopped, your feathers were smooth. Gleaming. You hadn’t realized how much pain you’d been in until it was gone.

“Thank you,” you said. “I didn’t expect… I didn’t think you’d help.”

He stepped back. “You did not ask anyone else.”

You blinked.

“I was the one you trusted.” His eyes met yours. “Do not doubt the wisdom in that.”

You turned fully now, your wings folding behind you with a grace that surprised even you.

Vergil’s gaze lingered.

Not on your body.

On your wings.

Then—so softly you barely heard it—he said, “They are… beautiful.”

And he left the room before you could ask if he meant just the feathers.

Or all of you.

You didn’t see him for three days.

Not that you were keeping track. Not that it bothered you. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But every time you walked past the lounge, you remembered his hands—how they’d moved through your feathers like he wasn’t afraid of touching something sacred. Like he understood that pain could be quiet, that softness could be armored.

You still felt the ghost of his touch when you stretched your wings, still found your breath catching when you thought of the way he’d said beautiful.

You should’ve said something. You should’ve asked what he meant.

But Vergil was Vergil. Elusive. Sharp-edged. As unreadable as a locked gate to an old library filled with ancient regrets. You didn’t pry. You didn’t beg. But something had shifted. And you weren’t sure if he felt it too.

---

The fourth night, you found him on the roof.

Moonlight silvered his coat, and the wind tugged gently at his hair as he stood there with his eyes closed, arms crossed, Yamato glowing faintly at his side.

You stepped forward quietly.

“You always train in the dark?” you asked.

He didn’t turn around.

“It is quiet up here.”

You took a breath, stepping beside him. “Thank you again. For helping me the other day. I never got to say that properly.”

He opened his eyes. “You already did.”

“Yes, but…” You hesitated. “Not like this. Not face-to-face. I don’t… usually let people see me like that. Not just the wings. The rest of it.”

His eyes flickered over to you.

“And what is the rest of it?”

You looked at the stars. “Vulnerability. Trust. Needing help.”

His silence stretched, but it wasn’t cold.

“…You are not weak for needing someone,” he said finally. “Strength and solitude are not the same.”

That surprised you.

“I thought you believed the opposite.”

Vergil turned to face you fully now. “Once, perhaps. But solitude becomes a cage when you build it high enough.”

You couldn’t stop the soft sound that left your throat. It wasn’t pity. It was recognition.

You let your wings bloom again, this time slow, deliberate. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. His gaze remained steady as they unfurled beside you, stretching wide into the night air. The wind caught in them, and for a moment, you felt weightless.

You saw his fingers twitch faintly—like he wanted to reach again. Like he remembered.

“…Would you like to touch them again?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

His expression didn’t change, but you saw the faintest trace of tension leave his shoulders.

“If you’ll allow it.”

You stepped closer.

He reached out.

And this time, he touched them not with caution—but with something like familiarity. His fingers brushed gently through the outer feathers, curling slightly where they caught in the breeze. You shivered, but not from the cold.

“They’re warmer tonight,” he said softly.

“So is the moonlight,” you replied.

His hand lingered, then rested just at the joint where wing met shoulder. It was a place no one had ever touched before—at least, not without pain. But here, now… it felt like trust made flesh.

“Have you ever flown?” he asked.

“Not in a long time.”

He stepped behind you, close enough to feel the heat of his body along your spine. “Then let me watch when you do.”

You turned your head slightly. “You want to see me fly?”

“I want to see you unbound.”

Your breath caught.

Vergil’s hand left your wing then—but his fingers brushed against your own, a silent echo of what might come later.

---

Some time later…

You find a letter left in your room, sealed with his calligraphy—neat, sharp strokes of ink:

“I find myself dwelling not on your power… but on the peace I felt, combing your wings in silence. I do not understand it. But I want to. If you are willing.”

You reread it three times.

Then you smiled.

You were falling.

And he was beginning to reach.

The next morning, the rain had passed, and the sky cracked open into soft gold.

You stood on the same rooftop where Vergil had trained nights before, your wings extended, your bare feet curled against the cool stone. The city below moved on in its usual noisy chaos—unaware of the weight pressing on your shoulders. The ache in your back had faded, soothed by his touch, by his words.

You hadn’t flown in years.

Not since the last time you were hunted.

But Vergil's words echoed in your chest, deeper than marrow:

“Then let me watch when you do. I want to see you unbound.”

And for the first time, you wanted to be seen.

---

He didn’t speak when he joined you. No footsteps. Just a familiar shift in the air, a presence at your back that brought calm instead of fear.

You turned slightly. “You came.”

“I said I would.” His eyes roamed the curve of your wings—not with hunger or awe, but with a kind of reverence, quiet and grounded.

You looked out toward the sky, jaw tight. “It’s been a long time.”

“I know.”

“What if I fall?”

He stepped closer.

“Then I will catch you.”

The words were simple.

But they settled inside you like truth.

You stepped to the edge. The wind brushed your face, curling in your hair, dancing between feathers that now gleamed from careful untangling.

You exhaled.

Then you leapt.

For one terrifying heartbeat, you dropped.

Then—your wings caught.

Not as smooth as they used to be, not yet—but strong. They beat once. Twice.

Then the air lifted you.

The world tilted away as you rose into the sky.

Wind rushed past you like laughter. The sun hit your face and filled your chest with something like joy—and something dangerously close to freedom. You circled once, then twice, higher now, your wings responding like second nature. You laughed—a sound you hadn’t made in too long.

Below, Vergil watched.

He stood still, head tilted up, the faintest trace of something like awe softening the hard line of his mouth.

You swooped low, flying over him in a gentle arc. Your shadow passed over his face—and for just a second, your eyes met his.

And he smiled.

It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t cold.

It was quiet. Almost reverent.

You landed gently moments later, stumbling slightly—but he was there instantly, steadying you with one hand at your back, the other bracing your arm.

“You flew,” he said softly.

“I did.”

You looked up at him, breathing hard.

“I didn’t think I could anymore. Not really.”

He studied you with something unreadable in his eyes—then leaned in.

And kissed your forehead.

It was brief. Chaste. But deliberate.

You felt your breath catch.

“I am glad I was here to witness it,” he said. “Even angels deserve to remember their sky.”

Made by @yo-ri-su-ki, do not copy or translate my work! Reposts and likes appreciated!! Also if you like this post and want to see more like this, consider following!!

An: TYSMM IM SORRY I COULDN'T MAKE IT SOONER, AS I SAID I'M VERY SICK!! THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING LOVE YOU MWAAAH

[imheretoreadafic]

Alfred stood at the sink, scrubbing dishes with much more force than necessary. Bruce was doing horribly mentally lately. Near constant nightmares, preforming poorly in school, only talking when he was snapping at someone.

"I shouldn't have agreed to take care of him," He couldn't help but think. "I haven't the foggiest clue how to raise a child! He's better off if we never see each other again."

"Uhm, where does this go?" Alfred flinched and looked over his shoulder. Ten-year-old Bruce stood in the kitchen, holding a serving spoon.

Silently, Alfred nodded to the drawer, watching as the boy put it away and then reached to grab more clean dishes.

"What are you doing?" Alfred asked and Bruce paused, looking unsure.

"I, uhm... I figured we could watch the new episode of Gray Ghost together sooner if I helped you clean up... Am I in the way?"

"No," Alfred said softly. "No, I think you're just where you belong, my dear boy."

20 years later, Bruce sits at a desk, organizing physical copies of case files. 12 year old Dick was running circles around the man and he was exhausted.

"Oh who am i kidding?" He thinks to himself. "I can't keep up with Batman, Wayne Industries and Dick. I love the kid but I have no clue what I'm doing. He's better off if he forgot he ever even met me..."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Dick asked and jeez Bruce really was tired because he didn't even realize he was in the cave.

"Since when do you file things?" Bruce joked dryly and Dick rolled his eyes.

"I want to show you a routine I've been working on and I can't do that till you finish up." Dick explained, sounding exasperated.

Bruce blinked a few times.

"You're willing to file if it means I watch your routine?" He asked bluntly. Dick blushed and scowled like the angsty pre teen he was.

"Don't make it sound all mushy..." he grumbled, crossing his arms. That startled a laugh out of Bruce and Dick looked at him in surprise. "That's what gets you to laugh?! Not my hilarious jokes?!"

Snickering, Bruce replied, "What hilarious jokes?"

Dick gasped dramatically and turned around with a flourish. He put a hand to his head and exclaimed, "Well, if me and my jokes are just getting in your way, I guess I'll leave!"

Bruce laughed and stood up. Without a second thought, he grabbed the small boy and pulled him into his arms, planting a kiss on top of his head.

"You could never be in my way, chum."

[huhciel]

hmmm what about... having sex with van in ur shared hut and having to be quiet 🤫

ur mind anon!! ugghh im sick 😵‍💫

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

you and the van were super clingy (like always), giggling and touching each other very lightly, but not so innocently. you feeling the heat of van's skin every time your hand sneaked up on her thigh, feeling almost like an electric shock connecting the palm of your hand with van's beautiful thighs. it send you shivers and and you felt your core getting warmer and warmer, asking for something, asking for some relief.

until it was night. and yeah, as you imagined it, van couldn't wait any longer, couldn't take all this waiting, all this bittersweet touch. and honestly? neither could you.

everyone else on the team was already asleep, you two were absolutely sure. nothing could be heard except the muffled and desperate sighs that came out of your mouth as the van played with your inner lips. you could tell she was eager, desperate for you and whatever you will and are giving her. but also frustrated, distressed because she couldn't make you let go of all your most heartfelt noises and moans.

van's middle finger making pressure on your clit, while making circular movements that were so torturously delicious that you could feel van's fingertips marked in your intimacy. she can't keep her eyes off you, actually, she wouldn't dare to do so. you biting your lower lip so hard, innocently believing that it would control the moans, poor you :(( she finds it sweet, actually. your eyes closed tightly, your eyebrows furrowed and your whole face getting redder and redder, more and more destroyed, just like how van liked it.

to make matters worse (or better), van's movements were not faster or slower. they were the same, persistent, raw, felt. your moans getting louder, longer, more stubborn. and this did not go unnoticed by van. of course it didn't. she placed her free hand over your half-open mouth, pressing against your lips as she looked deep into you. "hey, sshh, quiet. you don't want them to wake up, do you? i would have to leave you if that happened. now we don't want that, do we?" you nod, frantically, desperately, pathetically. of course not, you would never in a million years want van's touch to leave you.

you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer, and van knew you well enough to know the same. your head wouldn't stay still, nor would your body, which shook and moved uncontrollably.

you melt in van's fingers."here we go, i got you." she says as she kisses your lips, as a little form of gratitude. her sticky fingers go towards her mouth and she licks them as if she were starving, licking grease from some delicious food.

obviously you both sleep very comfortable, clinging to each other (bonus point if the van is the smaller spoon), adoring and enjoying the love and warmth you both brought to each other in moments like these.

except for mari and akilah, who didn't sleep at all comfortably because you two had made the wrong choice of hut and entered theirs. and the poor things, when they went to their "home" heard everything.

[kulemiwrites]

Sylus | Use Me

Genre: SMUT Rating: 18+ Word count: 2k Character(s): Sylus, fem!reader

Note: In honor of the new update, I decided to repost this old LADs fic today! I missed it, tbh.

Read on AO3

You can't get enough of him and who was he to deny his kitten?

The rustle of sheets shifting beneath desperate bodies had nearly been silenced by the song of labored breathing and damp skin connecting. Sharp hisses, quiet promises and gratified curses pushed through swollen, parted lips. His– pink and plush– slipped between his pearly whites in a sad attempt to mute himself but he was unsuccessful. There was no hiding how good his cock felt buried deep within your smooth, sticky velvet. Greedy, spongy walls selfishly sucked him back in stroke after savory stroke.

It was too much, and yet, not nearly enough.

Trails of sweat raced along Sylus’ long, sinewy body. The lights of the bustling city you’d just spent the daylight hours exploring, peaked through the floor to ceiling windows. Neither of you bothered to draw the curtains before falling into bed, chasing each other’s lips and caresses. Now, with the city’s blessing, you were graced with the sight of his muscles bulging, veins dancing with each deep roll of his hips. His fair skin shined like pearls of alabaster. The lighting wasn’t too generous though. It softened his features and hid just how lust-ridden his expression actually was.

He promised himself when you checked into the hotel this evening that he would be on his best behavior, that he would rest with you after your showers and keep his hands to himself. 

However, encouraged by the couple glasses of vino he ordered at dinner, you stripped out the sexy red dress that he had painstakingly tailored for your gorgeous figure shortly after entering the room and dropped it to puddle around your feet. You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself all day and the build up led you to mow him down the moment you had him all to yourself.

And who was he to deny the whims of his kitten?

You writhed and moaned beneath him for no less than twenty minutes now and though you reached your peak twice, it was written in your starry eyes that you desperately needed more. Sylus had been dying to cum since since orgasm #1 but he always prided himself in being the one who could satisfy you like no other. 

When he took you to bed, he always encouraged you to use him to your heart's content. Each time he sank his long, thick cock inside your heat, he was convinced that this was what he was brought to the world to do. 

Nothing ever felt more right than this. 

The way his balls tightened at the thought practically confirmed that as fact and it drove him fucking insane. 

You spread your legs further, slippery fingers gripping at his waist in an attempt to pull him in deeper. A curt breath pushed through his nostrils as his lips curled in a jeer. How cute, he thought as he hooked his own deft fingers beneath your right knee and lifted it to rest your leg above his shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss against your ankle, your foot dangling above his ear. 

Sylus knew that if he kept up at this pace he would wind up spilling himself inside of you. Though he angled himself to offer you the final inch of cock that you’d been craving, he softened and slowed his stroke. 

You wordlessly expressed your discontent with this but he continued as he were, flashing a teasing but apologetic smirk. It wasn’t lost on him what you wanted but for now, just for now, he had to dismiss that until he could gather himself once again. Pressing a kiss to your lips, he mentally promised to give you what you wanted… in due time. 

You reached for his face, nimble fingers unknowingly trailing behind a bead of sweat that raced along his sharp jawline then dripped off his chin. “Sy, don’t stop!”

He craned his head to catch one of your knuckles between his lips for a sweet peck, hips still rolling gently, “Sweetie, if I don’t lighten up, I’ll cum…”

The same fingers he’d leaned in to kiss, slithered up his neck then tangled themselves in the short, damp hair at the back of his head before pulling him down until he was but a breath apart from your lips. Lowering your leg from its rightful place above his broad shoulder, you wrapped it and its twin around his undulating waist. 

A sharp gasp escaped his lips, his scarlet gaze widened down at you.

You gripped his hair tighter, all but snatching it from his scalp as you locked him in place using your heels to guide his thrusts for an added emphasis. 

“Dont. Fucking. Stop!” you panted, then sank your teeth into his bottom lip.

A pointed groan ripped from deep within. His narrow brows twitched with nearly the same intensity as his body. Sylus’ large, clammy hand was shaky in its reach for the pillow haloed around your head. Loud moans sounded out as he managed just a few more deep, stuttering thrusts with your guidance and then his entire body stiffened…

Did he just…?

Horror chilled his body just as quickly as the lust that lit him on fire. 

He could barely count on his own strength to hold him up above you. Second by second his arms grew limp, practically useless. 

This… had never happened before. 

Did he really just react to you taking charge as if he were a virgin getting his cock wet for the first time in his life? Thoughts poured into him like alphabet soup– scrambled and senseless. 

What had you done to him? Surely he was capable of far more vigor than his…

Ruby red poured over your face, attempting to study you while maintaining his own composure. Was this the night he’d disappoint you? Would you believe him if he told you that this was exactly what he planned to do? He wondered.

A wickedness lift the corners of your mouth and delight flashed in your eyes.

For once, he found you impossible to read. Were you amused at his lackluster performance? Were you pleased with yourself for getting exactly what you wanted? Or… Was there something else? 

Once again securing your legs around his waist, song fell from your parted lips as you rocked into him, helping yourself over and over to his softening cock. Pathetic whimpers escaped him as he watched your eyes roll back, completely indifferent to the sensitivity plaguing him. Your nails combed at his scalp as you pulled him closer, giggling softly as you pressed a kiss to his lips. 

Biting back a groan, he whispered against yours. “Are you not done with me yet, kitten?”

His pulse was already out of control but the mind-numbingly beautiful smile you flashed at him as you shook your head was nearly enough to double it. A playful scoff brushed warmly against your glistening face. 

“That so?”

Sylus dug his fingertips into the pillow, gripping until he’d made a fist. Biting back the embarrassing moan that itched his throat, he wound his jaw. He steeled himself, resting his weight onto his hands that were stretched out to claw at the lumpy sheets surrounding you. Slowly but surely, he was beginning to roll his hips once again, trying his best to regain just enough composure to take back control. This sensitivity however, was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. 

His thick cock twitched inside of you, blood pumping in efforts to rejuvenate itself. He felt as if he was becoming more hard this time than he was right before he’d come. 

“Fuck, ____.” he grunted through clenched teeth.

It wasn’t common for him to use your name, especially in moments like this but now he’d been uttering it against your skin like a prayer. You were the goddess he was hoping would show him mercy. Of course, his prayers would go unanswered. He worshiped a selfish deity, one that saw no error in using him and received pleasure from his torment.

And he wanted it no other way.

The thought would have made him laugh had he not been dying from overstimulation. 

At what point did he become the type to all but beg to be fucked like this? Just exactly when did you come to wield such power over him? How did he allow himself to become so utterly pathetic? 

You pulled him in for a messy kiss as if sensing the whirlpool that was his thoughts and sought to silence them. He had become putty in your hands– Or perhaps, he always had been? Each time he fell under your touch, he watched himself stray further and further from the Sylus he’d so ardently crafted. The man practically ripping a hole into the fabric of these very expensive sheets as he frantically pounded you was a stranger to him.

“Ah, that feels so good, Sy!” you whined, your hands slipping from his head back down to grip pathetically at his dripping waist. “Just like that!”

“Of course, Sweetie.” he panted harshly, his expression hardening as he glanced down at your sloppy connection. Both his cum and your arousal splashed back against his thighs, a ring of cream building up around the base of his cock. 

Then, he stared at your perfect face. Pretty lips parted, brows needled together to signify your desperation, and your eyes, the ones that made his heart stutter each time they’d connected with his own, were laser focused on the way he’d been splitting you. While you lost yourself to his cock, he lost himself within you. 

Who was he? 

Right now, who was he really?

He knew the answer to that a long time ago but right now, he didn't have the foggiest clue…

Sylus felt your walls contracting around him, the grip like a vise as his balls tightened no matter how hard he fought against the buckle of his stroke. He was intent on churning through that sensitivity, now utterly delicious, in an effort to usher his sweet kitten to the bliss she was so fervently chasing. 

Focus, Sylus. Fucking focus. 

You buried your nails deep into his biceps, crescent moons would soon fill with blood and he left them as it. He had no intention of faltering.  

“Comin–!” you forced out, sweaty back arching off of the bed.

He gripped at your waist, slamming you down to meet his clumsy thrusts. A stream of your juices sprayed out onto him but he continued to pound, guiding you to once again to wrap your legs around his waist. Once you did, a loud roar of your name left him as he filled you one more time. Together with him, a chorus of pleasured moans filled the air until soon he drowned yours out.

He moaned, thrusting until he could no longer. 

Your hands fell from his arms, limp at your side and with a shudder. Sylus plopped down onto you, still careful not to squish you with his body weight. 

His brows twitched with frustration as he fought to catch his breath. Fuck… He was so certain he would be able to last longer that time.

He rested on his forearm then used his free hand to guide you to meet his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” he managed through a huff. “Give me a bit and we can try again if you’re still not satisfied.”

An almost derpy smile spread across your lips as you ran your hand through his silver strands, so sweaty that most of it slicked back with ease, showing off his tired but oh, so very handsome face. 

Shaking your head, you whispered. “No, you were perfect… That was amazing. Thank you.”

His scarlet eyes bounced between yours as a smile that could rival yours spread across his plush lips. You didn’t miss the way they glimmered with pride as he stared down at you. 

“No need to thank me, Sweetie.” he whispered right before giving you one final kiss, one to communicate the adoration he felt for you at that moment. “You’re welcome to use me anytime.”

[cherrychilli]

18+ Steve Harrington x F! reader, new relationship, established relationship, car sex, unprotected sex, nipple play Summary: A wardrobe malfunction brings you and Steve closer together. WC:3.2K

15 minutes. Only 15 minutes to get ready.

It was your own fault for mixing up the dates, kicking open your room door, already yanking your work clothes off and throwing them all over your bed, your desk and your lamp, nearly knocking it over in the process.

Steve was already down Dower Street when he called to let you know he'd be over soon and time was running out. You hurried into the shower and back out in two minutes, somehow able to keep from slipping because you were still damp and a little soapy after trying to towel off so quickly.

Hair brush in one hand, you pull out your underwear drawer with the other. You don't take too much time or notice, your hands falling on something black and lacy and you decide it'll have to do.

You conceal the matching set with a favorite of yours, a mid thigh length burgundy chiffon dress. A wispy, airy kind of garment with thin straps and a little slit that showed off a few more inches of your bare thigh. Not too casual. Not too dressed up. The date night sweet spot.

By the time you hear his car pull up at your place you've just about fixed your hair and applied some light make up, remembering to puff on some perfume too before you head down the stairs in your heels, the scent of lilies lingering after you.

"Hello, gorgeous"

Steve's already at the door to greet you when you pull it open. Flashing his perfect smile and the prettiest bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. You can't wait to find the right vase for the fragrant bunch of blushing pink peonies, already deciding to make it your new centerpiece.

And you've kept count too. This is the fourteenth time he's called you that since he officially asked you out a little over e week ago. You doubt you'll ever tire of keeping tally judging by the little hot electric pulse that sizzles through you whenever he says it.

The drive to the movie theatre is pleasant with small talk and plenty of smiles. A part of you quietly hopes for his hand to rest on your knee but it remains on the steering wheel for the duration. Though, after he's parked you're happily surprised when he gets down and holds the the door open for you, weaving his fingers between yours as you both walk inside hand in hand.

Selecting snacks and drinks doesn't take too long either, the both of you deciding on a large butter popcorn to share and two cherry cokes. Steve's treat, he insists.

The thought of brushing fingers with him all night while the two of you place the bucket between you brings that delightful buzzy feeling again. It travels down your back as he places his hand there when you walk inside, guiding you gently to your seats.

It's a sparse crowd once you look around, not too many queuing up to watch a showing of They live at this hour and honestly you preferred it that way. The last thing you wanted was to be seated next to anyone who could possibly ruin your good time. Especially with the two of you together like this in the dark. Who knows what could happen, you think excitedly.

The lights dim as you wrap your glossed lips around your straw and suck, fizzy cherry coke bubbling sweet on your tongue.

As you'd hoped, your fingers keep brushing as you dip into the bucket for mouthful after mouthful of buttery popcorn. You like the way his shoulder presses against yours whenever you exchange whispers and giggles, whiffs of his cologne and shampoo making you want to move even closer.

You're wondering when he'll make a move, if maybe he'll initiate a kiss sometime soon or later. You try to wait as patiently as you can manage but its only getting harder and harder.

Throughout the movie the screen casts so much color and light onto the audience and the empty seats that keep you all separated in your little pairs and groups. Each time it lights up like that your eyes fall on the two other couples seated a few rows down in front of you and Steve, both of them more touchy feely than the two of you and you start to wonder if maybe there's something you might be doing wrong. If maybe there's a reason why he's not taking things any further.

It's around twenty minutes later that Steve leans in again, coming closer to whisper something in your ear. This might be it. You still hope for that kiss, trying not to let your excitement get the best of you.

"Hey..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not sure how to say this..."

"Just say it", you encourage him sweetly.

"Um. did you mean to wear this tonight?"

Your brows press together.

Was this some kind of attempt at flirting? trying to set the tone before you took things further? He's usually somewhat smoother than this.

"What about it?", you try to keep things going despite his awkward delivery, batting your eyes a little bit.

"It's just that...you're glowing"

"Really?", you smile at what you think was a compliment.

"No, I mean literally. You're glowing"

"Huh?"

You pull away from Steve's face and back into your own chair, tipping your chin to look down.

Oh holy fuck.

You're stunned to see the neon green straps and lace shine through the thin chiffon, both your panties and your bra entirely visible.

The worst part? besides finding out your underwear's shining brighter than a fucking glow stick while the man you are yet to sleep with notices in public?

You have no one else to blame except for yourself.

Only you were responsible for fixing yourself a cocktail or four, before sitting down to do a little internet shopping the day after pay day, browsing at everything ranging from clothes to pet supplies.

In a drunken high, you'd looked through the lingerie on sale as well, only this time you'd completely forgotten having done so until the delivery came through a few days later.

Sober, you opened it and sighed. You liked the design sure, but glow in the dark lingerie? what were you thinking? It wasn't really your style. But on the other hand, it was still a perfectly fine matching set. You didn't see the sense in throwing it out when you could still wear it at home so you kept it until one day when they must have mixed in with the rest of your lingerie, completely forgotten until now.

You try to wrap your arms around yourself but that doesn't do much. Still glowing despite your best efforts. Looking up helplessly, you wish so badly to be like one of the alien beings living hidden in plain sight from the movie you're both supposed to be watching. You only hope you can go completely unnoticed like them too despite what you're both trying to conceal underneath.

"Oh god oh god oh god", you mumble under your breath, growing hot with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset. I just wasn't sure if you knew", he tries to calm you.

"It's not your fault Steve. It's mine. I completely forgot I'd even bought this stupid thing", you hide your face in your palms.

"Shit, I hope no one else saw...fuck I'm so stupid", you waste no time at beating yourself up.

"Hey", you feel him pull gently at one of your hands, carefully prying it away from your face. "If you're uncomfortable we can leave. I'll take you back home", he offers so kindly.

"I'm sorry. I ruined our date didn't I?", you sniff.

He chuckles. "Babe, you didn't ruin anything", he tells you while taking off his jacket and handing it to you. You're so thankful though you realize it doesn't fall low enough to conceal your panties entirely, looking like you're smuggling out a swarm of fireflies under your skirt.

"Could you walk behind me? I don't want anyone to stare at my butt"

If you weren't so upset about your outfit you would have adored the way he nods so quickly, head bopping up and down like a dashboard figurine going down a bumpy road. "Sure sure, yeah. I can do that".

After making it to the parking lot Steve opens the car door for you again, letting you step in and settle into your seat. When he rounds over to the drivers side you pull his jacket open and find that your underwear seems to shines brighter in here because it's darker than in the theatre.

"Alright, let's get you home", Steve buckles himself in.

This time the drive back is nowhere near as good as the one to the theater. The two of you try your best but it's just too awkward. The hue of your stupid underwear continues to light up in your seat and Steve seems to be breaking into a nervous sweat.

When the drive turns completely silent you wish you could just evaporate on the spot, just dissipate into nothingness and leave just your goddamn bra and thong behind.

All you'd wanted was a nice night out with your new boyfriend, getting to know each other more while you had fun.

But you don't get to sulk and linger on the thought for very much longer. A few more meters down the main road and Steve makes a sharp right, pulling a surprised yelp out of you. You're jostled in your seat as he takes you down a dark unlit trail road, seatbelt digging into your chest when he suddenly hits the brakes.

"Christ, I'm sorry but, darling you're killing me", he unclips himself from his seatbelt, leaning over the console to place his hand on the back of your head, guiding your lips to his.

It's an understatement to say the whole thing caught you by surprise, he'd been so composed up until now but you can feel the relief washing over as he lets himself go, his tongue brushing against yours. Still cherry coke sweet.

Even if you'd been waiting for a kiss tonight you couldn't have expected this. It was so raw and raunchy. The kind usually shared unclothed and between sweat damp sheets. You hadn't been kissed like this in a long while though you don't remember enjoying any of those previous kisses to the one your lips are currently locked in.

Your lips suck and smack, your tongues twist and flick for what feels like hours, your hand brushing over the little stubbly spot on his jaw that he must have missed while shaving until Steve pulls back, his lips so pink and slick with spit.

"I know... I know things are still new between us and I wanted to treat you like a gentleman. Classy girl like you deserves that, right?" he runs a hand through his hair, looking somewhat uncertain.

"First you walked out in that dress and you had me worried I couldn't make the walk back to the car without trying to get under your skirt right there in your mother's garden. 'Knew that if I kissed you in the theater I wouldn't be able to stop too."

Your eyes go wide as you blink up at him. He'd masked it so well up until now that you never would have guessed that he felt this way.

"So I wanted to give you that. I really tried to treat you right but- shit when I noticed what you had on under that dress I just couldn't hold back anymore. You don't know what you do to me, baby"

He looks apologetic about it. Almost like he ought to be ashamed. Like he'd committed some kind of wrong by not being able to resist you as you look down at his lap to find that he's hard.

You couldn't be more pleased.

"You like it, huh?" you begin to undrape his jacket from your shoulders, carefully chucking it in the back seat. You turn towards him in your seat, propping yourself on your hip and giving him your best bedroom eyes in the dark of his BMW.

Your lingerie still glows, a cute lacy heart covering your crotch matched with two identical hearts sewn upside down to hold your breasts in place.

"Yeah, I really do", he gulps.

"I guess we should do something about it then"

In that moment, Steve forgets how to breath when your hands reach up to pull the straps of your dress down your body, wiggling enough to pull it low and toss that too into the back once you get it over your feet. Knees digging into the leather detailing of his car, you maneuver your way on to the driver's seat next, setting yourself down on his lap.

There's a thrilling shift because you're feeling confident once again, loving the way it feels to show yourself off to him like this instead of trying to cover up at all costs.

"You've been looking so long, aren't you doing to touch them?", you pout even though you know that doing so would only fluster the poor boy even more.

It doesn't last long however. You're not the only one growing more confident as Steve reaches up to cup his hands over your soft breasts, squeezing and kneading them as he marvels at the feeling.

"You have no idea how conflicted I feel like right now", he groans.

"Oh?"

"Can't make up my mind if I ought to rip this thing off you or not", he pulls gently at your bra strap, letting it go and snap back into place.

"How about this?", you offer, reaching for the lacy cups and pulling them down enough for your tits to fall out, the lingerie bunching under them.

"Fucking hell", he reaches for your nipples, rubbing at them with his fingers to get them all hard and sensitive.

"You don't have to hold back with me, Steve. You've been so sweet all night but I want to see what it's like when you're not so nice"

"Yeah? think you're ready for that?"

"One way to find out", you whisper, dragging your clothed cunt over the shape of his stiff cock, humping at it with deep, slow thrusts to see who'll cave first

It's Steve.

He reaches for his belt and jeans, undoing them both so quick all while helping to hold you in place as you balance on your knees, eagerly watching him pull his cock free.

Seeing it finally is a real treat. It's not like his jeans ever did a great job of concealing just how big he was, always a bulge showing through even the thickest material. But now? it's so much better. Bigger, sure but it's how he handles it that makes your panties all sticky.

His big broad palm is spat in before he wraps it around his length, quickly getting it nice as slippery for you though you know it's only going to get much messier when you take him inside you.

Then it's your turn. Pulling the luminous lace aside, you place a hand on his shoulders and line up your entrance with the bulbous head of his cock, anticipating the stretch but even then it makes you shiver. It presses and presses against your hole and you try to fight against your body clamming up against something so large, circling your hips to find the right angle that'll allow him to slip inside.

When you find it the relief is instant, Steve slipping inside all warm and wet and tight while you feel the size of him drag and throb.

"You knew what you were doing, weren't you? asking me to walk behind you back at the theatre. You knew I'd watch your ass all the way back to the car"

You grin. "Yeah? that get you all hot and bothered?"

"You know it did"

You sink down on him up to the base, a little gasp escaping from between your lips.

"Alright. You asked for it"

His hands are so warm on your hips, strong and quick as he begins to drag you up and down his lap. There's nothing gentle about it either, just as you'd asked for. Your sweet, courteous Steve is no longer here to hand you flowers and open doors for you, squealing when his fingers reach for your nipples and begins to pinch them.

Sharp and hot, you like the feeling especially when he tugs on them all tight and taught before letting go, your puffy nipples throbbing from the attention. Meanwhile you try to match the pace he's set with his cock inside you, starting to bounce.

"Steve...I don't- I don't think I'm going to last long", You admit when his thumb finds it's way to your clit and rubs at it nice and firm like he's polishing a precious pearl, that pulsing electric feeling coursing up and down your quivering body.

"Yeah? poor thing. Had me thinking the same when you started to light up in your little bra and panties. Feels nice doesn't it?"

"Oh fuck , yes", you gasp, bouncing harder and harder until the seat starts to squeak and groan. He makes sure to give your ass some attention too, spanking you nice and hard in time with his thrusts.

The smell of sex is thick in Steve's car - his cologne and your perfume do a piss poor job of masking it, not that either of you seemed to mind. You hope it lingers on the leather and the fibers of the upholstery. You don't care if he's making a run to the grocery store or heading in to work, you want him to be reminded of you.

"Steeeeve", you whimper, unabashed and trembling.

"I know baby, I know. I'm right behind ya"

Your muscles are starting to ache and strain. Definitely going to turn sore by tomorrow just like between your legs. You hope his scent will cling to you. Weave into your hair and sink into your pores, seeping skin deep to remind you in the morning of how he'd made you feel.

Oh it's happening

You can't keep yourself upright anymore, slumping into Steve, your teeth biting down on his shoulder and though you hear him hiss he doesn't ask you to ease up on it, the same as his thumb on your beating clit, circling circling circling...

When it hits it's like the weight of your own bones have proven too much for you to bear, twitching and crying out his name into his neck. It's a little pathetic but you can feel that he likes it. It's all you can do as his thumb continues to bear down on your clit. You don't have any breath left in your lungs to tell him it's starting to get too sensitive.

"God, look at the mess you've made on me. 's only fair if I do the same to you, yeah?"

You fucking better

He doesn't wait for an answer you're too fucked out to give -- already knowing what you'd say.

Since the moment he slipped into you the wet clap of your bodies echoed in his car only now, it's much much wetter following your orgasm. You can hear just how much you've creamed on him and it makes your cheeks flare up.

"Gonna cum", he grunts into your hair, finally letting go. Despite how tired you are you listen so attentively when he empties into you, the gritty, deep groan and the airy little gasps he lets out in-between.

It's no surprise to you that Steve Harrington makes the nicest sounds when he cums.

It shoots hot inside you, rope after sticky rope of it reaching inside as deep as it can go. It's going to take a while to clean up from this. You wouldn't be surprised if you find some of it leaking onto your panties or trickling down your inner thighs tomorrow.

The movie's likely over now.

This time the silence doesn't feel unpleasant like before. Listening to the both of you softly panting from exertion almost feels hypnotizing, his hand stroking your hair and yours smoothing up and down his chest.

Minutes tick by and it's like you can only understand each other through those soft, tender touches. Every brush, every stroke meaning something different until Steve's able to muster up enough energy to tell you something important. Something that's best said with words.

"I don't mean to sound harsh or possessive", he tells you, making you quirk up one eyebrow. "But don't ever wear this in public ever again. Please? They don't deserve to see how beautiful you are", his lips press against your temple fondly. "Okay, gorgeous?"

You smile.

And that's number fifteen.

[wheels-of-despair]

The Sluttiest Squirrel Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie brings home a surprise. Insert Evil Woman eyeroll. Contains: An introduction, a taste of one's own medicine, a merry chase, an idiot getting a little too… excited? It's a wild one, dudes. 😉 Words: 1k

"If I brought home a pet, would you be mad?"

You close your eyes, let your head fall back against the couch cushion, and let out a long sigh. You fumble for your bookmark, place it between the pages, and throw the book toward the coffee table before lifting your head to look at Eddie.

He's standing in the doorway, hands behind his back. Which means he's already brought it home. Whatever it is, it's already in your house. He's going to be heartbroken when you tell him it has to go.

"His name is Roscoe," he says, taking a step closer. "He'd be very quiet. He wouldn't eat much. And I'd feed him and clean up after him and all."

"Eddie," you whine.

He grips whatever's behind his back tighter and comes to sit next to you on the couch. You hear a scratch against his leather jacket. Great. It has claws.

"Will you at least meet him before you make me throw him back out in the cold?" he pleads, his eyes in full puppy mode.

There's also a spark of mischief in there. Your eyes narrow, but before you can speak, he whips his hand out from behind his back to reveal…

A squirrel puppet. A squirrel finger puppet, to be exact. There are four sets of plastic claws and a head, on each of Eddie's fingers. He brings two fingers together to make it look like the squirrel is holding its hands together and begging.

It's the ugliest freaking thing you've ever seen.

"Can we keep him?" Eddie whispers.

"Can I keep him and get rid of you?" you ask.

Eddie shrieks indignantly and cradles the plastic monstrosity to his chest.

"Roscoe is my best friend! We've been inseparable since I bought him in the gas station fifteen minutes ago! You can't tear us apart after all this time!"

"Oh my God," you groan, leaning back on the couch and looking at the ceiling in annoyance.

You feel claws on your boob.

You look down to confirm. Yup. Eddie Munson has used all four of those horrendous little plastic claws to grab your boob.

You feel your eyes flash at him, and are pleased to see fear in his. He withdraws the gross little puppet and puts his toy-covered hand in his lap, covering it with his other.

"Roscoe apologizes for his impulsive actions, and promises that it will never happen again," he says seriously.

And then he makes the squirrel nod in agreement.

"Can I hold him?" you ask.

Eddie narrows his eyes.

"If he's gonna be living here, I need to get to know him," you smile.

Eddie stares at you suspiciously for a moment, and then offers you his hand. You pull each piece of the ugly little squirrel off of his hand and put it on yours. You wiggle your fingers, getting a feel for him. Eddie looks on with amusement.

That's enough of that.

"What's that, Roscoe?" you ask, bringing him to your ear. You nod your head like you're listening to him. Eddie's brow furrows. You grin and turn to Eddie.

"Roscoe says he wants to play with your nuts."

"No," Eddie says firmly.

Roscoe, aka the plastic rodent on your hand, goes for Eddie's crotch. He jumps off of the couch with impressive agility, for a person as clumsy as he usually is, and backs away. You rise and follow, holding the puppet out in front of you and making its little claws click together.

"Stop," Eddie says, holding his hands out in front of him. Like that's going to stop you.

"The squirrel wants what the squirrel wants, Eddie," you grin, still advancing.

"You're not funny," he warns, his voice wavering as he backs through the kitchen.

"There's nothing funny about denying a hungry squirrel a nice fat sack of nuts."

Eddie turns and flees, scampering toward the bedroom. He loses several precious seconds by tripping over nothing, and you catch up to him before he can slam the door. He decides that his best defense is to go down on the bed face-first with his legs clamped tight.

You wait until the mattress stops bouncing to make your move.

You sit next to him and start at his heel, letting Roscoe skitter up his leg like a real squirrel would. Eddie shivers. When Roscoe reaches his butt, Eddie tenses and squeezes his legs and cheeks together.

Roscoe is left with no choice but to attack. Five pieces of plastic go wild, stabbing and pinching at Eddie's ass through the denim of his jeans. He squeals and starts to flail, like he's actually being attacked by something other than a plastic puppet operated by you.

Which, of course, means that his legs are no longer locked together.

Roscoe dives between them, and Eddie makes an inhuman sound that you've never heard before. You wiggle your hand with its squirrel appendages as much as you can, out of sight and trapped in the space between Eddie's thighs. He bucks and writhes and tries to escape your torture, and you cackle at how the tables have turned.

And then, you feel something wet.

Did he just…?

"Did you just cum from being attacked by a plastic squirrel puppet?!" you shout, giving a mighty tug to free your hand. All you have left are two little clawed squirrel hands; the other three pieces are underneath Eddie. In his mess.

"Sometimes it's just nice to be wanted," he sighs.

You take off the remaining claws and smack his ass.

He moans and wiggles his hips. You crawl over and lie beside him, propping up on your elbow.

"No more pets."

"Kay," he mumbles, grabbing a pillow and pulling it under his head. He nuzzles his cheek into it. His mop of hair covers everything but his nose.

"Especially if you're going to cheat on me with them," you smirk, brushing his hair out of his face.

"Don't be jealous of what Roscoe and I have," he grins. "He tried to make a move on you first, remember? And you cruelly rejected him?"

"Of course you had to pick the sluttiest squirrel in town," you tease.

"Let's turn that into a children's book," he chuckles.

ROSCOE! ATTACK!

(I don't remember what I was looking for when I spotted this, but I know I stopped searching and started writing immediately. 🤣)

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

104, 216 and yeosang please please please 🙏

➯a/n: yes yes yessss 😩 i know deep in my guuuut that yeosang is freaky, he's a perv and i can feel it in my bones (me too fr) also damn it why do i keep going overboard with these simple prompts !? the ateez brainrot is so real ...

Fair

❥Kang Yeosang x fem reader

104 + 216: "give me your panties" + piss kink

✈︎queued for: sun. 18th

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: STRONG dom/sub dynamics, bdsm relationship, MEAN NASTY dom sang, degradation in the form of: being peed + cum on and name calling (bitch, slut, whore, dirty). omorashi (sang gets off on making reader hold her bladder), teasing, shower 'sex', fingering, sub-space, praise, orgasm control, overstim, one light slap, pet names (darling, baby), healthy communication of consent (which is very important in bdsm, be safe !!)

♡masterlist !♡

➯a/n2: the concept of yeosang teasing his s/o until they can't take it anymore all while nonchalantly watching tv or something is just fried in my brain ever since i wrote "Yours" like gawd 😭 i seriously feel like he's the freakiest, nastiest member of ateez and i will die on this hill — then i want you all to bury me here lmaooo

18+. MINORS GET OUTTA HERE.

☆゜

"Will you stop fidgeting?" Yeosang groans as he pins your leg to the couch by your thigh as you bounce it incessantly.

"I have to pee..." You whisper for the third time in the hour. You know you can always just get up and go, or you can say 'stop' and tell him you seriously can't take it anymore. But you know how much Yeosang loves to see you struggle. You can see the sparkle in his eyes as he watches the TV, the little smirk on his lips at your words.

"Just hold it, I don't want you to miss the show." He doesn't give a single fuck about the show, and you both know it. When he moves his hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulder again, you cross your legs. His smirk gets wider.

Another twenty minutes pass. The television and the rotating fan fill the silence. It's summertime, and you're both in nothing but your underwear to fight the heat — but also because you'd just had a rather steamy make out session in which you stripped each other.

His hard on hadn't gone away from the way you were grinding on him, and you have to seriously commend his self restraint. It's been almost two hours, but he's not going to cum until you cave.

You shift in your seat, leaning your head against his shoulder with a small whine.

Another ten minutes pass.

He has to commend your self restraint now. You've never made it this long. You must really want to please him. An idea hits him —

"Give me your panties."

You look up, slightly stunned, but you're already moving to obey him. After having been together so long, you never question him when you're in sub-space.

"Thank you, Darling," he rewards you with a soft kiss, grinning into it as he feels the little wet patch on them while he sets them aside. He gently pulls one of your legs over his, effectively spreading your legs.

When the fan hits your wetness, you jolt. Yeosang, the evil genius, chuckles into your lips, giving you one last lick before pulling away.

"Hold it, Darling. You can do it."

The cool air makes the sensation of your full bladder a million times harder to ignore, but you bite your lip; determined to make it through the — wait, is this a different show? That really shows how much the two of you are paying attention.

Every time the fan passes over you, you let out a sigh, a whimper, a groan. And he drinks them all up like he's dying of thirst.

His fingers are drawing patterns on your inner thigh, getting closer and closer to your center.

Your heart is beating so fast you think he might be able to hear it. And when his finger finds your clit, you squeak out a simple, "stop."

He immediately hauls you up off the couch and carries you to the bathroom, rubbing down the back of your thigh and to your ass. "You made it really long, Darling," he hums, setting you down in the shower and starting the water, "hold it just a bit longer~"

You cross your legs with a whine, blinking at him desperately. "Baby, please, hurry-" You yip as he turns you around to face the wall, joining you under the stream of water after ridding himself of his boxers. The sound of the shower is making it near impossible to hold it. You're about to burst.

As soon as he wraps an arm around you, two of his fingers slide inside of you. And as soon as they do, your bladder has had enough.

The stream of pee coming from you is broken into spurts as Yeosang starts a brutal pace with his fingers, a wide smirk on his face as you sob with the simultaneous relief and onslaught of pleasure. He wraps his free arm around your chest and holds you upright as you trembling like a leaf in the wind. "There you go," he hums with a deep satisfaction, "let it all out, my dirty darling~"

You can finally open your eyes as your poor bladder finally runs empty, panting and bracing your hands against the wall as he continues to curl his fingers inside of you. "Fffffuck!" Is all you can manage to slur, spreading your legs further.

"How good does that feel, huh?" He presses his forehead against your shoulder, nipping your skin, "say thank you, bitch."

"Thank you! Oh, sh- thank you, thank you, s'good-"

"You did so good for me, such a patient little piss slut~" He slides his hand down your chest, briefly pinching one of your nipples before traveling further. As he starts drawing figure eights on your clit, he tells you, "cum for me."

Your body is hardwired to listen to him, you can't help but do as he says — especially when he's just flooded your brain with so much relief and sexual pleasure all at once.

You grab onto his arms, moaning unabashedly as you cum around his fingers, "oh, good fuck!" You wail as your knees give out from the force of it, wavering in his strong hold as he overstimulates the living daylights out of you; holding you under his actions until your pussy is throbbing. "S-top," you manage to hiccup, and he does so immediately — breathing just as heavily as you and chuckling as he catches the sounds of your little pathetic moans over the running water.

"Such a good whore for me," he praises as he kisses along your neck, slowly and gently removing his fingers from your sensitive cunt. He knows your limits, and holding your bladder this long has definitely pushed you to them. He would love nothing more than to fuck you against the shower wall until you can't breathe — but he knows that would be too much for you at the moment. Oh well, painting you in as many nasty ways he can will be just as nice.

"C'mere." He pulls you away from the wall and gently turns you around with your back under the water. "Kneel."

There you go, down on your knees without a second thought. Actually, you're so deep in your sub-space that you don't even remember what thinking is.

"Look at you," he coos, a devilish grin on his lips as he inspects your form. Back straight, legs folded neatly under you, hands behind your back. "My perfect little plaything~"

You smile up at him, eyes trained on his despite the way you really, really want to look at his erect member. You fail when he starts stroking it. Your eyes flick for only a second, but of course Yeosang catches it.

He slaps you in the following second, although he does so lightly — just as a warning. You know he can be much rougher. All things considered, this scene could be called "vanilla" or "soft" by you and Yeosang's standards.

"Sorry, Baby," you say immediately, earning yourself a soft stroke to your poor cheek.

"Take your eyes off me again and I'll make you drink my piss, got it?" He tilts his head, words spoken so nonchalantly that it makes your sensitive heat throb. You know he won't without asking you first, but something about his threats always make you hot and bothered.

"Yes, Sangie."

"Good slut." He smirks as he notices your thighs pressing together, giving your cheek a soft pinch before standing back up to get the full view of you while he jerks himself off. "So pretty..."

Before he can command you to; you're already opening your mouth wide like he likes. Sticking out your tongue to act as a landing pad for his cum.

You know him just as well as he knows you. You can see that little twitch in his eyebrow, the way his chest rises and falls faster.

"Fuck-" He curses under his breath, eyes scanning you with wide pupils, "my bitch knows what I like, yeah?"

A hummed 'mhm!' sounds from your throat, and he has to hold himself back from fucking straight into it. You seriously test his self control sometimes — it's hard to stick to what you've planned and agreed to whenever you're so goddamn perfect for him.

"Keep that tongue out until I say so." He's getting so close he can feel it in his balls, his body begging for release after being denied so long. But he doesn't want to stop yet. He wants to admire you longer; you really are his perfect plaything.

"Ah," you moan as you open your mouth wider, your eyes obediently trained on his even as they wander your body. When they come back to yours — he's hit with his peak whether he likes it or not. You look like the doll of his dreams, eager to please and knowing just what makes him weak.

He's taken off guard by it, jaw dropping with a string of moans as a few ropes of his cum paint your face before he manages to pull you closer and shove his tip into your mouth.

You barely even flinch as his warm release meets your face; your eyes only shut for a split second before they're back on his and making his heart skip one too many beats as he cums into your mouth.

You keep your tongue out all the while, playing with your hands behind your back so you don't play with yourself. You moan softly, tilting your head back so none of his cum drips out when he pulls away.

It's so sweet and salty. He loves cumming in your mouth, so he drinks all of pineapple juice — it may seem unnecessary, but he likes for you to enjoy it too. And it's something small that you appreciate as he absolutely ruins you for anyone but himself. Something to focus on when he makes you hold it in your mouth as he goes back to fucking you ruthlessly or degrading you in such beautiful and debaucherous way.

It makes you not hesitate when he says, "close your mouth. Don't swallow." You revel in the taste of his cum.

Panting quietly, he kneels down infront of you and swipes the milky white release on your face; gathering it up on his fingers. "Spread your legs, slut."

You do so with breakneck speed, one of your hands coming out of position to steady yourself on the shower wall. He lets it slide — you've been so good for him. And he lets you know how much you've pleased him while he spreads his cum on your cunt, "you've been such a good whore for me, Darling. Getting all dirty, that's how you like it, huh?"

"Mhmmm," you moan with your mouth full, your cheeks puffed ever so slightly. You almost throw your head back when he starts massaging his cum into your heated skin. You can only communicate with your eyes, making them begging and wide and letting your eyebrows crease together.

"You want to cum again, is that it?"

You nod quickly, breath picking up as he slips his fingertips between your lips and caresses your hole teasingly.

"Do you want to cum now, or do you want to cum when I fuck you later? Choose carefully, Darling. If you want it now, nod." He's cruel, you think, and he's so hot it's unfair. He knows you love having your orgasms controlled. He gets to say when, how, how many — this is just an illusion of choice.

And you chose to shake your head. If you'd chosen to cum now, you'd be edged to near insanity later and not allowed to cum until the morning. That's just the way Yeosang does things. And even though you whine as he moves his fingers, you love it.

"I think that's a good choice for my needy slut," he leans and kisses your forehead so affectionately that it makes you dizzy. "Open."

His release is all mixed with your build up of spit, stringy as you open your mouth and carefully stick out your tongue with your head tilted back; not spilling a single drop.

"Good," he pecks your tongue softly, licking his own release from his lips before saying, "swallow."

You almost don't want to. The taste of his cum is comforting on some level. But you do it anyway, because you always get rewarded with a smile.

"My obedient slut," he gives you that smiles, and you return the gesture. He swipes back your wet hair, tracing your cheekbones softly. "Would you like to continue?"

He's rough and he's mean, but he loves you. He checks up every so often during scenes like this, even if you don't use your safe word.

"Yes, please."

He keeps his smile as he pats your cheek, then it's gone when he stands up.

"On your ass."

You swing your legs out from under you and are sitting on the shower floor in a second flat, leaning back on your hands and waiting for your next instruction.

"Spread your legs."

Done. The moment he asks for it.

"Since you pissed all over me, I'm going to piss all over you now. Sound fair?" He looks so excited behind his dominant persona that even if you didn't want him to — you'd be caving.

But, you do. You're just as eager. You're just as nasty as he is, albeit in a different way. That's why you're so perfect for each other.

"Sounds fair."

☆゜