#wallace wells smut

[l1tw1ck]

I wanna be Wallace’s sugar daddy 😋

bottom!ftm Wallace x top!amab reader

god me too

cw: sugar daddy/baby, daddy kink, creampie

After a year of dating, Wallace finally agreed to move in with you and he absolutely did not regret his decision. Aside from the fact that your house is both Huge and gorgeously decorated, he's been nothing short of pampered since moving in. It's a ginormous step up from the shitty apartment he shared with Scott. His closet is bigger than the living room and it's filled with designer clothing. He gets to live in luxury thanks to you and the only thing he has to do in return is have sex with you and that's not a difficult task at all for Wallace.

You gently drop all the shopping bags to the ground and turn to Wallace. He already knows what you're looking for and hurries over to you. He kneels down in front of you and quickly frees your length from your pants. "Thanks, Daddy." He kisses your tip before dragging his tongue seductively along your shaft, smiling as he does so. He likes teasing you and seeing your reactions.

"Don't tease me, not today, baby." You grip his hair. "I don't have the patience." Wallace looked too sexy today, his tight jeans were driving you crazy. You can't wait to take them off.

He licks his lips. "Then why don't we skip to the good part."

Wallace loses all his confidence and focuses entirely on his pleasure as you ram into him from behind, groping and slapping his ass. He knew he did the right thing by wearing those jeans. His pussy's just as tight. It's hard to fuck him with the way he keeps trying to suck you in. You reach over to his t-dick and he almost collapses from the pleasure. All he can do is moan and drool. "fu- fuck- fuckfuck-" He rolls his eyes back as he squirts on the bed, adding to the copious amounts of slick. You know he doesn't want you to stop so you don't, you fuck him even harder instead. He likes to be fucked until he passes out and you're always happy to oblige.

He always looks so pretty when he's sound asleep with cum dripping out of his cunt.

[sleepyboi26]

Todd was beating that pussy up!😭

[half-dead-writer]

Wallace wells x transmasc bottom with a praise kink PLSPLSPLSSS

I was this 🤏 close to making it myself so YES OFC!! I tried my best writing Wallace but I feel like I could've made him better :( I included reader wearing a binder instead of having a top surgery because surprisingly there's not a lot fics about that! that was hell of a write, straight 4 days of writing, my longest fic yet - there may be some errors along the way, I really wanted to finally finish it lmao anyways, enjoy!!

I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship

A drunk escapade with you makes Wallace rethink his opinion on Sparks

character: Wallace Wells (Scott Pilgrim Takes Off)

words: ~7,6k

reader: transmasc (with a praise kink)

warnings: drunk sex, reader smokes and didn't have a top surgery yet

𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔢𝔰 + 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 / 𝔖𝔠𝔬𝔱𝔱 𝔓𝔦𝔩𝔤𝔯𝔦𝔪 𝔗𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔒𝔣𝔣 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

"Really, you came with me to the club just so you could not drink?" The alcohol in Wallace's hand was already being sloshed around in the fancy glass.

Today Wallace had asked you to accompany him to the recently opened club down the road. Your opinion of such places isn't really positive - a lot of strangers come there, some not as accepting as Wallace. You promised to walk with him to the place, mainly just curious how it looks like. You didn't plan on actually staying, but you thought taking a quick look inside wouldn't hurt. Of course, you should have expected this would happen.

"When was even the last time we properly hung out like that," he took a nonchalant sip of his Martini, "without Scott to bother us with random Sonic facts?"

Wallace knew full well that you wouldn't be able to refuse his offer once you actually got there. The place was steadily bustling with life, blue and pink strobe lights were dancing across the the dimly lit room. You were not used to being in places like this, in contrary to your friend, who you imagined spent most of his time in such setting.

"When was the last time you've been sober through the entire week?" Your intention wasn't really to shame him, instead just engaging in a playful banter.

"Don't change the topic, guy," he squinted his eyes in amusement, "or I'll start thinking you don't actually like my company," he quipped back with a sly smirk.

You rolled your eyes lightheartedly, leaning more on the bar you've been sitting by, "I didn't bring any money," you started, hoping he'd get the hint. Whether he would let you go or pay for your drink, it'd be a win-win situation.

"Poor you, huh," he raised his eyebrow in a feigned surprise, "why do I always land on leeches?"

You exhaled through your nose, amused, "so what do you wanna drink hm?" He asked, calmly taking out his wallet. It took you a moment to think of something.

"How about..." you scanned over the menu, a colorful drink caught your interest "Mango Mimosa?"

"Looking at the pretty pictures for help with choosing," he commented, finishing his own drink in one swig. "Classy."

"How the hell do you choose then?" You smiled, furrowing your brows in confusion.

"By trying each one in order, of course," he smirked, you weren't sure to what extend he was joking. He raised his hand to get the attention of the barman, "One Mango Mimosa and Martini this way!" You observed as the barman's hands moved in a smooth motion, spilling the alcohol into previously taken out glasses and decorating them with some enrichment. A slice of orange was set on the edge of your drink, Wallace got a fancy olive stabbed by a cocktail stick in his. He put the cash on the counter, "thanks, you're a dear." He winked the male barman's way, making the other avert his gaze in a hurry.

You took the glass into your hand, moved by the urge to get some alcohol into you. You got used to Wallace flirting with any males he considered cute, it was a package deal when it came to hanging out with him. What bothered you wasn't his ability to get game, but rather what you couldn't have. Contrary to how you usually acted around him, you really cared about Wallace.

You originally met him through Scott, your old classmate. You had only spent one school year with the ginger-haired man, but you were good friends while it lasted. Unfortunately, after the graduation you had to move out. Even though the circumstances were not ideal, you still somewhat kept in touch with him through messages. You knew he was now living in Toronto, had a girlfriend (who apparently had 7 evil exes??) and shared a house with a "cool gay roommate". The mention of that got you a bit curious. You were pretty gay yourself, so you hoped to make a new friend. It just so happened that the future had you moving into the same town your ex-classmate lived, and it kinda went from there. Scott greeted you with open arms, excited to see you again. You were also happy by reconnecting with an old friend.

Everything was going smooth, until the roommate he told you about moved from his sitting place to greet you as well.

"Y/N, hm?" He shifted his weight onto one leg, placing a hand on his hip. His eyes checked you up and down, making you extremely uneasy. Scott's vibe was always very unthreatening, which let you chill out around him really easily. This man, however, had the most intimidating aura. He was so- casually pretty, and had the calm conviction in his moves that you found really attractive. You felt unprepared to handle the situation, stopping in your tracks to just stare at him for a moment. He cocked his eyebrow to your silence, finally forcing you take action.

"Yes," you quickly responded, covering your lack of nonchalance with a smile, "... Scott's cool gay roommate?" You tried to ease the tension forming around you with a lighthearted remark.

"Been called that from time to time" he relaxed his face, offering a calm smirk, "I see you've also been charmed by Scott's amazing social skills, huh?"

'I've been charmed by you', you admitted to yourself in your mind.

"I'd say my social skills are... --tend to vary, starting from average." Scott's voice reminded you of his existence, the past few seconds of your life were occupied by the image of this god-sent man.

The first impressions had you feeling shier than usual, frankly just feeling dominated by his presence. You were mostly counting on Scott to keep you safe from being on one on one with him. The thought of Wallace, alone in the room with you made anxious.

Of course, after some time, you stopped putting him on the pedestal and making scary assumptions. Just because you considered him cool didn't mean he would be rude or a stuck up to you. Quite the opposite, even if his disposition was a bit blunt and bold, more often than not, you thought that he was on the same level as you. He respected you, and even shared a few gossips that you found fairly entertaining. At some point it even looked as if you were better friends with him than Scott. That let you embrace the casual bicker with him on occasions, which none of you minded. One thing that you disliked about Wallace was his common flirting with random boys he found attractive. It bothered you, because he also flirted with you.

When it first happened, it had you lovestruck. You weren't ready to digest that compliment yet, though, and your reaction painted you quite awkward. Wallace brushed it off, not minding the lack of reciprocation to the flirt. Your friendship remained casual, and as the time passed, it made more sense as to why you received such attention. Wallace was bit of a fuckboy. It wasn't hard to see him with another boy by the end of the week. Of course, you had no business in what he wants to do, and you weren't about to judge your own friend for having fun. Your relationship remained casual and relatively close, but that fact forced you to push back your hopes of actually getting together with him. Not mentioning the obvious sex difference. Even though you were confidently self-assured about being a man, an opinion Wallace also shared about you, you still compared yourself to his suitors as "less than".

"C'mon, loosen up a little. You're with your dear, handsome friend Wallace who's paying for your drink," he swished the Martini while boosting his own ego.

You rolled your eyes, "I am loose," you huffed out, pretending offense while taking a sip of your drink.

"Yeah, sure, and I'm straight." Wallace replied back, grinning at you. "Your shoulders look like you're about to have a stick shoved up your butt with how stiff you are right now."

The colorful description made you laugh, earning a satisfied smile from him.

"Lighten up, guy, it's just me and you, hanging out. Nothing out of ordinary, except that we're at a club," he pointed out, trying to chase your doubts.

"Yeah, yeah, alright," you gave in, taking the slice of orange placed on the edge of your drink and biting into it.

"So, any interesting news to tell me?" He rested his chin, leaning on his palm with all of his attention pointed at you.

"Mm, not really. Work sucks, per usual," you respond, bored with how uneventful your life is.

"Yeah, gossip from my side's gotta be the usual. Scott's still dating Ramona, they're as happy as ever, blah blah blah." He informed with a bored look on his face.

"How about you, huh? Which boytoy of the week you got your hands on now?" You ask casually, only slightly interested. Wallace wouldn't notice the angst-touched connotations of this question.

He took another sip of his martini, the alcohol making his cheeks flush a bit, "I realized I'm too beautiful for the majority of people, they don't deserve a taste of me. I'm taking a break for now."

You were surprised, you didn't actually expect Wallace to "get a break" from having fun, as he usually put it. Somehow, this info made you loosen up a little. You stopped with the idle drinking, finishing the rest of the drink in one chug. The warmth hitting your throat made you aware of how relaxed the alcohol finally colored you.

"Wow, I really feel special," you joked, a smile tugging your lips.

"You bet," he smirked, following your steps and disappearing the liquid in his glass as well. The percentages in his system also began to take course, making him more prone to smiling. "Barman, one more Martini and Mango Mimosa!"

You didn't even try to stop him, patiently awaiting your next dose of the courage liquid, ignoring the loud party music that easily pierced through your ears. You didn't have to wait long, the drink came into your hand quickly. The conversation was cut by both of you trying to feed more alcohol into your system.

"Wanna go out for a smoke?" You suggested, an easy way out when the activities on a party seem limited.

"Sure, why not." he shrugged, taking his Martini. You took the opportunity to hold his hand while searching for the exit from the big crowd of people, the feeling you'd treasure after this meeting. Wallace had no objections. Outside was a relatively secluded part of the club with certainly less people. A small, wooden bench and a table awaited, perfect for you to sit on. Wallace positioned himself comfortably, putting your drinks on the table. You leaned against his body slightly, an action easily explainable by the size of the bench.

"Ever heard of personal space?" He pointed out the close proximity, bu from the tone of his voice you assumed he wasn't serious. He readjusted himself so that your body would comfortably fit into his.

"Here," you passed him a pack of cigarettes after taking out one for yourself, his fingers lazily grabbed the object. You dug out a lighter out of your pocket, handing it to him. He let the smoke from the cigarette explore his lungs for a second, returning you the item after.

You felt pretty comfortable with the situation, which beckoned the playfulness to visit you. You put the cigarette in your mouth, straightening it while near his face. A smile tugging on your lips curved it a little. He noticed you approaching, quickly getting the hint.

"You know you can just use your lighter, right?" He sounded like he was complaining, yet still, he put the poor excuse of a pocky into his mouth. His face features got well lit by the little fire born from your cigarettes. The reflection was exceptionally pretty in his eyes, accentuating his slightly flushed cheeks, right next to a smirk on his lips. You blew out the smoke that's been uncomfortably residing in you for too long, holding in the need to cough. Wallace was surprisingly kind enough not to comment on it.

"It's more fun to do it this way," you were finally able to respond. He returned to his lazy sitting position, sprawled out on the bench, lazily holding the cig between his fingers. You dared to lean your head on his shoulder, sight pointed up, looking at the sky.

"Look at you, bein' all affectionate and clingy now," he mimicked your typical bickering session, adding touch of suave. "You're not usually like this."

"I can stop if you want," you threatened to take away the privilege of your warmth half-serious, an attempt to hide the embarrassment in you.

Wallace raised an eyebrow at the statement, a drunk smirk still persistent on his lips. "And why would I want you to stop? I'm just sayin' that you don't usually get this touchy. I don't mind you being close to me, guy."

The comment made your stomach feel butterflies. You knew your perception of his answer probably differed a lot from how he originally meant to say it, but the false hope was too strong for you to ignore.

"...Cool." You felt a smile that you couldn't stop creeping up. Wallace pushed the smoke out of his lips once more, "yep, pretty cool." He switched the cigarette into his other hand, moving his unoccupied arm around you in a way that rendered you as a nice armrest. You welcomed the sudden change of the position, entangling yourself in a way where both of you were comfortable. It was the first time you and Wallace were practically cuddled up, you thanked yourself for choosing to stay in the club.

"Damn, you're seriously hopeless when it comes to hiding your lack of human touch. It's kinda cute, in a pathetic way." His playful mockery hit you like a lightning.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You shot your eyes at him, halfly in disbelief of what you heard, halfly embarrassed at his statement being completely true.

"It means you don't have the guts to ask for a hug yet you still cling to me like a damn koala."

"Well- would you do it if I asked?" You lightly tested the waters.

"I dunno, try it." He flashed you his teeth in a cocky smile after putting out his used cigarette on the ashtray. You passed him your cigarette butt after the last use, buying some time before the big decision. He threw it away as well.

"...Do you wanna hug me, then?" You asked, convinced that you wouldn't be faced with rejection, at least judging by his tone. You were technically already pretty cuddled up, but there was still some space left between you.

"Yeah, guy, come here," he requested, (or more like commanded) patting his lap and raising his arm so you could get up. You could feel yourself getting warm, hoping Wallace would assume the flush look of yours was caused by alcohol. The short moment of clarity made you take a look around you, judging your current whereabouts. There weren't many people around, most of what you heard was some conversation and the music coming out of the club in the distance. Your little corner was secluded already, so you didn't need to worry about acting inappropriate in public (unlike some of the people here). You raised your hips, carefully making contact with his lap. You worried about being too heavy for him, but he didn't show any signs of discomfort. He locked his hands together, catching you in his embrace, his smile a looking a bit funny due to the percentages in his system.

Even though the act seemed fairly friendly and casual, you couldn't help but focus on the tension that's been lurking around you two. You weren't sure if it was just your wishful thinking, or did Wallace seem really open to being extra affectionate with you, but you couldn't believe how much of an effect it had on you, especially drunk. You felt as if the stars finally aligned.

"Any more requests, Y/N? I'm feelin' generous." Somehow the simple act of him saying your name made you even more flustered. Still going along with your (alleged) delusions, you thought Wallace's stare differed from the ones he gave you previously. You were usually relatively good at recognising Wallace's expressions and the meaning behind them, knowing him for some time now gave you this insight. He reserved the special, sultry-flavored looks only for the victims of his flirting, and right now you had a hard time convincing yourself you were the witness of it to such extent.

The hesitation in your voice made itself known, making you wait a second before Wallace could hear your response. "Yeah? ... How about a kiss then?" You made sure to hide your eagerness in a layer of playful tone, just in case he noticed your lack of nonchalance about the question. He squinted his eyes, letting out a small huff of amusement.

"Bold, I like that," his eyes fell on your face, which has been heating up pretty quick. Unsurprisingly, his gaze trailed right down to your lips, raising his hand to cup your cheek. You instinctively closed your eyes, the feeling of his lips touching yours became more intense. For a moment you thought you got a little sick due to the alcohol and the strong emotions coursing through you. You weren't sure how much time you spend pressing your lips together, but you assumed it wasn't nearly as long as you felt it was. You were the first to let go, anxiety made you overwhelmed by the length of the kiss, which made you worried about looking too into it.

Suddenly, Sparks.

You saw them, clear as day, which in all honesty wasn't that surprising. You knew you had it bad for him. Wallace opened up his eyes that were previously closed as well, the expression on his face was hard to read. He looked- surprised, but also confused. Did that mean he saw them as well?

You looked- shaken up. But in a good way. He smoothly got over the initial surprise, his hand fixed the stray strand of hair that fell loosely on your face when you pulled away from the kiss. "Come on, handsome, a kiss should last more than a few seconds," he insisted, enjoying every bit of your current expression. He seemed way more eager in comparison to the last one. That sentence had you absolutely going back in.

The next kissing session definitely felt more intense. Wallace knew how to kiss, that was clear. His thumb was gently brushing against your face in soft strokes, adding even more overwhelming sensations, along with his other hand that was busy slowly rubbing your back. It didn't take long for the shy make-out to turn into full-blown exchange of spit. Wallace made the first move of letting his tongue graze your lips, making you part them almost immediately. Granted this opportunity, his tongue explored the corners of your mouth in just slightly sloppy manner. You both were drunk, after all.

You weren't sure what to do with your hands, finally choosing to place them on his shoulders. Wallace continued to graze your back with his heavenly touch, eventually going lower. His hand snaked under your shirt just slightly, the fabric covered his fingertips. The feeling of his cold hand made you shiver and straighten up slightly, breaking the kiss. Wallace looked at you, making sure you're still in on it.

"What is it? Do you need to stop?" His hand still stayed idly on your skin, even though he didn't look up to stopping, he still took the time to check if you're feeling okay with the situation.

"No, you're just making me-" You weren't actually sure why you even continued speaking after 'no', feeling the regret of not keeping your mouth shut almost immediately.

"Making you what?" The playful, sultry look was once again apparent in his expression.

"I'm drunk! ... You're gonna make me," You mumbled the last part, trying to save yourself from even more embarrassment,

"...horny"

You were fully aware of not being able to recover from that. Wallace raised his eyebrow, visibly amused at your attempt to salvage your dignity.

"I mean, Is that a bad thing?"

He leaned in even closer, not being able to take his eyes off of your flustered face. "If I'm bein' 'onest- I'm pretty damn turned on right now too. But, of course, if you wanna stop, I'll totally respect that."

The honesty in Wallace's words had you stunned. You never imagined being in this situation, drunk, making out with your best friend, in public. It scared you a little, but you would rather die than stop right now. "N-no, I wanna continue. But, maybe not here?" You pointed out the lack of privacy around you.

"You're right, I think we should head home," he concluded, untangling his arms from you, "Scott is sleepovering at Ramona's so my house's free." The nonchalance in his voice had you impressed.

"Alright," you said, getting off from his lap, lightly adjusting your clothes after. You were so busy with everything that happened that you forgot about your Mimosa. You both finished your drinks in quick gulps, leaving the glasses on the table. As you made your way out of the loud club, the gravity of this moment fell on you like a bag of bricks. Were you gonna actually hook up with Wallace? Is this where you're heading to? You felt incredibly anxious and excited.

The walk remained quiet, but Wallace didn't seem to treat it as uncomfortable silence. He just walked straight, enjoying the scenery around you. You wished you could say the same. Most of your mind was filled with predictions of how the night is gonna turn out. A feeling of a warm hand touching yours pulled you away from the intrusive thoughts. Wallace didn't even need to do much to have you wrapped around his finger. The gesture made you calm down a little, which made you actually slow down and appreciate the calm atmosphere of the night. The street lamps made your figures cast a big shadow on the ground, fully showing your connected silhouette together.

You barely noticed the distance you walked, it seemed like just a moment before you were already standing by the entrance to his house. Wallace let go of your hand to get the keys that have been buried deep in his pocket. The doors opened after a short while of fighting with the lock. He turned on the light, letting you come in. The house was dead quiet, the only sound being your footsteps as you followed after him. Frankly, you didn't know what to expect.

Wallace turned to look at you, a sly yet playful smile plastered on his face. "Welcome to my humble abode," he still tried to keep the mood lighthearted and silly, clearly in a good mood. He gestured around the room with his free hand.

...As if I wasn't here before," your playful snark returned for at least a moment. Even if you had these intense feelings for him, he was still your best friend, always able to get the fun side out of you.

His laughter hit your ears in the most pleasant way. He shrugged, conceding to your point. "Yeah, tha's true. You've been here before," he admitted, taking a few steps closer to you. "But there's somethin' different about the atmosphere now, isn't there?"

"..Aa lot of alcohol, probably." There was no use of hiding what you two already did and were about to do, but as a final resort, you tried to at least put a playful spin on it.

Wallace chuckled, finding your quip amusing. "Yeah, alcohol probably has somethin' to do with it," he agreed. "But there's more, right?"

"What- what are you implying?"

"Y/N, I'm not gonna pretend as if I don't see you drooling over me."

A wave of extreme tension in your body had you frozen for a good moment - he knew?

"I- Wow, okay-" you tried your best to let out a nonchalant chuckle, which came out sounding more like a stressed cackle, "I guess- I guess the cat is out of the bag now huh-" His expression softened ever so slightly, your reactions were just too pathetic for him to keep pushing you. He moved even closer to you, making your body instinctively move back into the wall. "Wait- If you knew, why didn't you tell me?"

"I waited for you to have the guts to tell me, but I guess you had to be helped with that a little."

You honestly didn't know whether to be ashamed, angry, or relieved.

"And," he continued, "now that it's out there, I can say I waited a long time to find myself in this situation. So," he left your side for a moment to lock the doors, "you wanna continue what we left off?"

You were eager to respond with a confident yes, but before that, you had to make sure you were on the same page. "This... isn't like your usual boytoy hookup situation, right...?"

The boldness drained from his face for a moment, his expression softened to get a bit more sincere. "No, of course not. You're my best friend." He embraced you with one of his arm, pulling you closer. He got uncharacterestically hesitant before speaking again. "...Potentially more."

The last two words made your eyes widen rapidly, you surely misheard him?

"You're- serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious," he didn't break the eye contact with you for a second, prefering to lay it on thick, "unless I'm totally wasted, and imagining things, but-"

"I saw Sparks. I questioned if they're even real-" He added, sounding as if he doesn't believe them himself. You could not contain your excitement after Wallace mentioned exactly what you wanted him to say.

"I saw them too!" You chimed in, finally letting your inner thoughts out. That admission made Wallace's smile even wider than he did before.

"I'm glad we're on the same page then,", he used his other hand to turn your chin towards his face. "You look so fucking hot," he tried his best so his speech wouldn't slur. The sentence rang in your head, making you freeze during the moment when Wallace collided his lips with yours again. In no time, his palm was on your side again, swiftly travelling under your shirt to touch the goosebumps covered skin. An involuntary moan forced it's way out of you due to Wallace's tongue invading your mouth. In the current moment, you could be his bitch forever.

You supported yourself by leaning on the wall behind you, Wallace taking up almost all of your view by now. Despite the cigarette flavor of his tongue mixed with the potent alcohol perfume clouding your senses, you managed to hear a request coming from the other boy.

"Let's move," he whispered, taking your hand and leading you to his favorite chair. Feeling like a lovestruck teenager, you mindlessly followed. He seated himself comfortably, pulling you on his lap. His eyes showed unrestricted eagerness, not even trying to hide how much he was enjoying himself. You felt overwhelmed at the ease in which Wallace could fire you up with just his usual way of being. The proximity between you two got almost nonexistent, his bangs tickled you slightly as he moved closer. The sensation got overshadowed by his lips sucking a sensitive spot on your neck, causing you to half-whimper. The noise cringed you internally, you were still not used to calling Wallace your official boyfriend, so this slip-up felt like a vulnerable response to your give your best friend. Wallace would not pass up the opportunity to comment on it.

"Awh, don't be embarrassed," he stopped to smirk, "that sound you made was adorable." Wallace's teasing wasn't an uncommon thing among you two on the regular, but the way his words were currently coated with a playful banter and visible desire could just melt you right then and there.

The shallow pants of yours echoing in his ears turned sharper as he continued to trail a line of hickeys on your skin. You squirmed on his crotch, not being able to control the way your body acted. Wallace lightly dug his fingers into your thigh during the pleasant friction. It didn't take long for you to feel the obvious change of your seat under you. Wallace's arousal was making itself known in the most straightforward display. He noticed the way your body tensed, "Like what you see?" He half-lidded his eyes, searching for more of that coy expression he loved seeing on you.

"...Shut up." You chuckled tiredly, hiding the flustered smile in the crook of his neck.

"Really? I thought you liked me talking." He grinned, "guess I will shut up then..."

"Well-"

"Ah, you want compliments only, don't you?" You must have been a glass window with how easily he could see right through you to be able to respond so fast.

"Who doesn't, Wallace?" you tried to fight back, making his amused smirk wider.

"If you keep acting like a good boy, I'll call you one - deal?"

You didn't trust your voice to answer with a required nonchalance, so you just nodded.

"I need words, Y/N" He squinted, testing you.

"I- I will." You raised your head to look at him, trying hard not to avert your gaze.

"Good boy," he purred, letting a grin contort the corners of his lips. "Now why don't you take care of that?"

Wallace didn't have to wait long for your curious hand to slowly travel down his zipper. You were really about to see his dick, and it stressed you out a little. The torturous tempo of your movements made Wallace impatient, "it ain't gonna bite, guy."

"Shush, I know!" You retorted, feeling your cheeks heat up. After that remark, you made sure to finish freeing him pretty fast. A sight you probably imagined a few times in your mind, yet never in a million years expected to see in real life. He couldn't ignore your gaze almost drilling a hole into his groin. As a man who paid great attention to self-care, of course he kept himself well-trimmed.

"Go ahead, touch me," his command got stuck in your mind. Your fingers hesitantly traced the shape of his member, getting used to the girth and warmth of it.

"You ever gave a handie to anyone?" The blunt words were nothing new coming from Wallace. You shook your head. "That's fine, I'll teach you." He spread his legs more comfortably, leaning into the chair and resting his arm on your thigh. He guided you to mimic the pace he liked. You made a mental note of his technique, it wasn't hard to follow.

"Just like that" he eased his breath, releasing a relaxed sigh and letting go off your hand. "You're doing pretty good."

The strong focus on the motion made you forget your previous worries, a need to pleasure him was your sole objective. A few drops of precum that gathered on his tip betrayed how much he enjoyed himself.

"Mm, alright, that's enough." You stopped upon hearing his words, looking up for further instructions. "Go lay on the futon."

You did as he told, quietly pleased at how casual yet commanding his voice could get. He got up from his chair, towering above you with an obviously visible erection, most importantly, caused by you. He took a moment to admire the sight before him. You were too occupied by the look on his face to think of anything smart to say. A smug look on his face warned you just before you felt his knee rub against your crotch. He had no troubles getting sounds out of you.

"I wanna see you. Can I take off your shirt?" Wallace broke the silence. The need in his voice showed clearly, yet he still managed to sound confident.

"I'm... You wanna see me?" You hesitated, not wanting to ruin the fun, yet feeling incredibly insecure with the topic like that.

"In return, I'll let you see some of me," he winked, completely serious about the exchange.

"But I'm not- flat, you know?" You muttered out, completely accepting the fact that Wallace had probably seen countless of pretty men to compare you to.

"Y/N, don't look too much into it." He started, A chest is a chest. I couldn't care less if you got a bit of manboobs going on." You scrunched your face a little in an embarrassed smile, looking away. "You could always put the shirt back on if my skills won't be able to persuade you otherwise," he looked pleased after seeing your approval nod.

His fingertips moved the shirt up and you raised your arms to help it go over your head. He didn't comment on the binder you wore, quickly coming up with a way to rid you of it. You appreciated not being tightly squeezed by the fabric anymore, but the slightly cold air hitting your skin had you feeling very exposed. The hesitation reflected in your eyes quite visibly, making you hold your breath. "Well, the shirt's off - and you still look tasty," his attempt at flustering you obviously worked - no matter what crude thing he said, he could pull it off entirely.

To continue with the theme, his tongue moved down to your collarbones, then lazily fell onto yours stomach, until it reached the waistband of your boxers. Your sight followed his every action, catching a glimpse of his self-assured smirk at the end. "Don't worry, I'm keeping my part of the deal," in the blink of your eye, he was already out of his shirt, pointing all of your attention onto his abs.

You had seen Wallace shirtless a few times already, but never up so close. Alcohol restraining the control of your actions made you curiously reach out to touch his chest, but you managed to stop yourself before you actually made contact with his skin. You looked at Wallace, silently asking for permission. He chuckled lightly, "knock yourself out." The casual tone forced you to feel sinful about yourself.

His chest was smooth, flat. You were quite jealous, but also sincerely admired his physique. You wanted to trace over every spot.

"I'm gonna touch you. That alright with you, guy?" The faster heartbeat made it harder to properly focus, "Mhm."

His hand disappeared under the hem of your underwear, just to resurface once more after being met with the arousal pooling out of you. "Oh," he commented, looking at the state of his hand, "how cute." He licked the mess off his fingers, making sure to hold eye contacts as he did so. You couldn't deny you were under his spell, not even having any response for him while your wide eyes looked at him licking his lips.

"Y/N, I barely touched you." He spared you no teasing, which you honestly expected at this point.

"What am I supposed to respond to that?" You tried to restore some parts of your dignity.

"How about you start with what you want me to do?" The voice you heard was sweeter than honey.

"I want you to dom me." You disclosed your thoughts, hoping it wasn't too forward.

"Oh, that'll be easy - I'm already doing that." He flashed you his teeth in a smirk of a banterish nature.

"...Like, you, in me. Soon." Your words fumbled due to the percentages mixed lust. He didn't try to hide his chuckle, making you flustered and impatient.

"Okay, okay- you're so needy." He teased, yet was quick to take off the last thing that covered your body. Your legs clasped together out of habit, making Wallace gently rest his hand on your knee, moving it down your thigh.. It made you part them, giving him the access to you. You felt- really naked like that. And he still had his pants on.

"Just so we're on the same page, uh- Just- Just treat me if I was a normal guy." You tried to eloquently put into words how you wanted him to have you.

"Stop. You are a normal guy," he squinted his eyes while observing you, "but I think I know what you mean. You ever tried anything by yourself in that matter?"

"I have some... toys. Yeah." The admission made Wallace pleased.

"Good. It's gonna feel way better than a dildo." He hyped you up effortlessly.

"...Prove it." You found some of the fierceness back in you, making him cock his eyebrow in amusement. Wallace leaned further, trying to reach under the pillow you were currently resting your head on. It amused you to look at him losing balance while trying to search for something under it. He frowned upon realizing the bottle of lube he was holding was empty.

"What!" He sat on your thighs for a moment while examining the offending item. "I was sure there was still some left."

"Keeping the lube under your pillow?? Classy." You recalled back what he told you a while ago.

"Where else would you keep it? It's my house." He furrowed his brows in amusement.

"I guess it is handy when it's closeby."

"When it's full, yeah," he put down the empty bottle somewhere where it wouldn't bother your vision. "Well then,"

He moved himself closer to you, using a finger to part your lips. "Lick."

Wallace quickly felt your tongue leave a hefty amount of saliva on his digit. "Good boy, you're a fast learner."

With the required lubrication, he made sure to prepare you pretty well. His experience in the topic wasn't hard to notice, as his movements were bold yet pretty gentle.

"Aren't you gonna turn me on my stomach?" You asked, voice quivering a little from the uncanny sensation.

"So I could miss those pretty faces you're gonna make for me? No way, sweetheart."

The nickname, even though playful in nature, still made you extremely coy.

"Now, keep looking at me." He pushed one of his finger into you, making you groan lightly. It was hard, but you kept your stare pointed at him despite feeling vulnerable. Lots of saliva proved useful for his finger to move without any unnecessary friction. You kept quiet, mostly just huffing out the labored breaths as he searched for the sweet spot in you.

"You don't have to hold back with the sounds. I like them."

"...I feel silly." You dropped a hint of your internal thoughts.

"Oh no, you feel silly because I'm making you feel good? Right, why should I be able to hear I'm doing a good job?" He pointed out the flaws in your logic.

"You know you're doing a good job" You squinted, looking at him.

"How can I know that if you don't communicate with me, hm?" Adding a second finger, he found the most efficient pace to repetitively hit your bundle of nerves. Each thrust made you tingle, forcing a few pants out of you. Still being met with silence from your side, he turned his movements excruciatingly slow.

"W- Wallace...!" You groaned, desperation seeping into your words.

"Yes, Y/N? Is the pace not to your liking?"

The torturous loop forced the words out of you, "Faster- The way you were doing it before was perfect." Wallace immediately resumed to his previous technique, "See how easily you can get what you want with words?" You paired a smile with a roll of your eyes to cover your shame.

"Anything else you want me to do?" He offered.

"Could you, uh, touch me as well?" Somehow a simple guide on what you expected from him seemed like you were beyond needy.

Wallace wordlessly fulfilled your request. You closed your eyes, determined to focus on the buildup rising in you. Wallace's ability to operate with both of his hands in such a precise way made you feel like a board that DJ's play on. This random thought made you chuckle involuntarily, of course gaining a head tilt from the man.

"What's so funny?" He slowed down his movements so he could hear you speak.

"I had a dumb thought-" You grinned, feeling silly for ruining 'the moment', "It's just- you do the thing so skillfully, like a DJ." Wallace stopped completely, the sound of his drunken laughter followed right after.

"Wow, I woulda expect Scott to come up with something like that, not you." He couldn't even mock a look of disapproval, joy too insistent to stay on his face. "But I can't say I don't find your stupidity adorable."

"Anyway, I think I finished mixing the song." He added onto the joke.

"Awh, what! Not fair." You scolded yourself for voicing your stupid thoughts before reaching your orgasm.

"Not fair? You don't wanna finally start with the main course?" He squinted his eyes in a smirk, leaning to grab something from under another pillow again.

"Mm, you drive a hard bargain."

You looked as he tried to find whatever he looked for, checking at least 2 more times before finally lifting up the pillow to see nothing there. This discovery made him groan in frustration, "Scott took the stash of condoms to Ramona. Of course."

"Ew, they're gonna have sex." You commented, completely acknowledging the irony of your current situation. It made him chuckle.

"So, guy- I know we're both drunk but we still gotta be responsible adults. What d'you wanna do?" He pointed his focus on you. "I'm clean, checked it recently."

"I haven't been with anyone yet, so..." Your gaze wandered on his body to avoid his eyes. You noticed he still had his pants on, a fact he realized right after you, finally taking them off.

"Alright," he concluded, nearing his hips closer to yours "you're sure about this, right?"

"Yes- One hundred percent." You lightly hug his sides with your knees.

"Okay. I'll go slow at first."

You spent the next few moments adjusting to the sudden warmth and stiffness residing in you. He was right. It didn't compare to the toys you had. He moved further while still almost fully pressed into you, brushing the right spot to make you moan. He wouldn't neglect your most sensitive area, bringing his two fingers to move in a circular motion. His pelvis met yours in a series of slow and deep thrusts.

"...Wallace," you moved your hand to trace over his chest, "faster, please."

"Since you asked so nicely," the rhythmic slaps of bare skin echoed through the house with more vigor. Wallace was sure of his good work, judging by the mewls coming out of your mouth. He also didn't spare you the array of lewd sounds. "I haven't been this horny in forever." He continued to whisper more sultry encouragements near your ear, "You have the sweetest voice when you say my name."

"Wallace-" you whimpered, desperate for more praise. "...Almost-" it took great effort to keep your composure, the euphoria threatened to overwhelm you very soon.

"Come on, Y/N. Show me how good I'm making you feel." The tension building up in your abdomen finally caught up to you with a jolt of pleasure. Your fingers dug into his sides, your legs entangled themselves into his body, pushing him even deeper into you. His ears were hit with the lovely noise of you riding your high, him helping you through it by continuing to keep the steady movements.

He let you rest for a while, the break filled the room with your heavy panting. The grip in your fingers loosened, just for him to take it as a sign to resume to the previous pace. It didn't take long for him to see the stars as well, pulling out of you with the desperate mention of your name. You felt the warm liquid hit your bare stomach. Wallace hovered above you, the sounds of your labored breaths melted together.

"...You made a mess," you broke the silence with a playful remark.

"My bad," he leaned to the source of the problem, placing a bold lick along your body. The gesture made you squirm a little, even more so after seeing Wallace wipe a bit of the semen stuck to the corner of his mouth.

"I want a kiss," you dared to request, making him raise his brow at the sudden bluntness. He inched closer, letting you feel the remnants of his salty flavor in a deeper kiss.

"I didn't take you for such a kinky person." He laid himself next to you.

"Said the guy who just licked his own cum off me." You quipped back, showing a smile to show you're not serious.

"Yeah - and you still wanted a kiss."

The proximity led you to initiate the snuggles, moving past the banter that led to nowhere. Wallace put the covers on both of you, adjusting himself comfortably to the new position. His arm was behind your back and your head laid comfortably on his chest. The faint sound of his heartbeat was comforting to hear.

"...It won't be weird to us tomorrow, right?" You murmured, seeking some reassurance. Wallace opened up his eye to look at you.

"I don't see why it would be. Unless you secretly hated it this whole time" He started playing with your hair, making it twirl around his finger.

"It was- awesome." He chuckled at the choice of your words.

"Agreed, guy."

"...So, can I officially call you my boyfriend?" You asked, hoping you knew the answer.

"Only if I can do the same around others."

[evianlovesblue]

Scott Pilgrim is (bi-curiously) Confused

(scollace smut one shot)

-

i'm totally new to posting things on here so if i did it wrong. oh well

-

-

scott pilgrim is (bi-curiously) confused

It's been a little while since Scott has been with someone, since Envy. naturally, that means Scott hasn't gotten laid. This has become a problem.

The time is exactly 11:43 pm. Scott Pilgrim and his cool gay roommate Wallace are lying side by side on their ratty shared futon. The only thing going through Scott's mind at the moment is how hot Wallace has seemed recently. Why can't he stop thinking about him? Scott's not gay. At least, he doesn't think he is. "This must be because i'm too pent up. I haven't had sex in a long enough time." Scott decides. As he continues to think about doing dirty things under the sheets with Wallace, which in his mind is So Not Totally Not Gay, Wallace groans.

"Scott, I can tell you're still awake, you don't fall asleep on your back. what is it, guy?" Wallace mumbles into his pillow, eyes still shut. Wallace doesn't actually expect to get an answer, so he tries to go back to sleep. Minutes of silence go by until Scott sighs,

"Wallace, what's it like to have sex with a guy?"

"...Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you thinking about gay sex."

"Just... thoughts."

Wallace sits up and turns to look at Scott, who's got his right arm across his eyes, flushed from the embarrassment of this conversation.

"What do you want to know?" Wallace questions, eyeing Scott's demeanor.

"Ummm, I don't know, does it... feel good?"

"People wouldn't have it if it didn't feel good, guy."

"Right, right..."

"Why are you asking?" Wallace says with a hint of a flirty attitude.

"Dunno... just.. curious."

"Mhm." Wallace hums in response, raising a brow. An idea crosses Wallace's mind, but he decides not.

"Wallace?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we, ummm..." Scott stutters, feeling a heat in his crotch from his lewd thoughts.

"Spit it out, Scott."

"Um, okay.. so could you... I don't know.. uhmmmm, could you maybe kiss m-"

Wallace cut his sentence off by pressing his lips against Scott's, biting slightly on his lower lip. Scott immediately pushes back into the kiss, slipping his tongue into Wallace's mouth. Short, muffled moans come from behind Scott's lips as he runs his hands through Wallace's hair. Wallace pulls back from the kiss to look at Scott.

"How far do you want this to go?"

"Umm, like. the farthest?"

"You want to have sex with me?" Scott feels his cock twitch at Wallace's words.

"Maybe.." Scott mutters, looking away. Wallace gets up to straddle Scott, pinning his hands above his head to the futon.

"Tell me if i need to stop, okay guy?"

"..M-mhm.." Scott hums back, embarrassed but aroused by the position they are in. Wallace leans down to Scott's neck, kissing and sucking on his sensitive spots. Scott starts to whimper at this, unable to cover his face from his hands being pinned above his head.

"You make some pretty cute noises, Scottie." Wallace whispers in his ear, smirking. Scott blushes hard from Wallace's words, starting to get really turned on. Wallace continues to suck on Scott's neck until he feels something hard against his ass.

"Are you hard?" Wallace questions, the side of his mouth crooking into a smirk.

"Uh, no." Scott lies.

"Sure, guy." Wallace moves down to unbutton Scott's pants and pulls down his boxers. To his surprise, he was met with 7 inches, completely shaved with a glistening pink tip, leaking precum already.

"P-please, I need you Wallace..." Scott manages to mumble, flipping a switch inside of Wallace. He wipes the precum from Scott's tip all over his hands and starts to stroke him while giving the tip kitten licks.

"F-fuck Wallace.." Scott moans, whimpering at each movement he makes.

"Be a good boy and don't cum until i say so, alright Scottie?" Wallace says in a seductive voice. Scott nods his head shyly. Whimpers and moans fill the room of their apartment, mainly coming from Scott.

"'m gonna get lube" Wallace says as he gets up. Scott whines brattily for being left on the futon.

"You sure you wanna do this, guy?" Wallace questions, and Scott gives him a look of approval. He puts lube on two of his fingers, massaging them onto Scott's ass. Scott whimpers from the foreign feeling as Wallace pushes his fingers in.

"Mmmphh.. Wallace..-" Scott moans as Wallace scissors him.

"You ready?"

"..Yes."

Wallace lines the tip of his cock up to Scott's ass and slowly pushes it in.

"A-ah.. Wallace this hurts."

"That's because you're so tight, guy."

"Whatever.."

"I'm gonna start moving now, okay?"

"...Be gentle."

"I will, Scottie."

Wallace starts moving slowly in and out, breathing steadily. as he starts to pick up the pace, Scott starts to whimper, mumbling "Wallace, Wallace" over and over.

"Y-you're right this f-feels so... so good.~" Scott moans as Wallace thrusts in and out of him.

"G-good boy Scott,." Wallace huffs, moaning every time he pushes back into Scott.

"Say it.. say it again.." Scott whines, close to his climax.

"You're such a g- good boy Scottie." Wallace pants, movements becoming sloppier as he reaches his limit.

"F-fuck oh my god.~" Scott moans out. Wallace bites his lip hard, stifling a moan. The two of them both sprawl out on the futon, breathing heavily.

"Wallace?"

"Yeah Scott?"

"Am I gay now?"

"I think this just makes you bisexual Scott."

"There's more than two options?!"

[dunnodontask]

scott pilgrim definitely humped wallace wells thigh while he was reading the newspaper at some point in their roommate-ship.

[cherrybr4t]

bloody bar — choi seungcheol (m)

pic cr. pinterest!

pairing: bar owner!seungcheol x fem!reader

about: tis’ that time of the year—seungcheol’s love for halloween translates into him going the extra mile, to bring in fresh faces into his bar in town.

warnings: smut, the world sl*t, smoking (reader), jason voorhees mentioned, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, oral (f.rec), oral (m.rec), fingering, slight brat taming, praising, creampie, tit playing

wc: 4.2k

—

As quoted in Mean Girls, halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it. Cady has never been more right, you think to yourself as you walk down the busy streets downtown, hand in hand with your other two friends—Yuki and Mona.

Surprisingly, this year, you three are not the exception, clad in sexy renditions of your favourite movie characters. You being Gogo Yubari—but with a tiny skirt and a shirt that seems to be barely holding itself together, Yuki being Mia Wallace, and Mona a ghost bride that keeps attracting the gazes of drunk teens.

Each of you on your second can of highball, arms locked together tightly as you three trudged down the streets to find the bar where the rest of the group is waiting at. Nothing like pre-gaming before the actual pre-game.

“Fuck, I need to pee.” Yuki whines as she downs her remaining highball before throwing away her empty can. A groan rumbles from Mona, which causes you to chuckle. “Looks like there’s a toilet up front over there,” you pondered, trying to get a better look at the building in front of you.

“Let’s go let’s go—I think the bar is somewhere here anyways,” Yuki pulls both of you to cross the road with her, briefly checking on google maps which she has had open for the past 20 minutes.

The building in front of you welcomes the group of you with an open foyer, and you notice the rows of neon lights across every floor of the building, each spelling out the names of different bars that seem to be booming with business.

“Fuck, I can’t hold it in any longer,” Yuki barely finishes her sentence before running off to the restroom at the end of the foyer. You finish up your can along with Mona, before deciding to light up a stick with her while waiting for Yuki.

Meet us at level 3, there’s an open smoking area here.

You light up a stick for yourself as well as for Mona, seeking comfort in the warmth down your system, in contrast to the cold night. Leaning against the wall, your eyes run through the bar fronts staggered on this level, admiring the amount of effort they took to showcase their halloween decorations.

While scanning, your eyes meet a rather...menacing one. A person with a Jason Voorhees mask is staring right at you, leaning against the parapet directly opposite you, while waving what looks like a fake decorative knife—as if saying hi.

You furrow your eyebrows, ignoring the slight scare you felt when you saw the mystery person wave at you. One thing about you—as much as you enjoy the theatrics of being out and about during halloween, you were definitely not the biggest fan of horror movies—especially ones with killing themes where the murderer is hiding behind a sinister mask. (read: Friday the 13th)

You look away, puffing out towards the sky before listening to Mona complain about her recent internship project.

“Hey,”

A deep voice muttered. While you knew it definitely could not be Yuki, nor were you particularly interested in entertaining anyone tonight, somehow your inner instinct brought it upon you to turn to the source of the voice.

The minute your eyes lay upon the man in a black suit next to you—you let out a yelp, jumping slightly and dropping your diminishing stick.

“Holy fuck,” you uttered, hands soothing yourself by patting your chest area. A loud chuckle erupts beside you and you just know Mona is intrigued by this mysterious man appearing beside you two.

The mask looks way more eerie and daunting up close, you can’t help but take a step back—stepping on your dropped cigarette at the same time. He chuckles, and continues to wave his knife while looking at you.

Mona speaks up, letting the man know how sick his costume is, and whatever he utters next gets muffled by your loud thoughts.

Fight or Flight. This is a stupid predicament to be even thinking about fighting or flighting—it’s halloween for goodness sakes. You’re bound to meet 20 more people with the same spooky masks, but at this very moment, you’re not liking the attention from this “killer”.

Flight it is. You grab onto Mona’s hand tightly before dragging her towards the toilet at level 3. Panting as you shut the door to the women’s toilet, you hastily pick up your phone to text Yuki about the change in meeting location.

“Y/N, calm down, it’s just a man in a scary mask that’s all,” Mona giggles as she takes in your slightly frightened state. You roll your eyes, shrugging her off, “and you—will definitely die first in a horror movie.”

“Hey! That’s offensive—we know the first one to die will be—.”

“Guys! I’m right, the bar is actually in this building, on this level actually,” Yuki bursts into the toilet, waving her phone excitedly with a bounce.

Mona looks over at me, smirking before holding onto both of us, “Let the night begin,”.

—

The bloody bar. What an apt name, especially for halloween season.

You squeeze through the crowd on the dance floor before finding the table where your friends are situated at. Loud cheers erupt from the table before they usher you to get more drinks to reach their state of high.

“I’ll go fetch us some drinks—cherry vodka?” Mona and Yuki nod eagerly before holding onto your belongings so you can carry the drinks over.

With the music pumping you up, you made your way to the bar at the back, smiling at strangers along the way—stopped by a girl dressed as The Bride, insisting that you both had to get a picture together.

After some quick snaps, you finally found yourself in front of the bar, alongside a few others waiting for their drink top-ups.

“3 cherry vodka’s please!”

“Coming right up!”

Leaning your elbows on the marbled counter, you hum along to the music playing while tapping your card to the beat.

“Why’d you run away so quickly Gogo?” That familiar baritone runs a chill down your spine and you turn to your right, only to see the same man waving the same plastic knife in your face.

“Well, quick tip. If you wanna hold a conversation, maybe not wave a knife in their face?” You snap back, effects of the mask starting to wear off with the alcohol making its way through your veins.

He chuckles, before tucking away the knife behind him.

“My bad, can I have a do-over with you, pretty?” He reaches out a hand in your direction, which you narrow your eyes at. He wiggles his fingers, urging you to go for it.

Hesitantly, you place your hands in his, eager to be done with just a quick shake of hands. But he’s faster, as he lifts his mask up a little, bringing your knuckles to his lips as he settles a soft kiss upon them.

“This outfit doing a thing on you?” You can’t help but bite back at this man—though he’s done nothing wrong, except looking like a nightmare you may have had after watching Friday the 13th.

“More so the pretty woman that’s in it, rather than the costume itself—though I must say, I don’t remember Gogo looking this…bewitching.” He tilts his head, and you see a hint of his eyes behind the mask.

You snort out a chuckle, “And I don’t remember Jason being this friendly,”

“Only to people he likes, and fortunately for you, you’ve caught his eye,” he leans in closer, and you sniff a hint of bergamot and vanilla.

“Fortunately? I need to be further convinced,” you hum, starting to warm up with the warm banter. You were always a sucker for straightforward guys anyway.

With a swift movement, he removes his mask completely, hands ruffling through his locks to fix his hair.

You were stunned—to say the least. The man in front of you had the prettiest eyes that seemed to sparkle the longer he looked at you, with the prettiest cherry lips and goodness—his dimples. His dimples that seemed to be screaming out to you, to poke a finger in them.

“Seungcheol,” his dimples make an appearance yet again.

You cleared your throat, “Y/N”. You swear you saw a flash of something in his eyes as you uttered your name to the gorgeous man in front of you.

“Y/N… let me get those drinks for you, yeah?” Before you could protest, he makes a few gestures towards the bartender, before grabbing the drinks and bringing them over to your table for you.

Raising your eyebrows, you scurry nearer to catch up to him, “You’re here often?” You could only assume by the way he has a tab open here, and by judging the chummy behaviour with the bartender earlier.

“Mmm, not quite…sometimes,” he shouts over the music that gets louder nearing the tables and dance floor. Handing over your drinks to you and your friends, words get stuck down his throat as your friends pull you away to the dance floor.

“I’ll catch you later!” You push away the feeling of disappointment, knowing he’ll be around anyway.

Drinks in your hands, you sway along to the music, pulling up with your favorite dance moves with your friends. Throughout, you feel a certain someone’s gaze on you, and with a sneaky glance towards the bar, you see seungcheol leaning on his back, arms crossed with his eyes unabashedly drilling holes in your face.

With an audience, you start to feel a little more bold, swaying your hips in his direction, letting your short skirt flap around, giving him a little show to gape at.

The feeling of being under his watchful eye makes your heart beat along to the bass on the dance floor, and you can’t help but revert your gaze back to him every 5 minutes.

Once he notices you taking a break, downing some water on an empty table, he makes his way towards you. Noticing him, you send him a saccharine smile as he leans down, “Care for a dance? Seems like your friends are busy,” his lips grazed your ear slightly.

Fuck what you said earlier—you could entertain people tonight, especially if it’s a handsome stranger though sent to you in a sinister way initially.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you nod before walking towards the dance floor, looking back at him, only to catch him entranced by your ass already.

You roll your eyes playfully, before catching his gaze. Giggling, you made a come hither motion towards him and he swears his heart is about to pour out in the middle of the dance floor.

—

He’s seen countless people swimming in and out of his bar, but he’s never encountered anyone as enchanting as you. He thinks he’s sick to his stomach at the wave of excitement and rush you bring to him—just by looking at him.

Seungcheol holds you close, and for someone who believes you can’t find love on the dance floor with musty smells and sticky bodies, he seems to be under a spell—one casted by you unknowingly.

He’d thought he lost a chance when you ran away from his initial approach—but when you strutted into his bar, he had a sudden gyration about the idea of fate.

“Thought I’d never have the chance to see you again, pretty. Can’t lie—when you ran away from me earlier, broke my heart a little,” he can’t help his mouth from expressing how glad he is to be dancing with you right now.

“Can’t blame me—it was kinda creepy, Jason’s not high up in my list of celebrity crushes,” you wrap your arms around his neck, giggling. “And, I’m here right now so—I’d say you have the last laugh,”

“Thanking every God I know for bringing you back to me, feels like Gogo was meant to end up in Jason’s arms tonight huh,” Cheol doesn’t know what’s wrong with him and why he’s appearing like a desperate 20 year old in front of you but, all he knows is that the feeling is mutual.

“Was I?” You start to lean closer, lips barely on his neck and he’s afraid you’d notice how quick his heart rate is right now.

“Don’t do this often but, I’d really like to show you, pretty,” he holds your chin up to look into your eyes.

—

The ride back to seungcheol’s house is filled with tension, with the slight nervousness as you think about the last time you’ve made such a reckless decision.

Somehow this doesn’t feel as reckless—it feels thought out, and pre-determined. As if his house was your final destination of the night all along.

Some jokes are cracked in his black porsche, and you notice how his hands grip onto the steering wheel so tight, it starts to turn white.

As if it were the last day on earth with no time to spare, he doesn’t give you time to admire his luxurious and stunning house, not even the bmw parked beside his porsche.

“Fuck, you’re sure about this right, pretty?” He holds your face close, kicking his door shut.

“Very. Want you to show me…show me why I was meant to end up in your arms cheol,” you whisper and he dies internally at the nickname you’ve given him.

“Okay baby,” he pecks your lips. “Gonna fuck the shit out of you pretty,” the moan you let out at that makes you embarrassed but he kisses you so fervently you know you’re not the only needy one.

“Safeword, need a safeword pretty,” he’s panting with urgency, walking you backwards while his hands are unwilling to let go of your face.

“Pumpkin,”

He giggles, gives you another peck on the lips.

“You’re adorable,” and you whine, letting out a gasp as he suddenly has you in his arms, princess-carrying you down the hallway, into his bedroom.

He crashes his lips on yours the minute your back hits the soft mattress, wanting to just kiss every breath out of you.

“So pretty, fuck, knew i had to get you the minute my eyes laid on you,” his hands travel under your shirt, softly caressing your tummy.

You moan at his confession, “you have me cheol,”.

“Yeah? I do, don’t I. Got your pretty ass under me, all I ever need,” a few movements and your buttons pop open, leaving him to drool over your swells covered by a thin bra.

His eager hands grasp onto your mounds, squeezing and playing so rough till it falls out of its confines, and he immediately gets a taste, licking a bud, swirling a tongue to get it hard and puffy.

“Fuck, feels so good,” you moan, legs shifting and rubbing against each other to find relief in the friction.

“So sensitive baby,” he groans, switching over to suck on your other bud, fingers twisting and pulling on the wet and puffy one. You cry out at the insane pleasure it brings you, feeling crazy that you want him to make you cum just by playing with your tits.

“Want more, need more,” you whine out, legs now tight around his waist, trying to lift your hips up to grind on his clothed bulge.

“Mm baby, be patient, I play the long game—won’t be inside you until you cum on my fingers and tongue.” Though his body betrays him as his bulge grows bigger and harder through his pants. You whine, too lost in the pleasure of rubbing yourself on him.

His grips onto your hips, slamming them back into the mattress to get control of the situation.

“I don’t play nice with brats, baby. Wanna be a good girl and stay still for me?” His warning does nothing but soak your panties even more and you nod, submitting his dark gaze.

“Words, need to hear you baby,” he caresses your chin with his thumb.

“Y-yes, I’ll be a good girl cheol.” He kisses you and continues playing with your tits, cupping them, tongue flicking left and right licking your buds together.

“That’s my good girl, knew you’d listen well to me,” he travels down towards your skirt, eyes hooded as he can’t look away from you. He lifts up your skirt to figure out exactly how much of a mess he’s got you in.

Pushing the thin fabric to the side, his index finger runs through your slit, gathering all your arousal, only to bring it to your face, “look at how wet you are baby, you’re fuckin’ drenched god,” he sucks his finger dry, before diving in with his mouth.

“Let me reward you baby, show you why it’s always worth it to be my good girl yeah?”

He licks up and down your slit, before pushing his tongue in your warm cunt, eliciting the loudest moan from you as of yet. “F-fuuck” you scream out as he starts to lap at your cunt like a starved man.

Removing your ruined panties to have better access to your clit, he continues his way up, tongue flicking that sensitive nub all around before sucking it completely, letting his pretty lips play around with your clit. His eyes never leave your face—wanting to savour every look your face contorts into every second.

“C-cheol—so good so good,” your broken moans encourage him to go on even further, as he pushes a finger in easily, sliding it in and out at a steady pace.

He hits two spots at one go, his slender fingers repeatedly rubbing against that friction pad inside you while his mouth stimulates your clit non-stop.

You start to tremble and shake around him, fingers grabbing onto his locks even tighter than before. He feels you clench at inconsistent paces, and observes the tightening of your core.

“You gonna cum for me baby? Like my good girl?”

Coherent sentences can’t seem to form as you let out strings of curses and moans—along with his name.

“Cheol, cheol, cheol fuck,”

“Yeah baby, I can tell you’re there already, cum for me, show me you’re my good girl,” and with that you let go, legs gripping onto his head so tight, shaking, upper body jerking up as you let out a cry.

He rubs your clit to help you prolong your high and you catch your breath slowly, back slowly touching the mattress again.

“You look so fucking gorgeous when you cum baby, need to see that face again,” he hovers above you again, this time attaching his sinful lips on your neck, wanting to mark you as his so badly.

“Take it off—want you inside me,” you tug at his pants, wanting to feel him wreck you completely.

Chuckling, he grabs hold of your hand, pinning them on top of you. “Have you forgotten who’s in charge baby? Don’t worry, I meant it when I said I’ll fuck the shit out of you,” stepping out of his pants, you feel your mouth water at the sight of his angry bulge pushing against his boxers.

“Wanna suck you off, can I?”

He groans, “fuck baby, how can I say no to that pretty face, c’mere” you crawl on the bed towards the edge where he’s standing, helping him get rid of his boxers.

His cock jumps and you already see hints of precum dripping down his girthy length. Laying flat on the bed, you push your ass up a little to give him a show as you start to stroke him, licking his pretty head softly.

“Fuck—no teasing baby,” he throws his head back, groaning at the sight of your pretty face taking in his cock, with your ass—god your ass, he wants to bury his cock in it this instant.

You take him in inch by inch, tongue at the base, flicking around while you swallow him whole. It takes a while, but you soon take all of him in. Moaning at how full it feels, you bob your head, hands playing with his balls, stimulating him even more.

“You’re gonna be the death of me baby, so fucking good to me,” cheol grabs your hair, and starts to guide your head, hips starting to fuck himself into your pretty mouth.

Loud groans erupt from his chest as he feels his tip reach down your throat, the way it tightens and pulses around his tip makes him dizzy.

“Gonna make me cum baby, hold on hold on,” his voice makes you drip more essence on his sheets—his moans together with the sexy chuckle makes you hold your legs together, not wanting to be further embarrassed by how wet you get so easily.

He slides out of your mouth, before instructing you to lay on your back. Grabbing both your legs, placing them on his shoulder before he lines his wet cock on your cunt, gathering all your essence on his tip.

“Hurry cheol—put it in, please,” whining at how empty you feel.

He slams his cock into you, and starts with a pace that makes you scream out at the repeated hits on your g-spot.

“Fuuck—cheol, wait,”

“Told you I don’t play nice with brats baby. You were impatient for my cock—I’m giving it to you now,” his hips never faltering as he continues to pound into you.

“Hhnnngghhm,” you’ve never felt this amount of immense pleasure hitting you so quickly, and all you can do is cry out his name.

“You got what you wanted baby,” he smirks down at you, grabbing onto your ankles tighter as he feels his cock grow tighter at how good you feel around him.

“I-i did, thank you, thank you—fuck, cheol,” you cry out yet again.

“Fuck baby—thanking me for my cock like a good girl now,” he reaches down to play with your clit, wanting to see you crumble before him again.

“I’m your good girl—please,” you throw your head back once you feel the tight circles drawn on your clit. You feel the impending tight feeling down your lower abdomen and you know you’re about to make a mess on his cock.

“That you are baby, fucking my good girl the way she deserves right? Gonna make you cum so hard around my cock baby,” he bites his lower lip, and quickens the pace of his hips and his fingers on your clit. He groans at the sight of white liquid painted on his cock, the ring forming as he thrusts into you.

“You feel so good cheol, so big so full, wanna cum already,” your mind fogs at the pleasure and all you can think about is chasing the high that is about to fall upon you.

“Cum for me baby, cum around this cock like the good girl you are, yeah?” And his voice was the ultimate key to unravel that knot inside you as you feel yourself spasm around his cock, loud cries from you wave after wave.

“You’re gonna make me cum baby, can feel you so tight around me,” you prop your elbows up at his words, moaning at how hot he looks chasing his high inside of you.

“You’d like that baby? Want me to cum inside you? Fuck look at you gripping me so tight even though you just came, so greedy for my cum aren’t you,”

“Yes yes yes, want you to cum inside me cheol,” you whine out, wanting to feel him pump himself inside of you. You beg for it like a broken record and cheol lets out moans and groans before he releases a thick spurt of load inside you, staying still as his cock continues to empty itself inside your warm and tight cunt.

Pulling out, he takes a step back to admire the mixture of your liquids together, oozing out of your pink and ruined cunt.

“Gogo was definitely meant to be in Jason’s arms tonight,” you let out with a breathy chuckle, and cheol brings his hands up to cup your face, swallowing your face whole again with an intense kiss.

“That was amazing baby, Gogo definitely needs to be in Jason’s arms for the rest of all the time from now onwards,” he snuggles his head in the crook of neck, kissing the areas he marked you earlier softly.

You giggle, before a gasp from the man on top of you brought you into a state slight panic, “What’s wrong cheol?”

“Fuck…I just left the bar running—never mind, Jeonghan’s got it,” he snaps his fingers before settling himself in the crook of your neck again.

You tilt your head in confusion, holding his head up to look at him, “What do you mean you left the bar running?”

Cheol’s eyes widen before he smiles sheepishly, “Right…I forgot to mention earlier.. Bloody bar is…my bar—well technically opened it with Jeonghan, the bartender earlier.”

It was your turn to let out a gasp, “Well, never knew bar owners were as enthusiastic in participating in halloween shenanigans,” you smirk towards him before settling down on his bed with him again.

“Lucky you,” he pinches your cheeks and you giggle, rubbing your nose against his, “Lucky me”.

—

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! a little late to release this but,, i hope u enjoyed this mini halloween fic <3 feel free to comment, leave some feedback if u liked it 🩷🍒 all love,, xx 💋

taglist: @gyuguys @black-swan-blog27 @do-you-remember-summer-127 @mrsjohnnysuh

[alottanothing]

This is for @twola, who, about a week ago was having a bad day and wanted someone to write a snip of Arthur beating the shit out of someone who made the reader cry; with the addition of some smutty goodness, of course.

Well, this is the first time I've written publically for our dear cowboy Arthur Morgan. And I simply cannot write anything considered a 'snip'. So here's what my brain calls a snip; over 5k words just for you, twola. I hope this makes up for the bad say you had last week. :)

And shout out to my partner in writing crime, @itswormtrain, for making this readable!

Warnings: mentions of blood, violence, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (f!reader receiving)

The sun was beginning to set over the peaceful hills and sprawling trees of Cumberland Forest. Those lingering traces of daylight caress the rugged terrain with whimsy, casting shadows that dance over the dirt path under the hooves of your young stallion. Nature seemed to pause in reverence as the sun gracefully lowered itself behind the distant mountains; the only sound was that of your horse's steady walk and the murmuring babble of the Dakota River in the distance.

It had been too long since you’d enveloped yourself in such tranquility, seemingly always at the receiving end of Miss Grimshaw’s scalding. Any anticipation of exploring the wilderness or going on jobs with the guys was always overshadowed by the necessity of chores.

When you’d joined the ranks of the Van der Linde Gang, you had hoped you’d garner a little more excitement than a seemingly endless cycle of laundry, cooking, and mending. Sure, the mess in Black Water and the threat of the law constantly at everyone’s heels was a form of excitement, concerning, but still excitement. Though, things had died down since all that, and Horseshoe Overlook was truly an awe-inspiring place to call home for the time being. Even so, camp chores remained deeply understimulating.

In truth, you were just antsy; you always were when Arthur was away for more than a couple of days. Your mind always thought the worst, despite knowing your handsome outlaw was more than capable of handling himself on jobs and in the wilds. But that nagging concern never ceases to occupy your mind. His absence at camp was never more cumbersome than when Grimshaw was barking out instructions, or when Uncle’s drunken singing was so off-key, it scraped against your brain like a rusty old knife. You simply couldn’t stand it anymore; you needed peace and quiet—something to scratch that itching thought in the back of your head.

Admittedly, you hadn’t planned to venture so far from camp, or any sort of civilization for that matter. The towering ramparts of Fort Wallace were in your sights before you decided to turn back. Were it not for the shotgun secured in its holster on your saddle, the late hour would have left you feeling considerably more anxious. Arthur had taught you well, and instilled in you enough confidence not to worry as you trot down the dirt path toward Valentine.

There wasn’t a single soul to be seen for the majority of your journey; your only company that of your horse and Mother Nature’s comforting embrace. You almost hated the far-off glow of a town in the distance, over the crest of a hill. Soon you’d be back at camp with nothing to do but laundry and fret over your lover's absence.

“Pardon me, miss.” You nearly jump from your saddle hearing the strange man’s voice. “Thank god for you, would you mind – too terribly – giving me a ride back to town?”

Your heart skips a warning in your chest as you look around, where did he come from? The question dances in your head as you fight to form the words you want. This was O’Driscoll country—a notion you were suddenly very aware of, and your eyes glance at the rifle still tucked securely in the holster on your saddle.

“I was thrown from my horse, ya see—wild beast took off without me. ‘Fraid I hurt my ankle when I fell.” He explained, garnering a wave of sympathy that clouded the caution in your gut.

The stranger wasn’t dressed in the usual black and green of Colm’s gang: just simple trousers and a dirty work shirt and boots. What could it hurt?

“Yeah, alright,” you said, giving the man a faint smile.

“Oh, bless you, miss. Bless you,” the look of relief on his features did well to settle the remainder of the apprehension swirling in your stomach.

With a firm grip, you steadied your horse so the man could climb on, offering your hand to help him up.

And that act of kindness was your mistake.

His grip on your wrist was like a vice, painful, as he yanks you from your horse's saddle, your boots nearly getting hung on the stirrups. A sinister laugh echoes through the tall trees, splitting the serenity with the jagged sound of malice. Your stallion rears and cries, spooked by the abrupt movement, but the stranger is quick to steady him, forcing your horse into a full gallop toward the glow of Valentine leaving you where you fell.

When the shock wears off, you aren’t sure which was stronger, the wave of anger that envelopes you, or the sudden fear of solitude that brings forth the steady stream of tears down your cheeks. Both feelings were justified, you figure. That, and how utterly foolish you feel for trusting a stranger.

You knew better. Your time with the Van der Lindes taught you not to trust anyone, at least not someone on the side of the road pretending to be hurt. That was the oldest trick in the book. One you’d used several times to con someone out of something. Now, you were out a horse and a shotgun.

When the landscape grew darker as night fell, those shadows that you once looked on with awe and majesty, now loom sinisterly.

Stupid! You scolded yourself, more tears searing down your face. It would be dawn before you made it back to camp on foot; if you made it back to camp at all.

Without the security of your shotgun at hand, your confidence in making it home unscathed was growing short. Animals lurked in the trees around you; monsters both beast and man would undoubtedly set their teeth on you if they found you alone and without the means to protect yourself.

A shiver surges through you, a combination of the onslaught of fear and the chill from the mud you’d landed in. If you’d been riding with Arthur, no one would have the gall to steal from him. And if they did, they surely wouldn’t live long enough to get far out of reach.

You wipe the mud from your hands to your skirts before swiping at the tears staining your face. Maybe someone from camp would notice you hadn’t returned yet and send someone looking for you. Why hadn’t you asked someone to ride along with you, Mary-Beth would have, and she would have appreciated the quiet you wanted. But no, all you needed was the shotgun… How foolish you were.

With a sigh, you work yourself to your feet, boots, and skirts caked with mud and dirt. Even with the weight of self-pity beckoning you to stay planted on the side of the road, the rage put fire in your steps. You would make it back to camp, feet surely blistered, if only to lessen the embarrassment of being robbed.

Anger proves to be a useful motivator as you trek down the road before you, lit only by the white light of the moon. The tears had stopped, but they threaten to spill again simply from how much your feet hurt. That glow seemed to have tricked you; Valentine wasn’t close at all. All there was was trees and rocks and dirt in every direction. You were utterly alone; lost in the wilderness with only thoughts of your naivety to keep you company.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth resonates through the stillness of the wood, sending shivers down your spine and provoking a new wave of tears. With every nearer beat of the rider’s approach, anxiety constricts your heart, sending a whirlwind of possibilities into your mind. Images of dark strangers conjure in your thoughts, each with a fiendish smile and a revolver on their hip, a green bandana tied around their neck. All your anger drains, as you feel fear creep deeper into your being. You wish you still had your shotgun.

“You need a ride, miss?”

Relief crashes into you like a wave against stone; you know that voice, deep and comforting—kind (to you, at least). This time, it was joy bringing tears to your eyes.

“Y/N?” The look of surprise was to be expected on Arthur’s face as he beholds the sight of you, muddy, with tears staining your face. “Darlin’, whattaya doin’ out here?”

Immediately he jumps from his horse, warm hands gently holding the tops of your arms as he gets a better look at the state you’re in. All traces of his hard exterior are swept away, leaving the softer, more compassionate man you fell in love with.

“Camp was driving me crazy without you. I just wanted to take a ride, but some asshole stole my horse—yanked me off my saddle an’ everything. S’why my skirts are all muddy.” You explain, fighting more tears.

Some of the softness fades, still, his voice is gentle when he speaks again.

“Did he hurt ya?”

You shake your head, “no.”

The pad of his thumb dances over your cheek tenderly as he tilts your chin to look at him.

“Darlin’, ya been cryin’.”

“’M just cryin’ at my own stupidity, is all.” You tell him. “Should’a known better than to trust a man alone in the woods.” 

Arthur takes a deep breath through his nose, nodding.

“D��ja at least get a good look at ‘im?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you nod. “He took off towards Valentine.”

Arthur glanced south and nodded too, “Then I reckon that’s where we’ll find him.”

He places you on the saddle and mounts just behind you, drawing you close to his chest as he gives his loyal mare a gentle kick to urge her back onto the road.

With Arthur's arms around you, the darkness of the forest shifts back into the realm of tranquility. The menacing silhouettes of the towering trees became that of gentle giants, swaying gracefully in the night breeze. No longer did the whisper of rustling leaves hold a feeling of foreboding. The forest, in the ethereal silver glow of the moon, was a picture of peace and beauty once more.

Despite what had happened, even Arthur was a beacon of serenity. He hums as you both ride. It’s the same tune Uncle was singing when you left, only Arthur’s melody instills you with a sense of calm while Uncle’s attempt had you on the verge of threatening to remove his tongue. Every so often you feel his lips press to your scalp, leaving soft kisses in your hair and each one helps to remedy every sour thought plaguing you. It never ceases to amaze you just how tender your outlaw could be. To the civilized world, he was quite literally the poster of cruelty and evil, but for you, he was your knight in shining armor.

Valentine was quiet when the hooves of Arthur's horse turn down the main thoroughfare. The muddy roads, churned up by hooves and wagons, were dimly lit by the flicker of oil lamps. In the distance the stirring of livestock in their pens echoes through the stillness of the air, the only other sound coming from the saloon in the middle of town.

Smithfield’s always seemed to clamor no matter what time of night it was. Debauchery never slept, you guessed. The clinking of glasses and the lofty tune of the piano can be heard as you pass the sheriff’s office, a symphony of merriment in the still night air that lent such disregard to the tired citizens of Valentine.

A few men stand outside, bottles in hand as they lament lost love and glory, belching and hiccupping into the cool air. Horses tied to the hitching post whinny and jerk at reins keeping them in place, and there among them was your stolen stallion.

Arthur steers his mare to the front of the saloon, his heavy boots landing with a squelch in the mud as he dismounted. He helps you down, strong hands circling your waist and steadying you in the soft earth.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’,” he says and tips his head toward your horse. “Get yer boy, Imma go take care of some business inside.”

Before you can utter a word he stomps up the stairs of the saloon, his frame taking on the posture of The Enforcer as he pushes through the swinging doors.

His face wasn’t unknown here, it was only a couple of weeks ago he and a few of the other men from camp had gotten into some trouble. You weren’t there to see the fight, but you’d heard all about Arthur’s trip through the window—now boarded up and waiting to be repaired. This time, you hoped it wasn’t your handsome outlaw cast through the pane of glass.

While Arthur is inside, you deftly untangle your horse's reins from the post, gently stroking his mane to soothe his soft whinnying. You smile when he nuzzles you back, happy, it seems, to be back in your care.

“Was that awful man mean to you?” you ask softly, rubbing the coarse fur of his strong neck. “Arthur will handle it, don’t you worry.”

As if on cue, the jovial commotion in the saloon ends; the happy voices now holding anger or shock. The piano playing is lost to the disgruntled sounds inside and a moment later, the man who nearly ruined your night is thrown through the doors.

His bruised form topples down each step before landing in the mud. You watch, unable to quell the sense of pride that surges through you as you watch Arthur swagger through the saloon doors and down the steps, spurs jingling. The confidence he holds as he looms over the thief settles over you warmly. This act of violence was in the name of chivalry; the man deserved whatever justice Arthur planned to dish out.

“Didn’t need ya to point him out after all, darlin’.” Arthur's words fell from his lips with the ghost of a grin, pleased with the opportunity to put your attacker in his place. “This feller was inside boastin’ to the whoooole saloon ‘bout the horse he stole from a helpless young woman just outside of town.”

Arthur kicks the man as he tries to stand, the thief falling back into the mud with a groan. Folks begin to gather on the wooden porch of Smithfield’s, their faces twisting in looks of both concern and excitement as they watch your handsome outlaw and the man who’d stolen your horse.

“See, normally I don’t waste my time dealin’ with dim-witted horse thieves. Hell, on occasion, I am one. But you see, that weren’t just any helpless young woman ya stole a horse from… that was my woman.” Arthur deals him another kick to his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs a second time as he tries to stand.

“An’ if it ain’t clear already,” Arthur says reaching to pull the man from the ground and holding him by the lapels of his jacket. “I don’t take kindly to anyone hurtin’ my woman in any way. Ya understand?”

The deep timbre of Arthur’s voice works over your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. He looks so fierce in the flickering light of the oil lamps, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from you, though you know they were cold, focused on the man in his grasp.

No coherent words fall from the thief's mouth as Arthur holds him nearly off the ground, only a moan of anguish, surely from the two kicks he’d suffered.

“Nod if ya understand,” Arthur demands with a shake.

Anger churns on the thief’s face, but he nods, slow, jaw clenching as he musters the gall to fight back.

“Fortunately for you, all I’m lookin’ for is an apology…” Arthur tips his hat in your direction. “…to the lady.”

The man’s dark eyes glance your way and he sneers, shaking his head with a mirthless chorttle.

“I ain’t apologizin’ for nothin’, especially when your woman is stupid enough ta get her horse stole in the first place.” 

If you cared even slightly about the fate of the man who’d stolen your horse, hearing those words escape his mouth would have caused your stomach to drop knowing the sort of fire he just ignited. But, you want nothing more than for Arthur to beat him into a bloody pulp.

To your surprise, however, Arthur remains steadfast, but his voice is increasingly more sinister when he speaks.

“Maybe ya didn’t hear me. An apology. Now.”

“No.” The thief spat, a fiendish smile turning his lips.

With lightning speed and unyielding force, Arthur’s fist collides with the man’s jaw, unleashing a thunderous crack that has the onlookers gasping. The sudden impact propels the thief backward, his body crashing into the cold mud for a third time.

You expect him to stay there, really if the man had any wits about him, he would have. However, despite the two kicks and the blow to his face, the thief rose from the mud, foolish determination etched onto his bloodied features. Arthur almost scoffs and wastes no time proving the extent of his strength. He strikes him again, obliterating the remnants of the man's fractured jaw, the sound resonating with a deafening crack.

No one rushes to the man's aid when he falls to the muddy earth for a fourth time, wailing in anguish at his shattered jaw. Arthur stands over him, tall and formidable, his presence almost challenging the man to get back up, your outlaw more than prepared to deal out more justice.

“Should’a apologized…” Arthur chides. “If ya had, maybe ya’d have use of that jaw’a yours right now.” 

The man groans in agony, writing on the ground as he holds his broken jaw. 

“But I had ta keep ya from speakin’ ill’a my woman like that. I certainly don’t appreciate when slimy fellers like you use her kindness against her.” Arthur slowly circles the man like a fierce wolf circles their prey. “Then ya had ta go leavin’ her out in them woods, faaar from any sort of civilization, all alone. An’ well. I ain’t takin’ no apologies for that.” 

He stops, one leg on each side of the thief before dropping to his knees, fist poised high over the old leather hat on his head. Arthur didn’t leave your attacker with only one more punch; the man under his weight had committed the ultimate sin in your lovers eyes. He’d hurt you, a crime that warranted the ultimate punishment.

The sound of each punch reverberates through the air as Arthur’s fury drives him to deliver decisive blows. As you watch, pride swelling in your breast, you swear each hit lands with such intensity the ground beneath you trembles. All the folks gathered to watch pass whispers while looks of shock mold their features. Come the morning, the town would be talking again about the stranger who liked to stir up trouble in the sleepy city of Valentine. 

When Arthur finally stands, flexing his surely aching knuckles, the man beneath him is unrecognizable. Blood and bruises distort his face, teeth missing from his gaping mouth. His limp body is unmoving in the mud and you haven’t a care whether he was dead or alive. 

There is a hint of shame on his expression when he drew himself back into your orbit, the coldness in his eyes warming in your presence.

“’M sorry, darlin’.” He says refusing to look you in the eye. In an instant, the Enforcer was gone, leaving only your kind knight in shining armor standing before you, his knuckles red and bloodied from dealing out justice.

“For what?” you say taking his injured hand in yours, wiping the blood from the cuts with a clean section of your skirt.

“For what I done.”

You shake your head and tilt the brim of his hat, looking to meet his lowered gaze. “All you done, Mister Morgan, is protect your woman. Ain’t a lick of shame in that.”

He grins softly, gently caressing your chin and cheek with his clean hand. His expression meets yours completely.

“’M just glad I happened upon ya when I did.” He murmurs and you step closer to him.

His gentle eyes, painted in a delicate watercolor palette of blue and green, softly convey the deep love he possessed for you, along with the ever-lingering fear of losing you. The exquisite blend of tenderness and vulnerability was something seldom seen by anyone other than you. And each time those meticulously built walls of his came down,  you were honored to behold the part of him he kept hidden from everyone else.

“Me too,” you whisper, hoping the look you give him in return conveys the same sentiment.

The lives you lived held no real guarantees apart from a bullet or a hanging rope. You learned quickly to never take for granted a single moment, and this one you certainly weren’t.

“You ready to get back to camp now, darlin’?” he asks, fixing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Camp… you almost grimace at the thought of returning to the mediocrity of it all.

“Actually.” Your eyes glance over to the hotel across the way, mischief coating your smile. “Was thinkin’ I should reward my rescuer.”

His brows furrow following your glance, oblivious to your meaning.

Before he can open his mouth to form a question, you kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck, stretching on your tiptoes to gain the fullness of his kiss. As if on instinct his arms weave around your waist, your feet coming off the ground as he pulls you in closer to deepen the draw of your joined lips. It’s slow and lazy and perfect, his mouth undemanding but firm against yours, making you melt into his very being.

Your head is spinning when he pulls away, placing your feet gently back into the mud, and you can’t fight the smile unfurling over your wet lips.

“I’ll buy us a room at the inn,” you say, batting your eyes coyly. “S’ the least I can do for my knight in shining armor.”

Arthur laughed, heartily. There is an undeniable charm to the sound of his chuckle, as it cascades through the air, enveloping you with an infectious happiness each and every time you hear it. As his eyes hold yours, a playful glimmer twinkles behind them as he swiftly deciphers your not-so-cleverly veiled plan.

“A knight, hmm?” his brow lifts onto his forehead in a deep arch, his smirk firm on his lips.

You nod, “In shining armor.”

He chuckles again shaking his head before scooping you into his arms with ease. You gasp at the swiftness, and laugh too, draping your arms around his neck before planting a kiss on his bearded cheek.

“Well, then, I reckon I should play the part, shouldn’t I, sweetheart?” he says as he steps around your fallen, broken-jawed adversary on his way to the Saint’s Hotel. “Ain’t never been a knight before, just a dirty ol’ outlaw.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. 

He whistles as he trudges through the soft earth for his horse to follow and his loyal mare falls in close on his heel. Your horse follows too, nearly as inseparable from his horse as you were with Arthur.

“Ya ain't old, and ya ain’t dirty…need I remind you who's got mud all over their clothes?” you say kicking up your soiled skirts to get his attention. He just laughs.

“Maybe ya forgot already, but I was on my knees in the mud beating the life outta that fool who robbed you. That makes me just as dirty as you. ‘Sides, I reckon neither of us will be wearin’ them for much longer anyhow.”

His comment, and accompanying bravado surges through you like more wildfire, adding to the flames he’d already been fanning since throwing your attacker through the saloon doors. Arthur’s confidence in his ability to have you swooning with only the low smokey sound of voice and the words he spoke had grown exponentially. Which was both something of a blessing and a curse. You enjoyed the days of flirting and seeing him grow red in the face from your flattery. Now he made you putty in his hands with a few words and a coupling smile.

For that moment, however, you decide it’s a blessing; he’s your Savior in Spurs—a cowboy casanova.

You toss a coin to the innkeeper from the pocket of your skirts and he casts you a key that you manage to catch as Arthur wastes no time making his way upstairs.

In truth, the Saint’s Hotel was no paradise; with its meager accommodations and thin walls, it was hardly a place to find rest. However, that night, that illusion of privacy might as well have been nirvana. You could hardly recall the last time the two of you had a chance to make use of actual walls instead of the canvas flaps of Arthur’s tent. Here, the neighbors were strangers who wouldn’t be casting you looks over the fire the next morning, knowing far too much about what you and Arthur had gotten up to in his tent. You were going to savor every tiny detail unabashedly while you could.

The fire was already burning brightly in the fireplace, warming the room from the cool mountain air outside the windows, adorned with sun-rotted lace curtains. The wooden floor creaked under each step as if to voice its displeasure at the neglect it had suffered over the years. The faded wallpaper, once bursting with colorful patterns, now barely clung to the walls, faded and dusty. The bed, while made with threadbare quilts and pillows, appeared sturdy enough not to break under both your weights, and that was all you truly cared about.

Your boots are the first to come off once Arthur places you back on your feet, discarded with a couple of eager kicks before his hands reach for the fastenings of your skirts. Yours wind around his neck, burying your fingers in his honey-brown hair as you kiss his soft lips.

For all the violence they inflicted mere moments ago, Arthur's hands were so very gentle, plucking at the ties holding your skirts in place, and again as his deft fingers loosened every button of your blouse with practiced ease, leaving you in just your chemise. Despite the warmth of the fire burning in the room, a chill works through you and you sigh, more gooseflesh prickling your skin as Arthur moves his hand to the globe of your breast, thumb sweeping over the covered peak of your nipple.

His featherlight touches make your mind a dizzying vortex of desire. This man, who uses his hands to deal out death sentences, only ever uses them to worship you. His mouth, which often spits out sarcasm and cruelty, paints your skin with tender presses and undeniable words of adoration.

Your hands snake from their place in his hair to the buttons of his blue work shirt, loosening only a few before he swats your hands away gently causing a whine to sound in the back of your throat. He meets your furrowed brow with smirk and a quick peck on your lips before moving your hands back where they were. 

“Feels good, you doin’ that,” he tells you. 

You gently scratch the hair at the nape of his neck. “This?”

“Mhm…” he leans to kiss you again, a slow, worshipful act as though he is trying to memorize every detail of your mouth against his. 

Desire thrums through you ever hotter. You need him. 

“Arthur…” you breathe in weak protest as his lips scour down the column of your neck, his hands pulling your chemise from you. “…I’m s’posed to be rewardin’ you.”

You feel him smile and shake his head as his kisses venture further across your collarbone. When he relieves you of your bloomers, you shiver and moan at the feeling.

“Don’t need no reward, darlin’.” He whispers against your skin between kisses. “Think its you that needs taken care of after whatcha been through.”

Calloused fingers spray over the small of your back as he brings you against him, the hardness in his trousers pressing against your bare form. You feel your own arousal coating your thighs, warm and wet, and begging for the feel of him inside of you.

“Will ya let me do that darlin’? Take care of ya?” his hands explore as he speaks, trailing down your spine before cupping your back side with a little squeeze. 

Your head falls back with a ragged sigh, fingers tugging at this hair. As much as you want to tease and dote on him and show him how grateful you were for his timing, you can’t think when he has you like this: naked and vulnerable to his touch, mind cloudy with desire. 

“Yes, Arthur. Always.” You murmur, lost in the blissfulness of his touches. 

As if you weigh nothing, he takes you in his arms again, hoisting you aloft, and carrying you to the bed where he lays you so tenderly over the threadbare coverings.

You watch, heart pounding against the cage of your ribs as he quickly sheds each of his layers. It is a show you have seen a dozen times and helped with a dozen more, still, your lust-blown eyes gauge him with reverence and awe.

He is truly magnificent, your handsome outlaw; strong shoulders and wide chest dusted with coarse hair your fingers yearned to comb through. Warmth drifts through your body as you drink in every inch of him, eyes landing where his cock juts from dark curls proudly and your cunt clenches in anticipation.

“C’mere, sir knight…” you say stretching across the mattress, smiling, and batting your lashes. “…come an’ claim yer prize.”

Arthur chuckles heartily as he climbs into bed, and you welcome the press of his weight with a happy sigh. He teases your lips with his own, soft kisses that leave you wanting before the press of his tongue coaxes your mouth open. You reciprocate, drinking from his mouth with hungry groans.

Heat pools lower and lower where you want him most; feeling the long pulsing line of him against your thigh was like torture, causing another whine to escape your busy lips.

“Please…” you sigh, a slow undulation taking your hips in search of some form of stimulation.

Once more he obeys, his mouth laying a hot trail down your sternum, stopping to draw your nipple between his lips before traveling further down. The sensation of familiar, calloused palms gliding down the stack of your ribs as his kisses continue their way down, squeezing the swell of your hips and kneading the softness of your thighs have your quiet moans echoing through the room.

Arthur dips his mouth to your center abruptly and draws his tongue up through your slick folds, tasting just how much you need him, and he groans.

“Mmmm, darlin’,” he murmurs before swirling his tongue over the bud nestled at the apex of your cunt. “I don’t do this enough…”

You gasp, a flash of heat pulsing through your center, head rolling against the pillow. He didn’t do this enough, then again, the two of you rarely found yourselves so alone together. And there was barely enough room for the two of you on Arthur’s cot anyway, let alone room to explore other methods of pleasure.

He intensifies his exploration, drawing his tongue over you in wide flat strokes, while your thighs come to moor on his shoulders, heels digging into his back. You feel his shoulders roll as he dedicates himself fully to his task, thrusting his tongue into you, filling you with warm velvet before abandoning your core for the silky nub crowning it. Arthur's tongue curls against it until you shiver and gasp.

“A-Arthur…” your breath hitches, hooking your fingers into his hair.

A low purr rumbles through him as you press against his face, hips rolling in rhythm with his ministrations. Your lover sweeps his tongue over and around your clit repeatedly. Sensation swells low in your belly, feeling yourself nearing the ultimate peak and you tug his hair ruthlessly wanting more. Needing more than just his mouth. His truly wonderful mouth... 

“C’mon, darlin’,” he mutters against your dripping cunt, the gust of his breath billowing over your heated center causing you to shutter.

Without fanfare a wide finger dips into your core, then another, making your back arch and a loud moan spill from your lips at the delightful stretch. For only a moment, your cry reminds you of the paper mache walls surrounding you; no doubt everyone in the Saint's Hotel knows what the two of you are up to, but you cared little with Arthur between your legs eating you out like he was made to do so.

Stars dance in your eyes as you skirt the edge of your undoing. He growls encouragingly when you flutter in warning against his lips and around his fingers.

“That’s it…” he murmurs, voice low and utterly sinful. You can even feel his proud, smirking lips against your center, the image alone snapping the spring coiled low in your belly.

Ecstasy hits you like white-hot heat, tunneling your vision as you jerk against his face, heels digging into his back. His name falls sloppily from your mouth in a flurry of mixed vowels and sounds that hold no cohesive meaning, each one melding into throaty moans.

“That’s my girl…” He grins, removing his fingers to lap up all the juices of your arousal as you ride out your orgasm against his face.

Slowly you come back to yourself, the tremors of aftershock fading as your breath and vision catch up to you. Arthur remains content between your legs, gently kissing the soft skin of your thighs, once more humming the tune he’d serenaded you with on your way into town.

When he smiles at you, lips and chin shining with your nectar, love burning behind his blue-green eyes, you pet his hair, holding that gaze with the same reverence. Slowly a smirk unfurls on your lips.

“Like I said, knight in shining armor.”

[sadesluvr]

Dirty Little Secret

Even with a roster of sexual partners, Derek Danforth keeps coming back to you.

(Derek Danforth x GN! Reader)

A/N: I conjured this idea basically the moment Wallace started laying into Derek lmfao. You don’t have to have watched The Beekeeper to understand this (It’s chaotic and generic, but I had fun!) - Just know Derek is a coke and vape addicted, multi-millionaire crypto-selling playboy scammer who’s also the son of a president?😭 

The place mentioned in this fic (‘The Warehouse’) is fictional and not featured in the movie!

Word count: 1.3K

Tags: SMUT / Gender Neutral Reader / Drug usage (Cocaine) / WARNING: READER DOES A HIT OF COCAINE / Oral sex, M receiving / Degradation / Dirty talk / Implications of cheating / A little angsty, if you squint / This is just Reader giving Derek a blowjob so Minors DNI

‘Need u. Meet me at The Warehouse’

You needn’t check the message twice to know who it was. 

There was only one person in your life who spoke to you like this; who disappeared on most weekdays, only to show up on weekends between the hours of midnight to 5AM without a care in the world. The man’s name was Derek Danforth, a guy who ‘just happened’ to be the son of now President, Jessica Danforth.

You hadn’t met him through any lavish political gala, nor from a meet-and-greet after an inspiring TED Talk - no, he’d chosen the oh-so classy way to slide into your DM’s on Instagram. You’d come to know that fast and sleazy was Derek’s brand.

At first you’d thought it was a scam, not wanting to believe that a millionaire would even bother to speak to you, but a quick $100 transfer into your linked account had told you otherwise.

‘Think I’m real now?’ He’d messaged back, and it was from there that he’d sent a valet to your place for what was supposed to be a hookup.

He’d fucked you so good that night; the feel of his fingers gripping your ass as he pounded into you from behind still etched into your skin. He’d left marks; from marks sourced from his rabid teeth on your neck, to marks from the metal of his rings that had dug tiny scratches into your flesh.  He hadn’t shut up the entire time, grunting and groaning in your ear about how much of a dirty slut you were, and how good your tight hole felt against his cock. He’d probably said that to all the people he’d fucked.

Still, it got to you, and apparently to him also. What started as an unsuspecting DM turned into full contact, with 3AM calls and erotic FaceTime sessions. Derek was often high off of coke, or drunk, or somewhere in between, all whilst puffing on his vape, huffing the thick white air like a dragon. Fitting, because he was dangerous.

And you’d been pulled into his shiny lair once again.

The Warehouse, or what you liked to aptly dub the ‘Whorehouse’ was an underground club, apparently run by Derek’s dealer. Yes, Derek hadn’t even had the courtesy to take you to one of his many properties to do his business, deciding that a sweaty basement would be best for you.

At least you could somehow remain anonymous.

“Knees, now. I want a blowjob,” Derek said in his usual dismissive tone as he slumped on a red couch before leaning forward and sprinkling a white powder on the table. You rolled your eyes as he snorted it, watching as he ran a hand through his mullet, absorbing the endorphins into his bloodstream.

He looked up at you with furrowed brows. He wasn’t one used to dealing with insolence.

“I don’t have all day.”

“Jeez, a ‘hey’ would be nice,” you grumbled. “I had to work overtime, I barely even got settled at home —“

“So? I don’t fucking care,” he scoffed. “There’s a couch, you can settle here.”

You knew damn well there wasn’t going to be any ‘settling’. And as much as you hated it, you loved it. 

Derek spread his legs expectedly as you dived between them, struggling with his zipper to take out his hard cock. It didn’t matter if he was average sized - he'd more than proved himself to know how to use it. Still, it never got lost on you as to how thick he was, the filling sensation of his cock in your mouth for the first time becoming one of your favourites. 

He was already leaking precum, and you wasted no time in licking the fluids up before moving down to the rest of his length, with your hand planted firmly on the base of his cock. You started off with slow, but deliberate motions, desperate to feel his girth in every crevice of your mouth, motivated by the male’s drawn out moans. His head was flung back against the top of the couch, arms spread as he basically gave himself up to you - one of the rare times he would only surrender.

Until he got impatient and placed his hands on the back of your neck, grip firm as he began to drag your head up and down his length, demanding you increase the pace. Pools of spit began to build up inside of your mouth as he did, accommodating to the sudden force. Every time you retracted from his length, the pink flesh began to glimmer; shine, even, as you serviced it. To some, it was a taboo and demeaning act, but to Derek, it was the ultimate act of your submission and devotion to him. To this day, even a year on from your first encounter, you couldn’t understand why he kept coming back to you.

“Fuck,” he drawled, clenching his teeth down on his bottom as he heaved. “You’re so fucking good at this - It’s like you were just made for my cock…”

The statement caused your stomach to backflip, only encouraging you to take him deeper. His thick head was now inches away from the back of your throat, threatening to make you gag. Unfathomably, you seemed tempted to take that risk, but Derek intervened.

“Here,” he said flatly as he gently pushed you off of him, leaning down towards the table. “Try this,” 

He rolls up a fifty and guides your head along the white powder. Your nose tingles and your heart clenches a little, but there’s no immediate effect.

“It’ll take a while, but trust me, you’ll fucking feel it,” Derek smirks, drawing you from your thoughts. “Good thing we’ve got all night,”

It wasn’t long before you were back on his cock, vessel gripped firmly in your hand as you began to stroke him up and down, in tandem with the movements of your neck. 

“You’ve never had blow like this before,” he laughs, hands frantic as they gripped at his thighs, trying to hold them still. “Then again, you’ve never had a dick like this before either, hm? Don’t you have a boyfriend to go home to? Poor guy. I must have you whipped…”

Desperate to respond, you popped his cock out of your mouth, but he held up a hand to 

silence you. 

“I really don’t need to fucking hear it,” he chuckled. “You’re such a slut, you know that? You suck my dick, moan like a bitch, and keep coming back for more, but here you are arguing with me…I’m beginning to think you like this little relationship of ours,”

Who was he kidding? You both knew the truth.

You hummed, and Derek ran his tongue over his teeth, his bouncing leg beginning to quicken. His hands found your head, gripping the back of your neck as his cock began to twitch, vein throbbing against the flat of your tongue. He was always his most animalistic in the heat of the moment; and even though you enjoyed the culmination of your hard work, it was also the time where he spouted things, words and phrases that you knew were nothing but bullshit, and yet clouded your eyes with hope.

“Moan for me,” he grunted, pupils blown as they focused on the pornographic display below him. “Tell me that I’m the best you’ve ever had,”

You let out a whine, and he hummed.

“Worship me,” he continued. “Show me how much you love me…Fuck – Open your mouth…!”

Swiftly, Derek removed his aching member from your mouth, eyes wide as he watched a bridge of saliva form from your raw lips to his skin. With a few slick pumps, his fell half lidded as he came over your face, streaks of white fluid coating your cheeks and lips, with some even falling in your lashes and dripping onto your nose. He convulsed, as if he were temporarily losing grip on his sanity and panted as he tried for air. He ran his hands across his beard before he cupped your cheek, an indiscernible look in his eye before he patted it.

“Clean yourself up. I want you nice and fresh for round two.”

It pained you that you were so enthusiastic to oblige.

[waaayoutofline]

When The Cat and The Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance (part 2)

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natahsa.

Summary: Natasha finds you. Again. If you didn’t know better, you'd say she was obsessed with you. Still, you have a job to do. Will you two ever see eyes to eye?

Warnings: A bit of violence and foul language. Sexual connotations but not smut.

WORD COUNT: 2832

AN: I published it a couple weeks ago (I think?) but I couldn't put it on the master list and it was getting on my nerve soo.— Anyways, this is a part two but I dont know if I'll make a series. More like little stories here and there. Enjoy :)

The air was sharp, puncturing your lungs every time you dared to take a breath. For a second, you regret abandoning the warmth of your flat. But a job is a job, and besides, true evil never fully rests. Not your kind of evil, but the more corrupt, shameless kind. A thud was the only sound that could be heard on the terrace of none other than Wallace Ashford on a rainy night—one of the worst chief prosecutors this city could hope to have. You had your eye on him for a while now, and everything pointed to his involvement in all types of negligence concerning the underground criminal organization. Hundreds, or even thousands, of people were endangered because of his vanity.

You usually weren’t one to go after dirty politicians, but every now and then, an exception appeared. Unfortunately for Ashford, he was one. After months of tracking him, you found out that he had finally returned to the estate after a “vacation,” where only the high deities know what he was up to. He was well-guarded by a team of professionals, but that wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle after a cup or two of wine. He did, however, make you climb all the way to one of his penthouses to avoid his security systems.

Carefully, you took out the small interrupter in your pocket to check for hidden cameras or security systems. “A paranoid man, aren’t you?”

Managing to deactivate them momentarily, you pull yourself up to the banister. A soft grunt escaped you as your feet touched the ground, joints stiff from the cold and rain. Let’s just get this over with.

You made your way into the apartment—if you could even call it that. You’d seen mall floors smaller than this. High ceilings and marble floors greeted you, along with open rooms that displayed nothing but a lack of attachment, painted in neutral tones and lit by intricate chandeliers. There were no family photos or personal decor. If it weren’t for the well-maintained furniture, it would seem as though no one lived here. Despite having a wife and two unfortunate children, there was no sign of family life. Not that it could thrive here, given the fact that Wallace was nothing but a distant and neglectful husband and father, spending his days in his office, making deals with the devil and indulging in adulterous escapades.

Sighing, you finally reached what you knew to be his office, spotting his heat signature through your special lenses. Grabbing the silenced pistol holstered at your side, you carefully opened the wooden doors. A resounding click echoed through the apartment as the door opened two inches—until something screamed at your nerves. Goosebumps rose on your neck, your muscles coming to a sudden, rigid stop. After a brief moment of absolute silence, a grin spread across your face.

“Are you stalking me, Agent Romanoff?”

From the shadows, a familiar figure seemed to seep out of the darkness, revealing none other than Natasha Romanoff. She wore a tactical suit and her usual annoyed scowl, which always seemed to deepen in your presence. Her features were slightly obscured in the dim hallway light.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Do you ever take a break?” Slowly, you stepped away from the door, and she moved perfectly in sync, keeping your movements in check. Returning your gun to its holster, you smiled.

“How could I? If I did, I wouldn’t get to enjoy these lovely chats with you.” Her scowl deepened, her patience visibly fading from her green eyes. “How’d you find me this time?”

“I’m not here to answer your questions.”

A sigh escaped you. To Natasha, it sounded like that of a petulant child. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re here to detain me, blah, blah, blah…” Huffing, you crossed your arms. “I, however, have a job that needs attention. So, can we do this later?”

A shocked scoff escaped her. “You must be more insane than I gave you credit for. I’m not letting you murder that man.”

”Why not?” You whined. “If anything, I'm doing you a favor. Believe me, Wallace Ashford isn’t the type of man that you want to protect.” The atmosphere seemed to shift with your last world, and by Natasha's sudden defensive stance she noticed too. As much as you two seemed to have this unserious conversation, she knew perfectly of what you were capable of.

“That doesn’t give you the right to kill him.” She answers back.

Annoyance starts to bubble within you, the playfulness of meeting the The redhead’s patience was slowly fading away. “Well, someone has to get their hands dirty.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, her body tense, bracing for the inevitable. Still, you noticed the slight hesitation in her fingertips as she reached for her gun. She stepped closer, but you didn’t move. “That’s not your call to make.”

You released a frustrated breath. “And whose is it, hm?” you taunted darkly. “I know you’ve researched him. You have to know what kind of man he is—the things he’s done and that will continue to do. People like him are the reason we get hurt, and yet you’ll continue to let him. But I’m the one who needs to be taken down?”

Natasha seemed to weigh your words carefully, taking them in. It was one of the things you secretly admired about her—the way she processed everything before rendering judgment. Something, however, told you her decision wouldn’t be in your favor. “The system isn’t perfect; it has its flaws. But killing him won’t solve anything. It won’t bring justice or comfort to the people he’s hurt. If you stand down, I promise I’ll make sure he faces the consequences he deserves.”

She stepped even closer, as though trying to soothe a rabid beast. But you weren’t one. No, your mind was cold and sharp, fully aware of what needed to be done. A soft sigh escaped your lips. “Oh, Natasha…”

You paused, standing directly in front of her, mere inches away. Her scent was clean, tinged with traces of rain and gunpowder. Her eyes dropped slightly, as though they were trying to pierce your soul. Tilting your head up defiantly, your eyes glinted under the dim light. You sighed, trailing your index finger along her jaw. Surprisingly, she let it happen, as if lost in thought.

“I never pegged you for being this naive. The system isn’t just flawed—it’s useless,” you snarled, and just like that, the aggression surged back, like an oncoming storm. “No, this corruption needs to be cut out at the root. Good thing I have a very sharp blade.”

And with that, all hell broke loose.

You fished a hidden knife from your side, expertly flipping it around to grip the handle before slashing outward. But as if expecting your every move, Natasha caught your wrist midair, using the momentum to twist your arm painfully behind your back in one swift motion. For a second, you were pinned, her breath hot against the back of your neck. But this was far from over. You brought your head down, then snapped it back with force, cracking into her face. The impact reverberated through you, and she grunted in pain, her grip loosening just enough.

You dropped low, crouching for a second before sweeping your leg around in a wide arc, sending her tumbling to the floor. Victory however only lasted a brief second before, with surprising agility, she grabbed your ankle and yanked hard, pulling you down with her. The two of you rolled across the cold marble floor, grappling for dominance, hands slipping, muscles straining. Finally, you managed to pin her, practically sitting on top of her, your hands pressing against her shoulders as you clumsily lost your balance. You could feel the rise and fall of her breath beneath you, her body tense.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you looked down at her and huffed. Of course, her damn braid stayed perfectly in place, not a strand out of order. Her eyes flickered, a shade darker now—more gray than green. Anger, you realized. A dangerous, calm fury radiated from her. Natasha Romanoff never loses her composure, a lesson you learned on the very first day of this endless game between the two of you. Blood trickled down from her now slightly crooked nose, and you couldn’t resist commenting.

“Hm. Red really does suit you,” you teased, a dark smile curling at the corners of your mouth. Her eyes narrowed.

“Do you ever shut up?” she grunted, before her legs shot up, twisting with surprising force to reverse your positions. Now, she had the advantage, her frame pinning your wrists to the floor. “You’re starting to get on my nerves.”

A breath caught in your throat as you processed what just happened. You weren’t exactly proud to admit this, but something about an enraged, furious Agent Natasha Romanoff straddling you, snarling, did something to you. Heat surged through your skin, a blush rising from your collarbone to the tips of your ears. It was ridiculous, you thought. She was literally trying to kill you.

As if reminded of the danger you were in, you tried to regain control—both mentally and physically. Concentrating, you focused on the faint stirrings of the elements around you. A slow smile curled across your lips as you found what you were looking for. “Not really,” you said, your voice thick with amusement, “but I know you secretly enjoy it.”

Natasha’s eyes flashed with a mixture of disbelief and fury, her expression hardening as she leaned closer, her voice a low growl. “Why can’t you ever just admit defeat?” Her hand pressed harder on your wrist, pinning you even more firmly to the cold floor beneath her.

You winced slightly but couldn’t resist pushing her buttons one last time. “Big talk for someone who’s about to get very, very wet.”

She frowned, clearly thrown by the comment. “What are you—” But before she could finish, you glanced upwards. She followed your gaze, and you grinned. With a faint hiss and the creaking of pipes, the sprinkler system above finally responded to your command. A perfectly controlled jet of water blasted down, drenching Natasha straight in the face.

Her reaction was immediate. “Ugh!” she sputtered, hands instinctively flying up to shield her eyes as the water poured over her, soaking her tactical suit and sending droplets flying in every direction. You seized the moment, using her split-second distraction to twist out from under her grip. With a swift movement, you rolled to your feet, slicking your hair back as you stood, watching her attempt to recover.

“Really? Using your powers now?” she grunted, trying to wipe enough water from her face to clear her vision.

“Well, it wouldn’t be fair for only you to stay dry.” You winked, hands fidgeting behind your back.

Natasha finally cleared her eyes enough to glare at you, her expression a mix of frustration and grudging resignation. “You always have to make a mess, don’t you?” she muttered, straightening up, though her tactical suit was now drenched.

“I mean, it is kind of my thing,” you said, taking a step back, turning your focus back to the reason you were here in the first place.

“Just give it up, will you? He’s no longer in the building.”

You froze mid-step, your hand just inches from the door. There were no signs of Wallace. Natasha, regaining her footing, stood tall. “He’s been evacuated while we had this sorry excuse for a fight. It’s over. You failed.”

Only the last drops of water falling from the ceiling could be heard. You stood there, unmoving. Slightly out of character for her usual calm demeanor, Natasha started to approach you. But then, a sudden, silent laugh escaped your lips, sending chills down her spine—more chilling than the cold water still pooling at your feet.

“Oh, Natasha.” You glanced over your shoulder at her, eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “Do you think I’m a fool?” A sinister smirk parted your lips. “I knew you’d pull one of these stunts because, whether you like it or not, I know you.”

You turned fully, a deadly glint in your eyes. “I also sent a friend of mine to lend a hand.”

Your hands moved behind you, reaching for the vials strapped to your back. “You’re familiar with them, actually.” You walked slowly toward her, holding up the vials so she could see them clearly. Natasha’s eyes widened in recognition. One vial contained a sleek black widow spider, its abdomen adorned with the same red emblem as her suit. The other vial was empty.

“Huh, funny. By sending him away, you didn’t just send him to his death—you might’ve put the whole extraction team in danger. What’s to stop me from giving the chemical signal for my little friend here to bite your companions?” You paused, letting the weight of your words settle in with a crazed smile. “Oh right—nothing! By now, he’s already dead, and your team’s not far behind.”

Natasha’s face paled as she reached for her intercom to contact the agents tasked with retrieving Wallace. Static greeted her. No answer.

Her blood ran cold, but she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “No,” she whispered, her voice resolute. “If there’s anything stable about you, it’s that you don’t harm innocent people.” Her confidence in her own words was surprising. On some level, she understood you. And, for once, she was right. You were a killer, but not a mindless one.

You let out a sigh. “Hmm, you’re right about that. I don’t.” With that, you pulled out another vial, this one containing a light pink liquid. “Here’s the antidote.” Before she had a chance to grab it, you pulled it back, smirking as you held it just out of her reach. This left her stepping closer, the space between you almost nonexistent. Baby hairs stuck around her face, but she still managed to look hauntingly beautiful.

“I should advise you, though: no shenanigans. I assure you, if you try to use it on Ashford, his body will violently reject it. I made sure of that.” The conflict in her eyes was so clear you could practically hear the gears turning in her head. You could see all her possible outcomes, and she knew it too.

“Your friends or a chance to detain me? The ball’s in your court, Agent Romanoff. What’s it going to be?”

She stared you down, as if trying to see right through you. “How do I know you aren’t playing me?” she challenged. “For all I know, that spider of yours never got close to my team, and this is just a way for you to get away.”

“That’s for you to decide.”

Your eyes locked once again, engaging in a silent battle of wills. Natasha’s heart raced, the weight of lives at stake heavy on her conscience, and by the glint in your eyes, she knew you understood that. She cursed herself for being so transparent, as if you could read her like an open book. Finally, her shoulders tensed, then loosened.

Unexpectedly, she grabbed the neck of your suit, yanking you toward her. Sensing no real threat, you allowed it.

“You’re going to regret this little stunt,” she warned, her voice low and dangerous. Still, you stood your ground, feeling the adrenaline course through your veins, making your words drip like honey.

“Getting under your skin, am I?” you whispered, the teasing lilt in your voice unmistakable.

Her jaw clenched, and you could see the battle raging in her mind. A part of her—how big, you couldn’t tell—was torn between wrestling you into submission or doing what she was expected to: saving the team under her command. She leaned in closer, her lips hovering just above your ear. “If you think for one second I’m going to let you win, you’re more delusional than I ever thought.”

Her warning, as sharp and assertive as it was, sent a chill down your spine. The warmth of her breath against your skin only fueled the fire coursing through you.

“If you’re lying, and anything happens to them because of this… I’ll have no compassion — no understanding left. I’ll hunt you down to the ends of the earth.”

You tilted your head back just enough to meet her eyes, your gaze steady and unwavering. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. Now go, be the hero you are, and save your friends,” you answered softly.

For a brief moment, the air crackled with tension. She hesitated for just a heartbeat, weighing her choices. With one last, piercing look, she leapt from the railing, disappearing into the darkness. Moments later, the hum of the Quinjet rising into the air echoed in the distance. With a deep, satisfied breath, you turned away from the balcony, knowing the game was far from over.

Would it ever be? You hoped not.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Duchess - A Sean Wallace/Sex Worker!Reader One Shot Story.

This mans has me feeling a certain way. Feral. So yes, you get to enjoy it, too!

Words - 1,810

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

Sean Wallace is a man who thrives on the exertion of control, in every aspect of his life. Every facet is subject to meticulous planning and detail, his time valuable. If you are in his life, you serve to him a purpose, otherwise you are merely a waste of time he could spend being productive elsewhere. He enjoys the finely tuned machine that is building his life with those who serve him well in a professional capacity, and this is exactly why he sees you twice weekly.  

“I do not entertain the notion of dating or relationships. They're much too complicated. Way too time consuming.”  

He told you this upon your first meet, when you inquired why he sought the services of a high-class escort.  

“Trust me, you are exactly what I am searching for.” 

You aim to please, and god, what a pleasure it is to please him. He’s young, he’s powerful and he’s incredibly handsome. And rich, wealthy enough to afford the high price tag attached to the services you provide. And goodness, how the man can fuck. Sometimes, you often think it should be you paying him for the way he so expertly pounds you into your bed.  

Rarely do you enjoy yourself so honestly with a client, have the pleasure you give to him matched in such delicious reciprocation. With Sean, he never deviates from being anything short of an incredible lover. 

‘Wear black tonight. You know I like you best in black.’ 

You tingle with anticipation at reading his text, knowing you only have mere hours to wait until your favourite client will arrive at your Wharfside apartment.  

Once your makeup and grooming routine has been executed pristinely, black Victoria’s Secret underwear donning your freshly bathed body, a black Gucci dress chosen, and perfume spritzed strategically, you are ready. He doesn’t keep you waiting.  

“Good evening, duchess.” Those words, delivered upon a silky-smooth, cut-glass accent causes heat to rise over your skin, Sean entering your apartment, waiting for you to lead him through to the bedroom. He always lets you lead. Why? So that his hands can wander over your body as your walk, appreciating the swing of your hips, the way the black cloth hugs your curves, to lay kisses upon the back of your neck as he closes the space between you.  

Feeling the heat of his body against your back has a flurry of heat gathering between your legs, your dress eased down, his strong hands smoothing over the fabric of your underwear. “You look sensational, as always.” With his mouth at your neck, you feel mindless already, but not so much that you don’t notice him discreetly place a smooth, white envelope upon the shelf beside the bedroom door, your fee within for the transaction you would happily give him for free, should this not be your chosen profession. 

It never feels like work with him, though. 

You turn to him, his eyes a chilling freeze of blue, the angles of his face shadowed in the low light of the room. Some sex workers insist on no kissing, feeling such an exchange too intimate. You’ve always thought that to be nonsense, taking into mind the intimacy of penetration. A man puts his cock in you, but his lips may not meet yours?  

No. Not in your bedroom.  

Your mouths join in sensual exploration, his tongue rolling against yours as your fingers begin to work deftly to undress him, revealing the utter grandeur of his body. Lithe muscles concealed within the expanse of pale, freckle flecked skin delight your eyes, your tongue circling his nipple before you sit at the foot of your bed.  

His thumb trails your lip as you look up at him, hands unfastening his belt, stripping him nude, perhaps the most impressive part of him already hard and waiting for your attentions. undoubtedly, he has the most perfect cock you’ve ever seen, and in your profession, you’ve seen many.  

“How much extra would I have to pay you, to not use a condom?” 

“You couldn’t afford it.” 

“I’ve never been fond of those who presume they can dictate my finances. Will another five hundred suffice?” 

“No.” 

“Seven fifty?” 

“No.” 

“A thousand, and a letter from my doctor confirming a clean bill of health, STI wise?” 

Never let it be said that Sean Wallace is not a skilled negotiator, that conversation between you many months ago the only reason why when your tongue runs in a slow, firm lick from the base to tip of his cock, there’s no latex barrier between them. He shudders, a breathy exclamation fluttering over his full lips as he feels the warmth of your mouth encase him, sliding down over his thick shaft, his fingers trailing your scalp as they comb through your hair.  

With your mouth working in slow, wet tease and your fingernails gently trailing up and down his back, you have him winding tight in no time, his groans deep and full bodied. “You always look so very pretty, when you have my cock in your mouth.”  

Watching you sucking upon him with such expert aplomb, his eyes the fall closed, his chest beginning to heave as his breaths shallow, the thick bulk of him twitching against your tongue. “Not that I do not adore your mouth, duchess, but for now, there is a place upon you that I wish to put mine even more.”  

Sparks of anticipation flicker through you as he pushes you back onto the bed, his body covering yours, hands roaming as he begins to scatter kisses across your neck. His exploration is slow, careful, his mouth laying kisses to every part of your body revealed from the removal of your underwear, the heat of his skin searing. His mouth takes time to lower, his tongue swirling your navel as his hands bracket your waist, lowering, lowering.  

You gasp softly, his tongue meeting the velvet of your cunt, dragging your slit firmly. A few more long, slow licks skim your folds, the hot roll of his tongue settling upon your clit, a radiance of pleasure blooming deep within you. Some men have no clue what on earth to do with a woman where pleasing her with their mouth is concerned; Sean is not one of them.  

Closing his mouth around you, he sucks at you, pupils inking into the blue as he feels the honey of your cunt bathing his tongue, a grunt welling his throat, hands grasped firmly upon your hips. You can see him smiling around you, watching as you throw your head back and cry out, knowing your performance isn’t amped up for effect. It’s all him.  

Your cries continue to sound the air in blissful sonnet, his tongue fluttering over your clit, featherlight licks making it swell, beating harder and faster, then back to gentle as the pleasure sears right to your marrow. You feel it settling deep, your core throbbing, purring with delight as your fingers skim through his hair, your back arching off the bed as you writhe against the heaven that is his tongue.  

Wet heat works your bud with the kind of skill that leaves you breathless, fire chasing frost through your veins, the feel of his neatly trimmed beard prickling at where you are soft and soaking for him offering delicious friction. He pauses, teasing at you with his fingers before they push inside, hooking, his lips planting hot kisses against your inner thigh, watching you begin to fall apart for him.  

The pleasure sparks like a flint strike, those little illuminations skittering over your nerves as he returns his tongue to you, gentleness gone as he lays keen, unrelenting licks across your clit. Pure ebullience beams brightly, your panting ascension chased by the punch of his fingers within the wet clasp of your cunt and the rapid flickers offered by a tongue that does not cease until you’re cresting hard for him. 

Your hands fist the sheets beneath you, thighs skimming his face as your flames catch against his edges, your release a glittered explosion that leaves you breathless and hungry to be parted around his cock. Of course, he reads your need, pushing your legs apart before sinking himself into you, your walls flexing as he splits you wide, mouth closing around your nipple to suck keenly, his cock bottoming out and dragging back so deliciously slowly, you feel on the verge of tears.  

Kissing the whimpers from your lips, he holds you beneath him, moaning against your tongue as he pushes forth again, gliding through the soaking mess of your cunt. He fills you entirely, mouth at your neck as strong snaps from his hips shock you, pulling out entirely, teasing you with the promise of him, chuckling at your frustration as he nibbles the soft skin of your throat.  

“Does the duchess crave it, hmm?” 

“Mmm,” you purr, stroking his handsome face, watching him catch your fingers between his lips and suck. “She always does when it’s you giving it.” 

He moans a laugh, kissing you. “Correct answer.” The silken glide of him has you lost in ecstasy, his mouth touring the other side of your neck, tongue flickering where your pulse flutters madly, filling and emptying you steadily.  

The rhythmic, contained pace is not set to last, the need with him coiling like an angry serpent as he gives each thrust with voracity, his short nails digging into your thighs as he sits back on his heels, watching how good it looks as his cock fills and enters you rapidly. 

He arrows you thoroughly, every last inch of him sinking into the wet clutch of your cunt as you open for him, panting hard, your moans filling the room as he has you spread and helpless before him, fucking you like a jackhammer. He slows then, thumb languidly swirling over your clit, each thrust more contained, dragging sparks as he scrapes your walls, bending to suck your nipples in turn with an aroused grumble.   

That slowness is abandoned once more, Sean railing you into the bed, loving the way you wail for him, hand stroking your cheek before he grasps your jaw in a strong grip, feeding you his thumb as he looks at you with uncontained lust. It escalates sharply, consummation rushing through you as lightning flickers at the base of your spine, striking home as he closes his eyes tightly and moans gutturally, spilling into you, thick ropes of cum warming your fluttering walls further. 

You lie breathless against one another, knowing that all he needs is a whiskey and half an hour, and he shall be all over you again.  

And he’s the one paying you. What satisfying work it is to be on the sexual payroll of a man both criminal in the streets, and between the sheets. 

[deltablitz]

↷ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - [Pokémon x Reader]

↳ Before Requesting;

     Please note the following;

Please don’t request NSFW (smut, lemons, limes, etc.) of any kind, thank you.

 I write these in my free time, so I apologize for any sort of delay when releasing any content.

Please specify if you want an imagine / headcanons / one-shot (or more).

Don’t be afraid to mention another character / request for another character that’s not on the list. Keep in mind I only write for Pokémon people!

I mostly write for in-game characters, but feel free to request any characters from the anime!

I do not own Pokémon nor any of the characters by any means. All rights go towards Nintendo, Creatures, Game Freak & Satoshi Tajiri- as well as their amazing teams that brought us Pokémon!

↳ Characters I Write For;

     KANTO; Gary, Blue, Red, Ash, Misty, Brock, James, Jessie, Lance, Erika, Koga, & Sabrina

    JOHTO; Silver, Falkner, Clair, & Will

     HOENN; Brendan, May, Roxanne, Brawly, Flannery, Winona, Wallace, Steven Stone & Wally

     SINNOH; Lucas, Dawn, Barry, Gardenia, Fantina, Volkner, Cynthia, Mars, Jupiter & Saturn

     HISUI; Akari, Rei, Cyllene, Laventon, Kamado, Adaman, Arezu, Mai, Melli, Irida, Palina, Ingo, Volo & Cogita

     UNOVA; Hilbert, Hilda, Nate, Rosa, Cheren, Bianca, N, Hugh, Cilan, Chili, Cress, Lenora, Elesa, Skyla, Drayden, Iris, Marlon, Grimsley, Alder, Ingo & Emmet

     KALOS; Calem, Serena, Alain, Shauna, Tierno, Trevor, Viola, Grant, Korrina, Clemont, Valerie, Olympia, Siebold, Malva, Diantha, Sycamore & Alexa

     ALOLA; Elio, Selene, Hau, Lillie, Gladion, Kukui, Burnet, Lana, Kiawe, Mallow, Olivia, Kahili, Guzma, Nanu & Lusamine

     GALAR; Victor, Gloria, Hop, Bede, Leon, Sonia, Milo, Nessa, Kabu, Oleana, Marnie, Piers, Bea, Allister, Gordie, Melony, Raihan, Peony, Klara & Avery

     PALDEA; Florian, Juliana, Nemona, Arven, Atticus, Brassius, Eri, Giacomo, Grusha, Iono, Jacq, Katy, Larry, Mela, Ortega, Penny, Sada, Turo, Ryme & Tulip

↷ What I Write

     Forms Of Writing; Imagines, Textfic, Crack, One-Shots, Headcanons, & Songfics

     Relationships; Romantic ( s/o, crush, etc. ), Platonic ( friend, family member, rival, enemy, etc.)

     Genres / Types; Fluff, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Rivalry, Character x Reader x Character, Jealousy, Isekai, Forbidden Love, Crossover, Darkfic, Alternate Universes, Unrequited Love, & Hurt/Comfort

          ↳Note; Other types of genre may be unlisted.

↳ Work(s);

     KANTO; None Yet

     JOHTO; None Yet

     HOENN; None Yet

     SINNOH; None Yet

     HISUI; None Yet

     UNOVA; None Yet

     KALOS; None Yet

     ALOLA; None Yet

     GALAR; None Yet

     PALDEA; None Yet

↷ ‘ ‘ Now get on out there, trainer! ’ ’

[roleplayfinder]

Hello hello! I am 22 and am currently in search of 18+ writers interested in writing against either my Wallace Wells (Scott Pilgrim) or Roman Roy (Succession)! Particularly looking for Scollace or RomanGerri, but I am more than open to talking about other possible pairings! I haven’t properly written a roleplay in quite a bit, but I have the undeniable itch to gush over some Kieran Culkin characters and maybe delve into some classic angst/fluff/smut. I have a few loose idea, but would love to hear any thoughts or plots you may have! If anyone is at all interested, interact with this, and I’ll get to you ASAP (discord will be preferred)!

.

[ladamedusoif]

Baking (Dieter Bravo x OFC! Andie Wallace-Bravo)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 2

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar (click for masterlist)

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC!Andie Wallace-Bravo

Rating: Teen/Mature

Word count: ~1500 words

Warnings: Mild drug references, alcohol references, strong language, implied smut

Summary: Although he’d once been more known for getting baked, these days Dieter is more interested in baking of a different kind. 

Author's note: This entry in A Merry Fic-Mas is inspired by the very wonderful Curls series by @farawayfromwanting/@agentjackdaniels and @julesonrecord. It's an honour to have the chance to add my own tiny little scene to the Bravo-Wallace family story, and I hope their wonderful creator likes this humble little tale of Holiday Dandie.

Dieter Bravo was not what anyone would call a wholly domesticated man. Marriage and kids had encouraged him to embrace the joys of basic family cooking, but he still struggled with anything beyond the simplest of recipes. 

“I’m an actor, Mamá,” he’d protested as his mother tried to teach him a few of her staples. “It’s basically a given that we’re gonna live on takeout and on-set catering.”

But Dieter had a culinary secret. Baking. In the literal, not metaphorical, sense. Though that was a specialism, too. Less so, these days. 

Even at his hedonistic peak, he’d somehow still retained the ability to produce the best cookies - weed optional, though usually a given - anyone had ever tasted. He didn’t have an exact recipe, just went on vibes. It was soothing, all that gentle mixing and rolling and cutting and baking. He’d made full use of the in-house kitchen in rehab, churning out variations on his failsafe cookie recipe as a kind of therapeutic exercise.

Now, Dieter is swiping through holiday baking ideas on Pinterest while the kids dance energetically to the Bluey opening credits. He’s been the stay-at-home parent for the last couple of months, the strike and production delays for season two of When You’re Lost in the Darkness offering him a welcome chance to stay put and just be a dad. 

Andie walks into the family room dressed in her favourite smart casual outfit of stylish grey coat, white blouse and jeans, makeup subtle and dark curls arranged over one shoulder, her purse slung across her body. She’s in demand, these days, and with Christmas fast approaching Dieter wanted to give her a proper day to herself: get her nails done, have a facial, whatever she wanted. 

“You sure you don’t want me to stay? I feel bad heading out and not staying with you guys on my day off.”

Dieter looks up from his iPad and smiles at his wife. “When was the last time you had a day just for you, angel? We’re fine. Go! Relax! Shop! Do whatever!” He stands up from the couch and shoos her affectionately towards the door, barely letting her pause to kiss the kids goodbye.

Charlie and Ezra do not take their eyes off Bluey for a moment.

Dieter sits beside the kids on the big rug in front of the TV. “So…how’d you guys like to make a surprise for mama?”

Charlie shoots him a look so uncannily similar to her mother’s that Dieter has to pause for a moment. “We’re watching Bluey.”

Ezra nods, bright blond hair gleaming. “Boo-ee.”

“Okay, how about this: we make some cookies for mama, we have lots of fun, and then you can watch more Bluey. Hmmm?”

The children turn to each other as if conferring over their father’s offer. Charlie, as the eldest, assumes the role of spokesperson.

“Okay. But we get to eat cookies and watch Bluey.”

The Pinterest post Dieter had selected as inspiration showed a perfect, well-scrubbed family enjoying a platter of gorgeous, golden holiday cookies frosted and decorated with surgical precision. 

His kitchen, however, had disintegrated into a case of Pinterest versus reality, soundtracked by Dieter’s personal holiday playlist.

Ezra’s wails drown out the sound of Run DMC while Charlie protests that she wasn’t trying to eat Ez’s bowl of frosting. Her dark curls, meanwhile, are streaked with flour, dough, and sugary globs of red and white fondant icing.

They seem to have somehow used every single bowl in the Bravo-Wallace household, the kitchen countertops crowded with mixing bowls of various sizes and coated in flour and sugar. As Dieter turns to comfort Ezra he skids on what he rapidly realises is an errant egg white.

“Motherfuck- sorry, Charlie. And Ezra. Sorry, Charlie and Ezra!”

No sooner has he picked up his son than the oven timer pings, and Charlie is off her stool and opening the oven door - bare-handed - like a shot. Dieter throws himself across the kitchen as best he can, half-diving to get Charlie away from the hot surfaces while somehow still maintaining his balance with little Ezra in his other arm.

Now Charlie starts wailing. “I wanna take the cookies out for Mamaaaaaaaaa!”

Ezra joins in. 

José Feliciano entreats the Bravo-Wallaces to a feliz Navidad. 

Dieter takes a deep breath and tries to summon up what's left of his holiday spirit.

Andie Wallace-Bravo has had a manicure, a pedicure, a facial, and feels like a new woman. She even managed to get in some Christmas shopping at The Grove, stopping at the Farmers Market for a coffee before heading home. 

The house seems eerily quiet, though, as Andie opens the front door and steps inside. No TV. Just the faint sound of holiday music coming from the direction of the kitchen. She drops her purse on the hall table and goes in search of her little clan.

“Dieter? Kids?”

“Mamaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I made you cookies! Seeeeeee!” 

Charlie collides with her mother and Andie becomes conscious of something sticking to her favourite grey coat: a freshly-baked sugar cookie, shaped like what she suspects is meant to be a Chrismas tree, and dripping in frosting and sprinkles. 

“Oh! Yes, I can see - hey, where’s your brother?”

Right on cue, Ezra toddles around the corner. He is, from head to toe, almost entirely green. 

He extends his chubby arms towards Andie, who shucks off her coat and picks him up. So much for this blouse, she muses. 

“Dieter, why is our son green?”

Dieter is leaning against the kitchen island, sweatpants covered in what looks like flour and tiny white handprints all over his dark grey t-shirt. He turns to look at his wife and reveals a face covered in splodges of red and green frosting, and hair rendered white with powdered sugar and flour. 

“Hiiiii, angel. We, uh… we wanted to surprise you. With cookies.”

Andie’s heart swells so much that she’s able, somehow, to ignore the apocalyptic scene in every corner of her kitchen. “You made cookies, for me?”

Ezra claps his little hands together. “COOKEEE MAMA! COOKEEEEE MAMAAAAA!” 

Charlie joins in with the chant, beating a loud tattoo on an upturned mixing bowl, oblivious to the dough plopping onto the floor. 

“Dee, my love? How much frosting did they eat, exactly?”

Dieter had protested when Andie insisted on helping with cleanup. She silenced him with a kiss to his sugar-coated lips, tugging on a pair of rubber gloves to protect her sparkling festive manicure.

“We’re a team, baby. Anyway, if we didn’t tackle this together I think we’d still be cleaning it by New Year’s.”

With the last of the bowls finally washed and put away, Andie reaches into one of the high cupboards and retrieves a bottle of Irish cream liqueur. 

“It’s Christmas, after all, and I have been looking forward to this all day. Come join me on the couch? There should be some cocoa in the cupboard if you want.”

Dieter smiles and nods. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes, angel. Just want to check on one final batch of dough.”

When Dieter finally emerges, still in his deconstructed cookie-coated clothes, he’s holding a plate of plain cookies and carrying a mug of hot cocoa for himself. 

“The final batch of cookies.” He places them on the coffee table and sinks into the couch beside his wife, resting his head on Andie’s shoulder. “These ones are, uh, a little different. Special.”

Andie looks at him dubiously. “Special?”

He exhales and stretches out, picking up a cookie and nibbling at it. “Weed cookies. For some much-needed relaxation.”

“Oh. Ohhhhh.” Andie giggles and puts down her glass, picking up a cookie. “Well. Holiday cheer, indeed. Thank you, baby.” She takes a bite, chews, and turns to Dieter in astonishment. 

“Holy fucking shit, Dee? These are insane?!” 

He quirks a floured eyebrow and grins. “Still got it. Still making the best cookies in Hollywood.”

Andie is two cookies in when she starts to get giggly, tucking her feet under her and whispering sweet nothings at Dieter as he munches on another of his creations. 

“Merry Christmas, Mr Bravo. You’re the best, you know?”

Dieter hums happily to himself, a soft, blissed-out smile spreading across his face. “Mmmm. No. You are. You’re the best. The best best.”

She giggles again and rests her head on his shoulder. “We’re so fucking lucky. Aren’t we?”

He grunts in assent. 

Andie kisses Dieter’s broad shoulder through his t-shirt. “Hey, Dee. Hey. Wanna make out on the couch?”

No answer. 

“Dee?”

A soft snore. Andie melts a little at the sight: her beloved, still the handsomest thing she’s ever seen even if he’s covered in half the contents of their cupboards. She studies his face, reaching out to gently trace her fingers over his gorgeous features, and leans in to kiss his forehead. 

He tastes of sugar.

Another kiss. More sweetness. Andie giggles, and proceeds to kiss and lick the rest of the frosting off her husband’s face.

Dieter opens one eye, half-awake. “Angel, are you…licking me clean?”

She giggles before standing up and helping Dieter to his feet. 

“Sure am. So let’s go to bed where I can finish the job.” She reaches down to pat her husband’s ass, flour rising in a cloud of dust as she does so. 

“Always said you tasted sweet, baby.”

Dividers by @estrelinha-s

[sarcasticmothwrites]

20 question for writers tag game

tagged by @alexandia03

1. Total number of ao3 works?

54

2. Total ao3 word count

233,997.

3. Fandoms I've written in

On the AO3: Empyrean, Repo! the Genetic Opera, Xiaolin Showdown, and a bunch of one-offs for Yuletide or other collection/prompt fics.

Pre-AO3, I've written FFVII, FFVIII, Hellsing (how I met my spouse), GI Joe, Babylon 5. Buffy/Angel. X-Men, X-Files. Probably others I'm not thinking about, I've been writing fanfic since before I knew that other people did it and by that I'm talking 1988.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos

Scott Pilgrim vs. the Unspoken History - Based on the 2010 film, Scott Pilgrim/Wallace Wells. Written for @copperfirebird

At Lunchtime, in the Wilderness - Calvin & Hobbes + Where the Wild Things Are, Gen. Also written for @copperfirebird.

Time and Time Again and Again and Again and Again - Xiaolin Showdown, Chase Young/Jack Spicer. Written *with* @copperfirebird, just for variety.

A Kiss is a Terrible Thing to Waste - Repo! the Genetic Opera, Graverobber/Nathan Wallace. Written for a request meme.

Sketchbook - The Empyrean, Violet & Brennan, Naolin/Brennan. The most recent of my top five by a LOT, this was my first posted Empyrean fic.

5. Do I respond to comments?

Not unless they ask a question or something similar. I'm not good at writing comments.

6. What has the angstiest ending?

I'm not sure if this is "of the top five" or "of the 54 pieces I've posted on the AO3," but I'm going to go with the latter because the former has angst but not really in the ending. So.

Angstiest ending is Dear Alex, a Yuletide fic I wrote for @copperfirebird. A Wrinkle in Time is one of his very favorite books, and this is Kate and Alex Murray figuring out how to be a married couple again. It made me cry, writing it.

7. What has the happiest ending?

It might be New Year's Welcome, which is FFVIII Seifer/Squall/Rinoa and is about finding a home and a place when you thought you'd lost everything.

8. Have I received hate?

Nope. Possibly because I've mostly stayed in very small fandoms.

9. Do I write smut? And what kind?

Yes, I do. If I had to describe it, I would call it lyrical smut, where it's about the flow of the words and the feeling more than the specifics.

10. Do I write crossovers?

One of my top 5s is a crossover, in fact, but it's not something I do very often.

11. Have I ever had a fic stolen?

Yeah, back in the ff.net days, and it was a very weird feeling.

12. Have I ever had a fic translated?

No.

13. Have I ever co-written a fic?

Many. @copperfirebird and I are partners in life and fiction.

14. What is my all-time fave ship?

I can tell you who my favorite child is (I only have one) but I could not possibly pick my favorite ship. I would have a hard time picking a favorite ship in any given fandom.

I love relationships between people whose feelings are bigger than their abilities to communicate it, but who find understanding in the silences; people who are drawn together despite all the reasons that they should not be; and people who are deeply loyal to one another.

15. A WIP I'll never finish

The Future Waits Without Us was supposed to be a large multi-part story that I wrote two pieces of.

Probably Came Too Far To Die because I have one mostly-written chapter I haven't published yet and then I have no idea what I'm doing. I have never known what I was doing with this fic, but I didn't let it stop me.

16. Writing strengths?

Lyrical prose. Three-part clauses. Emotionally complex characters. Witty banter.

17. Writing weaknesses?

Plot. Too bad that's, like, an extremely important part of story building.

18. Do I like foreign language dialogue?

This is a weird question. I don't have any problems with other people writing in multiple languages. There are bilingual characters who should use multiple languages. I'm more prone to things like, "This sentence is written in the common tongue," he said in Tyrrish.

19. First fandom I wrote for?

Dragonriders of Pern when I was in 7th grade.

20. Favourite fic I've written?

It's hard to pick one, but there are two fics that I'm always breathlessly startled I was able to write. Both of them were Yuletide requests, and I know Yuletide's coming around again when I start getting kudos for these.

The first one is In Two Bodies, Alexander and Hephaestian, inspired by Mary Renault's Alexander Trilogy. If you were wondering what I meant by "lyrical smut," this one's an excellent example.

The second one is Finding Zihuatanejo, inspired by the beautiful Stephen King short story "Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption." It really feels like I got the narrator's voice down perfectly.

tagging: Anybody who hasn't done it yet

[angeldcgs]

i'm in the mood for horror and/or smut based threads so please give this a like if you'd like a starter from one of my new muses under the cut <3 my full muse page is also in the source in case you're interested in one of my older muses as well.

bernadette agneau (m.ia g.oth fc)- she/her, 22, bisexual (closeted), submissive, novitiate/nun

agnes doherty (m.argaret q.ualley fc)- she/her, 23, queer (closeted), submissive, nun

odile hargrave (l.ily r.ose d.epp fc)- she/her, 25, bisexual, switch, tinker (historical/fantasy based)

pfeiffer wallace (b.ailey b.ass fc)- she/her, 20, bisexual, switch, werewolf

petra scavo (w.illa f.itzgerald fc)- she/her, 31, pansexual, dominant, leader of a crime syndicate

evie deux (m.argaret q.ualley fc)- she/her, 26, pansexual, switch, pop star/clone

*rosalind "roz" flannery (r.achel w.eisz fc)- she/her, 52, bisexual, submissive, pr manager

*anaïs martin (l.ea s.eydoux fc)- she/her, 39, pansexual, switch, music teacher

*arnell "nell" baptiste (j.urnee s.mollett fc)- she/her, 38, bisexual, submissive, ceo of a skincare company

*lucia fabbrini (m.onica b.ellucci fc)- she/her, 58, bisexual, switch, magazine editor in chief

river "ransom note" ransome (d.ominic s.essa fc/the d.are vc)- he/him, 21, heterosexual, switch, musician

tommy wirtz (m.ike f.aist fc)- he/him, 32, heterosexual, dominant, mechanic/amateur drag racer (50s/60s based)

*slater kinsey (h.arris d.ickinson fc)- he/him, 26, bisexual, switch, intern/personal assistant

anemone starr (f.ka t.wigs fc)- they/she/he, 34, queer, switch, fortune teller/medium

*i would love for a b.abygirl/the p.iano t.eacher based plot for any of these muses <3

[ao3feed-clexafic]

The Chilling Adventures of Clarke

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/59822710 by ModernHypatia Clarke Griffin had a good life. Had her mortal friends, a family who loved her, was well liked by her teachers, and had *excellent* grades at Baxter High. She also got to enjoy the delicious gifts that came from being the daughter of a powerful warlock. But the time had now come to pay for those gifts … the magic she so thoroughly enjoyed. To sign her name in the Dark Lord’s book, begin her training at the Academy of Unseen Arts, and become the witch she was born to be. Her Aunt Abby had been preparing her for this day for as long as she could remember … But as that day approached, Clarke was starting to get cold feet. Maybe that was the sign of just how much EVERYTHING was about to change …   OR   A Clexa version of The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. It’s the characters from The 100 in the witchy world of Sabrina. And it’s a Clexa love story ❤️ Get ready for a good time … And Happy Halloween 🎃 👻🧟‍♂️ Words: 4401, Chapters: 1/23, Language: English Fandoms: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan, clexa - Fandom Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/F Characters: Clarke Griffin, Lexa (The 100), Abby Griffin, Titus (The 100), Raven Reyes (The 100), Anya (The 100), Niylah (The 100), Bellamy Blake, Dante Wallace, Octavia Blake, Echo (The 100), Finn Collins, Aden (The 100), Jasper Jordan, Maya Vie, Ontari (The 100), Mary Wardwell, Lucifer Morningstar, Lilith, Dorian Gray (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina), Charles Pike Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Clarke Griffin & Lexa Additional Tags: Witch Clarke Griffin, Witch Lexa, Witch Abby Griffin, honestly, So many folks are witches, G!p Lexa, Humor, Fluff, Comedy, Lighthearted, Fun, Dark Humor, Heartwarming, Romance, Love, some smut, Friends to Lovers, Witch Culture, Culture Shock, Nobility, Sacrifice, Human and otherwise, Alternate Universe - High School, Smart Clarke, Smart Lexa, the Devil - Freeform, The Weird Sisters, a werewolf, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Protective Clarke, Protective Lexa, protective abby, Badass Clarke Griffin, Badass Lexa, Clarke-focused, and then, Clexa-Focused, Clexa Endgame Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/59822710