#why does he wear suit when its so hot?

[arabella-in-riot-van]

Guess what

NEW RECENT!!!!

[threadbearsweater]

one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan

When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

[seiwas]

cw: pro-hero bakugo, reader has boobs, kind of explicit/nsfw? idk i describe boobs, reader is smaller and shorter than bakugo, unedited sawry

bakugo's muscle tee looks as ill-fitting as it'll ever be draped over you.

there are reasons for this, perfectly founded and logical reasons for why that is—the main one being that, it's, well, his; two, maybe even three sizes larger than what it should be to fit you properly.

but, he can't stop staring, and there are reasons for that too—the main one being that, it's his, and yet, the only way he can ever imagine it now is when it's being worn by you.

your hips sway to the song you've been humming for the past five minutes. it's the same one, the chorus on a perpetual loop. he's sure it's the only part you know; you do this often enough that it's the only part he knows now, too.

the hem of his tee hits right at the top of your thighs, concealing just enough to tease, but he’s confident that if you reach up even the slightest bit for the cupboard overhead, there'll be nothing to hide.

he feels a little bit like a creep like this, watching as he stands in the middle of your shared living room, but it's impossible too look away—you've got to be doing this on purpose, right?

heat flares inside of him when you turn your body ever so slightly, the armhole of his muscle tee large enough to give him the clearest view of skin—

he gulps.

it's smooth, sloping just right; the side view of your under boob curves into its perfect shape and he can imagine it, feel—

(is this considered perving if he's been with you for years?)

the pan in front of you sizzles as you plop in god knows what. you pour in something from the side and wait, one hand propped on the hip you pop out. then, you pick up the pan, attempting to flip what's inside (probably a pancake, now that he thinks about it).

it’s hard to focus on what you’re cooking though, especially when all he sees is plump flesh jiggling, bouncing as you further agitate the pan.

he just got the pants of this suit readjusted, and now they're fucking tight.

bakugo normally runs hot; it’s kind of part of his dna. but this warmth is different, flushing him from head to toe. it creeps up the side of his neck, painting the tips of his ears a blooming red.

you turn around then, plopping the pancake on the plate atop the counter behind you.

"oh! you're done," you greet him with a smile. so. fucking. casually.

as if your tits aren't fucking peaking against the gray fabric of his tee.

as if you think he buys the fake innocence poorly concealing that sly, conniving look in your pretty eyes.

as if you aren't standing in front of him in his muscle tee, wearing nothing underneath it like you didn’t do this on purpose. like you don’t know what it fucking does to him.

his eyes squint suspiciously, deep vermillion staring straight into yours.

you tilt your head, the tips of your lashes kissing the top of your cheekbones as you blink. you reach for a bottle of honey.

“everything okay?” you ask, voice syrupy, sickeningly sweet.

your movements play in front of him languidly, the corner of your lips curling up slightly as you smirk. honey catches on your finger as you pop open the bottle cap.

he’s supposed to be out the door in five minutes if he wants to make it in time for a meeting at the agency. technically, he should already be there if he wants to keep up his track record of consistently being fifteen minutes too early.

but you start to approach him, rounding the kitchen island. there’s a narrow space between him and the slab of marble, but you slide into it like it was made for you.

he’s certain it was, from the way the tip of your nose brushes against his as you tiptoe. your tits are right fucking there, brushing against the skintight material of his suit.

there’s too much fucking fabric if you ask him, between cotton and spandex.

your grin widens, and he feels hot, the heat from his cheeks radiating.

then you whisper, still saccharine, “breakfast is ready,” before kissing him on the lips lightly. a short peck, soft in the way that promises more before you slip away, giggling in your retreat.

he huffs, watching you leave. his feet shift as he thinks.

five minutes, huh?

like hell he’s going to eat these damn pancakes for breakfast today.

[misserabella]

through your clothes

spencer reid x fem! reader

summary; it was supposed to be professional in between the two of you, but a night alone in the BAU makes it difficult for the two of you to keep your hands off each other

cw; +18 content!, minors dni!!, previous kissing, making out, lots of sexual tension, two idiots pining for months, age gap (about ten years), post! jail! spencer, teasing, voyeurism(?), lots of lingering glances, sex over the clothes, dry humping, almost getting caught, switch spencer and reader!, dirty talking, hair pulling, spencer cums in his pants, non-graphic oral sex (fem! receiving), praising….

along the last couple of months in which you’ve become part of the BAU, this… tension with one of your coworkers had grown. it was a craving, a crush. he was handsome, always prancing on his tight suits, curls perfectly combed and his glasses on the bridge of his nose. he was intelligent, too intelligent, a true genius. his grand knowledge attracted you, made you shaky and hot, your eyes glued to his lips when he would rant about scientific facts. it was impossible to not like him. not want to take him from his tie and pull him down against your lips, kiss him until his glasses would fog up and his mind would go absolutely blank.

but he was your superior. you shouldn’t feel this way about him. you should make no move towards or to him. you needed to keep it professional.

it was late at night, around 3AM. you’d stayed behind to continue working in this case… it was difficult to say the least, really challenging. there were a lot of pieces that didn’t fit. you were leaving your brains on it, your eyes heavy with sleep. but your body was tense. cause he was there too.

things had been a little uncomfortable since a night out with the whole team turned in the two of you having a couple of drinks and unknowingly ended up making out in a secluded space to not get caught. you two had brushed it off as a little tipsy mistake. you two had a great age difference, about 10 years, so it was clear that it most likely was a slip. but it was clear that things had changed.

the lights on his office were lit. seemed to be a late night for him as well. you sigh, yawning.

coffee. you needed a coffee.

while on the kitchen you decided to be kind and bring him some as well. he’d most likely needed it. something you liked about him was how much importance he gave his job and how hard he worked, even after jail. his life hadn’t been easy, but he still tried hard, and that was admirable.

you add his usual amount of sugar. if you were to try the beverage you’d most likely scrunch your face at its sweetness. but he liked it that way. he was a man with a sweet tooth. maybe that’s why spencer found himself being so attracted to you.

you were sweet. sweeter than his coffee, intelligent, attractive… a whole sunshine coming down on him after a hard time of pure rains and cloudy skies.

you take a sip of your coffee as you made your way towards his office, basking in the warmth of the liquid down your throat. you knock twice, waiting for his voice to ring in your ears and give you permission. when he does, you creek the door open.

“hey…” you meet his hazel eyes framed by his glasses. he looks tired. exhausted even. and tense. “brought you some coffee, thought you might need it.” he gives himself a moment while you talk to compose and focus himself, putting on his most professional face and pretending to be completely focused on work. he looks up at you, watching you enter the room and trying to pretend he's not already affected by the way you look and the way your outfits fits your body.

you’re wearing an office black skirt that almost reaches your knees and shows the curves of your hips and thighs along with a button up shirt, which’s upper buttons are unbuttoned to give yourself a breath and more comfort. the heels you wear seemed comfortable as you’d been wearing them the whole day, and added to your stature. they made you taller, but even with them you still had to look up at him to meet his eyes, something he found truly endearing.

“oh. thanks.” he gave you a soft smile as you handed him the cup of coffee, taking a sip. “i actually needed some, i was about to fall asleep.” he joked, and you giggled.

“working on the case?” he nodded. you took some of the files on his desk, leaving your cup of coffee aside. “doctor reid…what do you think about this unsub?” you question, taking a look at his profile. “i think something's definitely not right... something doesn’t fit…”

"yes, I was thinking the exact same thing..." he says, looking up at you as he leaned back in his leather chair to get a better look at the papers spread in front of him. he's trying his best to be professional, but can't help his eyes trailing quickly over your body as well. he cleared his throat. “his behavior is confusing. on some scenes he’s methodical, doesn’t commit mistakes, whereas on others he’s frantic, irresponsible and impulsive.”

you looked down at him, at his spread legs. his black suit pants perfectly fitted to his now more muscular thighs. he seemed to had gained strength while in jail. your mind wandered to the possibility of sitting down on them, on the muscle of his thighs in between your legs. “his mind is scattered…” you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to trail back to the matter.

he caught the way your eyes darkened as they settled over his spread legs. it was almost as if he could tell what you were thinking, his brown puppy eyes reading you like an open book. he had to bite back a groan at the sight of you pressing your teeth into the full flesh of your lip. he could almost remember taste the alcohol out of them he had been craving for weeks after your kiss.

"mhm...” he nods, humming. his tone sends shivers down your spine. you seem to have more on mind. “what’s on your mind?" his fingers come up to his glasses to push them up the bridge of his nose, your attention drifting to his large slim fingers before you got back to your trail of thought.

“uhm... well. he seems to be obsessed with his victims...” your words were dying quickly, your body crumbling underneath the tension that slowly drowned the two of you. your eyes trailed down to his crotch. there were so many scenarios running through your mind…

he feels heat pour into his veins under your gaze. your voice is getting rougher, your eyes glued to him. he wants to stand up and pull you into him, but he stays fixed in his seat. he can't take his eyes off of your darkened ones as he speaks.

keep it professional, reid.

"yeah... and?"

“and... uses them. like toys, just before dumping them.” a shiver runs down your spine at your words.

haring the shiver in your voice sends one up his spine in the same way. “he plays with them. enjoys the power of submitting them under him before his game ends.”

and even though he shouldn’t, he thinks about how it would be to use you like a toy, for you to submit to him.

"mhm..." He responds in a low hum, watching as you start to tremble before him. he leans back, getting more comfortable in his seat as he stares up at you. you don’t longer think the two of you are in the right space to talk about this murderer.

“doctor reid...” you called for him, his hazel eyes catching the last on yours as you stared at his spread legs. he watches from under hooded eyes as your gaze trails over that obvious bulge that has you so entranced.

“what is it, agent y/l/n?" he inquired letting the words escape low in his chest. his heart beats faster at the sound of you breathing in that title as you look down at him.

“what are you doing?” you breathe out, your whole body tingling with the need to move closer, to touch him.

"me?" He echoes back as if he's innocently confused, his tongue running over his lips as he looks up at you with feigned innocence on his face, on his hauntingly beautiful face. "just taking a seat, getting comfortable... working..." he's trying desperately not to give away the game, the hunt and teasing, even as he sees the way your eyes get even darker and more intense.

“yeah...” you coughed, looking away from his lips as his tongue dampening them had caught your attention. you could almost feel them against yours, feel his tongue in your mouth. “then maybe i should... i should get back to my desk. there's a lot of work i need to do and...”

he's practically shaking in his chair as you speak, his breath coming in a shudder as he hears you struggle to maintain your composure, the words you speak seeming to do nothing to keep that desire out of your voice.

"no... you should stay." he says gently, cutting you off, his voice dropping to a huskier tone as he looks up at you.

“what?” you shake, your throat drying up.

"just... stay. sit." he softly reached out and touched your hip to gently pull you in front of him. he lets his hand trail down your thigh, his touch making the skin under your skirt prickle.

“w-where...? there are no more chairs...” you stutter, your nervous eyes scanning the room. he was still moving into the office, he was lucky he had gotten a chair and desk.

he looks up at you through dark eyes, a tiny smirk on his face as he sees the effect his touch is having on you. he wanted more. he wanted to drive you crazy.

“i think you know exactly where, agent.” he softly says. “come, sit..." his hand trailing around to the back of your thighs to pull you as he speaks, moving you to settle comfortably in his lap. your cheeks flush, a whimper leaving your chest as your pussy lands right against his crotch.

he shivers at the feeling of your warmth and your weight against his thighs, having to bite down on his tongue to keep from groaning out loud at the feeling of your body His hands trace over your thighs, fingers digging into the skin of your legs as he relishes the feeling of you on him.

“we shouldn't be doing this...” you tried, breathing heavy. “that kiss... it was a mistake...”

he shook his head immediately at your words, his eyes still fixed on you as he watches the way your chest rises and falls with every breath, the way your body trembles like you're already falling apart on top of him.

"no... you weren't a mistake. this feeling isn't a mistake..." he whispered breathlessly, hands slowly slipping to the edge of your skirt as he looked up at you with eyes full of nothing but complete desire and need for you.

“spencer...” you moaned, biting down on your lip, your hands on his shoulders.

hearing you moan his name sends him over the edge, any ability to hold back completely gone as he feels you start to melt on top of him. he looks up at you hungrily under his lashes before he's finally closing the distance between you, his hands snaking up your back to pull you closer as he presses his lips firmly to yours.

you gasped at the first contact, your hands hurriedly coming up to his hair, kissing him hungrily. he tastes just like you remembered, although now there’s a tang of sweetness on his lips.

he lets out a deep groan as he feels your hands in his hair, his body practically trembling under your touch as he kisses you deeply. he lets one hand slip up your spine to the back of your neck to keep you close, the other trailing down to your waist as his tongue slips forward to press hot and insistent against your bottom lip until your mouth opens for him, your tongues meeting as you tug on his hair.

“doctor…” you sighed, hips thrusting against his in need, making his mind go absolutely hazy and a deep groan coming from his mouth as he feels your desire rubbing so wantonly against him. “this is bad... oh god. we should stop...”

he's so lost in the bliss of your body against his that he can barely process your words, but even as you try to speak them his hands are pulling you tighter against him. “no... don't stop... don't..." he practically begs in a gasp, his head tilting to trail kisses and bites down the side of your neck, humming contently when your head tilts backwards to feel more of his kisses. “anyone could come in... they could catch us.” and it was true, anyone wanting to start early could come into the BAU earlier than normal and hear the two of you.

he moans with your words, the sound of your voice even more delirious with desire only serving to make his mind fuzzy. he knows you're trying to stop this, but his body feels too good, too incredible.

"let them walk in... let them hear you..." he said huskily, his teeth gently nipping at your skin as he moves to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

you can't help but whimper, feeling his cock growing harder against you as you roll your hips against him, what makes him let out a deep groan, his head tilting back and his eyes squeezing shut as his mouth falls open around the low sound.

"s-stop... you're going to kill me..." he groans the words out in a gasp, his body growing hot at the friction you're creating with your body.

“you want me to stop?” you whisper on his ear, and he bites down on his lip, shaking his head. “no... no... don't ever stop..." he says gruffly, letting his hands trail up from your waist to your sides, feeling your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. you kiss his jaw and neck. he feels like he's starting to lose his mind at the feeling of you grinding against him, his breath shuddering out in a groan as he feels his body start to shake. "oh my god..." he moans, his chest rising and falling faster and faster with the way you're moving against him. his eyes squeeze shut as he tries to keep himself together, his hands starting to clench around your sides.

“spencer...” you cry out, feeling your stomach tightening at the constant rubbing of your panties against your clit. “feels so good... you feel so good...”

he moans desperately at the sound of you saying his name like this, biting down hard on his lip as he feels you grinding against him so deliciously, your voice so wanton and full of desire for him

"yeah...? feels good?" he shudders out, his eyes flickering behind his closed lids as his head falls back even further against the chair.

you knew you shouldn't. your relationship was meant to be strictly professional. you were supposed to be just team mates, but you wanted to make him cum on his pants. you wanted to make a mess out of him, and that's why you ground your hips harder against his crotch, whining.

he chokes out a groan as he feels you working against him, his hand clenching around your thigh as he tries desperately to keep some modicum of control, fighting the shuddering waves of pleasure that start to roll through him at your motions. his breath comes in sharp through parted lips and they sit against your neck. "oh god... oh god..." he moaned helplessly, desperately trying not to give in right there in the chair.

you leaned on his ear, like the devil on his shoulder. “cum for me, doctor, i'll clean it all up later with my mouth.”

he's already on the edge, his head swimming with the words and the way you keep moving against him. he's never been so far from in control. “fuck.” he groans as he feels himself starting to reach his limit, desperately fighting his body, which only craves release.

“you close, spencer? gonna come for me in your pants?” you mutter only for him to hear against his neck, leaving wet kisses on his skin and tugging at his hair.

he chokes out another moan at the way you taunt him, his body starting to shake under your touch as he nods. "oh god... yes, please..." he whines, his moans starting to sound more and more desperate, even as he can hear the sounds of the crew finally getting in for work, moving around outside the door.

"go ahead doctor. be good for me.” his whole body starts to shudder as you speak, hearing the way you're talking to him like this undoing something inside him. his head falls back with a long, deep groan that you have to quiet with a kiss as his eyes squeezed shut, the force of his orgasm overwhelming him.

you moaned at the warmth of his load spreading through the front of his pants and in between your thighs, your hips grinding down on him to help him ride out his high.

he's breathing hard by the time the rush is over, his mind starting to come back to reality again as he feels your hips and body against his. he keeps his eyes closed for a moment before he's looking up at you with a shuddering groan, his eyes dark and full of satisfaction as he shakes his head.

"you're evil... you know that?"

“you were the one who asked me to not stop, doctor.” you smirked, gasping when his strong arms picked you up and places you on top of his desk, his knees hitting the floor as he positioned himself in between your thighs. “what are you doing?!” you whisper-yell when you feel his fingers tug at the hem of your underwear, his lips leaving a soft wet kiss on your inner thigh.

“returning the favor.”

[hoshifighting]

‎‎     seungcheol + high heels fetish

— seungcheol can't help but stare every time you use those red-soled high heels

WARNINGS: +18 smut, foot fetish, cumming on feet, sub!cheol, dry humping, mastrubation, perinium slight stimulation, cheol on his knees, established!relationship, dirty talk, wet cock, mentions of louboutins collection.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

seungcheol’s always been the type to spoil you, not because he thought you needed him to, but because you deserved it. the way your eyes light up when you unwrap a gift, the small smile tugging at your lips when you realize it’s from him—it does things to him. it’s not about the money, never was. it’s about you. the sight of you wearing that bracelet he picked out, the way you tug on the hem of the dress he bought, as if testing its weight on your body—it all makes his heart race. he likes seeing you in things he gave you, like some kind of silent claim on you that no one else gets to see.

you two started this little tradition—your "girls' day," though the only girl around is you and kkuma, sitting pretty on your lap at the salon while you both get pampered. you laugh when seungcheol jokingly complains about having to sit through another round of facials, but you both know he loves it. he loves the softness of it all, the quiet moments where he gets to be just a man taking care of his girl.

but of all the things he’s bought you, the ones that have started to haunt him in ways he can’t quite explain are the louboutins. there’s something about the red soles—the way they flash when you walk, the soft click of your heels against the floor—that makes his head spin. his favorite? the hot chick ones. they make your legs look soooo good!, your stride just a little more confident, and the way the arch of your foot looks when you're walking in them… fuck, it’s a lot.

he doesn’t think about it at first, not really. it’s just an observation, right? but one morning, you’re getting dressed for a brunch, and he’s grabbing a suit from the closet. his eyes drift down to the row of heels lined up neatly, those red bottoms staring back at him, and suddenly he’s frozen. his brow furrows, teeth sinking into his lower lip as his brain short-circuits. why the hell is this getting to him so much? it’s just shoes, right? but damn, they look good on you.

you don’t notice his internal freak-out yet, too busy fussing with your hair in the mirror. he stands there, trying to shake off the thought, convincing himself it’s nothing. it’s not like he’s got some foot fetish or anything. it’s just the shoes… just the way you look in them.

“you good, babe?” your voice pulls him from his thoughts.

his eyes snap up to meet yours, a little too quickly, and he clears his throat. “yeah, yeah, just thinking about… work,” he mutters, though the lie tastes bitter.

over time, though, you catch on.

the way his eyes linger when you slip on a pair of those heels, how he seems a little more distracted whenever you wear them. and one day, you decide to tease him a bit. you slow your steps, making sure the soles flash with every movement, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he struggles to maintain composure.

“you like them?” you ask innocently, but the smirk playing on your lips tells a different story.

he swallows hard, his face giving him away even though he tries to play it cool. “they’re… nice,” he grumbles, but the way his voice dips betrays him.

you agree, turning back to give him a better view, each click of your heels against the floor making seungcheol’s fingers twitch as he loosens his tie. you sit on the edge of the bed, and from the bathroom door, he’s still watching you, practically glued to the spot. he’d told you he was going to take a bath a few minutes ago, but he hasn’t moved an inch, his eyes flicking between your legs and those damn heels. you know exactly what you’re doing to him, how easy it is to have him in the palm of your hand, and the thought makes your lips twitch.

“my legs are killing me,” you frown, squeezing your calves for emphasis. it’s not even a full lie—those heels could cramp anyone’s calves after a while.

his eyes widen in that soft, concerned way he always gets when it comes to you, and in seconds, he’s on one knee in front of you. “are you okay?” his hands immediately reach for your legs, massaging the tension in your calves with an almost desperate care.

but then… you move. you don’t even have to apply pressure; just the touch is enough. the slender point of your louboutin grazes his inner thigh.

and seungcheol moans.

it’s not even a small sound—it’s a full-on, desperate, pathetic moan that slips from his throat like he can’t stop it— “uhhhnnngg… fuck…” —so needy, it catches even you off guard for sec. his other knee gives way, and suddenly, he’s kneeling fully before you, both knees planted on the ground, like he’s ready to worship you. you can see the confusion in his eyes, something he hasn’t quite come to terms with yet.

his face drops against your bare thigh as if he could hide himself from this ''shame'', his breath hot and ragged as he presses himself against you.

you lift your leg, the sharp heel sliding further up, and he trembles as it nudges right between his legs. the shift is small, but enough for the pointed heel to brush against his clothed balls, and he lets out another shaky moan, louder this time, body folding inward like he’s being torn apart by something he doesn’t even understand.

“oh?” you hum, tilting your head in mock surprise, “seungcheol, you bought these for me, didn’t you?”

his grip tightens around your ankle, desperate. “yeah…” he gasps, voice cracking, but his body is already betraying him, hips subtly grinding against the toe of your shoe, his breath hitching at the friction.

you raise the heel just slightly, dragging it upward, and you can see it in his face—he’s losing it. his body shudders violently, his knees spreading wider, giving you more access, more control. you know exactly where to apply the pressure, the sharp point of your heel pressing right against his perineum, and it sends him spiraling. his hands cling to your ankle, fingers digging into your skin as he chokes out another pathetic whimper.

“you bought them for me, but now look at you,” you tease, voice sultry, “humping my heels like you’re some desperate little thing.”

his hips jerk, grinding harder, and you can feel the dampness growing beneath his slacks, the way his body moves involuntarily, chasing that friction, that release. he’s so sensitive, so overwhelmed, that you almost feel bad—almost. but watching seungcheol crumble like this, makes you wetter than the usual.

“such a good boy,” you murmur, dragging your heel up again, pressing it just right. he gasps, head falling back as his hips buck uncontrollably, riding the edge of it. “you look so good on your knees, baby. all for me, right?”

his response is a strangled groan, hips rutting against your foot, eyes squeezed shut as he holds onto you for dear life. “fuck… fuck… please…” he’s babbling now, and you know he’s close, his thighs trembling

you smirk down at him, fingers still threaded through his hair, watching the way his body trembles beneath you. you know he’s holding back, trying to keep some semblance of control, but the way his hips jerk against your heel tells you all you need to know.

“you wanna cum on them, baby?” you ask softly, your voice a teasing purr.

his eyes widen, his face flushing a deep, almost violent red as he shakes his head, mortified. it’s like the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse for him—like he’s already crossed some line he didn’t even know existed. but now you’re pushing him further, guiding him to a place he’s never been before.

“n-no, i…” he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath coming out in harsh, ragged gasps.

you lean forward, gently cupping his cheek, guiding his face back up to meet your gaze. his skin is hot under your palm, his lips parted as he breathes heavily. “hey,” you whisper, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “it’s okay, cheol. i’m not gonna judge you. you can do it. i want you to.”

his eyes search yours, the uncertainty still clear in his expression, but the way you’re looking at him—like he’s the only thing you want, like you’re not disgusted or weirded out by any of it—makes him melt. he lets out a shaky breath, and with trembling hands, he reaches for his cock.

when he pulls it out, it’s already dripping, slick with pre-cum that drips onto the floor between his knees. his hand wraps around the thick base, and he hesitates for a second before placing the swollen, wet head of his cock against the bare skin of your foot. the contact makes him twitch, a shudder running through his entire body.

his hand moves faster now, jerking himself off with rough, needy strokes. every time he glances at the red soles of your heels, his mouth falls open, and a pitiful whine escapes his lips. his entire body shakes with the force of it, and you can hear just how wet it sounds, how slick and messy he is as his hand moves up and down his length.

he can’t bring himself to look at you, his eyes darting to the side as if he’s ashamed of what he’s about to do. but his body betrays him, his hips jerking forward, his cock twitching against your foot as he lets out a series of broken, desperate moans.

and then it explodes—his body goes rigid, and with a choked moan, he spills himself all over your foot and the heels, the hot, sticky warmth of his release sliding over your skin and dripping down onto the red soles. his knees give out completely, and he collapses against your legs, face pressing into your knees as he trembles, too embarrassed and wrecked to say anything.

his breath is ragged, his body still shaking as he tries to recover, but when he finally looks up at you, the shame is written all over his face. he can barely meet your eyes, but when he does, he sees something that makes him freeze—he sees just how horny you’ve gotten from this. the hunger in your gaze is unmistakable, the way your pupils have blown wide, how your lips are parted as if you’re barely holding yourself back.

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #14

It all started with a ghost. A very loud, very neon, very annoying ghost that thought it was a great idea to haunt Stark Tower. Danny Fenton—part-time student, full-time accidental hero, and perpetually exhausted teen—was just trying to track the damn thing through the Manhattan skyline when his portal malfunctioned (again), exploded in his face (again), and slingshotted him across the sky, straight through a window that turned out to be reinforced vibranium glass.

It should’ve stopped him. It didn’t.

Cue the alarms. Cue the dozens of defense drones locking onto his energy signature. Cue a 19-year-old Danny dangling upside down in the penthouse, surrounded by billion-dollar murder bots, trying to explain to a very confused AI that he was not, in fact, an alien invader.

But before FRIDAY could blast him into oblivion, a small voice piped up from behind a couch. “Are you a fairy?”

Danny blinked. Dangling upside down. Singed suit. Ectoplasm dripping from his hair. “Uh. Sure.”

The voice belonged to a tiny, curly-haired gremlin wearing a tutu, light-up sneakers, and what looked like Tony Stark’s old Iron Man helmet—three sizes too big and twice as chaotic. This was Morgan Stark. Age: five. Chaos level: eldritch god. She approached him like a cat approaches a new toy: equal parts curiosity and threat assessment.

“Can you do sparkles?” she asked.

Danny shot a tiny beam of ecto-energy at the ceiling light, which exploded into fireworks.

Morgan gasped. “OH MY GOD, YOU ARE A FAIRY.”

And that was how Danny Fenton became Morgan Stark’s official babysitter.

It wasn’t like he volunteered. Or got paid. Or even agreed. Tony Stark had been out of the country—something about a diplomatic mess in Wakanda and a golf game with T’Challa. Pepper had begged Steve Rogers to watch Morgan, but Steve’s idea of babysitting was forcing a child to recite the Constitution. So Pepper, desperate and very, very sleep-deprived, walked into her penthouse to find a teenage boy hovering in midair while her daughter screamed “FAIRY GODBRO” at him and decided, “Yeah. Sure. This’ll do.”

“Can you keep her alive?” Pepper asked, not even blinking at the glowing green eyes.

Danny shrugged. “Uh. I guess?”

“You get dental.”

Danny had no idea what that meant but was too scared to argue.

By Day Three, he was in hell. Not the Ghost Zone. Not some apocalyptic alternate timeline. Actual hell. Or what felt like it. Morgan had no concept of mortality. She once duct-taped kitchen knives to her arms and yelled “I’M WOLVERINE NOW.” Another time, she tried to feed their Roomba peanut butter and sobbed when it wouldn’t eat.

Danny tried to keep up. He really did.

Unfortunately, he was also being hunted by an interdimensional ghost warlord named Balthazar the Undying who decided Stark Tower was a great place to stage his declaration of conquest. So in between coloring pages and singing “Let It Go” for the 57th time (because Morgan said if he didn’t, she’d tell everyone he “pees ectoplasm”), Danny was banishing ancient horrors to the Shadow Realm.

“Why does the air taste like sadness?” Morgan asked one morning, sipping chocolate milk while a spectral hand clawed its way out of the floor behind her.

Danny shot it with a laser without looking. “That’s just the trauma, kid.”

She nodded like that made sense.

By Day Five, things got weirder.

Bruce Banner came over to “assess the babysitter.” What he found was a 19-year-old ghost hybrid making chicken nuggets with one hand while performing an exorcism on a sentient blender with the other. Bruce blinked. “You’re multitasking.”

Danny, dead-eyed and covered in slime: “You’re not my real dad.”

Bruce left after Morgan bit him.

Then Peter Parker dropped by. He took one look at Danny—haggard, twitching, wearing a tiara—and whispered, “Oh my god, he is a hot mess.”

“Shut up,” Danny snapped, using his foot to hold down a haunted Roomba. “Help me tie up the possessed dolls.”

Peter did not help. He just filmed everything for TikTok. The video went viral under the title “Me when I leave a random ghost fairy babysitter with Tony Stark’s child and come back to find him summoning the underworld during snack time.”

Nick Fury saw the video and sent a S.W.O.R.D. strike team to investigate.

Morgan beat them with a plastic lightsaber.

On Day Seven, Danny woke up to find Morgan riding a flying toaster around the living room like it was a dragon.

“WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?”

“I summoned it,” she said proudly.

“HOW.”

“I made a deal with your ghost friends.”

Danny’s left eye twitched so hard he saw the Ghost Zone.

Pepper walked in on him mid-breakdown. “You’ve been great with her,” she said, sipping her coffee. “We haven’t seen her this happy since… well, ever.”

Danny, clinging to the ceiling like a feral raccoon, wheezed, “I think she opened a portal to the Necroplane. There’s a demon named Craig living in the fridge.”

Pepper patted his arm. “All babysitters say that.”

Craig opened the fridge and waved. “Sup.”

By Week Two, Danny had stopped pretending to be normal. He phased through walls, levitated toys, vaporized anything that smelled like danger, and occasionally screamed “I’M TOO YOUNG TO BE HAVING A MID-LIFE CRISIS” into the void.

Tony finally came home. He blinked at the scene: Danny napping upside down like a bat while Morgan built a nuclear reactor out of old toaster parts and a Roomba named Kevin.

“Who the hell is that?” Tony asked.

Morgan didn’t even look up. “My fairy godbrother. He banished an evil frog ghost and helped me build an orbital laser.”

Tony stared. “Huh. Alright.”

And just like that, Danny Fenton became part of the Avengers.

He didn’t sign anything. He didn’t train. He didn’t even get a uniform. But every time something exploded or a portal opened or some ancient deity said “BEHOLD MY TRUE FORM,” Danny just floated into the air, cracked his back like an old man, and said, “Not in front of the child, you drama bitch.”

Morgan, from her juice box throne: “YEET HIM INTO THE VOID, DANNY.”

And he did.

It only got worse when the other Avengers got involved.

Natasha tried to teach Morgan how to do spy stuff. Morgan used the techniques to sneak into Tony’s wine cellar and replace the labels with glitter glue and threats.

Thor visited once. Morgan asked if she could ride his hammer. He said no. She cried. The hammer floated toward her on its own. Danny had to wrestle it away.

Clint brought over a bow and arrow set. Morgan hit Peter in the ass with a suction cup dart. Danny laughed so hard he choked on ectoplasm.

Wanda stared at Danny for a full ten minutes before whispering, “You’re not from this plane.”

Danny, deadpan: “Neither is your eyeliner.”

They became friends.

One night, Danny woke up to find Morgan drawing summoning circles on the walls in glitter glue.

“Whatcha doing, champ?”

“Trying to summon a unicorn for Auntie Yelena.”

Danny blinked. “Go back to bed.”

She glared. “You don’t support women in STEM.”

By Month One, SHIELD had officially labeled Danny as a “Class 7 Unexplainable Being with Babysitting Potential.” He had a badge. He had clearance. He had no idea what was happening anymore.

All he knew was that if Morgan Stark said “Danny, I wanna adopt a ghost puppy,” then by God, he was going to march into the Ghost Zone and wrestle a spectral hellhound into a leash.

And he did.

Its name is Toast.

Danny Fenton—ghost boy, half-dead teenager, babysitter of the year—accidentally became the most powerful figure in the universe. Not because of his powers. Not because of his knowledge. Not even because of his tragic backstory.

But because Morgan Stark liked him. And if you hurt Morgan Stark, you would be introduced to Craig, the fridge demon, and Kevin, the haunted Roomba, and Toast, the ghost puppy, and then, finally, the very angry, very tired, very over-it Danny Phantom who could—and would—yeet you into another dimension for interrupting nap time.

The Avengers knew better than to interfere.

Even Thanos came back to life once, took one look at Danny and Morgan, and said, “No thanks.”

He snapped himself back out of existence.

Danny didn’t even flinch.

Morgan dabbed.

And somewhere, in the vast multiverse of chaos and consequence, Tony Stark looked at his daughter, his haunted apartment, his glowing ghost babysitter eating fruit snacks while levitating a possessed microwave, and muttered to himself—

“Yeah. That tracks.”

[luveline]

—you meet Spencer again after losing out on the BAU job. he comforts you while you do your best not to flirt. bombshell!reader, 0.9k

You lose out on the BAU job to Elle Greenaway. It drives you crazy.

You work just as hard as Elle does, you’re professional no matter what Jason Gideon has to say about you, and you know you could do it. You have just as many successes as Elle does.

It makes you feel sick. You tried so, so hard.

I’m sorry, Hotch had said, and at least you’d had his support. He was kind enough to tell you in person. I can’t make the decision without Gideon, and if he thinks you aren’t right for it right now, we’ll have to wait.

Wait. As though Jason Gideon was ever going to change his mind about you.

You open your purse and take out the barrel of your sheer lipstick. Your compact is next. You hold the mirror up and angle your face in the sun, popping the lid off of the lipstick, and pressing its flat end to your bottom lip. The line you draw is perfectly precise. Your hand barely trembles.

You drop the mirror down and rub your lips together slowly. No matter what falls out of your control, you can present yourself to your liking. You can be immaculate. You—

“Hi.”

You look up from your rumination, startled. You’d been thinking so hard someone actually got the run up on you.

“Hi,” you say, tilting your head gently toward your shoulder.

Dr. Spencer Reid stands a polite three feet away from you. He’s suddenly changed. The last time you met him he was wearing his long hair in a side part. Now it’s split down the middle, just a touch shorter at the sides, and he’s wearing glasses.

(He’s wearing glasses!)

You’d thought he was pretty before.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” you say, tempted to call him baby, maybe sweetheart. He’s a sweet looking boy. His sweater vest makes you wanna hold his hand. “Thank you for asking. Why are you asking?”

You talk to him with no derision nor malice, just curiosity.

He frowns. It gives his eyes a sad shine. “I know you wanted the open position. You would’ve been great at it.”

“You think so?” you ask, surprised.

“I’ve seen some of your write ups. We’ve used your summaries in one of our profiles, do you… remember that?”

You send Hotch anything he wants to see.

“I don’t know why Gideon doesn’t like you… He’s so rarely wrong about people, but you’re…” He licks his lips nervously. “You’re– you’re smart. You’re inquisitive. I think you would be an asset to the team, and it’s a shame you didn’t get your chance.”

You’re making him nervous and it isn’t your intention. You put your hands in your lap and stop giving him the look, swapping your amicable smile for a proper friendly one. “Thank you. Is it okay if I call you Spencer? Dr. Spencer Reid is a lot to say at once.”

He laughs, still nervous. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Spencer, thank you for caring so much, but I’m okay. I think I might still have a chance one day, but with Elle gone, the sex crimes division is going to need me.” You lift your chin. If he’s sought you out to tell you he’s sorry, your premonitions about him when you met a few weeks ago were correct. He’s as kind as he is pretty. “I love your glasses. Are they for reading?”

“I always wore glasses when I was a kid, and then I started working here, and I thought it might make me seem less… childish, if I wore contacts, but they’re the worst.”

You laugh happily. He says it in such a pained voice. “The glasses suit you so much,” you say, shoving your things into your bag and standing. “Did you wanna go for coffee? I need a pick me up before I go back to the office.”

Spencer touches his wrist. “Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” you ask, again, without a drop of malice. You’re not stupid, Spencer has all the nervousness of someone who’s been mistreated before, and heartily, and it’s easy to be soft with him not solely because of it, but because he seems so sweet. You could happily be his friend. “Do you like coffee? We could get those hot donuts from the cafeteria, have you tried those?”

You close the little gap between you both and raise your hand carefully to his face. Gentle, you try to pull a stray hair from the hinge of his glasses leg without snapping it.

“You can tell me all the stuff I’m doing wrong.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Spencer says.

“Come on, there has to be something.”

His mouth gives him away. “It’s not that you’re doing it wrong, you’re just– you– you’re not looking at things the…” Your fingertip brushes his cheek as you drop your hand. “…Right way, sometimes.”

“I wanted your recommendations.” You bump his elbow with yours. “I’ll buy you a coffee and you can write me a list. Cool?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Cool.”

You’re thinking it’ll be the start of a good friendship. You and Dr. Reid make quite a pair.

[matt-murdockk]

Short Circuit

pairing: connor (rk800) x reader words: 1k summary: reader sees Connor outside of work for the first time in normal human clothes and dies a little bit (comedy, fluff) warnings: language, lack of proofreading, fic from reader's pov a/n: let's pretend this is after the good ending and androids can own property now cause we're going to Connor's place etc

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

Words cannot describe the amount of hate I have for Fowler. On my day off he asks me to take some evidence over to Connor for a 'quick analysis', like, Jesus Christ dude wait for the labwork like the rest of us. The nerve of this guy, honestly. Anyway, if you were wondering why I was driving to Connor's place first thing on a Sunday, that was it.

Yes, I hate my boss, how original, but I would never pass up an opportunity to see Connor. Sure, he's my colleague, but he's also my friend. And also I may be in love with him have a normal, tiny, minuscule crush on him. I don't know how it happened, I didn't even realize it, but yes, I do, in fact, have feelings for Connor. "Oh but he's an andro-" Go fuck yourself, he's more human than most people these days.

Before I realized it, I was at his place and almost knocked on his door. Almost being the keyword here, because I heard a voice from the inside.

"Detective! Just a minute. I will be right there."

"Holy shit, how did you know? Let me guess, X-ray vision?" It's always something with him. Of course, Cyberlife's most intelligent android comes with X-ray vision. I feel stupid for not guessing right away. Wait, does this mean he had X-ray vision all this time? That feels like an ethical grey area. Is that allowed? My rapid descent down that rabbit hole was interrupted by the sound of the door being unlocked.

"Ring Camera. Come on in!" He led me inside and I absent-mindedly followed him before I noticed it. He was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. Connor Anderson (legal name, yes), android detective by day, who famously only wore suits, was standing in front of me, in goddamn sweats. And he looked like he stepped right out of my dreams.

I did not know it was possible to be any level of attractive in fucking pajamas, but oh my god, it absolutely was. He looked hot as hell. I don't know if it was from having only seen him in formals, or the fact that Kamski knowingly made a hottie, but I was reveling in this sight.

His T-shirt fit him exactly as it should have, and his sleeves stopped halfway through the biceps I didn't even know he had. His hair looked unkempt and tousled, which was questionable because there's no way he slept, right? I was very sure he could hear my heartbeat because that sucker was betraying me and beating way too fast.

I could not form coherent thoughts for another full minute or so. I am not even holding back, he genuinely looked so attractive he quite literally stole my breath away. All I could do was mumble nonsense while staring at him like I misplaced my glasses.

"Detective, are you alright?"

"What? Me? Yeah, no problem, bud." Bud???? I'd have slapped myself if I could.

"Your body temperature is rapidly rising and your heart is displaying signs of arrhythmia. I suggest we-"

"I suggest we nothing, Connor. I promise I'm fine." See that kids, right there, is what we call a bald-faced lie.

"If you say so. What brings you here, detective?"

"Detective? Come on, we're not at work, man. Chill."

"Alright then, (Y/n), what brings you here?" (Y/n). The way he said my name made me want to explode. Sure, everyone says my name, its my name but oh my god, when he says it, he makes me want to change my last name to his. Which would be Hank's. Huh. That's weird.

"Right, yeah, work stuff. Fowler sent me with evidence for you to analyze. Apparently, they can't wait for the lab like the rest of us mortals." I shoved the file into his hands a little too quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice how my hands were shaking. He noticed.

"Your hands are trembling." Of course he noticed. Connor notices everything.

"I'm just… cold," I lied, despite standing in his very well-heated apartment.

Connor tilted his head slightly, that signature analytical look of his making me want to crawl under a rock. "You appear to be experiencing stress. Should I—"

"Connor, no. I don't need an analysis, I need to… sit down." That was the best I could come up with. Great. Very smooth.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing toward his couch. I moved to sit down, hoping a change of scenery would calm my nerves. It didn’t.

Connor sat across from me, still in those damn sweatpants, his expression unreadable as he opened the file and started flipping through its contents. His focus should’ve made me feel at ease- it was just Connor being Connor- but instead, I found myself staring at his hands. They were annoyingly perfect, like the rest of him, and I couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like if he- nope. No. Abort mission.

"Is something wrong with the file?" he asked suddenly, looking up.

"What? No! The file's fine. Great file. Top-tier evidence. You're gonna love it." Jesus Christ, someone take my mouth away.

Connor raised an eyebrow. "You’re behaving… unusually."

"I’m behaving perfectly normal," I said, crossing my arms in what I hoped was a casual way but probably looked defensive. "Maybe you're the one behaving unusually. I mean, sweatpants? Who are you and what have you done with Connor?"

He blinked, then looked down at himself as if realizing for the first time what he was wearing. "Hank suggested I try some human rituals like pajamas and sleep to better accommodate my deviancy. He claims it’s a key aspect of ‘human relaxation.’ Was this choice inappropriate?"

"No!" I said, a little too quickly. "No, you look—" amazing, perfect, hotter than anyone has a right to look "—fine. You look fine."

Connor studied me for a moment, and I swear I saw the faintest flicker of amusement cross his face. Was he… smirking? Oh no. Oh no, he knew.

"You should consider it," he said, casually returning to the file.

"Consider what?"

"Relaxing. You seem… tense."

And just like that, the ball was back in his court. I was flustered, he was composed, and I was left wondering how I was supposed to get through the rest of this visit without making a complete fool of myself.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t.

a/n: y'all, this is my first time writing dbh, sorry if it sucks T_T

[cellophanejpeg]

tell me, what's your size? | s. hanta

s: when a night in with your best friend turns into something more than just watching a shitty tv show, you start rethinking the friendship status of your relationship.

w: explicit sexual content, blowjobs, mentions of gossip girl lol

n: betaread by @jemifis 💕 read on ao3

previous | next

“This show is so stupid,” Sero says with a mouthful of popcorn, making you laugh.

“Oh, I know you love it,” you answer, nudging his shoulders.

“Aren't these characters supposed to be sixteen?!”

“Yeah, well.” You shrug.

“Why does a sixteen year old boy suddenly own a strip club?”

“It’s just a dumb show, Hanta.”

“And Vanessa is so annoying,” he continues, “she’s only getting in the way of Serena and Dan.”

You laugh, shaking your head. For someone who said he didn’t like Gossip Girl , he sure does care a lot about it.

“I mean, I feel her,” you say, grabbing more popcorn to eat, “if my childhood best friend got a girlfriend, I’d–”

You stop yourself, realizing you almost spilled the biggest secret of your life.

“You’d what?” He gives you a teasing smile and you shake your head quickly.

“Nothing,” you say, returning your attention to the television. “It’s just a stupid show, anyway.”

Sero scoffs, scooping more popcorn from the bowl sitting in the middle of you two. You sneak a peak and watch the veins of his forearms as he brings the snack to his lips and licks the salt in there. His back is curved and he’s wearing a loose t-shirt, the same one you keep in a drawer in your bedroom in case he decides to show up and spend the night.

A scenario that has happened many times before.

However, it’s different this time. It’s been a couple of weeks since you had sex with him, and it only intensified your feelings for him. You can’t stop noticing the small details about him, like the way he bites the corner of his bottom lip when he’s focused on something in a very adorable way, or the way his hands wrap around the steering wheel when he drives. How his throat bobs when he has a drink, or how his chest looks in his skin-tight hero suit.

Small things that turn you on.

Sero kept his promise, though. He promised your friendship wouldn’t be ruined and it would be like nothing had happened. And, the next day, when you woke up at his place, wearing a big shirt of his, he made you breakfast and you talked about anything other than the night you spent together. While you’re glad things didn’t change, you got this feeling deep in your guts.

Or better, in the middle of your legs.

You want to do it again. Your first time was perfect, nothing to complain about. But you’d be lying if you said you haven’t thought about the many other positions and things you want to try. But the subject never came up and now it’s been three weeks, and you’d feel awkward if you did talk about it.

“A picture lasts longer, you know,” Sero suddenly says, making you jump back to reality. A nervous laugh escapes your lips and you turn your gaze back to the television, “What’s wrong?”

You shrug, “Nothing.”

Sero narrows his eyes, watching your profile in the dimly lit room. The blues and yellows from the TV reflect on your skin, giving you a special glow. You look beautiful like this, he thinks, no make up, dressed in just your pajamas. The spaghetti strap of your top falls off your shoulders and he has to hold himself not to put it back in its place. Because if he does, he won’t be able to get his hands off you.

Oh, how he missed the feeling of your skin against his. Your lips on his, your fingers gripping him tightly, your hot breath on his ear…

He swallows hard, clutching the bowl of popcorn tighter to hide his sudden erection. You look back at him with an amused smile.

“A picture lasts longer, you know,” you mirror his words, mocking his voice. When Sero doesn’t laugh, your smile fades away, “What?”

He shakes his head, but holds his gaze, “Nothing.”

You're the one who ends up breaking eye contact, looking back at the TV, but not really watching the show. Because, right now, you can't stop thinking about his lips on your neck, a ghost of a memory from that night.

“Hanta,” you call his name, eyes still on the shitty TV show.

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever think about that night?”

He widens his eyes as his head snaps back to face you, but you keep looking at the TV, although you feel his intense stare. A single pause hangs in the air before he answers.

“Yes.”

You hold your breath, inhaling deeply, preparing yourself for what you want to say next.

“Do you ever want to repeat it?”

“Yes,” the answer comes immediately. “Do you?”

Warmth spreads on your cheeks as you look back at him. You've never seen such hunger in his eyes, such desire. His pupils are blown out, his chest rises and falls quickly with anticipation, his face has a rouge rubor on the cheeks.

“Yes,” you answer, and then it happens quickly.

The bowl of popcorn is on the floor, the contents of it all over the rug, but you don't care. Because Sero’s lips are on yours in a second, his hands cupping your face strongly, but not enough to hurt. He slips his tongue past your lips and you allow him, having missed the taste of him so much. Sero leans over you, forcing you to lay back on the couch as his hands slip under your pajama top, cupping your breasts as if you're going to run away. A gasp escapes your lips once you pull away from him for a second.

“Wait!” You say, pushing him away. He looks at you with confused eyes, but pulls his hands away from you. “Can I… can I suck you?”

Sero almost chokes on his own spit, but manages to swallow back the grunt that made its way to his throat, “Are-are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, pushing him away and sitting on the couch as your lips reconnect with his again. You’re getting good at this; Sero’s hands try to grab your hips, but you’re already kneeling on the floor, in between his legs.

“Angel…”

“Guide me through it?” You don’t let him change his mind, your shaky hands reaching to pull the elastic band of his sweatpants down.

His half hard cock sits pretty on his lower stomach and your mouth is already watering. With a hesitant hand, you gently grab his shaft and start stroking it.

“What do I do?”

When you look back to him, Sero has a hand on his mouth, face beet red, in a way you've never seen before. He's holding back his groans and his erection only grows as your delicate hands wrap around it.

“Hanta?” You stop your movements and look back with concerned eyes.

“Hold it more on the tip,” he finally says, and you obey, adjusting your grip on him, “Your– Rub your thumb on the slit in the head…”

With a frown of concentration, you rub the pad of your thumb where he told you to. Warm, clear liquid comes out of his cock, coating your finger and you stop for a second to observe it. Then, you bring your thumb to your lips, wrapping around the digit and tasting the salty fluid.

“Fuck, Angel,” Sero moans at the sight, “T-try licking it up.”

He wasn't expecting this. Your sudden confident – and curious – attitude turns him on in a way he never thought it would. Yes, he imagined you kneeling before him many times, but he didn't think it would happen like this. He thought you would need more convincing, but it was a surprise that you brought it up.

You stick out your tongue and give an experimental lick on the tip of his dick, tasting the salty, strange texture of it. Sero moans as you try again and again, until your lips are wrapping around him.

“Oh, shit,” he whines as you try to get more of him in your mouth, your drool starting to cover the length of him, “Yes, baby, just like that.”

You gently bob your head up and down, as his hand rests on the top of your head, encouraging you to go deeper. Sero throws his head back, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead as his breathing gets heavier.

“Stroke what you can't suck, angel.” He grows more confident as you do what he says. You're so eager, so curious to learn, and that not only makes him harder, but also makes him feel almost proud of you. When the tip of him reaches your throat, you slightly gag, pulling away. He looks concerned as he asks, “Woah, are you okay?”

You nod, taking a deep breath, and starting over, licking him up, stroking him, and wrapping your lips around him. Your pace grows quicker and more intense, and Sero doesn't think he can hold himself anymore.

“You're gonna make me come.”

When you look back at him, he's covering his mouth as he stares at you, a deep shade of red still painting his cheekbones.

“Should I swallow?” You ask, looking into his eyes. Sero involuntarily bucks his lips and groans, closing his eyes and throwing his head back on the couch again, “Hanta?”

He swears he tries to answer, but when your pretty hands are wrapped around him, it's hard to concentrate. He babbles a response, but you don't quite understand it.

“Huh?”

“Yes!” He snaps, looking back at you with desperate eyes, “Swallow everything, like the good girl you are!”

The words send a wave of arousal through your body, straight to the middle of your legs. You work harder, until he's moaning and whining your name, bucking his hips uncontrollably into your mouth. With a final jerk upwards, you feel Sero's cock twitch in your mouth as he reaches his climax. A warm, thick liquid fills your mouth, and the sensation is odd - but your urge to have his semen coat your throat is overpowering, and you quickly work to swallow it all. In an attempt to down every last drop, you continue sucking and lap at the tip with your tongue, causing Sero to whine out and thrust into you a couple more times while riding out the wave of his orgasm.

Once the man's movement stops, you slowly lift yourself from him. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, and look up to see Sero's flushed expression, his head tilted back, eyes closed and mouth slightly open, still panting. A few seconds pass with the both of you catching your breath, before Sero moves to look at you again.

“Shit, baby,” Sero breathes out, grabbing your face and gently pulling you up to stand, and smashes his lips on yours harder than ever. You barely notice the way he pulled your shorts down, leaving you naked from the waist down.

He pulls you to straddle him, each leg beside his thighs, deepening the kiss and hugging you close, grabbing your hips, thighs and ass. You whine as he squeezes your buttcheeks hard, pushing your hips against his.

“How did I do?” You ask, after pulling away from him, gasping for air.

“You did amazing, angel.” Sero smiles down at you. “I have to pay you back.”

A yelp escapes your lips when he wraps his arms around you and moves to lay on his side on the couch, taking you with him. He lets you adjust your legs, so one is not crushed under his and the other is wrapped around his hip. One of his arms serves you as a pillow, while his other hand snakes through your body. He doesn’t waste time, and dips his fingers in between your folds.

“Fuck, look how wet you are already,” he says, coating his fingers with your arousal and rubbing the most sensitive part of you, earning a whine from your lips. He muffles it with his own lips as he pushes a finger inside you, having you tense your muscles for a moment and then relax into his arms. Pulling you closer, he adds another finger in and curls them both. You think you see stars under your eyelids as he hits a spot you didn’t even know it existed.

“Hanta,” you murmur into his lips and that only makes him press into you harder.

“It’s okay, angel, just let it go,” he whispers, “you did so well today, you deserve this.”

Your moans echo through your apartment walls as you come, clamping around his fingers.

“Good girl.” He praises you, riding your orgasm down, until you calm down again, “Good girl, angel.”

Sero kisses your forehead and holds you in place for a moment before pulling his fingers out of you. You don’t push him away and he doesn’t let you go from his embrace. It’s nice here, his warm skin and distinct smell makes you want to live in his arms forever. It takes a moment for you to remember you are just friends.

“Sero…”

“Yeah?”

You pause, burying your face in his neck. “Someone’s gotta clean the floor.”

He bursts in laughter as you refer to the popcorn on the floor.

“I’ll do it.” He intends to stand up, but you hold him in place.

“Later,” you mumble, indulging just a little more in his presence.

“Yeah,” he laughs, “later.”

[pitlanepeach]

Brat Tax | Omega!Lando x Alpha!Reader

Summary — Lando has a terrible habit of hiding his pre-heats from his alpha. So when she comes home and finds him a mess, there’s only one thing to be done; tame him.

Warnings — 18+**. A/B/O dynamics. Pegging. Dirty talk. Begging. Explicit scenes. Pure filthy smut basically. Praise kink. Brat!Lando. Possessiveness. Implied fem!reader.

Notes — I will be writing more omega Lando after this… because why does the role suit him so well?

The flat is quiet when you step inside, all warm golden light and lingering scent—Lando. Faintly sweet, rich, unmistakably his. It coats your tongue and wraps itself around your heart.

He’s home.

You toe off your boots, shaking off the London drizzle, and sling your jacket onto the hook by the door. You’re tired. Your shoulders ache from travel. But there’s something else threading under your skin the moment you cross the threshold—instinct, coiled and pulsing low in your spine. Something’s off.

“Lando?” You call, casual, but there’s an edge to your voice you don’t bother hiding. “‘Mega?”

You don’t get a response.

Your brow furrows as you move through the flat. Everything’s in its place—tidy, still. But the air is heavy. Saturated. You can feel it clinging to your skin. He’s in pre-heat. Early. He’d messaged you two days ago saying he felt “weird,” but he’d just brushed it off like he always did.

He hates the vulnerability of it. Hates being seen like that. But he’s yours. And you know the signs.

You find him curled up in your bed, wearing one of your old shirts and nothing else, the sleeves too long, swallowing his hands. His cheeks are flushed. Pupils wide and unfocused. His legs are tangled in the sheets like he couldn’t decide if he was hot or freezing.

He blinks at you slowly. “Sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.”

You lean in the doorway for a moment, arms crossed. Take in the full picture. The restless twitch in his fingers. The old bite marks on his inner thigh. The scent spiking higher now that you’re closer.

“You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

He shrugs, and it’s a pathetic little movement. “Didn’t want to bug you. You were working.”

You cross the room in three strides.

“Lando.” Your voice is soft, but it cuts clean. “You never bug me. How many times have I told you that you come first?”

You sit on the edge of the bed, hand finding his jaw to tilt it up. He leans into your touch like it’s oxygen.

“I know,” he mumbles. “Just… felt stupid. Needy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re an omega in pre-heat, baby. Needy is pretty much what’s expected.”

That earns a tiny laugh, and you catch the flicker of relief in his eyes. He trusts you. You’ve earned that trust a hundred times over. And right now, you’ll earn it again.

You stroke a thumb across his cheek. “You want me to take care of you?”

His breath catches. “Yes.”

“Use your words, ‘mega baby.” You cooed.

He swallows hard. “Please, please. I need you.”

There it is.

And it lights a match behind your ribs.

—

You don’t move right away.

You let your fingers trace the hollow of his throat, feel his pulse hammering beneath fragile skin. He’s so warm already—fever-slick, breath hitching every time your touch drifts just a little too low. And yet he’s still trying to hold it together. That’s the part that gets you.

“Strip,” you say, voice low, even.

He hesitates. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he knows what you’re doing. You see it in his eyes—calculation, hesitation, the ghost of a smirk.

“Make me,” he says.

You blink once.

Then smile slowly. “Oh, Lando.”

It’s the kind of laugh that doesn’t reach your eyes. The kind that makes him squirm.

“You really want to do this tonight? When you’re already laid there for hours and soaked through my sheets like a fucking pillow princess?”

He pouts, cheeks going red. “It’s not that bad.”

You grab the hem of the oversized shirt—your shirt—and yank it up. The fabric peels off him, clinging to his skin. He gasps, sharp and breathless, and your gaze drops.

He’s a mess.

Inner thighs slick, cock flushed and untouched, hole already twitching from the scent of you this close. And still—still—he’s trying to act like he’s got even an ounce of leverage here.

You toss the shirt aside. “Get on your knees.”

He obeys. Eventually. Grumbling, but flushed and trembling all the same. He settles between your thighs as you sit back on the bed, eyes flicking up to meet yours like he’s daring you to make the next move.

“You like being a brat, huh?” You ask, reaching down to thread a hand in his curls. “Makes it better when I ruin you?”

“You wouldn’t,” he says—too fast, too hopeful.

You lean in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You really want to test me tonight, omega?”

He whimpers.

—

You don’t touch him yet. Not properly. That’s the worst part, and he knows it. You just watch him—spread open on his knees, cock hard and untouched, the scent of slick thick and cloying in the air like it’s trying to pull you under.

And you’re so fucking patient with him.

That’s what undoes him, in the end.

Because he wants you rough. He wants to be taken, not coaxed. But you never give him what he wants until he earns it.

You let your hand trail along his jaw instead, thumb brushing his cheek. His lips part, instinctive, ready to suck, to serve, to please.

But you don’t let him.

“You think if you brat hard enough I’ll lose control?” You murmur, still smiling. “That I’ll fuck the attitude out of you?”

His eyes flutter shut. “Maybe.”

You lean in, close enough that your breath ghosts over his neck. You inhale, long and slow, soaking in the high of his heat scent—intoxicating and sweet and desperate.

“I think,” you whisper, “you want to be forced to give up control. You want to fight just enough to feel like you’re not soft for needing it.”

He shudders, full-body.

You let that sit for a beat. Two.

“Lie back.” You tell him.

He obeys faster this time.

You grab the lube from the drawer, strap already buckled on your hips, slow and deliberate. Lando watches with that hungry, already fucked-out look—lips bitten red, pupils blown wide.

“You’re gonna prep me?” He asks, voice small.

You cock your head. “You want that?”

A pause.

Then he nods.

But you don’t give it to him.

You crawl over him instead, pressing your chest to his and pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. He gasps—arched, completely at your mercy now. Your other hand slides between his legs and barely ghosts over his slick hole.

He jerks beneath you, breath catching.

“God,” he breathes. “Fuck.”

You smile like a wolf. “That’s right. You beg, omega. You beg your alpha to open you up.”

And he does.

He breaks for you.

Just like he always does.

—

He’s panting by the time you get him on his back again, legs spread and trembling, arms limp against the mattress. His scent is everywhere now—thick and wet and drowning you in it. But you stay steady. Controlled. Calm.

Because you don’t spiral.

He does.

You slick your fingers without a word and reach for him. He tenses, but not from fear. From anticipation. He’s waiting for it, for the stretch, for the way you always make him feel like he’s coming apart and safe at the same time.

“Breathe,” you order, pressing in with your first finger. “Let me in.”

He gasps—sharp, desperate. His hips twitch, but he stays open. Stays good.

You add a second, scissoring slow, watching him unravel.

“God—fuck, alpha—” His voice breaks.

“Louder,” you growl. “I want the neighbors to know you’re mine.”

A sob. “Yours, I’m yours, I always—please—I need it.”

You kiss him hard, claiming and filthy, your strap nudging against the inside of his thigh.

He flinches. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“Already have,” you murmur.

Then you line up—and thrust.

Not gentle. Not slow.

You bottom out in one smooth, practiced push, and he screams.

It rips out of him raw, guttural, like he’s never been filled like this before even though he has—by you, always you.

He thrashes under you, half-feral, slick soaking the sheets as you pull back and slam in again, setting a brutal pace. His cock bounces against his stomach, untouched, already leaking. You don’t need to stroke him. You don’t need to do anything but fuck him hard and deep. That’s what he likes. That what little omega bitches like him need:

His eyes roll back. His hands claw at the sheets.

“Fuck,” he cries out. “Alpha—please, please—”

“Shut up and take it,” you snarl, fisting your hand in his curls and yanking his head back. “You said you could handle it. Now you prove it.”

He whimpers. But he doesn’t beg you to stop.

No. He’d never do that.

He just begs you to give it to him harder.

So you do.

You fuck him into the mattress, brutal and relentless, until his thighs are shaking and he’s babbling nonsense—his pretty little brain turning to mush under the weight of the pleasure.

“You’re mine,” you pant, grinding deep. “No one else gets you like this. No one else could ever get you like this.”

He chokes on a sob. “Yours. Fuck. Yours.”

And then he’s coming untouched, big hands fisting the sheets, body locked tight as he sobs through it—wrecked, overstimulated, absolutely undone.

But you don’t stop.

Not yet.

Not until he’s seeing stars.

—

He’s trembling under you, boneless and slicked in sweat and your scent. The room smells like heat and sex, but under it—buried in the silence that follows his sobbed-out release—there’s something gentler. Something warm.

You stroke a hand through his curls, still tangled in your grip. “Breathe, baby.”

He nods, barely. Obeys.

You ease out slowly. His whole body flinches—too raw, too tender—and you shush him quietly, soothing with your hands and your mouth. Kisses pressed to his jaw, his temple, the tip of his nose. He shudders every time you move, but he doesn’t push you away.

He never does.

“You did so good for me,” you murmur as you unbuckle the strap and set it aside. “Took me so well. You’re perfect, baby. So perfect.”

Lando blinks up at you, eyes glassy and wet, but he’s still there. Grounded in your touch.

His voice comes out wrecked. “I love you.”

Your chest tightens.

You brush a thumb beneath his eye. “I love you more.”

He laughs—weak, broken—but real.

You slip off the bed to grab a warm cloth and a fresh towel. He tries to protest when you start to clean him, but you shut it down with a look. “Let me take care of you.”

So he lets you

You wipe him down gently, careful with every inch of his skin. You settle a hoodie over his shoulders, pull the blankets around both of you, and press him to your chest like you’re trying to stitch him back together.

He tucks his head under your chin, body still buzzing with the aftershocks, but finally—finally—he exhales.

You feel it. The way his weight shifts into you like surrender.

“Next time,” he mumbles, half-asleep, “you better kiss me before you rail me like that.”

You smile, kissing the crown of his head. “If you don’t want to pay the brat tax, don’t act like one.”

He hums. “But I’m pretty.”

“You’re a little shit,” you mutter, holding him tighter. “But you’re mine.”

Always.

—

The sun is hot on the Imola tarmac, shimmering off the halo of his car. From the private hospitality suite above the paddock, you watch him slice through Sector 2 like he owns the track.

Which—technically—he almost does. At least on a good day.

Lando’s voice crackles through the team radio, loud enough to catch in the background of the Sky broadcast, sharp and unbothered.

“Tell Max I’m not moving. He can cry about it later.”

Your mouth twitches.

A few engineers in the room wince, but you just sip your iced coffee slowly, hiding your smirk behind the rim.

You recognize that tone. The arrogant edge in his voice. The cocky little bite. You’d know it anywhere.

It’s the same one he used last month, right before you folded him in half and made him forget how to speak.

And he’s using it again.

In public.

Bold.

You don’t even say anything. Just reach for your phone and text him one sentence.

That mouth is writing checks your ass is going to cash tonight.

There’s no reply, not immediately.

But after the break between Q3 and Q2, the message goes from delivered to read, and on his next run, his sector time drops by a tenth.

Focus sharpened. Legs probably a little shaky in the cockpit. You grin and set your phone down.

Oh yeah.

Your omega needs to be taught a lesson in manners.

And you can’t fucking wait to teach him.

[rain-water-flowers]

Blue (It's so hot)

WC: 2078

Synopsis:Felix is the son of a wealthy industrialist who just had a very public and nasty divorce from his wife. Y/n is a reporter hired to find dirt on him for a story, but she's surprised to discover that she can't get much done when her assignment is a hot and teasing business man.

Warnings: unprotected sex once again (one of these days I'll make them wear a condom), business man Felix, his father is a CEO, oral (m. receiving), teasing, slight dry humping, pet names, profanity, riding, slight praise, title based off of 'Blue' by DynamicDuo

A/n: I'm here again with another one!!! This was fun to write lol. Let's not talk about how choppy it is in the middle lmao (I got bored and needed them to fuck already). As always thanks to my beta @midnighthazee who keeps nagging me to finish TSSOUL series. I will I promise!! I've just hit a block so... yeah. Enjoy this Felix fic!!

SKZ Masterlist

Felix sat on the couch against the far wall in his father’s office, legs crossed and his hands resting on his knee. If his father couldn’t even be on time to a meeting with his own son how does he run his company smoothly? Felix will forever be surprised the business is as successful as it is.

Felix was two seconds from getting up when his father walked in, tightening his tie and fixing his hair. So he was late because fucking his secretary was more important than his own son? Right. 

This is why his marriage to Felix’s mother didn’t work out. One, because his dad is a cheating bastard who refuses to keep it in his pants no matter how small it is. Two – and this is probably the more important reason – he’s gay, and his secretary bending his father over and sticking his dick into him on a daily basis probably made him realize that. 

Felix lets out a loud sigh and clears his throat as he gets up to sit in a chair opposite his father’s desk. 

“You done?” Felix says, disdain in his voice and picking at his nails. 

His father sighed and sat down in his office chair. “You know I had some business to deal with, Felix. I apologize for being a little late.” 

I’ve been waiting for 55 minutes. Felix thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. It’s not worth getting into an argument over. 

“Now, I know there's a lot of different things that come with me and your mother’s divorce, and I want to make sure that you’re able to carry out your responsibilities, son.” 

This was what he waited an hour in his office to hear? ‘I hope my divorce from your mother doesn’t affect your work’?

“I’m fine, father. I think you’re the one who needs to focus on your responsibilities right now,” Felix was struggling not to let disrespect make its way into his tone. “The news is all over you since the divorce and you so obviously being involved with your secretary doesn’t help.”

His father glared at him as he talked. It was obvious to Felix that he wanted to argue – but what could he say? Nothing he was saying was wrong, and getting defensive about it wouldn’t help anything either. 

Felix’s parent’s divorce was very public and very nasty. His mother said things that were enough to get his father thrown out of the CEO position, and his father said things that were enough to get his mother thrown in jail.

Luckily, his mother had a good lawyer. 

Either way, Felix got caught in the middle of their dog fight and now he had to play Switzerland between them. 

“Just do your job, Felix. Don’t worry about me or what business I’m handling with my secretary.” His father hissed out, obviously defensive and glaring daggers at him. 

Felix scoffed and looked to the side, tongue poking out his cheek. “You're right, father. How often your secretary bends you over isn’t my problem or my business, but when the news tears you apart don’t come to me for help.” Felix said, getting up and straightening his suit out. 

Felix knew about his father's dirty hands skimming off of the business funds, the offshore accounts, the several illegal things that could get him thrown in jail with Felix and his mother in the cell next to him. If the media ever gets word of any of it, his father will go down in flames and it won’t be pretty. 

As he turned around and walked to the door he could practically hear his father seething and decided to dig his grave further. 

“I’m lucky small dicks aren’t genetic.”

_______

Y/n had covered war zones, political implosions, and tech billionaires with too many secrets and not enough moral compass (in her opinion). But this story? This one was different. 

The Lee Divorce wasn’t just tabloid gold, it was a Category 5 media strom – ugly, sprawling, and enough hatred to give anyone a headache.

And right in the middle? Felix Lee. 

Y/n didn’t care about the society drama. What she cared about was the rumors: missing assets, offshore accounts, shell companies quietly gutted just weeks before the divorce was announced. There was something deeper there. Something worth chasing. 

The first time they met was at a private art gallery showing. She found him leaning against a column like he owned the place. His amused expression when their eyes locked made her think he could read her mind. 

“Ms. y/l/n,” he said, swirling a glass of red wine. “I was wondering when you’d come sniffing around.” 

“I’m not sniffing,” she said, slipping her recorder in her coat pocket. “I’m digging.” 

It surprised y/n that he knew who she was and that she was obviously there for a story.

His smile curved like a blade. “Careful. You dig too deep and you might find something sharp.” 

Felix was the kind of man who deflected everything with charm and perfectly-timed sarcasm. He teased like it was second nature – every comment laced with something dangerous, every smirk a challenge. But y/n had learned to read people, and beneath the effortless confidence was something cracked. 

“You don’t seem too broken up about your parents’ divorce,” she said, watching his reaction closely. 

He shrugged, putting on a show of nonchalance. “They were always better at playing house than actually living in one.” 

His tone made her feel for him for some reason. Maybe it was the obvious way he wasn’t chill about the whole thing, or maybe it was the sad look in his eyes that held everything all at once. 

Y/n had to get this story, she couldn’t back out now. But…something about the way he looked made her not want to push further. It was obvious he was keeping something a secret, but she didn’t want to shove him over the edge to find out. 

She sighed and looked off to the side. “Look, my boss sent me here to find dirt on you about the divorce, but I'm not the type of person to push beyond someone's comfort. So I’ll stop, but I know there’s something going on here, and I plan on finding it.”

______

So much for y/n’s determination to find the dirt she was looking for. The closer she got to Felix, the further she fell for him. Showing up at his office, going to events and parties just to get close to him. Something about him made her obsessed with him. She had long forgotten about the story she was supposed to be finding on him, instead getting lost in his looks, his voice, the way he talked to her. 

Which led them to where they were now. Fucking on the regular. 

Felix lounged back on the bed, his eyes roving appreciatively over y/n’s body as she stood before him. She was wearing a thin silk robe, the deep V-neck giving him a tantalizing peek at her cleavage. Her eyes sparkling with mischief. 

"Well, well, well," Felix purred, "don't you look good enough to eat, sweetheart."

Y/n smirked and tied her robe tighter. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Felix," she teased. "Unless...you plan to put that clever tongue of yours to good use?"

Felix chuckled lowly and crooked a finger at her. "Come here and find out, beautiful."

Y/n bit her lip and sauntered over to the bed, letting her robe fall open to reveal her naked body beneath. Felix's eyes darkened with lust as he drank in the sight of her, from the swell of her breasts to the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he groaned, reaching out to grab her wrist and yank her down onto the bed. Y/n squealed in surprise as she landed on top of him, her bare skin pressing against his clothed body.

"Someone's eager," she purred, grinding her hips against the prominent bulge in his pants. "Is that all for me?"

"You know it is," Felix growled, cupping her ass and pulling her harder against him. "I'm always hard for you, baby. Always ready to give you what you need.”

Y/n moaned and kissed him fiercely, plundering his mouth with her tongue. Felix kissed her back just as passionately, one hand tangling in her hair while the other continued to grope her ass.

He broke the kiss after a long moment and smirked up at her. "Take off my clothes, sweetheart," he commanded huskily. "I want to feel that hot little mouth on me."

Y/n shivered with anticipation and sat back on her heels, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. She traced her fingers over his chest and abdomen as she went, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his smooth skin. Felix groaned and arched into her touch.

"Keep going," he urged breathlessly as she pushed the shirt off his shoulders.

Y/n complied eagerly, fumbling with his belt and zipper until she could finally free his straining cock. She wrapped her hand around his thick shaft and pumped it slowly, smearing the pre-cum leaking from the tip.

"Mmm, so big and hard," she purred, leaning down to lick a stripe up his length. "I love how you taste, Felix."

Felix tangled a hand in her hair and guided her head lower. "Then suck it like a good little girl," he ordered smugly. "Worship my cock with that pretty mouth."

Y/n shot him a sultry look but obediently parted her lips, taking him deep into her throat. She moaned around him as she bobbed her head, relishing his salty taste and the way he filled her mouth. 

"That's it, sweetheart," Felix groaned, his head falling back against the pillow as she sucked him. "Take it all. Fuck, your mouth feels so good."

He rocked his hips up into her face, fucking her throat steadily as she gagged and slurped around him. Y/n loved the feeling of being used for his pleasure, loved the dominant way he held her head and controlled her movements.

After several minutes, Felix tugged her off his cock and dragged her up his body for a filthy kiss. "Enough teasing," he rasped against her lips. "I need to be inside you, baby."

Y/n whimpered in agreement and straddled his hips, reaching between them to notch his cock at her entrance. She sank down on him with a low moan, taking him to the hilt in one smooth motion.

"God, yes," she gasped, rocking her hips to take him even deeper. "You fill me up so good, Felix."

Felix gripped her waist and pistoned his hips upward, slamming into her slick heat. "Ride me, baby," he urged hoarsely. "Take what you need.”

Y/n did just that, bouncing on his cock with wild abandon. Her tits jiggled enticingly with every movement, and Felix leaned up to capture one sensitive nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. 

"Fuck, just like that," he groaned, laving the sensitive bud with his tongue. "Gonna make you come so hard on my cock, angel. I know you want it.” 

Y/n could only cry out and move faster, chasing her orgasm. She could feel it building rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in her belly. Felix thrust up into her sharply and pinched her clit, sending her hurtling over the edge.

She came with a scream of his name, pussy clenching down on him like a vice. Felix snarled and pounded into her through the aftershocks, prolonging her pleasure until he couldn't hold back any longer.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come!" he groaned, slamming up into her one last time before stilling deep inside. Y/n could feel him pulsing as he filled her with his hot cum, marking her as his.

They collapsed together in a sweaty tangle of limbs, gasping for breath. Felix pulled y/n down for a languid kiss, tangling his fingers in her damp hair.

"Never get enough of you, sweetheart," he murmured against her lips. "So fucking perfect."

Y/n smiled and nuzzled into his neck, feeling completely satisfied and cherished. She thought back to a couple of months ago when she was desperately trying to bring him down because of his parents divorce. She’s glad that now she gets to scream his name instead of dragging it through the dirt.

[twstfanblog]

Hello I have a request, if you aren't doing requests please ignore this! But anyways the request is that may I have the TWST characters (especially the housewardens) and how would they react see their s/o in like traditional clothing from their world (example: Chinese traditional clothing is like qipao) Thank you so much! Have a fabulous day 💝

Qipao (Traditional & Modern) Reactions

Housewardens x Reader

Riddle

Traditional

Thinks the dress is beautiful. Even though it's loose, it still carries an air of professionalism. A perfect garment for his lovely rose. Really likes the modest nature of them.

Asks you lots of questions on the history of the garment if you know it. Ask if he could wear one as well. Just so many questions, he's pulled out a notebook to take notes.

Matching rose patterned qipao/tang suit for walks in the garden together!

Modern

WHY IS THE SLIT SO HIGH!?

Still thinks it's a very pretty dress, but he can not stop looking at the thigh slit. It compels him. Good lord, you're not even wearing tights!

Struggling to remain polite, but the dress is form fitting and you have a very lovely ass- excuse him, he needs to...be...out of the public eye.

Leona

Traditional

Jokingly calls it your fancy potato sack. Apologizes if you get actually mad at him calling it that.

Lowkey, he really likes it and does enjoy that it's still comfortable enough for you to nap with him. Half serious asks if they're pajamas.

Will start wearing Dashikis when you wear your qipao. Cultural matching ❤️

Modern

AYO-

Goes dead silent, his eyes are watching your every move. The dress is tight, the slit is mid thigh. You look good and he's pissed you're not in grabbing distance.

Tells you you can't wear that qipao outside of his room. Not even Ramshackle. Now walk closer, he's gonna...grab ya.

Azul

Traditional

Fascinated and asking questions. Both about the cultural history and the manufacturing side.

Thinks it's a very lovely dress with high marketing potential; simple yet perfect for all class levels due to the fabric and embroidery you can make with it.

Lowkey wants to gift you some more because he just likes them so much and he thinks you look elegant in them (Be his spouse please).

Modern

Honestly, it took him a hot minute to really notice. Since modern qipaos are made to be so fancy, he first started picking it apart to discern value like he does all new things.

Really noticed the silhouette and how revealing it was once he looked at the chest area and saw how tight it was.

Compliments the dress but then says he has important business to do. No, he will NOT stand up-

Kalim

Traditional

OH! You look so pretty! You always look pretty, but the qipao just makes you look EXTRA pretty like every other thing you wear.

He's breaking down the outfit by the quality of fabric alone. He pouts it's not 100% some super rare silk that only grows in 4 parts of the world in Spring during the rain on a full moon.

Whining at you and Jamil to let him make so many qipaos. He will have a literal factory up and running by mid day just to make you more of these gorgeous slips so that you're always cozy.

Modern

Nearly ruins it doing a spit take at seeing you. The boy is too stunned to speak, mouth open and getting coconut juice all over his front.

Once he snaps out of it he's all smiles again and asking you to show it off. Do a spin! The fabic is so pretty when you twirl, can you dance in it!? Come dance with him!

Lowkey just way too excited about you being in them. Fills him with some kind of energy where he just wants to hold you and spin around with you. Keeps fighting himself to not get down on one knee.

Vil

Traditional

'Oh?'

Interested in them but has his complaints (as always). He doesn't like how they hang shapeless, but the positives manage to outweigh the negatives in its function and appearance. Over all thinks its a cute house dress design and that you look nice in them.

Ends up commissioning some silk qipaos to have as lounge wear. Being comfortable, yet ready to host is an amazing new option he's gained.

Modern

'OH!?'

More complaints but it's because the dress is so sexy. It's too tight, the slit shows too much thigh, the boob window is unnecessary. He won't stop complaining but lowkey is so FLUSTERED.

He keeps tugging and picking at the outfit like he isn't pulling you into his lap to mutter into your neck all his frustrations on having such an attractive partner.

Idia

Traditional

Almost didn't really notice because he was showing you something in his game. Once he does notice he remarks on how nice you look.

Honestly, doesn't say much about it but will take notice if you wear them a lot when you go see him. He'll ask about them, asks if you really like them. He can and will buy you a bunch of them in various colors and patterns.

He does get you matching ones of your mains in the current MMO he's dragged you into. Lazy cosplaying for the win.

Modern

He took one look and froze, only unfroze because he started dying in game.

How could you do this? Why have you come into his room looking SEXY and forced him to look at you? What do you think hes gonna do???? Rip your clothes off and throw you on the bed????

He keeps peeking at you then turning away with his hair giving away just how flustered he is. Still manages to stutter out how nice you look.

Malleus

Traditional

Oh look at this. His lovely child of man is in new clothing. Please give him the entire history on the garment.

Lowkey, I think he'd really like them. It's very simple but with the potential of being super fancy just with easy fabric choices and embroidery.

Compliments you all the time when he sees you wearing one. Asks if only certain people can wear them. Do you think he'd look good in one? Just really likes them.

Modern

"...So, would you like a Summer wedding?"

This a dangerous game. He loves you so much already, but now you show him how attractive you are in tight clothing that shows off your skin? He will marry you, he will marry you so fast.

Lowkey rips it on accident, and apologies for hours. God forbid if you got one with a dragon winding around you. He honeslty got a little territorial and that's why his claws got caught on the stitching...

[sweetcocopowder]

Could i have a demon dean fic with the prompts "Are you afraid of me?" And "Take it off" with a male reader please

Prompt 6 | Crossroads Demon!Dean x Male! Reader

Synopsis: You finally bring yourself to summon a crossroads demon to strike a deal. But you quickly find out that this crossroads demon does things a lil differently to seal a deal.

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: Smut. Tongue fucking. Size kink. Dean's a big boy. Reader's short. Praise. If i miss anything, please tell me. It's late at night.

Notes: I am so sorry that this took forever to post. This is probably the longest fic for the Milestone. I wanted to get it right since these types of prompts take me forever to write. But, I hope your enjoy hehe

You can’t get your breathing under control. It comes short and shallow that it makes your head dizzy and light. It actually worked. The ritual actually worked. You stumble backwards, your feet catching against each other on the loose gravel as you fall on your ass. So much for first impressions.

The demon stands tall in the middle of the crossroads clad in a pitch black suit. He sweeps a hand through his blonde hair, trying to tame it but some strands still fall over his freckled face. His black eyes scan over his surroundings before they flicker to an intoxicating green. They set upon you, a frown forming deep upon his features.

“You’re a little pipsqueak now aren’t you,” the crossroad’s demon comments.

At that, you’re quick to your feet, dusting yourself off as thoroughly as you can. You puff out your chest and square your shoulders, because you’re in charge. You’re the one that summoned this demon. You’re the one making the deal. How dare he call you that when you’re the only offering him something in return.

“Don’t call me that,” you snap at him, but your voice comes out cracked.

The demon chuckles, a set of fangs showing from behind his lips. He walks towards you, and you quickly realize just how much taller he is than you. You’re short for a man, only coming up to a 5’5. And standing next to someone over 6 feet is always something.

“I can call you whatever I damn well please,” the demon snaps.

You flinch slightly, brows furrowing in anger at the mouth on this hellish creature. He may not have any horns. Or no tail. Or any hooves in those dress shoes he wears. But he sure as hell smells like a demon. Sulphur at its finest.

“I’m here to make a deal,” you get back onto topic, the reason why you even summoned him here in the first place.

The demon rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes. I know why you’re here. Didn’t summon me for a chit chat now did you?”

He pinches your chin between his thumb and pointer, inspecting you. He moves your head back and forth, looking over every inch of you. You swat his hand away at the feeling of your cheeks flushing something hot.

“Is it money you want? You want your girlfriend to love you? Want a promotion at your job you’ve been stuck in for eight years? Or want your boss dead?” The demon lists off on his clawed fingers.

“What!? No!” You bark out.

“A new car? Your partner to be pregnant?” The demon asks a few more things. “I can do that myself if you want. If you’re the one shooting blanks then you’ve come to the right person. Probably the straightest and strongest shooter you’ve met!” He chuckles loudly.

“No! What are you going on about?”

The demon laughs harder, the noise seeming loud out in the open, deserted road. “Then what is it you want, pipsqueak?”

You ignore the comment. “I want to be six foot tall,” you answer with as much confidence as you can muster.

The demon goes silent. He stares at you with wide eyes, as if you’re pulling his demonic leg. But when you stand there in silence, not speaking a punch line, it settles into the demon that you aren’t joking.

As much as you’d like to be joking, you’re not. You’re sick and tired of people belittling you because of how short you are. Treating you like a child even though you’re a grown ass man. It’s humiliating at some points. And this demon is just showing you that it’s all true.

How will you explain it when you come back to your boring office job six feet tall? You’ll get to that afterwards.

“So,” the demon clears his throat. “You want to sell you soul to be six feet tall? Am I correct?” He asks bluntly, gesturing his hands around as he speaks.

You nod with a, “Yes.”

The demon pops a hip out with a hand placed over it. You watch the motion before dragging your eyes back up. You’d be a fool to admit the demon before you isn’t hot. You wonder if this is what he looked like before he became a demon. How does becoming a demon even work?

The demon shrugs. “Well I guess I know people that have done worse.” He sighs. “Do you know how a crossroads deal is made?” The demon asks with a cocked eyebrow. He makes his way towards you again, reaching out and patting down your tie.

“Yes. A kiss to seal to deal,” you say with confidence.

Just a simple kiss.

“I do things differently,” he says as he hooks a finger into the tie.  

“What?” You utter out weakly before you can control yourself.

With the smell of burning fabric, the fabric touching the demon’s finger burns a neat line. It falls off, flopping to the ground. His green eyes land on you and you find yourself unable to speak. A hand hooks into your belt and you stiffen up greatly, your face burning a bright red once again.

“My deals are struck a lil’ more intimately. A little more hands on,” the demon grins, his lips only mere inches away from yours.

You can smell the demon better than before now. The smell of sulphur still lingers, but there’s something else that lingers. Something much sweeter. It’s not a pleasant combination of smells though. But what else did you expect a demon to smell like. Rainbows and unicorns?

But you know what the demon is talking about. You summoned a cross roads demon. Not a fucking succubus.

Yet at the same time, you don’t want to have to do the entire ritual again just to get an ugly demon. It would be a shame to pass up on an opportunity like this. Yes? Maybe you are a little messed up in the head. But those green, green eyes. You can’t seem to look away from them.

“Do you still want to be six foot tall?” The demon all but growls out right in your ear.

You swallow thickly. What harm could getting fucked by a demon to be a little bit taller do? You’re just selling your soul.

“Y-yes,” you utter out.

The grin that spreads across the demon’s face is devious. “Are you afraid of me?” He asks, his voice low and even.

It goes straight to your crotch though. You’ve never had anyone come onto you like this but you’re quickly realizing you might be more into it than you may have first realized. You swallow thickly, not being able to look away from the demon’s piercing gaze.

“No,” you squeak out.

The crossroads demon takes a large step away from you with a hearty laugh spilling from his lips. You’re confused. You can’t help but stand there dumbstruck at the sudden change. With the demon’s back turned, you quickly adjust yourself in your suit pants. Don’t tell yourself that he was joking?

The demon turns back around to you, his eyes looking you up and down as if you’re a piece of meat. You can’t help but step from one foot to the other under the watchful, dark gaze.

“Take it off,” the demon suddenly says.

“W-what?” You utter.

“I said,” the demon makes his way back towards you, placing a finger on your chest. “Take this fucking suit off or otherwise you’ll be walking home in nothing but your birthday suit.”

Oh. Oh. Oh my lord. You can feel yourself become as bright as a tomato and yet, you follow the command instantly. You begin stripping, starting with your coat and button up, then to kicking off your shoes. With only a split second of hesitant, you take off your suit pants and hesitate at your underwear. You look to the demon before you who only cocks an eyebrow your way. You swallow thickly again, butterflies coming to your chest as you strip everything. You cover yourself subconsciously with your hands in front of yourself, trying to hide your bulge.

You flinch at the warm hand splayed across your chest suddenly. You can’t drag your eyes away from the crossroads demon. He licks his lips in anticipation, liking what he sees before him.

His hand glides up your neck to the back of your hair, gripping in to tug your face upwards to him. He’s so much taller than you it’s almost intoxicating. You’re almost standing on your toes as he comes down for a kiss, capturing your lips with teeth and tongue. You can’t help but moan into the kiss as the demon grabs onto your sides tightly. His sharp nails dig into your soft skin causing a harsh shiver to run down your naked back.

The demon pulls away, looking down at you with devious green eyes. A string of saliva connects your flush lips to his and all you find yourself doing is staring.

“Now,” the demon purrs, “Did you want to take this on the hard gravel or do you want to try and stand and take it?” He asks lowly.

You swallow thickly, thinking it over. The thought of your back or stomach getting scuffed up doesn’t sound all that pleasant in your eyes.

“I’ll be alright standing,” you say, a slight shake in your voice.

The demon shrugs with a cocky expression on his face. “Alright,” he mumbles, “It’s your deal.”

He then drop to his knees in the loose gravel, his eyes never leaving yours. He grabs onto your thighs and spins you around. Definitely not the direction you thought this was heading, but you don’t complain otherwise. You can’t help the shaky exhale that leaves your lips at the sudden direction this is turning. This is not what you thought would be happening tonight, but you can’t remember the last time you were properly laid. So may as well take this as it is.

Large hands spread your cheeks open and you suddenly feel very, very exposed. You try and hold back the whimper that tries to escapes your throat as hot breath touches your skin. You bite down on your knuckles as you bend over just a little, giving the demon a better look.

“I’m gonna loosen you up a bit,” you hear the grin on the demon’s voice, his face buried under you. “Don’t want this to be unpleasant is all. May be a demon but I’m not a monster.”

“Who would hav- AH!”

You don’t get much warming than that before a hot tongue licks from the base of your balls all the way to your hole. You shiver violently at the feeling. Does his tongue feel much stickier and thicker than a normal humans or is that just your imagination? He licks a long strip from your balls to your ass again, this time slower than the last. And this time you can’t help the sound that comes from your mouth. You place both of your hands on your knees with your head bowed between your shoulders. This might be a little harder than you thought.

“Don’t hold back, pipsqueak. I love hearing those beautiful noises,” the demon says huskily. “It’s like a reward.”

You go to say something, but everything and anything you were going to do is thrown away as a thick tongue is pushed past the tight rim of your ass. You let out a startled cry at the odd sensation of the hot, sticky tongue within you. It’s as thick as at least three fingers and feels longer than such. It prods and seeps deeper within you, as if searching for something. It stretches you oddly, the strange feeling earning a whimpered moan from your lips.

You bend over a little more, fisting your hands on your knees as they begin to shake. You shudder an exhale as the demon’s tongue curls within you, folding on top of itself to make itself thicker before coiling back out. This is not what you had in mind, but you must admit it does feel amazing. If he keeps this up, you might have to take it to the gravel because your legs might just give way.

You can’t help but keen and gasp at the warm tongue prodding and pushing against your prostate. Your legs shake as it only feels like he goes deeper, and deeper. A sheen of sweat starts to cover your skin that’s quickly cooled in the cold night air.

Your cock sits half hard between your legs, but it wouldn’t take much more to get yourself to full length. You wrap a hand around your cock, giving yourself a few dry strokes. You can’t help the groans and whines that slip through your parted lips as the demon seems content in eating you out for the time being.

After another minute of prodding and twisting, you feel yourself already coming close. This is all so new and blissful that you can’t help yourself. You’re coming in your hand before you even know it. You gasp and groan, clenching your jaw as the tongue retracts from within you. A little shame rids into your gut, but the satisfaction out weights it for now.

A dark chuckle comes from behind you, “You lasted a little longer than some of the other fellas that come to me.”

“Nice to know,” you pant out.

You don’t think you can stand much longer. You return your hands to your knees, trying to catch your breath.

“But we ain’t done, pipsqueak,” the demon rumbles as he stands to his feet.

You peer over your shoulder with wide eyes to catch the demon wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. His blonde hair is ruffled, and those green eyes only watch you with a hunger that’s on the verge of starving.

“Deal isn’t struck until I come in you,” he says bluntly.

“W-what?” You stutter.

The demon leans into your back, wrapping his arms around your middle and hooking his chin on top of your head. He engulfs you fully, holding on tight so that you can’t leave. He leans down and breathes into your ear, and you can’t help but freeze up and become ridged.

He speaks slower and gruffer this time, his voice rough in your ear, “I’m going to fuck you until you come again from just my cock. And nothing else. And then I’m going to fill you up so that you, a little pipsqueak like yourself can become nice and tall to impress everyone around you.”

Goosebumps run across your cool skin at the thought of such. You’ve never had anyone talk to you like this. You’ve never let anyone talk to you like this, but oh my do you like it a little bit too much. The rough words go straight to your soft cock, making it twitch.

“Do you want me to do that?” The demon asks as one of his hands slides back around to your ass, giving the soft flesh a squeeze. “Can you do that for me? Hmm?”

You breath out shakily, “Y-yes, please.”

You can feel him grin again against your neck before giving your flushed skin a kiss. He moves away but just enough so that he can undo his belt. The clinking of the buckle is loud on the open road, and you suddenly become very aware of where you are. You glance around at the empty fields that surround the gravel crossroads. No one comes down here and you bloody hope that no one decides to spontaneously come down a deserted road. But all of that is quickly washed away as a thumb prods into your saliva slicked ass. You grit your teeth at the wet sound and the feel of the cool saliva running down your legs.

The demon hums behind you, almost satisfied with what he’s inspecting. “I think I over did it a little, but you’ll be perfect all the same.”

The thumb disappears to only be replaced by the warmth of the demon’s cock. From what you can feel, he’s big. You can’t help but tense up as you suddenly over think everything. But a hand comes around your front, resting over your heart.

“Oh my,” the demon hums. “Now now, that won’t do. Relaaax, pipsqueak. I ain’t going to do this if you don’t want to. It’s your deal after all.”

The statement does in fact calm you down. You’re here to make a deal. He may be a demon, but he hasn’t hurt you as of yet. Which is reassuring to you right now.

“L-Let’s seal the deal,” you shakily utter out. Not out of fear, but more anticipation and need.

A low chuckle in your ear has your soft dick twitching. The demon pushes past the rim of your ass, the head of his girthy cock slipping in easily. You gasp loudly as he pushes in a little further before pulling out and slamming his hips flush against your ass. He bottom’s out quickly, the entire length of his dick sitting snuggling inside of you. He worked you open well enough to do so, a deep chuckle emitting from his flushed lips. He curves in just the right way that hits against your prostate almost perfectly. The way that has your knees becoming weak and leaves you breathless. He stretches you a little painfully, more so than his tongue but you find yourself only wanting more. The pleasure that courses through your gut fizzles your head and you find yourself not thinking straight.

The demon begins a quick pace, using the hand on your chest to keep you in position as he thrusts into you. He more or less towers over you, being able to hold you up if your legs decided they didn’t want to support you any longer.

The noises that comes from your mouth are ones of pure bliss. You don’t know where to put your hands and after a while you end up placing a one on top of the demon’s on your chest. He chuckles at that, low and deep into the nape of your neck before grabbing a hold of both of your wrists. He crosses your arms in front of your chest, holding onto you tightly as he pounds his hips into your ass. The wet plap of the demon’s hips is numbed out by just how loud you are. You whine and keen and moan with every thrust and every inch he gives you.

You try to catch your breath but every time it’s knocked out of you with each thrust. You’re unable to keep yourself quiet at the closeness and the fulfilment of the demon. He breathes into your neck, mouthing words and kisses into your sweaty skin. Your once soft dick now bounces between your legs half hard. You don’t think you could handle anything touching your dick at the moment. Everything buzzes and trembles in all the right ways.

“You’re probably the best one yet,” the demon grins in your ear. “Taking my cock like a good lil’ boy.”

The praise makes you feel high. You get lost in everything, the constant stretch and pull of the demon pounding without tiredness into your ass. You hunch over, allowing better access for the demon and he follows you. Towering over you, holding you close to his chest. Engulfed in his arms that could wrap around your entirely.

You come a second time, this time being much harsher than the first. You forget how to breath and forget where you are for a second. The demon lets up. Even when you’ve tightened around him, it only makes his movements even more driven. He pumps once, twice before driving his cock deep within you. The warm sensation of him filling you makes your entire body shudder. Makes your dick twitch, expelling a little more cum before once again softening between your legs.

Your legs tremble and shake and if it weren’t for the demon holding onto you, you would have fallen on your face by now in the gravel. You breath heavily, trying to catch your breath as the demon makes sure every last drop of him is expelled inside of you. Sealing the deal.

He pulls out and you whine at the sudden loss. It’s a pathetic noise that you can’t stop. You never knew you could make so many noises until tonight. Nothing that has ever been drawn from you before. And find yourself having loved every moment.

“Can you stand?” The demon chuckles.

You lick your lips and swallow thickly. After a while, you nod sharply as you drag your feet under you. The demon lets you go but keeps his hands on you, afraid you may fall to your knees. But you don’t, you shake a little, but you stand all the same.

You can feel the demon’s cum drippling down your leg and you already know it’s going to be a fun five hour drive home. You might have to grab a motel because five hours sounds like five days right now.

When you turn to face the demon, you now stand eye to eye with his green gaze. He grins from ear to ear with a cocked eyebrow. The deal has been struck.

You don’t feel any different, but the ground does now look as if it’s further away. You’ve gotten your extra inches. Just like that.

“Th-thank you,” you manage to get out.

This makes the crossroads demon laugh, covering his mouth with a hand. Crow’s feet scratch at the corner of his eyes. He points to you with a toothy smile.

“You know, if you ever want to make another deal, call on me personally,” the demon chuckles deeply, “This was fun.”

That, actually sounds like a good idea. You work in an office. You’re digging yourself an early grave anyways.

“And how should I-“ you have to lick your lips, your entire mouth dry. “How should I do that?” You ask.

“Dean,” the demon finally greets himself. “The name’s Dean.”

-

:)

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Guess who's back?

Written for the Get Lucky bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompt: Pinch

Rated: T

Tags: Comes back wrong; Kas!Eddie; Monster!Eddie; Except he's just mildly disgruntled about it and otherwise normal; Crack; Eddie Munson is a little shit

“Okay, whatever you do, don't scream.” 

Steve doesn’t scream. He screeches. 

Which he'd be embarrassed to admit under any other circumstances, except there's a black, hulking figure with red coals for eyes standing in his dark bedroom, so he thinks it can be excused. 

The second thing he does is try to roll over and grab the nail bat from under the bed, but the figure is too fast. Quicker than he can blink, it is on top of him. His back hits the mattress and the air wheezes from his lungs, needle-sharp claws digging into his shoulders. A hot gust of air tickles his neck as the creature leans in. Steve screws his eyes shut.

“Goddamnit, what part of don't scream didn't you get? Do you want your neighbours to call the cops or what?” 

“Hold on a second,” he says. The creature does not hold on. 

“-not like my history with law enforcement was sunshine and rainbows to begin with,” it rambles, evidently having gone off on a tangent while Steve was busy processing. “But I'd really prefer it if we could keep the number of people who see me like this to a minimum. I’d love to not end up in a zoo or lab, or-” 

“Eddie? Is that you?” 

The creature rolls its eyes. No, Eddie’s eyes - large and round and just as stupidly expressive as Steve remembers - except they're the wrong color. Not brown but red, and glowing with what looks like all the fires of hell burning from within. 

“Well, duh. What does it look like?” it says. The giant fucking bat wings on its back twitch in irritation.

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it again. He doesn't fucking know what it looks like. Except that isn’t right. He knows very well what it looks like, it's just that what it looks like can't possibly be true. 

Because what it looks like is Eddie fucking Munson fused with some monster out of a cheap horror movie, straddling his lap in the middle of the night. He’s still in the clothes that he died in - ripped Hellfire tee, bandana and all. Steve thinks he may have to call his doctor about another MRT. 

What he says is, “This isn't real. You're dead. You've been dead for three years.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” says the thing that's wearing Eddie’s face. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to track you down? I tried your house, but you weren't there, and the girl who was sleeping in your bedroom wouldn't stop shrieking for long enough to get two words in, and then the dad came after me with a fucking shotgun? Whatever happened to small town hospitality?” 

“Dunno,” Steve stammers. “I sold the house after- … What did you do to those people? I swear to God, if you hurt them-” 

“Of course I didn't,” the monster claims. “I'm not a monster. Still wouldn't have killed you to at least leave me a number or something, would it? I can't exactly take a stroll around town and ask about your whereabouts like this, now can- will you put this down, I'm not gonna hurt you.” 

Steve lowers the lamp he just grabbed from the nightstand, but he doesn’t drop it. 

“How do I know that's true?” he hisses. “How do I know you're really Eddie and not some Upside Down creature wearing him like a suit? Oh, or maybe you're Vecna himself, huh? Fuck, this is probably it, right? This isn't real at all, it's all in my- Ouch, what the fuck are you doing?” 

The creature wiggles its clawed fingers in front of his face. 

“I pinched you. It's what you do to prove that something’s real, right? Or is that another thing that randomly changed while I was gone?”

“You could've just pinched my arm, dude,” Steve squawks, rubbing his stinging nipple through the fabric of his pajama shirt. “Why would you-” 

Those glowing eyes crinkle at the corners. When the creature’s lips tug into a fanged grin, a familiar dimple appears at the corner of its mouth. 

Eddie’s grin goes pleased. 

“Oh my God,” Steve groans. “It’s really you.”

“Glad we’ve got that sorted out,” he rumbles. Something brushes Steve’s thigh - something long and slender with a pointed tip that twitches happily. Steve never thought he’d think those words in this specific order, but he really, really hopes it’s a tail. “Now, could you spare a change of clothes? I’ve been wearing these for three years.” 

More Steddie Bingo

[scummy-writes]

Can they swim? [Ikepri]

In a VC today, RJ asked my opinions and was laughing a lot, so I thought I'd share. These are based off of vibes and are for fun, I literally can't remember if they can actually swim or not, and it's not important enough for me to research it. All characters included.

[Rhodolite Princes]

: ̗̀➛ Chevalier

- Can Swim, however he only learned due to it being a 'life skill'. Stupidly pretty when he swims. Aggregates Clavis.

- aka, in case he ever fell into water during an assassin attempt...or if he ever fell off of a boat..or etc etc. Further, it's a different form of exercise.

- despite knowing how to, he rarely swims. Takes away from reading time, doesn't like getting wet for unneeded reasons.

: ̗̀➛ Clavis

- no. Boyfailure.

- he tried to learn as a child due to Chev learning, and was dissuaded by the amount of times he ended up choking on water out of trying too hard to best him.

- he avoids any chance to swim due to this. Its not becoming of a gentlemen....cough...

: ̗̀➛ Yves

- ...yes? Technically? But he's like a cat with water.

- he avoids swimming in it because it'd 'ruin' his hair or similar, and it's totally not because he's embarrassed with how he looks swimming.

: ̗̀➛ Nokto

- yes. But hates to.

- listen, its such a hassle, okay? He hates working out if its not related to sex. Then he has to dry himself and get his hair right and ugh. No.

- used to as a kid but not any more.

: ̗̀➛ Licht

- Yes. Not frequently, but yet.

- he doesnt do it frequently because others in the palace complain. Because when he does, he trudges in the palace with his hair and body dripping water. The clothes he put back on are damp because he didnt dry off properly and used his overjacket as a makeshift towel.

- banned from unplanned swimming.

: ̗̀➛ Leon

- yes!

- he's pretty normal about it. Likes to do it in hot weather. Would definitely be the type to lounge in the water for a while, relax in it, and also the type to swim for exercise.

- used to swim with Jin a lot, but hated Jin doing it for 'the ladies'.

: ̗̀➛ Luke

- .....yyyyeees?

- but look at him. Look at how he naps 24/7. His dream is to find a comfy place to sleep and only wake up to cuddle you. He doesn't want to exercise. And getting wet AND exercising? Ugh.

- don't make him swim. Don't. He'll get so annoyed.

: ̗̀➛ Jin

- ahhhh Jin... yes. Yes he does. And damn, does he look good doing it.

- unfortunately, he knows how good he looks, and swimming has turned away from fun exercising with the bros, to a newfound mating call for ladies.

- gone are the days of siblings fucking around in the water and getting in play fights. Hello days of dramatically flipping his head out of the water and brushing his hair back, trying to angle so the sunlight can shine on his glistening tits.

- this is why leon refuses to swim with him now.

[Others]

: ̗̀➛ Sariel

- no

- look at this man. Look at this secret functioning alcoholic. Do you think he has the time to swim?

- he could learn how, and he'd look great doing it. But he's too busy keeping 8 grown children from causing an inane amount of issues.

: ̗̀➛ Rio

- yes. Yes. He has to.

- doesn't swim often, but give him an excuse and he'll spend all day in the water with you. He'll teach you how to swim if you don't know. If you do, he's playing with you in the water, finding excuses to touch you if you'll let him.

: ̗̀➛ Silvio

- if you asked him this he'd be unable to whap you upside the head. Yes, he knows how.

- he's grumpy about it too. "Its not all sunshine and rainbows when I've had to swim, princess." He mentions swimming just to find some semblance of clean on his adventures. How he's nearly drowned in rough waters, sink or swim, more dramatics

- what... you want him to teach you? You want to swim with him? Suddenly he can't swim anymore. Totally not because you in a bathing suit would ruin him. Coward.

: ̗̀➛ Gilbert

- ..... no

- look at obsidian. Look at gilbert. Look at the layers he wears. Do you think obsidian has a good watering hole? No. He can't swim. Imagine a freezing, wet rat that nearly drowned 3 times. That would be gilbert.

- dont do this to him. Do you really love him? Do you? Don't make him learn to swim.

: ̗̀➛ Keith

- yes. He looks great while doing so.

- dripping wet hair, cascading down his chest, glistening chesthairs and muscles that you'd want to lap up the water from.

- unfortunately he's generally too shy to showcase this skill. He'd give Jin a run for his money for the looks of it, though. But everyone in Jade knows how to.

: ̗̀➛ Azel

- look at him

- look at how he lounges about and puts a price to anything and everything he does. Do you truly want him to swim? Truly? Do you pledge everything you have to see him swim?

- it's the equivalent of $3,568,282.56 USD. Because he looks ridiculous doing it.

: ̗̀➛ Matias

- by the decree of 1231 and regulation 103757a, all royal family members are mandated to learn how to swim

- he's good at it I guess. He doesn't do it for fun. He's kinda boring about it. He looks pretty when wet though.

: ̗̀➛Kagari

- yes. Will he? No.

- look at this cat of a man. Do you think he wants to get wet? He's too busy fighting and eating sweets, don't add more on top of his *very* busy schedule.

-----------

This was fun. I kinda miss doing posts like these. I'd love some chill suggestions if you guys wanna see more. No guarantee that I'll do em though.

Anyway, I mainly write smut, so mdni with my other content or...me... outside of this post pls. Thanks.

Ikepri Masterlist || Ikemen Server (18+)

[dreamwatch]

Ramblin' Gamblin' Man

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #20 - Prompt: Under The Covers | Word Count: 979 | Rating: M | CW: period typical homophobia (alluded to) | POV: Steve | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: secret relationship, sharp suits, Steve Harrington is stupid for Eddie Munson, Fluff but make it lustful

Steve’s at the Grammys. Holy Shit.

It’s not the first time Eddie’s been here, but it’s the first time he’s brought Steve. He walked the red carpet alone last time, the rest of the band ahead of him with their wives and girlfriends, Eddie playing up the bachelor angle. Steve watched from their home. 

Tonight they’re ’best friends if anyone asks’, which Eddie thinks is unlikely because there are some big names here and like, who the fuck are they in the scheme of things?

They’re not nominated for anything; Eddie said they’d been asked to play a cover of Ramblin’ Gamblin Man and both Wayne and Steve’s dad are big Bob Seger fans so the band said yes. See, its little things like that that make him want to climb inside Eddie and never come out. Any other act is thinking about the prestige, Eddie’s thinking about whether his family would like it.

He loves this man so fucking much.

The band are sitting about ten rows back; he’s got a clear view of Sheryl Crow from his seat, and he’s pretty sure that’s the back of Whitney Houston’s head over to his left.

His new phone is buzzing in his pocket. Robin is obsessed with sending him messages. Tonight so far:

‘Is Stevie Nicks there?’

‘If she is please tell me she’s hot.’

‘Shit I think I just saw you!’

‘Is that Sheryl Crow in front of you?’

He deletes them to make space for new messages, hopefully something about how their friends are at the goddamn Grammys and not whether Shania Twain has a nice ass. (She does, he looked.)

Eddie taps his arm. “Okay, we have to go get changed.”

“Huh? Why?”

They’re wearing their ‘Corroded Coffin smart attire’, essentially their usual clothes minus the rips. They’re not exactly scruffy, per se, but… Steve’s in a suit here, you know? (The suit is borrowed, but it’s all about the effort.)

Eddie grins at him. “You didn’t think I was performing at the Grammys in this, did you?” He pulls at the long sleeve tee he’s wearing under his new leather jacket. 

“I mean, yeah, I kind of did.”

Eddie tsks. “For shame, Steve.” He leans in, achingly close, his breath tickling Steve’s neck. “Wish me luck.”

Just for a second Steve thinks about kissing him. Fuck everyone else, fuck the fans, the industry, he just wants to kiss his man publicly. But he doesn’t. Instead he shifts so his lips are practically touching the shell of Eddie’s ear.

“Good luck,” he whispers. 

Eddie shivers. Steve laughs.

The boys all leave, and now it’s Steve and The Wives.

Thirty minutes later the sound of a trashy high-hat fills the auditorium, lights flashing in time to the thu-thu thump bass drum pattern. Despite Jeff being their lead vocalist it’s Eddie, with his raspier, bluesier voice, that’s taking the lead tonight, and doesn’t that just make Steve’s heart fucking cry out with pride? And you know, Eddie, his Eddie, singing at a nationally televised event should be the thing he’s concentrating on, and it is! It is. But when the lights go up the first thing he actually notices is—

“Holy shit, they’re wearing suits!” 

Bonnie says it before anyone else gets a chance. He imagines the four of them are a picture right now, side by side, eyes on stalks because their men are all on stage at the Grammy’s wearing blacks suits, crisp white shirts and… fucking sunglasses. 

Look, he’s seen Eddie in a suit. It was a nice suit, but he looked about as comfortable as a priest in a lingerie store. This is not that.

These are sharp tailored suits, fitted to perfection. Eddie has too many buttons undone on the shirt, some of his chest exposed, that old Fender guitar pick necklace replaced with a solid silver copy (the original with Wayne). The stage lights hit his mirrored Ray Bans, the chain, the rings. But Steve can’t take his eyes off that fucking suit.

He’s going to devour him.

Eddie’s not a frontman, says he loves being able to just do his thing and let Jeff take care of the crowd. But he has a feeling things might change after tonight. 

The audience are on their feet, and Steve grabs the girls so they can head down to the backstage area. They have passes but even then he has to pull the ‘pregnant ladies coming through’ card to get them back to the green room. And when they get in there--

They’re still dressed in those fucking suits.

Eddie spins toward him. “Hey! What did you—“

Steve doesn’t give him a chance to finish the sentence, he has his hands on Eddie’s face and he’s dragging him in for a long, deep kiss, Eddie’s eyes wide and cross eyed.

When he finally comes up for air he realises Jeff, Gareth and Matt are all getting much the same treatment from their wives.

“You’re never taking this off, understand?” Steve says breathlessly. “Never.”

“What… the suit?”

“Duh, the suit, yes the suit. You’re never taking it off. I don’t care what you’re doing, mowing the lawn, taking the trash out, washing the car, don’t care. This,” he says gently pulling at a very expensive lapel, “is never leaving your body.” He goes in for another kiss. “God the things I’m going to do to you tonight.”

“In the suit?”

“Fuck yes, in the suit! Told you, you’re never taking this off.”

Eddie’s grin is slow and mischievous. “This is really doing it for you, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

It’s doing it for everyone. There are three respectable married ladies here, mothers no less, acting like groupies at an Aerosmith gig. 

Steve squeezes his hips. “Let’s go.”

“Sunglasses: on or off?”

Steve wants to sink his teeth into him right here.

“On. Definitely on.”

The song:

The inspiration: