#yoga ball strangled my heart

[x-emeraldsky-x]

Grown man caught crying over cartoon dogs

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

The Joan Jett Quartet

Part 3: Cherrybomb (Klaus x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: NC-17 FILTHY! Light bondage, oral (fem receiving), pegging, use of sex toys, language, consensual rough sex, voyeurism

A/N: It had been so long since you and Klaus played your dirty little game of give and take. And The Prophet was yours for the taking. 

Part 1  Part 2

Dedicated, as always, with love to my most fatastic ride or die @robertsheehanownsmyass And also @slutforrobbiebro and @frogs--are--bitches

You adjusted the straps and hoped what was inside your linen pants was concealed just enough. At least until you were ready.

You took a few hours getting used to this appendage that hung between your legs. It was in the way for most everything you participated in during the day. So you stood with your legs further apart, or sat that way as well. You tried desperately not to reach down and adjust yourself for fear others might figure it out.

Suddenly, Klaus was beside you as you looked out over the swimming pool. He loomed so large over the Children, but could be completely human with you. That scent of hibiscus, gin and hookah smoke filled your nostrils as he wrapped you up in his arms.

“Jill is worried about you, little chicken.” Klaus used that stupid name from the night he punished you for insubordination. A pet name, one of endearment. Yet it had been so long since the two of you played.

“I'm fine,” You weren't. This.. thing in your pants was annoying. You had grown into it at least.

“She said you were walking funny?” his voice lifted at the end. “I can't imagine why. You've not needed to be disciplined in a while” It was if he read your mind. “I’d like to think I'm being gentle.” His face got lost in your hair and took a deep breath.

Klaus was telling the truth. These days, or nights, or warm afternoons, you made more love than fucked. He became almost obsessed with looking at you. Wanting a connection with someone to the point where he wouldn't pull out until well after he came. He would beg to be inside of you a little longer. If only you knew why YOU were Klaus’s special choice.

You pushed into him a bit with the curve of your ass. Klaus became instantly hard. A smirk played on your lips knowing how much control you had of the situation so quickly.

“Oh you have been, but I know you have certain appetites. As lovely as it's been, I can totally see in your eyes that flash of ‘please punish me.’ Which is tempting because this ‘tantric, cum together, lemme go four hours before I get off’ shit you learned in India annoying. Mediate all you want, but if I got my hands around your throat and just,” you mimed strangling him. “You would explode right in the middle of your stupid breathing technique. Then I’d get some feeling back in my legs”

Klaus enveloped you. Instead of a lover’s embrace, he compressed your body as much as possible. The air rushed out of your lungs as he squeezed tight like a snake with a mouse. His strength always caught you by total surprise. One arm around your chest, the other your stomach as he held you vicelike. There was that power switch. He hated being bested.

“I know pain makes you wet too,” his voice snarled. His hand tried to grab your sex to prove a point, but he got a surprise instead. His entire hand enclosed around the shaft through the fabric of your clothes. “My what a nice cock you have.”

You reached a hand behind and dug your nails into his hard on. “I wish I could say the same for you.”

Klaus’s hold deflated but not his erection. You urged him to stroke the imitation between your legs like you were doing to his real one. Your palms moved in unison as your breath both began to hitch. He tugged when you did, your bodies moving in a strange dance on the stone terrace.

Klaus turned your head sideways so he could get his tongue far inside your mouth. Fighting and doing a dance with yours while you gained speed with your hand.

“I bet you’re not even that good at sucking dick,” you broke the kiss to toss the insult over your shoulder.

You spun around and fought to take the wheel back. You reached inside and sunk your claws into Klaus’s balls. The only way you could think of bringing him to his knees as he winced with pain. Yet somehow grew even more stiff as he knelt down before you.

“Is this what we look like from up here?” Your fingers began to ravel around the hair on the back of his head. You yanked it so he was made to look at you. “eager to please the prophet with our mouths full. They're always begging you to speak, but choking themselves on your dick.”

Klaus put his hands on your hips. One of them inched under your shirt. He drew your hips towards his face and kissed your stomach. You let out a sigh before he released the imitation cock you wore.

Klaus was tentative about the way he licked at it. Just the tip of his tongue at first, darting in and out over the head. Then he sucked on it, took more of the shaft in his mouth. His head began to bob down towards your pelvis and back. The way he swallowed it as much as he could while he held tight to your ass. He alternated between long licks up the side and consuming it whole.

“It's a fucking shame I can't feel this. Doesn’t mean I don't want you to gag any less than you made me.”

Your hips thrust with a certainty that Klaus could feel the tip at the back of his throat. He was soundless though save for the soft sucking sounds. You started to fuck his mouth. The way he and other men had done to you. Your hips pumped back and forth. How much was enough when you couldn't climax like a man?

In a moment of clairvoyance, Klaus dragged his mouth backwards so that the imitation cock was slowly revealed. There was a satisfactory sound like yanking a suction cup off a surface. He gazed up at you with large green eyes silently asking you to further command him. Your fingers seizing his thick tresses so he couldn't look anywhere but you.

“How many nights have you worried about these.. morons finding out you’re a fake? That you admitted to me you were fraudulent. I love a fucking secret, and that's such a big one you trust me with. Would be such a shame if they found out.”

“You can't do that,” Klaus sounded afraid.

Yet you weren't sure if he was playing along or truly scared you'd out him to the others. Something in the back of his pleading let you know he would be relieved. To cast off the shackles of these expectant leeches he created.

“You could expose yourself to them another way. How human you would finally seem getting fucked up the ass by one of them. Your chosen one.”

Klaus climbed to his feet and pulled his boots off. He clambered out of his jeans, after he undid his belt and tossed his shirt aside. He stood in only his underwear.

You arched an eyebrow. “It's so amazing to me you can fuck the way you do,” you pinched his lithe waist, “Seeing there's not much to you.” You got your nails into his chin and tilted his head to the side. You let them trace a line along his jawbone. “Fortunately you've got quite the face. No one cares about the proverbs you spew or diatribes you go on. It's how fucking otherworldly beautiful you are. Gorgeous enough to just ruin.”

Klaus took a breath and rolled his eyes. Your hand tightened around his throat. “Don't you remember how obstinance is rewarded? All that bullshit yoga, you ought to be flexible. Fucking bend over, and show me.” You reached for his belt. “What are you always saying to me when you want anal?” You mimicked his voice, ‘Let's see how tight that ass is?”

Not having to command, Klaus held his wrists out. “Why do you still have clothes on? Naked.”

He obeyed and stripped completely. Being without clothes wasn't that big a deal to Klaus. He walked around the compound nude all the time. There were days most of you did. It's the having no control over his situation that really left him naked.

You took his arms and held them behind his back. You looped the belt around and hooked it through the buckle. You pulled the strap as tight as possible so that Klaus’s wrists were bound. His stance was wide legged, cock completely erect.

“Bend. over.”

And like Klaus had done to you when he assessed your body, you stood beside him and bent his body. His back flat like a table. You ran your hand along his tanned skin and spine before seizing his cock again.

“I lied. I might be a little.. terse with you, but I don't think I'm cruel,” you tapped your chin but kept Klaus’s erection firmly in your grasp. “I forgot something that MIGHT make fucking you a bit easier. You aren't exactly in a state to run to the house. So how about you fuck me first. With your mouth of course.”

You pushed Klaus’s head down to indicate he should kneel. Arms bound behind his back, he eagerly complied.

He sat back on his haunches to watch you undress. You wore only the strap on, which was lifted up to expose your cunt. Then you anchored yourself on Klaus’s shoulders. His mouth deftly finding your quick-swelling lips so his tongue could dart out. He probed you by pushing his tongue deep and forcing an instant slick from within.

You moaned. Klaus’s body twisted at an odd angle to get further inside of you. He lapped and flicked at you while searching for that bud of nerves and maintained his silence. There was a soft growl or two as he expertly worked your clit. Klaus circled it, tilted his head enough to run his tongue along you as you started to throb. He moved at a breakneck speed, one you never experienced from him before.

The pleasure was overwhelming as you reached to help Klaus along. Your fingers separated your slit so he had easier access to your clit now. Your hips rocked into him as you rode his face. Your balance lost a time or two but you steadied yourself in your abandon.

The two of you were so brazen in the setting sun. On the terrace knowing followers were around to catch or watch. Klaus with his wrists strapped by a belt. You wearing a fake dick, fucking his face. Your heart and cunt raced together as you started to spark. The fuse began to catch in the center of your body and suddenly it exploded with sparks as you came. Crying out unexpectedly so that your voice echoed off the stone.

“Fuck. What comes out of your mouth is sometimes so cliché, but the things you let me put in it.”

You fumbled around with the fake cock so that you could shift it towards your body. Klaus sat back and watched. His mouth and chin glistened with your orgasm which he surreptitiously attempted to lick from his lips. The devil in his eyes as he kept his composure.

“I don't think you have ever been this quiet in the two years I've been here.”

You situated the rubber dick enough to plunge it into yourself almost fully. It slid in with ease and out a few times. You repeated this enough to get it as lubricant as possible. Then wrapped your fingers in Klaus’s hair to yank him into position again.

“When I fuck you, I want you to tell me how good it feels.”

Your hand was on the tip of the cock to center it between Klaus’s ass. Your other wrapped up in the leather strap to help pull his hips towards you as you slowly plunged inside of him.

“Further,” Klaus managed around the air he finally released from his lungs.

“That wasn’t loud enough,” you informed him. You had his forearms in each hand as you sunk in more.

“Harder!” Klaus raised his voice more. “Fuck me.”

You tugged him backwards by the arms so that the strap on was sheathed by Klaus’s body. He yelled out in shock, so you hesitated in case..

“Fuck me. Hard. I want to feel your hips against my ass.” Klaus begged. He had his neck curved so that his head was facing up. And angle that would catch passersby.

You used Klaus’s arms as leverage. Creating a push and pull as you began slamming into him. How often did he rut against you like an animal when you got fucked from behind. Now you returned the favor.

It wasn't long before Klaus started to make an animal noise each time your pelvis crashed into his ass. Your nails clawed at his arms and tied wrists while you started to jerk your hips like you knew he did. Short bursts then pulled almost out and jerked back in.

“That feels so fucking good,” Klaus’s words were punctuated by your thrusts.

You weren't sure how much longer you could stand. You knew from Klaus that men got off differently this way than women. Parts of him inside were like a clit, but like you he maybe needed manual stimulation too. So you bent over him. You bit his back in the realm of playful crossed with marking your territory as you turned to jerking him off simultaneously.

“Holy shit!” Klaus yelled out. You were so lost in making him cum that you didn't realize he wasn't referring to your hands and dick.

Your gazed matched his to catch slack jawed followers on the sidewalk and patio on the upper level. Some curious, others blazed green with envy as you became theatrical with your fucking. The two of you looking them all dead on.

“What’s wrong?!” Klaus shouted in their direction. “Haven't you ever seen a prophet get ass fucked by someone?! And don't stop, I'm gonna cum.”

You trained your eyes on everyone, and stood. Your hands firmly on Klaus’s arms once more as you buried yourself into him one more time. His body arched and exploded. The sticky substance managed to cover his chest and stomach.

You situated yourself and took the strap-on off. Klaus straightened his body so that he was at his full height. He contorted enough to break free from the belt constraints. His body shook ever so slightly from the orgasm effects while he lifted your palm to his mouth and kissed it. Then bent to kiss you, tongue far inside your mouth. You could taste your cunt on his lips as you danced with him.

“This is what happens, Children, when you become my Chosen One!”

You let a selfish grin play across your lips in response.

Tag: @robertsheehanownsmyass @firstpersonnarrator @super-unpredictable98 @messengeronthemoon @nightmonsters @bisexualnathanyoung @rob-private @forenschik @magic-multicolored-miracle

[notyetneedcoffee]

Old Fashion Way Pt. 8

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, soft sad and lovey SMUT

This is the last chapter in the series

You stayed in, glued to your television for the next day and a half. The new agencies bounced back and forth between the local disaster of the downed helicarriers and the vast amounts of data dumped from the S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA files. The implications not only tipped over the US government, but world leaders alike. Everyone was questioning everything now.

One thing you knew for certain, you were out of a job.  

While the television droned on, you stared at suitcase by the door. Still packed from your planned run for Washington State, it made you think about family, and about the obligations there. If your high stakes job no longer held you here, then you really had no reason to stay.  

Except Steve.  

Only you didn’t know where he was, how he was doing, or if he could ever come back. Some on the news were calling him a hero, others were insisting he turn himself in. You knew he was a hero. You knew Steve only did what he felt was right. Still, a lot of people died and a lot of very powerful people were exposed, so they would make him a target.  

A quiet knock on your door made you jump. You got up and looked through the peep hole before throwing the door open in excitement. Steve stood there wearing a hoodie, ball cap and aviator sun glasses. The corner of his mouth quirked up when you opened the door.  

“Steve.” You breathed.

“Hey Sweetheart.” He sighed, stepping forward and pulling you into his arms. You hugged him tight and his arms held you close. “Can we go inside?”

“Of course,” you took his hand and pulled him inside. When he took off his hat and glasses, you could see the bruises on his face. “Are you okay?”

Rather than answer, he pulled you against his chest again, burying his face in your hair and breathing deep. You just stood there, holding him and listening to the strong pounding of his heart. Eventually, you felt the muscles in his back begin to relax.

“He’s alive.” Steve choke out.

“What? Who?” You pulled back and looking at the sadness in his blue eyes.  

“Bucky.”

You knew that name. Stories told while curled on sofa or stretched out in bed, Steve shared the tales of his best friend, his brother. The person he missed most in the world. His brother-in-arms, lost in battle. “How?”

Steve lowered himself on to the sofa, pulling you with him and still holding you tight. He told you about the last few days, the attack on Fury, the Winter Soldier and his discovery. He focused on where his fingers twisted around yours with a painful scowl as he talked about the fight on the carrier.  

“He pulled me from the river.” Steve’s shoulder slumped. “He has to remember.”

Pain registered in his being so thoroughly, you could feel it radiate off him. As he spoke about the discovery of Bucky alive, being used and twisted by HYDRA, the combination of grief and guilt tightened his throat and strangled his words.  

“You’re going to go looking for him, aren’t you?”

He swallowed hard, nodding. “I, um, I don’t know how long it’s going to take. I don’t know where it’s going to take me.”

“I understand.” Despite the tears in your eyes, you touched his face with a small smile. “Steve, if he’s in the wind then you need to find him. You need to help him.” Sighing with a smile, “It’s not like there’s a job to go back to.”

“Oh god, sweetheart.” Steve’s head fell to one side. “I’m such a jerk. I didn’t even think.” He cupped your face in his hand. “Are you okay? With what happened, what are you going to do?”

Covering his hand with your own, you gave him a watery smile. “I’ll be alright, really. Maybe it really is time for me to go home and help take care of my dad.”

Steve’s lips covered yours, sweet and soft. His forehead touched yours as he closed his eyes and breathed you in. His breath ghosted over your cheek. “I didn’t intend for things to go this way. You are the most amazing woman.”

You sighed, pressing your lips against his again. Tears slipped from your eyes. “So this is it? We’re going to go our separate ways?”

“I don’t know what’s going to…”

“Steve…” you touched his soft lips with yours briefly. “It’s okay. I understand, I really do. I’m just going to miss you.”

He pulled you closer, mouth covering yours in a desperate kiss. Soft lips, tongues sweeping along each other’s, you relished in the touch. Steve’s eyes remained closed, his nose ghosting over your own. “I understand if your want me to leave, but…”

You ran your fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck. “I’m not ready to say good bye yet.”

“You sure?”  

Studying his face, the fading bruises high on his right cheek, the fatigue and worry clouding his blue eyes, you wanted to memorize it all. “I saw them send the quinjet after you on the bridge. I was in my office looking out the window when you pulled out of the garage. I saw the whole thing.” He frowned. “They were in my office almost immediately, telling me to lock out all your accounts.”

“I’m sorry to put you in that situation. You must have seriously wondered what I did.” His thumb traced over your bottom lip, eyes intense. Perhaps he was memorizing you too.

“No. I trust you. It scared me to think about what you must have discovered for something that extreme to happen. I never imagined it was as big as a plan to kill millions, but I knew if they turned on you there was no way I would trust them ever again.” You closed your eyes, leaning your forehead against him. “I was ready to get away to be safe, but I was so worried about you.”

Steve kissed you again, slow and thoroughly. You shifted until you were straddling his lap and his strong arms pulled you tight against him.  He moved slow, not demanding, almost hesitating.  

“Steve,” You rocked against him, you arousal growing as much as his.  

“I’m going to have to go, sweetheart.” He practically whined. “But God, I want you.”

You pulled back enough to lift your shirt over your head and drop it to the floor. He moaned, lips covering yours, hands cupping your breasts. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his hand moved to your ass. He stood, holding you tight against him and easily displaying his extraordinary strength. Carrying you down the hall, Steve didn’t lower you to your feet until your were beside your bed.  

Pulling his sweatshirt over his head, you first saw the fresh pink of the healing flesh on his stomach. A wide stretch of healing pink flesh ran along his right side. As your eyes moved up, another wound on his right should stood out against his pale skin, looking more like a stab wound. Your fingers traced over the spots. He should not be walking around. You voice caught in your throat. “Steve…”

“Got banged up a bit.” He shrugged a shoulder.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve been shot before.” He tried to make it light, but you could see the pain in his eyes.  

You just stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. All the years, all the battles, you wonder just how much pain he’d been through. He may be strong. He may heal quickly. But, he still felt all the pain. Your fingers felt difference of his skin on a spot on his back. It was in line with the wound on his stomach. Tears filled your eyes. “This went all the way through.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. His hands smoothed your hair and traced lightly over your shoulders. “But I’m okay now.”

“Is there,” You swallowed hard, “was there more?”

“Left leg.” A humorless laugh escaped his chest. “Bucky nearly shot me in the ass.”

“Not funny, Steve.” You pulled back and his face crumpled when he saw your tears.  

“Oh, sweetheart.” His lips lightly covered yours. “I’m alright. Really.”

“You know it’s a good thing you heal up like you do,” you huffed. “Or I’d have to kill you myself.”

He laughed, pulling you tight against him, covering your mouth in deep kiss. His tongue slid along yours, pushing away the worry and warming your blood. When you moaned, he lowered down onto the bed. His mouth left wet trails down your neck and across your collar bone, over your breast and pulling your nipples to hard peaks.  

Steve pulled at your yoga pants, leaving you naked before him. He quickly stripped out of his jeans and crawled up onto the bed beside you. Coaxing him onto his back, you straddled his hips. His warm skin felt wonderful under your hands as you memorized him with each touch of your fingers, your mouth. He breathed deep and steady, allowing you explore even when you paid extra attention to recent wounds.  

Your slick wetness slipped along his hard cock. Steve’s head pushed back into the mattress and he groaned. His fingers dug into your hips as your teeth nipped along his neck. “Sweetheart, god, you feel so good.”

Sitting up, resting you hands on his chest, you admired his magnificent form. “How did I ever get so lucky?” You kissed his chest. “Even if just for a while. You’re such a good man.” You tipped your hips, sliding along his cock. “Treated me so well.” Slipped down on to him. “Made me feel amazing.” You rock him deeper. “So good.”

Steve watched you rock a top him with reverence in his eyes. His hands began to roam, moving over your breasts, down across your stomach, thumb circling your clit. You body reacted to his touch, coiling tight, quivering. The words falling from his lips made you shiver. “So beautiful. My gorgeous girl. Yes, so right. Come for me, sweetheart.”

Your release washed over you like warm honey. Steve watched your body flush, quiver. Heat spread from your core, nearly making your toes go numb. You slumped against his chest.  

Steve rolled you over, bringing your knees high and wide as he sunk into you. “Yes!” You cried out. He buried himself in you, lost in your soft curves and sweet whimpers. He drowned himself in the wonderful feeling of you, leaving no room for the memory of the pain. When he pushed you to the brink again, you were panting and crying out his name.  

“Fuck, yes! Steve!” You flooded over his cock, shaking.

His mouth latched onto your shoulder as his hips slammed into you. He growled out his own release, pulling you tight against him. Steve held you close, buried deep, not willing to let you go. For a long time you just clung to one another.  

Steve rolled over, pulling you with him. His arms remained tight around you. You could feel his lips ghost over your forehead. “Maybe if we…” He began, but trailed off.

“We both know you are going to search for Bucky. You have to. Plus, there’s more out there. Hydra, I mean.” You held on to him tightly, even though you were letting him go.

“You’re not angry?” Steve whispered.

“No,” you lifted your head enough to look at him. “God, no. I will miss you, and I will worry about you. But I will never be angry because you need to do the right thing. Honestly, I’m just thankful for the time we had.”

He smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Good. I would never want you to feel like, I don’t know…”

“Steve, you’re not exactly a casual relationship kind of guy.” You chuckled. “I know.”  

He pulled you close again. “I’m going to miss you and I would never want to hurt you.”

Burying your face in his neck, breathing the scent of him, you sighed. “Steve, will you stay until I fall asleep?”

He knew you usually wanted to be awake when he left. If you feel asleep, it would spare you both a painful good bye. “Sure, sweetheart. I’ll stay until you’re sleeping. Although,” he kissed you slow and thoroughly. “I may have to wear you out a bit first.”

End  

TAGS

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[peachyteabuck]

ceo chronicles, pt i. ~ peggy carter

series summary: a set of fics based off of the main au of sugar baby/mommy or daddy dynamics and ceo aus. each fic involves a separate universe wherein each charcter is the ceo of a different company and you’re their sugar baby. sexy times ensue. 

fic summary: anyone as busy and important as peggy carter needs a good stress coping mechanism. ms. carter has tried everything from yoga to stress balls to acupuncture to cross stitch. none of them worked, until she found you. 

pairing: sugar baby!reader x ceo!peggy carter. takes place in modern times. 

words: 2,020

trigger warnings: harold, they’re lesbians. oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, dirty talk, d/s dynamics, anal, dirty talk, degradation, overstimulation

notes/other: there is not enough peggy carter smut on the internet, and i have taken upon myself to fill that gap. enjoy!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The minute you step into the impeccably decorated office with its modern décor and light blue walls, you silently walk behind Peggy’s grand black desk and fall to your knees on the small plot of carpeting to her right. You know exactly where to go, you’ve been hers for so long there are even two indents for where your knees go in the plush, light grey material.

One of Peggy’s famous “mmm”s catches your attention, your spine straightening and shoulders pushing back. “Are you wearing the collar?” she asks, foregoing looking at you to write something on the large desk calendar that she’s fucked you on at least four times this quarter. While doesn’t so much as gaze at you, your eyes are trained directly on her - just as she likes it.

“Yes, Mistress,” you tell her. As you speak your throat bumps against the collar secured loosely around the base of your neck. The high neckline on the fluffy, white pink sweater you’re wearing hides it well to strangers and Peggy’s staff, but the diamond-encrusted leather is still very well known to you and the other woman in the room. The weight of it is enough to make you remember it’s there, but Peggy always likes readjusting it herself when she snaps the matching leash into place. All you want to do is run your fingers over the block letters as your heart races, it’s always calming; a reminder that you’re hers. It’s a nervous habit, to rub at where it rests under your strategically-chosen clothes. Somehow it makes you feel safe, untouchable. You never slip your finger into the silver O-ring, though, that’s Peggy’s only stipulation. Only she can attach leashes or chole you with it. Still, you pull down the top enough to reveal the small piece of metal, so your fingers can twitch as they trace its outer edges.

“Good, Pet,” she murmurs, still not looking your way. She sounds distracted, moment later typing out (what you assume is) an email at her average lightning speed. It doesn’t take long for the familiar two-tone notification that signals replies to sound, and within seconds of opening it she tsks at her screen. You can’t tell whether it’s at you or whoever she’s replying to, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Mistress is disappointed, and it is her Pet’s job to make her forget her troubles and feel better.  

“What is wrong, Mistress?” you ask, taking special care not to touch her as you scoot closer to her.

Peggy shrugs, rolling her eyes. “An asshole from the Barnes corporation, you know the one whose CEO wants a merger?” You nod, but her eyes remain locked on the screen. “Keeps readjusting the meeting times to discuss some of the NDAs his boss wants me to sign. It’s really pissing me off.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress.”

“Oh,” she sighs, finally turning to you. Her famous red lips curl up into a genuine smile as she caresses your jaw with a soft hand. “It’s not your fault.”

You squirm, unsatisfied. “Is there anything I can do make you feel better, Mistress?”

Peggy’s grin, though sweet, also borders on sinister. Not one that you fear, necessarily, but one that still sends shivers down your spine. Without looking back, she calls for her assistant, who immediately appears.

“Yes, Ms. Carter?” He asks. His name is Steve, you’re told, and he’s a scrappy, hard-working kid who mostly got a job for the health insurance.

Now you capture her unwavering attention, her mischievous squint and devious smirk only focused on you. “Clear my schedule for the next hour.”

“Yes Ms. Carter,” Steve recites the usual response. “I’ll do that now.

Peggy bites her lip as she watches you squeeze your thighs together, the material of your leggings doing nothing to hide your arousal.  “Actually…make it two.”

The next few beats are silent, the both of you unsure of the next move. Peggy waiting to make sure you’re as desperate as she likes (which is very, very desperate), you to see what she wants from you this time. If she’s planning on something rough, she likes to ease into it. Today she seems just tired, stressed, looking for an outlet to release her frustrations on. Per usual, that outlet is you.

“Strip,” she commands, voice taunt. You do as you’re told, carefully taking off each item of clothing before folding and placing them on one of the chairs on the other side of the office before returning to your spot on the floor. “Good pet,” she praises, running her blood-red nails over your lips before pushing her thumb onto your tongue. You suck on it, swirling your tongue around the rough pad of her finger and the smooth, polished nail. As she lifts her hand you move with her, following her lead as she moves you between her legs.

You know what to do, know that she likes her shoes off and skirt pulled off to prevent the expensive item from wrinkling. Peggy obviously planned for this day to be long, as she’s just wearing a sweater that’s now creased from when it was tucked into her skirt. It’s her own version of “casual,” her own vision for a lazy day. The soft knit sometimes slips down her stomach and rubs against your forehead as you kiss over her black lace panties and push them aside to sink a finger into her heat.

“Such a good little kitten,” she sighs happily. Her eyes are closed, bottom lip between teeth. Each soft kiss you leave across her lips causes a small, gaspy moan to slip from her mouth. “God, you’re so good at this, aren’t you? Love being Mistress’ little slut, huh?”

You nod, tongue dipping in and out of her wetness. It’s easy to get her worked up, even when she’s as stressed as she is now. But that’s your job, isn’t it? To make sure Peggy’s able to be focused on her job and her company and her meetings and her business partners and making sure nobody tries to take her down because every fucking man in this world thinks she’s not tough or smart or good enough to be as powerful as she is combined with everything else she has to worry about that is always trying to make her work-pleasure scale out of balance. It’s your job to see that she’s always able to focus on the tasks in front and ahead of her.

You can tell she’s about to come when her thighs start squeezing around your head and her hand starts grabbing at the nape of your neck to push your forward. Peggy needs to stay quiet; the walls are thick, but her screams are famous for leaking through any material the world sets before her. Even as she bites down on her sleeve and digs her heels into the base of her spine, loud moans bounce off the walls. The small “Oh, fuck baby”s and “right there, pet”s keep you going, even when you’re trapped and become light-headed from the lack of oxygen. She reaches her orgasm with three fingers stuffed inside of her and your mouth latched to her clit, her legs tensing around you before melting at your sides. You don’t stop, though, as she grips at your hair and falls back in her chair. You won’t stop until Mistress tells you to.

Peggy ends up pushing you away with her foot, leaning over to grab a key that’s hidden in a secret compartment below her overflowing pen cup. Her hands shake from pleasure as she unlocks the drawer closest to the floor. From it she pulls a matte black strap on attached to a matching leather harness. Easily, she manhandles you into position, tugging the toy on with one and rubbing at your dripping folds with the other.

“So wet and ready for me, huh kitten?” She purrs as two fingers drip inside of you. You mewl, your own fingers gripping at the edge of the desk. “Always such well-behaved little slut.”

Peggy pulls your fingers out and positions herself at your entrance, giving you a fraction of a second to recognize her next move before she begins plowing into you with long, steady strokes. Within moments she’s got one foot on the table and one hand in your hair for a better angle, the slant of her body finding that special spot inside of you that makes you cry out in pleasure every time her hips press into your ass. Soon, almost too soon, you start begging to come, desperate for release. The sounds that leave your throat aren’t cute and high-pitched like before, they’re closer to deep, guttural sobs that surprise even Peggy as she bends down to coo in your ear.

“Such a greedy slut for Mistress’ cock, aren’t ya?” Her distinctive accent becomes thicker with every word, each met with an unmelodic squeak from you. “C’mon, tell Mistress how much you love her cock.”

You’re close, she knows this. She knows if you shift any of the brain power that’s going to not coming to speaking you won’t be able to walk by the time she’s done with you. Still, disobeying might be the worst outcome of all the others. At first the words are small and strangled, but soon enough they begin to flow from your mouth like water from a drain during a rainstorm. “Oh, god yes Mistress, yes I love your cock. I love the way you fuck me and use me, love the way you use me like the fuck doll I am, love the way I take all your stress away. Love being the plaything you call in when every man at work pisses you off, love knowing that when you want to fire all of them. Love knowing every Wednesday when you get paid means you get to spoil me and fuck me until I can’t walk or speak or- oh!”

Peggy’s slipped out of you, pressing a larger toy – a vibrator, you soon become aware – into your pussy. You’re about to asks why she stopped, if you can come, if she’s going to continue, but then you’re slack-jawed as she slips two lube-covered fingers into your tight asshole. “Figured you’d like that, huh baby girl?”

All you can is gulp as gasp, her thigh leveled to keep the thick toy in your cunt and her fingers slowly working you open. You don’t protest as she pushes you to the floor, can’t object to her stopping to move you into another position – this time on your back – as she slips the strap onto into your ass. You feel so stuffed; both your holes being fucked at once and Peggy rubbing at your clit. “C-can I cum, Mistress?” you beg, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes before falling down your cheeks. You’re sure the mascara Peggy bought you is running now, smeared just like your lip glosses and eyebrows.

She leaves a light kiss at your temple before whispering into your ear. “Cum all you want, kitten.”

Your orgasms come quickly, your body still convulsing from the pulses of the last when the next one hits. By the end you’re crying fat tears onto the wooden floor as your limbs shake and shudder involuntarily. Somewhere in the back of your mind you try to count how many orgasms you had, but you quickly lose count at six.

The air around you suddenly cools as Peggy pulls away, redressing herself before wrapping you in quilts that smell like her and dragging you onto the couch to sleep. Sometimes if the play was light she’d send you home, but with how tired and dehydrated and deep into substance you are she doesn’t want to leave you alone. She quickly texts to switch all her appointments to remote so she can keep an eye on you as you rest, wrapped in thick quilts as you fall asleep.

Everything okay? Steve texts back.

Peggy smiles at your sleeping form as she types her reply.

Yeah, everything’s perfect.

[worddevdealswithml]

Side Effects Include: Empathy

Chapter 17:

By the time he realized the shockwave would be an issue, it had already hit him.

He bounced up into the air, landing on top of another car.

He swallowed, a trifle nervously, at the network of cracks that had spread where the hammer landed.

Concrete was, by and large, tougher than he was, and Destruction Worker had clearly been designed to shatter the stuff.

One hit…

He tried to keep the image out of his head.

“Hmm…” he said, forcing a grin, “bit of a temper on you.  I don’t suppose you’ve tried therapy?”

This time he remembered to jump, landing on another car, as the one he’d been on was almost cartoonishly smashed.

“I’ve heard yoga helps?”

Another jump, now truly onto the bridge.

“If it comes down to it, you can always take up some kind of fighting?”

Another jump.

“I mean, the kind of fighting that doesn’t involve working for a maniacal-

He’d expected another busted car, but instead what he’d gotten was an explosion of concrete.

He dove away, landing on the bridge, just in time to see…

A network of cracks split beneath his fingers even as he looked, sending up a small puff of dust.

He blinked.

The ground underneath him gave way, concrete turning to gravel, and he was falling.

Of course, there was nothing stopping him from just swimming to safety, but-

He flicked out his staff, and managed to catch it in the bridge’s iron beams.

He wanted to survey the terrain, but the dust was thick in the air, and there was no telling whether the villain would be coming for him.

He pulled, and sprang back up.

Careful, careful, and-

He landed lightly.

Now…

He tried to blink away the dust, with little success.

The concrete was gone, but most of the cars were still here, supported by the bridge’s iron skeleton.

Good.  Maybe Destruction worker had stopped him jumping from car to car for a moment, but now the dust was up, and if it was a matter of one of them getting the drop on the other-

He barely registered the sudden darkness, diving away on instinct.

The bit of ground he’d meant to land on was suddenly a few feet lower than he’d wanted it to be, and as he caught on it, it kept sagging.

He scrambled, claws scratching at the bare metal, giving him just enough progress to-

He didn’t know what sense had told him to leap; all he knew was that as he was no longer touching the sagging support, there was the awful sound of twisting metal, and where there had been a beam, there wasn’t one anymore.

He made it to a part of the bridge that hadn’t been affected so much by whatever had just happened, vaulting up and over in a flip.

Rolling, he came up to his feet with barely the time to register something flying at him.

He managed to pull back enough that though he felt the wind on his face, the thing, whatever it was, passed by him; swung by him.

The dust was still choking and bitter, but he knew what he’d seen.

Because that was a wrecking ball that had just knocked the remains of a streetlamp into the river below.

The ball practically zipped back, following the chain it was attached to, and-

Slammed into Destruction Worker’s hand, with a force that staggered even him.

“I’ve got to ask,” he called out, hoping that Ladybug would arrive soon, “does it transform, or do you have to unscrew the hammer and attach the chain somewhere?”

Destruction Worker, figure a little fuzzy from the dust, halted for a bare instant, before apparently deciding that the correct response was to grab another one of the lamps that had managed to avoid falling off, and throw it at him.

He dodged ably to the side, but-

He sighed.  “Why can you all jump so far?”

The arm came down, this time the hammer, where he’d been an instant before.

For an instant, he didn’t understand the comparatively weak strike but-

Oh.  No, that actually wasn’t a good thing.

A stronger strike would have collapsed the beam, and sent Destruction Worker into the river.

“So, I guess you took a seminar on construction safety, right?”

He narrowly avoided another swing.

“Or, would it be the demolitions version of the same course?”

He needed to know where the Akuma was.  He could stall for a while, but if he wanted a chance to win, even if he needed to wait for Ladybug, he needed to know.

The weapon shifted too often to be the target.

He dropped under a swing of the ball.

And he didn’t really have that much else on him.

He rolled, leaping horizontally, as it came down where he’d been.

He looked, but, it seemed it was too much to hope that Destruction Worker would make some simple mistake like that.

Stoneheart had seemed like that at first, but it had been in his fist.  Destruction worker…

As if on cue, he opened his other hand, and, unfortunately, nothing.

That was good. That was another option eliminated.

He reached down, and with barely an effort, grabbed a cable which until recently had run through the bridge.

Chat Noir realized what was coming an instant too late

The cable whipped him off his feet, practically slashing him across the face with its raw power.

Dazed, he managed to make out the wrecking ball coming down, and he rolled.

Not the hand.  The helmet?  The vest?  Maybe-

There was a thud, and not the metallic one that had accompanied the wrecking ball; this was the sound of someone landing.

He leaped up to his feet, already spinning around to face-

The hand slammed into him, massive fingers wrapping around him with the inevitable force of a vise.

He gasped, and struggled to breathe, the effort drawing a strangled wheeze from his lungs.

//

As his vision focuses, he’s face to face with Destruction Worker.

“Hey,” he manages, before having to gasp another breath in.

Destruction Worker chuckles, slightly.

The amusement is genuine, but there’s something more unnerving; the negative emotions, disturbingly close to what he felt from Kagami earlier, seem crystalized, frozen in place.

“So, um—“ he forces a breath, and squirms slightly, as he feels something malevolent burning underneath. It has to be Hawkmoth’s influence.

He rallies, managing something approximating his normal cockiness. “How are you going to get my ring? I mean…  I… It’s kind of inside your hand already, so, I guess that’s mission accomplished?”

His brow furrows, and Chat Noir recognizes the sensation of someone rapidly trying to solve an issue.

“I mean,” he manages to laugh, even if a bit less freely than usual, “Gorizilla had a similar issue. It’s not like you can just halfway let me go.  It’s kind of an all-or-nothing deal, and I’m just imagining the idea of you trying to knock me out with a hammer at this angle.  You’re going to hit your own thumb, and that’s not fun for anyone.”

Destruction Worker gives him a considering look, and his heart drops as he feels the thinking resolve into something concrete.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he says, finally.

He pulls up his other hand, and the hammer twists, slowly, into…

A spike?

He feels a small rush of satisfaction, and has a feeling it’s from the look of fear he can’t quite stifle.

“I think we’ll just cut things a little short…”

A jackhammer. Right.

“You know, Hawkmoth really hasn’t been holding back lately, has he,” he says, leaning away from the rapidly pulsing spike that could easily do… Frankly unspeakable things to his head.

“I mean, first, it was the memory-wiping thing, which was pretty nasty, and then you show up with the mother of all property damage, and—” he recoils a bit further away, as the jackhammer comes just a little bit closer.

“I mean, are you sure you want to go in for flat-out murder?  I wouldn’t say nobody’s tried, but this just seems unsporting.”

There was a second of silence, and if he wasn’t inside his head, he could almost believe-

“I don’t care.”

His vision flashed red, there was pain in his head, and then there was nothing.

//

His eyes flickered open again, and he realized where he was.

He was lying on the ground, a throbbing pain in his head where it must have smashed into the ground, and the flash of red…

The first image he managed to focus on seemed to last impossibly long; Destruction Worker recoiling away, head spun a full 90 degrees, as Ladybug seemed frozen, fist extended, clearly having just landed a shot across his jaw.

Then, time was moving again, and her other hand was coming back, and—

A fist to the gut left him doubled over, one more brought his head down to her level, and a final uppercut to the jaw left him flat on his back.

“Don’t touch him,” she hissed, to the now truly distressed supervillain.

Then, demeanor switching almost instantly, she spun to look at him.

“Chat Noir,” she said, rushing to him as he tried to remember how to get to his feet.

First the threat of death, then the awe-inspiring sight of Ladybug coming to his rescue, and now the look of concern in her eyes… Maybe it was the head trauma, but it felt like he was looking at an angel.

“Fine,” he managed, through the sudden stupor that had hit him.  “I’m fine.  Finish him off.”

“Where’s the Akuma?”

“Vest?  Hardhat, maybe.”

“Alright, well let’s see if my Lucky Charm can give me a hint.”

He didn’t see the item that dropped into her hand, but without saying another word, she turned straight back to Destruction Worker, who, with a ponderous motion, was slowly rising from the dust.

He tried to stab the jackhammer at her, but one strike, and the arm fell back, spasming as he tried to regain control of the muscles against the raw force that had been levied against them.

One arm disabled, he tried, futilely, to reach out with the other one, but Ladybug swatted it away with the motion of someone too angry to care.

Then…

She knelt down, face to face with Destruction Worker, and…

He didn’t catch the words, but he heard a whisper, only barely audible, and then-

Her hand rose, and then fell, giving him only the barest instant to recognize a pair of scissors in her hand.

The hulking figure disintegrated into the same black mist as they always did.

Ladybug, with the practiced motion of one who’s done it a thousand times, snapped up the butterfly, threw the scissors into the air, and…

When the flare of light cleared, he was on his feet, head no longer throbbing.

He stood, blinking in the light, which was no longer obscured by the dust, and looked around for an instant.

Bridge, still intact. Cars, no longer flattened.  The buildings seemingly back to normal.

Ladybug…  She turned away from what appeared to be an extremely ashamed construction worker, and turned to face him.

She gave him a once-over, and he managed a smile.

He barely had time to register-

//

With a bone-crushing intensity, her arms are around him.

He chokes, flailing slightly.

“Easy, easy, you just fixed my injuries.”

She freezes, and he feels contrition as her grip loosens slightly.

“Sorry,” she says, and something in the depth of the emotion tells him she doesn’t just mean for cracking a few ribs.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I almost let you get killed.”

“But you didn’t.  I’m fine.  I’m alive.”

She relaxes, slightly, and lets out a breath.

He matches her arms with one of his own, and lets his head fall forward slightly, so that his chin rests on the top of her head.

For a second, they just stand there.

Then, he feels just edge of embarrassment.

“I…  I guess if I keep standing here like this, people will start getting ideas.”

He laughs.  “Yeah.  Probably.”

She sighs.

“I…  Sorry.  Again. This can’t be fun for you.”

She pulls away, slightly, but keeps one of her hands on him, maybe to make sure he knows that she means it, maybe unthinkingly.

I just…  I want you to realize, that, even with everything… Even though, obviously, it… that, can’t happen…”  She sighed.  “You remember what I told you, after we fought Anansi?”

He laughs, a trifle weakly.  “Of course.”

“I never want you to ever think that you’re anything less than irreplaceable to me.”

“I know.”

And he does.

But…

He purses his lips, slightly, trying to keep a smile in, and restrains so many of the things he wants to say.

Instead…

“Well…  I just want you to know…  I can’t guarantee that someday, you won’t kick yourself, or… Possibly kick me, when you realize that you never saw me coming.”

She laughs, but he can feel sadness behind it.

“I know, I know… You already like someone.  I don’t plan on that stopping me.”

She doesn’t believe him.

He doesn’t blame her.

She pulls the rest of the way away.

//

“Well…  If it really makes you feel any better, and you’re really so sure I won’t recognize you…  Like I said, you’re welcome to try.”

[moocha-muses]

I May Have a Tiny Crush

Or, The Full Story of How Don Lothario and Darren Dreamer Ended Up Smooching.

(Frankly I don’t know if I can see these two settling down into domestic bliss together, but life’s short and I want to sail on every ship I can.)

Cassandra Goth was beautiful. Cheekbones like a pair of stilettos carved from some fine, dark warm marble, flushed with life. That mobile mouth, twisting instantly from a sullen frown to a distracted smile. Dark honey eyes and the untamed curls of an Italian shepherdess. Flashing. Remote. Untouchable. Moocha should have painted her, a slender nymph in a scrap of white silk.

He should have painted her.

She was beautiful as she stood there sobbing, mascara streaking down her cheeks, angry bunched fists ruining the expense lines of her wedding dress.

Don Lothario had muttered, “I’m sorry, Cass,” and left her standing up there alone. What kind of way was that for a man to end a relationship? Darren would have walked barefoot over broken glass to be the man standing with her under that wedding arch, and Lothario had just thrown it all away.

…

It would probably be the wrong moment to tell Cassandra that he loved her.

Don was seriously considering leaving town. If it wasn’t for all the work he’d put into establishing himself at Pleasantview General, he’d have packed his bags two weeks ago.

Half the damn town had been at his non-wedding, and the other half had heard about it, and the consensus was clear - they were two sides to this fiasco and they were all on Cassandra’s. Would it have been better if he’d just gone through with it when every cell in his brain was screaming at him to run? Cassandra Goth didn’t want a man to be married out of a sense of obligation, did she? She’d see that eventually.

Hopefully sooner than later.

Don had given up a huge fortune and the woman (okay, fine, one of the women) he loved just so that she’d have a real chance at happiness with someone else. He was practically a saint.

pasta, pasta, which brand do I like again?

He snorted. Okay, maybe a nomination to sainthood was a bit much too ask. But he didn’t deserve a complete shunning, either.

Even Kaylynn wasn’t return his calls. Too busy with her new girlfriend - Don still couldn’t believe the Pleasants had planned that seduction as a couple. He wondered if Cassandra would have ever been up for planning a fling with the maid.

are fresh peas really that much better than frozen? maybe worth trying

Nina was always happy to see him, but she was happy to see plenty of other people too. Don had wasn’t more than that. It was selfish, but he wanted to be the most important person in someone’s life. He wanted to settle down. It was why he had proposed.

So why had he left her, then? Because, Don reminded himself firmly, because he was in love with different three women and in that moment, he had realized he hadn’t cared which one of them was standing under that arch.

tomatoes? this one feels nice and ripe

Cassie deserved better.

She deserved someone who loved her like - “Afternoon, Dreamer.”

Darren Dreamer actually glared at him, which was a laugh. Don wouldn’t have expected a guy as passive as Dreamer to do anything more more cutting than pretend he was deaf.

Don cleared his throat.

“Do you need something?” Dreamer snarled.

“You’re standing in front the lemons,” Don said mildly.

Dreamer stalked off towards the bread in a huff. Don shook his head. Don barely knew the guy, but everyone knew Dreamer had been carrying a torch for Cassandra (well, everyone except for Cassandra, who was the most single-minded woman Don had ever met. She just hadn’t noticed other guys once she’d started dating him. It had been flattering - at least, until he’d gotten to really know her.)

(He had still enjoyed it.)

how do you check lemons? Do you smell them?

If Dreamer was so in love with Cassandra he should be fucking grateful they had broken up. Now at least he had a chance.

Don shrugged.

There was no helping some people.

what else was in the meat sauce recipe? I knew I should have written it down

Models were the flakiest damn species on the planet. Darren dropped the phone down on the receiver and swore. Heather sat on the sofa looking beautiful, bored, and totally at ease wearing nothing but Darren’s spare bathrobe.

He was going to have to put off painting and he would still have to pay Heather half her rate just for showing up and drinking his coffee.

Darren drummed irritably against the phone table, trying to decide if he could pose Heather solo and at least get a start on the sketches. Work on her back, maybe. He glanced idly out the window.

Don Lothario was jogging past outside.

The artistic soul was strong in Darren. In that moment, Don Lothario was no longer the bastard who had broken the heart of the woman Darren loved. He was just a very good specimen of the male sex, tall and lean with slightly unruly dark hair and warm brown skin.

Darren shot out the front door.

“Lothario! Hey, uh, Dr. Lothario. Are you free right now?”

               *                                              *                                              *

“You want me to what?”

“My male model canceled on me at the last minute,” Darren explained, “but I need to paint right now, while the image is still in my head. You’re a little old but you’ve got good muscle. Good flesh tones. Beautiful eyes. Green like Heather’s, which is too bad, but … you’ll do. I’ll pay you, of course. What do you have on under those track pants? You’re comfortable with nudity, aren’t you? You are a doctor.”

Don considered the phrase, ‘No fucking way,’ but he swallowed it. He considered. “You must really be desperate.” Don glanced over at the cute little co-ed on the couch. He could imagine worse company. And Darren Dreamer would probably be on his best behavior. “I guess I could help you out, Dreamer. For art’s sake.”

“Go ahead and strip then,” Darren said, shining with relief.

“I won’t even charge you. It’s not like I can’t spare the time. I’m newly single, remember?”

The shot missed. Darren was arguing with his other muse.

“You want me to work with a total stranger? What if he’s a creep?”

“Mr. Lothario, sorry, Dr. Lothario isn’t a creep, Heather. Would I ask a creep to model with you?”

“You don’t have to keep calling me doctor.”

“I want hazard pay,” Heather said firmly.

“Fine, I’ll give you your overtime rates. But that’s just for today. Don’t think this is a permanent raise. Now get that robe off so I can make sure your bruises haven’t smeared.”

“Yessir!”

Don began pulling his pants down.

“Let me retouch the one on your thigh. Okay, Lothario, Heather’s going to be strangling you. It’s a easy pose for a beginner because you can just lie there.” He smudged something purple onto Heather’s smooth white thigh. Don needed to either stop watching or put his pants back on.

“You’ll be lying prone on the floor, she’ll be crouching over you, hands around your neck. Heather can do the heavy lifting on expressions, so don’t worry about that. I want a 50s look, so I’ll need to put something in your hair … ”

              *                                              *                                              *

“Look, I get it,“ said Heather, "but I’m not flattered or interested.” She gave Don a second look and shrugged. “Not at the moment, anyway. Just try and think of me as a piece of furniture.” She shot Darren a look. “This is why I like working with Jimmy. He knows how to act professional.”

Darren frowned at Don. “No, don’t look embarrassed,” he admonished. “That’s not even close to the expression I want. The erections’s good, though. He’s supposed to be egging you on, so … Can you … ”

“Darren, if he touches me with that thing I am out.”

“I’m doing my best,” Don said. He sounded mortified.

“Hold it,” Darren said. “Let me just finish that part of the sketch - and mix some paint samples. I want to capture that color.”

“Artists!” Heather groaned, all her exasperation rolled up into one ball. Don looked like he understood.

“I can’t believe I agreed to do this again.”

Don was sitting on the counter in Darren’s kitchen in just his underwear, letting the other man comb pomade into his hair.

“I really appreciate it,” Darren said. “But I’m guessing you’re here more for the lovely Miss Huffington than for art.”

Don stiffened. Heather? The lovely, luscious girl in the other room? He hadn’t even thought of her when Dreamer had phoned him up and demanded he come back for a second sitting.

Don would have expected him to beg. He wouldn’t have guessed a man who still hadn’t tried making a play for Cassandra to have so much …

Passion.

Cassandra’s consuming, singled-minded interest in every new hypothesis, the way she’d stop at nothing to teach it to everyone else …

The way Nina threw herself headfirst into everything, no safety nets, no restraint . . .

Darren’s total absorption in his own work, death and blind to everything but the vision in his head…

Don liked passion.

He shook his head to clear it. “Don’t move,” Darren said gently. He put a hand on Don’s jaw to steady him. His skin was warm and dry. “You’ve got such thick hair,” Darren muttered. His eyes were far away. “ I should’ve have painted you in bed, mussed from sleep, stretched out against the sheets with the sunlight filtering down - no, moonlight - moonlight dappling over your skin-”

Had Dreamer’s voice always been that … husky?

Heather’s right, Don thought. He shifted just a little on the counter. I need to learn to control myself. Or at least keep it in my pants.

“There’s no way I can bend my arm like that.”

“Are you saying you aren’t flexible enough?” Darren shook his head and tsked. “I knew I should have stuck to younger models.”

“Oh, I’m plenty flexible, old man-”

“I just bet you are,” Darren muttered.

“You should try yoga,” Heather chimed in from underneath him.

“I do yoga.”

“What, seriously?”

“Even if I could get into the pose,” Don went on, ignoring her, “I’d probably strain myself holding it. Don’t they teach you anything about basic anatomy at art school?”

“All right, Doctor. What do you suggest?”

“Well, if you really want to have that fold of sheet visible, then I could …”

“You’ve got some paint on your cheek.”

“Where?”

“Hold on, I’ll get it.”

remember to breathe

…

he’s a flirt. he flirts with everyone.

There still weren’t many people in Pleasantview who would invite Don Lothario out for a drink. He definitely hadn’t expected Darren Dreamer to ever be one of them.

“Well, you won’t let me pay you for modeling.” Darren got Marylena’s attention and ordered them both beers. He asked Don about an upcoming surgery he had mentioned the other day. Don got very eloquent about the use of internal splints to fix spine reticulation.

Darren divided his attention between Don and a sketch he was making on a cocktail napkin.

“What are you drawing?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever gotten the shape of your eyebrows right.”

Don snorted. “Should I keep my face still? Are my many medical exploits distracting you?”

“No, I like watching them move.” He made a few small strokes with his pen. "Actually, can you hold right there?”

Don didn’t know why he listened. He had no idea why he was doing a lot of things, lately. He watched Darren drawing quick sketches of his brow, his nose, his mouth …

“One of your models asked me out.”

Darren jerked to attention. “Heather? She didn’t break up with her girlfriend, did she?”

“Not Heather. Tiffany. The one with the obvious trust-fund. What’s she doing slumming as an artist’s model, anyway?”

“You’ll have to ask her on your date,” Darren said. He crumpled the cocktail napkin he’d been sketching on into a ball and started tearing small pieces off it. “Better take her someplace nice.”

Don sipped his beer. “I let her down gently. She’s a little young for me,” he said. He glanced carefully at the man on the next barstool. “What about you?”

Darren looked up. His own eyebrows rose. “Are you asking me out to dinner?”

Don choked on his beer. He coughed. “Have you ever gone out with one of your models?”

Darren snorted. “Of course not. If you’re too old for them, what does that make a fossil like me?”

Those girls aren’t that much younger than Cassandra, Don thought. You aren’t that much older than me. And the edge of both those thoughts stung.

Darren ordered them another round of beers. “Isn’t this supposed to be a good season for stargazing?”

Don perked up instantly. “It really is! See, the orbit of the moons …“

It was the fourth time he’d agreed to pose.

Darren didn’t know why Don kept agreeing. He didn’t even know why he kept asking. He liked young models. He liked the quality of their skin, the vulnerability of youth.

It was the difference between a sapling and a tree that had grown into, well, solidity. Maturity. That whole self-contained universe that trees get to be when they grow up.

No, that made it sound like he was starting to prefer older models.

darleen would have said i was finally growing up

Don said posing left him free to do nothing but think. That was what he liked about it. “Gives a chance to read through patient reports and new medical journals in my head.”

just a little blue there so the brown is more brown

cerulean? no, cobalt

Darren wanted to split his head open, pull out everything going on behind Don’s bright green eyes and set it against the deliberate sensuality of the pose.

He wanted to capture the passions, the dichotomy, the muscle and skin and mind of the man in front of him…

He wanted to capture the man  …

He wanted . . .

             *                                              *                                              *

Posing left Don free to look.

Darren Dreamer was absented-minded. He was terrified of spiders. He had the worst pollen allergy Don had ever seen. Ever surface in his house was covered in books and he was constantly picking one up (usually right in the middle of a conversation, sometimes when he was the one doing the talking) reading a few paragraphs, and putting it right back down. He lived completely off leftovers from meals his kid had cooked.

But put a paintbrush in his hands, or an idea into his head, and the man was transformed. Don had gotten addicted to watching him, mercurial, transfixed, enraptured, inspired, muttering to himself about color and light.

And he really could paint.

And when he was painting him, he looked at Don like he was most fascinating thing anyone had ever seen. Like he was an object, but a beautiful object. A treasured object. Something that existed just on Darren’s whim. It was almost a challenge.

Lots of people had been attracted to Don, and most of them had bothered hiding the fact, but no one had ever looked at him like Darren Dreamer looked at him.

And the spider thing was actually kind of cute.

“Don’t move your head.”

“What?”

“You’re moving your head again. The wrapper’s going to fall. Hold still.“

"Yeah, all right.”

“I don’t see why you can’t hold still,” said Darren, a man Don had never seen sit still for more than about 10 seconds at a time. He surged forward in his usual impatient way and began messing with Don’s hair. He tucked the condom wrapper back into position where it could resume imitating a laurel leaf. Then he took a possessive hold on Don’s head and began twitching it back and forth. “We’re losing the light,” he complained. “There’s a certain light I want to paint you in. If I could just paint you properly-,” his finger skated over Don’s jaw, “-you’re too good for Dionysus, you’re-”

Don kissed him. His lips brushed against the corner of the other man’s mouth. He wondered which of them was more surprised.

Darren murmured, “What are you-”

his voice is fucking sexy

“I-” Don You - you reminded me of Cassandra.“ Wrong thing to say. Maybe the wrongest thing anyone had ever said.

Darren shoved Don right up against the wall and glared at him more intensely than he had ever glared over Cassandra. "You’re not getting out of this that easily, Lothario.”

And he kissed Don right back.

“If we’re going to do this,” Darren growled, “The only name you’re going to say is mine.”

[starryseo]

youtuber!minho

idk an elimination, stray kids was ot9 since day 1

Chan | Woojin | MINHO | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

time for this. . .

dancing l e g e n d

so, obviously, he mainly posts videos of him dancing

omg?? he’s so good???

he’s a rather quiet, lowkey youtuber at first glance

like his Video Descriptions are always just “Artist - Song Name. Thank you for watching.”

and his dancing is always so clean-cut, he seems like a pro already

but then he rolled out the collabs with hyunjin and felix

the three of them decided to do a dance together and it was the best thing ever

he posted it with no warnings

and it blew up so quickly

they had also kept in parts where the three of them were just interacting before & after the dance 

so viewers got to see his charm more

and that’s how his fanbase grew

said to himself he’d never collab with them again

bc they’re absolutely insane in so many different ways

but that failed lmao

it was cute seeing minho play about with them

especially because he tried keeping up this sliiightly more mature persona

because he’s older

but that went down the drain

they were all acting like utter kids

literally playing tag and chasing the others

probably also tried having a 3-person piggyback

that failed because a) felix kept laughing so hyunjin couldn’t get on top properly

and b) felix kept strangling minho

so, as mentioned in chan’s one, the three of them are really close because they all go to the same dance club

he also helps felix out with his korean which he appreciates so much !!!!

they’re <3 bros <3

hyunjin invited the both of them over to his house once and that’s when they all started playing games together 

so now all they ever do together is dance or play

literally no in between

but it’s such a cute friendship i’m jealous

hyunjin also introduced the two of them to seungmin

this guy from his school that also gamed with hyunjin at times

hyunjin had also befriended jisung through games so minho vaguely knew about both of them through that

and they had played together in a large group a couple of times

but they officially met at that convention

he thought it might be a bit awkward initially

jisung and seungmin both being younger than him

but it was great because they had such different personalities

jisung was a lot more hyper in comparison but minho liked the balance between the both of them

minho probably got a lot closer to jisung though

and after that convention they started talking/ texting a lot more

when they became really good friends jisung invited minho over to his place

for a collab because minho had accidentally let it slip that he sang a bit

so he thought the worst jisung would do was make them sing together

boiiii was he wrong

turns out this wasn’t a collaboration

but quite literally

the boyfriend tag

more specifically, the: ‘Boyfriend Does My Make-up!’ tag

minho was just like -_- you’re not doing my make-up

jisung was like pffft i know. you’re doing mine!! :)

minho was like friendship: cancelled “?????” but he went along with it

actually had a fun time

made jisung look like a massive clown

but jisung was still smiling so clearly he didn’t hate it??

that definitely brought them closer

he also learnt that jisung really!!! loves skinship !!!!

like when minho was putting on eye shadow

he didn’t even ask where/ how jisung got the make-up

jisung had his eyes closed

and had his hand on minho’s hand (the one not holding the lil’ brush)

and obviously that was part of the final video jisung uploaded

so after that people have been shipping the two of them together

#JinhoFTW

jisung always brings that up around minho now

and the other guys can’t use it to mock the both of them

because jisung is always like !!! omg i know, we’re cute together!!! look at this fanart i found of us--

meanwhile minho is just constantly facepalming rip

but honestly he doesn’t mind it because it’s all harmless banter, y’know

he invited jisung over to his place too once

as soon as they got into minho’s room

jisung jumped onto a bundle

thinking it was one of those bouncy yoga balls

damn,, that was not a nice collision

but minho could. not. stop. laughing

like, that was the most jisung had ever heard him laugh

and jisung was there like ?? why didn’t you tell me?? you’re not moving to help me now either???

minho was too busy dyING of laughter on the floor to even hear that lmao

this one time all the guys also met up at a park

they had such a great time there

getting felix to order food by himself

(to improve his korean obviously)

minho was getting piggyback rides from e v e r y o n e

this boy just has a thing for being carried to be honest

loves the feeling of weightlessness

but has learnt to not ask changbin for a ride

because that boy will straight up d r o p yo’ ass with no regrets

changbin carries nobody okay

n o b o d y

minho loves laying on people too

after they had eaten the food felix somehow managed to order

they were all just chilling, letting the food do its thang

and minho was laying down on seungmin who was probably dozing off

and obviously felix went and took pictures of that

and posted it on their shared instagram

so now there are two things going on in the comments section of that pic:

1: #MinminFTW

2: wtf!!! jisung vs seungmin; the prize is minho’s heart!! <3 etcetc

truth be told,,,,

jisung saw this and just,,,

joined them lmao

he sprawled on top of both of them so no one could move

and that spurred on a massive dog pile oh gosh-

guess who was on top though??? 

jeongin obviously

this precious boy was just laughing the whole time

he definitely took a picture for their instagram

“all the hyungs are beneath me!”

it was so cute seeing all this happen

but seungmin (and minho) were seriously dying

(back to the youtube-y parts lmao)

after meeting these guys minho has changed so much and that’s really obvious in his videos

he’s showing more and more of his charm in his videos now as he gets more comfortable with all the guys

and his Video Descriptions have changed!!!

they’re now “Artist - Song Name. thanks for watching &&&& check-out [sk member]’s latest video - it’s hilarious!!”

he always feel like, as one of the older members, he should care and look out for them all the time

but he really appreciates the fact that the guys have shown that he can rely on them, whenever, as well

and that they’ll always be there for him, through thick and thin

he loves this massive family that he’s part of

cherishes all the times they spend together

thank you for reading!! i hope you enjoyed it :) feedback is welcome too

[astral-writings]

Missing Little Light

Word Count: 1,465 Reader (biological) sex: Female Warnings: miscarriage, blood, all the emotion that goes along with that Love Interest: Pietro Note: this was requested by an anon, and writing sad/angry stuff is my specialty so here we gooo. Also, I have no experience with miscarriages, so I’m going off of what I’ve been told by someone who has and medical fact stuff.

It’s been a little over a year and a half since Pietro and I have been married. Before that, we’d be together as just boyfriend and girlfriend for nearly 3 years. In that time frame I’ve been nothing but happy with him (save the stupid arguments we get into). While he really knows how to piss me off, I’ve never really been at a ‘calling-it-quits’ point with him. That was one of the reasons why I said yes when he proposed to me.

Flash ahead of me stressfully planning out everything, with Pietro there to help out with small things (like napkin colors and plate styles), to now. I had found out nearly a couple months ago that I’m pregnant, and I’m 4 months along now, nearly 5. Pietro was silent for a long moment when I first told him, then he asked me if I was joking or not. After I clarified that I was not, in fact, joking around, he was very excited.

He hugged me and spun me around a bit, and since then he’s been tossing around ideas. Like would the kid have his powers, or a set of his own? Who’s hair would he have? All sorts of things like that, and each one is fun to imagine. I simply like the idea of a tiny little human with silvery hair, running around the house. I would think the silver hair is a dominant trait, but we won’t know until the little light comes.

That’s what I’ve taken to calling the human being growing inside of me, considering I don’t know the sex of the baby yet. That’s scheduled for a few weeks out, but I think I’ll still call the human that even when I do find out. It’s my little light, and my cute little light is going to get the whole world. I’m sure Pietro will beat me to the punch, though. We’ve also been tossing around names, but Pietro keeps telling me awful ones as running joke.

“Babe, I got it.” Pietro announced, looking over at me.

“It’s not another name, is it?” I questioned skeptically.

“Yeah, but this time I’m serious.“ He said, trying to maintain a straight face.

“Alright, shoot.” I sighed, trying not to smile.

“Tyrannosaurus.” He said with a very serious voice.

“We are not naming the kid after a dinosaur.” I stated with a laugh and he pouted.

“But why?” He questioned.

“It sounds ridiculous,” I pointed out, “And it’s way too long.”

“I don’t see why length would be a problem.” Wink.

“Fine, I’m writing Micropachycephalosaurus on the birth certificate.” I declared and his eyes went wide.

““No, no, it’s alright, point seen.” He reasoned.

“It’s too late to-Ow.” I said, holding my stomach.

Pietro stared at me for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, and clearly concerned. I felt another sharp pain shoot through me, causing me to cry out. I leaned forward a bit, the pain getting worse and worse with each passing second. My mind went a million miles an hour, but the little light inside of me was still my main and only concern. Something is wrong,  very very wrong, this shouldn’t be happening.

“Y/n, sweetheart, are you alright?” Pietro questioned, a hand on my back and the other on my arm.

“I-I don’t know-OW!” I cried out again.

“Y/n?” Pietro questioned, not knowing what to do or what was going on.

““Pietro-OW! OW! OW! Something is wrong with the baby-OW! Shit!” I cursed, trying to get myself to stand up.

“I’ll take you to the hospital.” Pietro said almost instantly.

I froze as soon as my eyes trailed down onto the floor, pain searing through my body. Blood. Not just a tiny little drop of blood. The kind of blood that happens when a pregnancy is going wrong. My eyes widened, and if it weren’t for Pietro picking me up, I would’ve collapsed. I screamed, my eyes still glued to the spot. Pietro held me tightly, and the next thing I know, I’m in a hospital. This can’t be happening, I did everything right.

I ate the foods that promoted development, I stayed away from everything I was suppossed to, I did the yoga, I did the classes, I did everything. Maybe everything will be okay, maybe it’ll be alright. Maybe the nurses surrounding me will be able to do something. Maybe my little light will be able to see the room we painted for them. Maybe my little light will be able to play with all of the toys we got for them.

Maybe.

But life doesn’t run on maybe, or miracles. Life runs on fact, and cold, hard truth. Life isn’t some sort of fairytale where you can wish up a fairy godmother to make things better, or wave a you hand and suddenly everything is exactly how you wanted it to go. Life is burying a tiny little coffin, and the date engraved on the stone slapping you in the face. Life is full of twists and turns, and sometimes it’s unfair. Other times it’s just fucking cruel.

When the doctors told me that the baby was dead, I felt like doing the same. I felt like I was dying along with the baby. I felt guilty, I was supposed to be able to do these things. I’m biologically supposed to be more than capable of doing this, so why did this happen to me? Out of all the mother’s out there who do awful things to children, why was I the one who was unable to carry the baby? That was the winning question; why?

Pietro was visibly devastated, and he had every right to be. His arms instantly went around me, and a strangled sob left my throat as I leaned into him. I cried and cried and cried, and he held me tightly. He was crying as well, but it was a much softer cry than my own. After that we decided that we should have a funeral for the baby. After all, it was still a part of this family. I had them engrave ‘Little Light’ in place of a name.

We didn’t have time to pick out a name ourselves. My little light was missing and there was nothing I could ever do to change that. It’s been nearly a year since I miscarried, and since Little Light has been buried. Pietro has been nothing short of amazing, I just wish I could be the same. I still feel empty, like something is missing, because something is missing. The sound of little feet running around, a tiny human getting into things that they’re not supposed to.

Something will always be missing, from my life and from this house. I held the little blanket closer to me, as if it would make it all better. This was supposed to be Little Light’s blanket when they came out. We boxed everything else up and moved it to the garage. Well, Pietro did, I didn’t have the heart or the balls to go in there. I felt a pair of arms go around me and I sighed, half of me wanting to respond but the dominant half of me didn’t have the energy to do anything.

“Sweetheart, is there anything I can do?” Pietro asked.

“For what?” I questioned emptily.

“To make you happy, it hurts to see you hurt.” He spoke gently.

“Well, getting an undeveloped child ripped out of me hurt too.” I retorted defensively.

“I’m sorry,” He said after a moment, “I’ll just-”

“No, Pietro, wait,” I said before he could fully pull away, “I’m sorry.” I said, holding his arm gently.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Princessa.“ He said, hugging me a bit tighter.

“I shouldn’t be taking it out on you, it’s my fault.” I said sadly.

“It is not your fault, don’t you go blaming yourself.” He said firmly.

“Then who else? I’m the one who couldn’t even carry the thing.” I said angrily.

“I don’t know, nature? You can’t control these things, and you did everything you could to make it healthy.” Pietro assured.

“I don’t know, Pietro.” I said after a moment, a sigh leaving my lips.

“Look,” Pietro began, moving in front of me, “You can’t keep being so harsh on yourself,  the baby would’ve wanted you to be happy.”

“The baby’s dead.” I said harshly, and Pietro just looked at me.

“You’re not getting rid of me.” Pietro said and I looked at him warily, “You’re stuck with me.”

“You promise?“ I questioned, still eyeing him.

“Of course. Just promise me you’ll try to be happy? I’m scared I’ll lose you, Y/n.” Pietro said, clearly concerned.

“I don’t know-” I began.

“Y/n, please?” Pietro questioned, his voice sounding almost like a plea.

“Okay, but I’m not promising anything.“ I clarified.

“As long as you’re trying, it’s good enough for me.” Pietro said before kissing my forehead and hugging me.