#Tips for Cleaning Leather Properly

[solbaby7]

Feel Me

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: swearing, sexual descriptions, tensionnnn, cocky!az , minors DNI

summary: Fae males don’t make love like the sweet boys you knew in the human lands. Fae’s fuck.

based of the request in [ part 1 ]

—

No one else was supposed to be home.

Rhys and Feyre had left long before the morning dew could mist over the lawn. Cassian and Nesta had slipped out hours ago with their leathers on and hair neatly braided after a steaming cup of coffee.

Buttered pancakes steam on a plate, bacon sizzles on the stove and your hips sway in tandem with whatever bouncy song your humming. Strawberry stumps grow in a pile to your left, knife slicing at ripe fruit contentedly until a sneaky wisp of darkness snatches a piece for its master. “You planning on sharing?”

“Depends on how nicely you ask.”

Azriel doesn’t bite, he only raises a brow with a smirk growing at the corner of full lips. “Was it polite words that initiated Elain’s legs straddling your waist the other night?” Shock shoves the ability to form a sentence out the window and you despise the way your eyes linger on the mess of dark hair atop his head—thoughts wandering to less than respectable places when picturing other ways to muss up soft strands. “Bacon’s burning.”

A frustrated scoff pulls from your throat, a blush fanning across your cheeks and gratefulness floods your chest when you actually have something to busy your hands with to avoid Azriel’s honeyed stare. “Not that it’s any of your business,” You hiss, avoiding spattering oil while forking meat from the pan. “But, I was just helping out a friend.”

“Helping?” His morning voice was sinful; a low rasp coupled with lazy lids and a t-shirt that fit entirely too well.

“I offered sound advice.” The house cleans while you plate, stealing berry stumps as a warm rag is ran over the countertops. Hot water is poured in a mug, a tea bag string twirled around the handle. Azriel’s already next to you, twisting open the honey jar and passing it over before you can reach for it. “I demonstrated to ensure a thorough understanding—nothing more.”

“And what exactly were you demonstrating?”

“Like I said, it’s none of your business.” Syrup drowned pancakes are shoved into your mouth, favoring the possibility of choking on fluffy goodness over engaging in this conversation for a second longer.

Azriel doesn’t feel the same way, blocking off your hasty exit with his body. Was he always this tall? Giant wings hover behind him and they rustle softly when you reach out a hand to gently push him away. It was a mistake on your part—initiating physical contact because now all you could focus on was the warmth that ebbed through the soft cotton of his shirt and the hard muscles hiding beneath it. “Make it my business.”

You don’t pull away, too entranced with the smell of him. The feel of his body against your fingertips. The barely there distance that toed the line of entirely too close. “I don’t understand why you’d even care.” You mutter, snatching your hand away when you catch yourself subconsciously rubbing at the dark fabric. “I was—“ Words stammer, breath catching over the intensity of his stare and you have to will your voice to steady itself. “I was teaching her how to properly be intimate with a male.”

“I didn’t realize there was a proper way.”

“You know what I mean,” You ramble, obviously flustered when swatting away the inky fog that attempts to swipe crispy bacon from your plate. “She asked for advice and I gave a few tips to make her feel more confident—more comfortable. I was being friendly.” The pancakes have started to go cold around the edges but you can’t find it in yourself to care when Azriel keeps stalking closer, arms boxing you into the counter with ease.

“Hm,” His face is unreadable, void of any emotion but your certain his eyes go just a touch darker when you lean back, your shirt rising; broadcasting a sliver of your stomach and the pale blue panties peeking out of your sleep shorts. “And if I wanted some friendly advice—would you help me with that too?”

Breakfast is long forgotten, your eyes following the plate being pushed away by hands much bigger than your own. A shaky laugh emits, strands of your hair tickle at your cheeks and you’re painfully aware of your attire—or lack thereof judging by hardened peaks poking through delicate silk. “Az, you’re no blushing virgin. What could I possibly help you with?”

Cool shadows trace over bare legs, teasing up your calves and curling around your knees. “I can think of a few things.”

A predatory darkness coats every word, lids narrowing challengingly at you from above. There’s nowhere to run and truthfully you didn’t want to; falling into the trap of his insinuations until the smell of your arousal was becoming anything but subtle. But, then again, who fucking cared when this was exactly what you’d been craving for as long as you could remember. Filthy little fantasies about the Illyrian soldier had plagued your mind for decades. You were reduced to haughty looks and bitten lips while he sparred shirtless with Cassian, sweat gleaming against his chest and the sharp ring of swords colliding. Dirty desires that flared when you’d bump into Az late at night, his hair messy and eyes hazy—that lazy smile and those pet names that he’d let slip when he was too tired to overthink them.

Could it have been possible that Elain had been right?

That you just needed to look to find what you were yearning for.

You pray you don’t appear as desperate as you feel when your eyes scan his own; sifting through the shades of warm caramel and burnt sephia as if they’d shift into mystical beings with endless answers to your list of questions. “Such as?”

“Maybe,” The syllables are drawn out with a sing-songy lilt that has your legs shifting. “—we can start with why you thought she’d be using your tricks and charms on me?” You blame the breeze sifting through the curtains on the shiver that rakes up your spine.

The counter is cold when you lift yourself onto it, palms flat and back curving against the window pane. You shrug, breaking the eye contact and turning your head to face the flying creatures fluttering their feathery wings in the bird bath. “I hadn’t considered it’d be anyone else. You and Elain spend lots of time together and she’s obviously beautiful in that delicate, sweetheart in need of saving sort of way.”

“Careful, you almost sound jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” Well, not anymore. But, he didn’t need to know that you’d ever wasted a second of sleep on him. “It was just an observation.”

“A poor one.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m not going after your job.” Your arms cross over your chest, knees childishly nudging at the top of his thighs to push him away but he remains steady like a brick wall. Irritation pushes the fluttery twist of yearning out of the way the longer Azriel peers down at you with that look in his eye—that stupidly handsome smirk plastered on his annoyingly kissable lips. “Any other questions you’d like to interrogate me with?”

The vitriol in your tone only furthers the grin on his face, eating up the fluctuating emotions he pulls from you like a full course meal. “Just one more.” A breeze shifts through the open window, cutting through the strands of your hair and the smell of your conditioner permeates the space between you. “How much longer must I wait for you to pursue me before I have to take you for myself?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all you’d like but not for your pardon.” It’s said so swiftly your brain barely registers the suggestive nature of it before he’s talking again. Sweeping you up in the whirlwind that was Azriel and all you could do was hold on tight for the ride. He obtains a boldness you could only dream of, hips jutting forward between your legs to keep you from slipping away; closing the distance until his wants and desires are anything but unclear when pressed so firmly against you. “How much longer?

You swallow, the movement tracked by a hunters stare as you scramble to pull together a coherent sentence. “I suppose that depends.”

“On what?”

“On if you have any almost lovers that you’re still pining after?” Shadows glide over the countertop, sneaking behind you and urging you forward. Silky sleep shorts shuffle upwards with the motion and Azriel’s wastes no time in his exploration. Warm hands rake up the length of your legs leisurely, tracing over barely there scars and memorizing moles many overlooked. “Or do you only want me because you’ve never had me?”

Tension hold thick in the air, heavy mugginess that coats your skin with an uncomfortable warmth as you and Az sized each other up—waiting to see who’d break first.

The odds didn’t seem to be swaying in your favor.

“Never had you?” Azriel repeats as if you’ve told a joke, confidence roaring in his veins from the reactions your body offers him. Goosebumps follow the tantalizing trail of his fingers up your legs, thighs subconsciously shifting wider, granting access for more of his body to touch against your own. “Every time I close my eyes, I have you.” He has to know the effect this has on you. That must be why he insists on stealing your backbone and converting it into a makeshift leash until you’re completely pliant in his grasp. “Not exactly conventional. Nowhere near comparable the real thing, I’m sure.” A wicked gleam twinkles in his eyes, his hard chest the perfect contrast against the softness of your own. “But, it’s certainly served to be good practice.”

“Azriel—“

“How much longer should I wait?”

The barely restrained need he emits makes your stomach clench. Forces your eyes to dart from his own to his mouth; lingering, lusting.

Fuck, not much longer at all. It felt like the clock was ticking and with each second that passed, your fate grew nearer and nearer.

Instinct speeds up the process, nudging you closer until the tip of your nose brushes against his own. It’s cautious—exploratory. Testing what was allowed and what wasn’t but Azriel’s patience only stretches so far and waiting for this—for you—is an impossible task.

His mouth covers yours in a claiming clash of eager lips and hands desperate to learn the shape of you.

You’re no better, nails raking through inky strands and scouring the strong slope of his shoulders like a woman starved. A relieved sigh tickles at his skin when he kisses over your cheeks, down your neck; until that spot just below your ear forces out low whines. “Az,” Your chest heaves, lungs struggling for a full breath. “Someone will see us.”

Azriel groans, lips searching for the spots that shut you up. The spots that had your spine curving and leg hooking over his waist. You lean back, anticipating the cool chill of the wall but all you meet is soft sheets and fluffy pillows as inky shadows disperse around the room. “Better?”

“Almost.” Eager fingers grip at the offending fabric hiding golden-brown skin beneath, attempting to yank it free. “Take this off.”

“You’re not this demanding in my dreams.”

“And in mine, your mouth isn’t really used for talking.”

Azriel’s efficient in adjusting to your suggestions, tearing apart soft silk as if it were nothing more than a piece of parchment in his quest of baring more of you to him. Hips buck up and nails dig into the hard-earned muscles of his back while his mouth sucked marks across your chest. Warm hands dip under the waistband of your shorts, back curving softly in anticipation as preening little moans cut through the darkness of Azriel’s bedchambers.

When he finally touches where you need him most, teeth sink harshly into the fat of your bottom lip; the feeling of his fingers dragging slow circles over the thin cotton of your underwear becoming the perfect torture. It feels too good to ponder on about the arousal soaking through your delicates or the desperate pleas for more that tumbles from your lips like sinful prayers.

Any remaining clothing falls carelessly to the floor, the hard length of him resting at the crux of your thighs. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t I feel sure?” Your brows are a little pinched when you stare up at him, a hand wedging between your bodies to guide the swollen head of his cock to your entrance.

“You feel like mine,” Az confesses hoarsely. Inch by deliciously devastating inch is pushed to the brim, hazel eyes transfixed on the snug wrap of your pussy and the warmth that follows. “Like you were fucking made to take my cock.”

He was better than you’d ever pictured, stealing your very breath away with each dragged out stroke. “Az,” His gaze is heavy, sliding up to meet your own with dark promise casting shadows against god-like features. “Please, just move.”

“Here I was trying to get you properly adjusted,” A biting grip begins at your waist, fingers digging precious prints into your hips as Azriel positions you as he pleases. Bare thighs are braced in the crease of his arms, a cocky smirk ghosting his face. “But you just wanna be fucked.” Eyes roll behind fluttering lids when the pace picks up, the position forcing you to take every inch until all you can offer is choked moans and garbled praises.

Claiming marks are placed wherever Azriel’s mouth can reach, muffled groans and deep grunts of pleasure vibrating against your skin as he carves out a space specifically made for him. You don’t last long, lips searching for his own as you clench around the length of him; toes curling and manicured nails biting at the base of his wings.

“There you go,” He croons, gently tucking stray hairs away from your face—a complete juxtaposition from the relentless way his cock fucks into you. “Taking me so well.”

Bleary eyed and boneless you are in his grasp; allowing him to act on every secret fantasy and salacious desire he'd harbored longer than he could remember until you feel the vicious twitch inside you, his hips stuttering and seed spilling.

The room reeks of sex, sheets sodden and clothes too ruined to walk out of there wearing them without looking like you belonged in a pleasure hall.

Not that it would matter—Azriel won't let you go now; hooked like an addict to their drug of choice. "You were wrong, you know." Your brow raises in silent question. "Now that I've had you, I can't see myself ever wanting anything else."

[hello-sweetheart]

Heavy Metal References- metalhead!Eddie Details for Your Headcanons (and fanfic)-

To start off: It’s kinda hilarious how we’re guilty of sometimes switching Eddie’s white sneakers for boots cuz we want to give him an edgier look (and yes black leather boots are also metalhead fashion) but also:

White high-tops were metal in the 80s, they’re literally iconic and indicative of thrasher metal bands, and still are. Seen in bands like: Metallica and Megadeth. It’s kinda theorized that this fashion came up to differentiate themselves from hair/ glam metal that were going mainstream, but Dave Mustaine (Metallica Guitarist and Megadeth frontman) said that white Nike high-tops were given to some of the bands as a way to advertise them by their record label.

Bullet belts, battle jackets, spikes and studs were influenced by established Punk fashion and then incorporated into the metal scene thanks to bands like Judas Priest and Motörhead.

I’ve read in some fics where wearing band merch of the band you’re seeing is a Big No, but from what I can find this isn’t really a thing in the metal genre, past or present. It seems more like a rule that has emerged in more recent years, specifically in the punk scene, but I can’t find much about it.

Ozzy Osbourne biting the head of a dead bat that was thrown on stage is tale of legends and references by Eddie as we know, but here are some other significant moments in metal history:

Ozzy Osbourne pursued a solo career after he was fired from Black Sabbath in 1979 (Eddie would’ve been ~13) because of his erratic behavior and drug abuse, he’s replaced by Ronnie James Dio

W.A.S.P debut their first album in 1984 with the song “Animal (F**k Like A Beast)” being released as a single to avoid having their albums banned from chain record stores. They were a main target for the Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC) for their obscenity but W.A.S.P pretty much road high on the publicity, they are that shit up despite all the death threats they received.

Parental Advisory Explicit Content label was introduced in 1985 (around when Stranger Things S3 takes place), and it hilariously had the opposite effect of deterring the sales of explicitly labeled music.

Cliff Burton, the bassist for Metallica, died on tour in March 1986 when the bus skidded then rolled on the road; Burton was thrown from the window and crushed. “To Live Is to Die” is song dedicated to him composed with his unused riffs.

Other Metal facts:

Black Sabbath’s guitarist Tony Lommi lost the tips of his fretting fingers (on his right hand) in a sheet metal factory accident, he was inspired by jazz guitarist Dango Reinhardt who played with only two fingers on the fretboard due to burn injuries. Lommi made prosthetic tips and tuned down his guitar so he could keep playing. This gave Black Sabbath its unique sound.

Ronnie James Dio is accredited with popularizing the infamous devil horns sign🤘 in interviews he said his grandmother used to use that sign to ward off evil. Speaking of,

While he isn’t Power Metal (a genre that heavily incorporates themes of fantasy with clean and fast guitar that emerged around the mid-80s), Dio is basically the father of it as he had such a big influence over this genre along with bands like Judas Priest and Iron Maiden

Side Bar: I think if he was given the chance to properly establish his own sound, Eddie would’ve been the frontman of a sick ass Power Metal band beloved by DnD nerds.

Patches on Eddie’s Battle Jacket:

Motörhead, Megadeth, Iron Maiden, Dio, Mercyful Fate, Judas Priest

[redroomreflections]

Her Best Secret Final Chapter

1950s Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Natasha and R are having an affair.

Note: I wrote this after watching Mother's Instinct with Anne Hathway and Jessica Chastain. I needed to make it gay. I don't know what this truly is, but it's here.

Note: Me and my cliche endings. It's my own personal trope at this point.

w/c: 7k

Natasha could tell a lot about a person by the shoes they wore.

Scuffed boots meant hard work and long days spent on their feet. They were usually worn by men who were sleazy enough to give her looks but too tired to be bothered. Shined leather meant money and status—someone who never had to kneel or scrub. Those types showered her with presents and toys to keep her out of the house.

Women’s shoes were different. More challenging for her to understand. Her mother’s shoes had always been worn thin, heels clicking against wooden floors as she danced with the newest addition to their lives. Neena Romanoff was not rich by any means. She knew how to work her charm. Natasha memorized how her mother moved, how she laughed at men’s jokes, and how she never let anyone get too close.

They never stayed in one place for long. A new town, a new apartment, a new man. Natasha learned to pack light to keep her expectations low. She had never met her father—never even heard his name. When she was younger, she made up stories about him, piecing together fantasies of a man who might’ve loved her mother enough to stick around. But as she got older, she stopped wondering. Neena never seemed to care, and Natasha convinced herself she didn’t either.

If anything, it taught her what to expect from people. Love, in her world, was something fleeting—conditional. People came and went, and even the ones who claimed to stay had limits.

Now, standing on the carpet of the inn, barefoot, heels abandoned by the door, Natasha wondered what her shoes said about her.

Could people look and see the times she’d cheated? Could they tell by glancing that these were the only pair she had brought when her husband kicked her out?

The leather was creased, and the soles were slightly worn. She didn't wear them often—only on nights when her feet felt like they might give out, and she needed the added support. They were her second skin—one she could take off at the end of the day.

Natasha had always preferred to walk barefoot.

She sat on the bed, feeling the springs bounce and shift beneath her. The sheets smelled clean, fresh out of the wash. She could see by now that the housekeeper was growing suspicious about her time here at the inn. It had been nearly a month, and she still hadn’t found the courage to go home. It wasn't for lack of trying. She'd called home more times than she could count.

The phone rang and rang and rang, but nobody answered.

Natasha thought maybe, after a few weeks, Steve would get tired of waiting and come to find her. But he hadn't. Not yet. He must've been more furious than she realized, which was to be expected. She wasn’t naive. She didn’t think he would forgive her and he had a right not to. 

A knock sounded on the door, and Natasha froze.

She hadn't ordered anything from the front desk or even called the kitchen.

She stood on the tip of her toes, peeking out the peephole, gasping at the occupant on the other side. She quickly unlocked the door, tearing it open and gently pulling you inside.

"You shouldn't be here," She whispered, but she didn’t let go of your wrist.

Neither of you moved for a moment. Too overwhelmed and apprehensive about how to properly greet each other.

"I had to see you," You admitted.

Natasha swallowed. She didn't know what she expected—to be relieved, to feel something solid beneath her feet again. But she only felt that same gnawing uncertainty, the same ache in her chest that hadn't left since Steve found out.

"You look tired," You murmured, scanning her face.

She huffed a humorless laugh. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"I figured," You said softly. You hesitated, then reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of her jaw. "Natasha..."

She shook her head, stepping back. "Don't. Please."

You let your hand drop.

"Why did you come?" She asked.

"To bring food," You lifted the Tupperware to show her the contents. "It's a casserole. I'm unsure if you like those, but they seem the easiest to make. And I didn't want to make anything too complex, but I figured you haven't had anything home-cooked in a while and-"

"Thank you," She nodded. "You can set it down here." She gestured. You stepped further into the room, glancing around as you set the Tupperware on the small table by the window. The place was tidy enough, but it was almost disorganized for Natasha. The sheets, though clean, were half-pulled from the mattress, the desk was cluttered with cigarette cartons and half-empty glasses of water, and a few articles of clothing were draped carelessly over the chair. It wasn’t what you expected.

Natasha had always been meticulous, with everything in its place and never a wrinkle out of line. But in this dimly lit room, it looked like she had unraveled.

You didn’t say anything about it.

Instead, you cleared your throat, smoothing your hands down the front of your dress. “Is this a bad time?” You asked, hesitating. “You don’t seem like you want to see me.”

"I do, " She said softly. "I just haven't heard from you in a week."

"I was sick," You explained. "I came down with a case of stomach flu."

Natasha raised her eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Really," You affirmed.

She glanced away, chewing on the inside of her cheek. You weren't sure if she believed you. It was better not to ask.

"How are you doing?" You tried, stepping closer to her.

She shrugged.

"You've been drinking a lot."

"Not more than my body weight," She attempted to make a joke.

"Natasha."

"What? I'm fine. I can stop whenever."

"Nat-"

"Stop it," She snapped. "Just stop. I'm fine."

You swallowed thickly, taking a step back. "Okay. Fine. You're fine."

"I am."

"Then why are you still here?"

"It's not like I have anywhere else to go," She shrugged. "No family. My friends are his friends. I'd imagine he's told the entire neighborhood."

"He hasn't," You shake your head. "Neither has Sam. He's ignoring me. Which is better than the alternative, I'd say. We've fallen into a sort of weird co-parenting situation." You wanted to explain more but didn't know how she would take it. She hadn't made much eye contact with you since you stepped foot inside of the room.

The silence between you was heavy. You shifted on your feet, fingers curling at your sides, wanting, aching, to close the space between you. You wanted to hold her, touch her, kiss her—anything to take away the pain. But you weren't sure if that would help or hurt the situation.

Natasha seemed to think so, too.

She sighed. "Why did you come, Y/n?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"And why did you want that?"

You exhaled slowly. “Natasha—”

“Don’t,” she cut in. “I know what you’ll say, and I don’t need to hear it.”

You hesitated, heart hammering in your chest. “And what do you think I’m going to say?”

“That it’ll all be fine. That things will work out. That you’re not angry.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “You should be angry. I ruined your life.”

You took a step closer, and she stiffened. She was shutting down, retreating behind her iron will, the same one that had made her so untouchable all these years.

“My life isn’t ruined,” You said softly.

Natasha laughed humorlessly, but no real fight was left in it. Just exhaustion. "You should hate me."

"I don't."

"Why?"

"Because I know how it feels to be so in love you forget what's right and wrong," You dared to lift her chin for her to look at you. "I'm not angry with you. I'm unhappy with the circumstances, but don't blame you."

"You should," Natasha repeated.

"But I don't," You shook your head. "I couldn't."

"I was reckless, and I shouldn't have kept a journal,"

"Have you been doing this all this time? Beating yourself up about all of this?" You questioned, cutting her off.

"Y/n," She warned, but she didn't back away.

"It's not your fault, Natasha."

"He hates me," She choked out, eyes brimming with tears.

You shook your head. “He’s hurt. But he doesn’t hate you.”

Natasha let out a shaky breath, her gaze darting away. “He should.”

“But he doesn’t.” You softened your voice, thumb brushing lightly over her chin before you let your hand drop. “And neither do I.”

She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly like she could will the tears away. “I don’t know how to fix this,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

You exhaled slowly. “Maybe it’s not about fixing it. I don't think this is something we can apologize for and fix. It's-" You shook your head. "We chose to be together in whatever way we could. We acted on lust at first, and then, well, we fell in love. This isn't a mistake, Nat. You can't apologize for love."

"I can try," she whispered, looking up at you.

"Why?"

"Because I broke apart a family."

"I'm not one hundred percent sure we were well put together to begin with," You bit your lip. "Also, you weren't the only one doing the work."

Natasha shook her head, eyes fluttering closed.

"Hey, none of that. Don't beat yourself up. Please." You begged.

"I have to go back eventually," she mumbled. "And he won't forgive me. I won't ask him to."

"Do you want him to?"

"I want him to understand why I did it. Why we did it."

"Nat, this was between us. No matter what he thinks, we're the only ones who could ever know the true nature of what was happening. If you tell him, great. If you don't, that's fine too. But the one thing we both have to remember is that Steve doesn't own you. Sam doesn't own me."

"So," Natasha sat back on the bed. "You're a whole new person now. With this confidence..."

"I'm not a new person," You chuckled. "I'm still the same me. But I've had a long time to think, and I've made peace with myself. And I hope you can do the same."

"I'll try."

"Can I have a hug?"

"A hug?" She smirked, standing up.

"Yeah. A hug." You smiled.

Natasha took a few steps towards you, her arms wrapping around your waist. You held her tight, closing your eyes, relishing in her touch, the warmth of her body against yours. It was like coming home after a long trip away.

"Are you going to be okay?" You whispered.

"Eventually," she nodded.

"I've missed you so much," You confessed quietly into the collar of her shirt.

"I missed you, too."

"I want to be there for you," You leaned back. "However, I can be your friend and partner. I want to support you, even if it's just a shoulder to cry on. But I need to know that's what you want."

"It is," She assured.

"Do you need more time before I see you again?" You tilted your head.

"No, no," She shook her head. "Please. Stay."

You smiled. "Then, I'll stay. However long you want me here."

Natasha kissed you, her hands cupping your cheeks, lips brushing lightly over yours. You melted into the touch, kissing her back.

When you pulled apart, she rested her forehead against yours, her eyes closed.

"How's Claire-Bear?" She asked.

"Claire is good," You nodded. " Sam and I are in this sort of silent agreement. I think he doesn't know what to do with me, so we work around each other. She's been asking about you. Says she likes the way you do braids better than me."

"Well, she has the most beautiful hair I've ever seen. She's a lucky girl."

"I agree," You smiled.

"Y/n," She paused.

"Yes, Natasha?"

"I...I know this is hard. But I want you. I want you in my life, and I know it's selfish, but I want you, even if Steve hates me for the rest of our lives."

"I want that too," You agreed. "I don't care what the world thinks of me. I know the truth."

"You're not scared?"

"No," You hesitated. "Yes."

Natasha kissed you again; this time, it was tender, as if she were afraid to hurt you. Her lips pressed against yours, soft and warm, making your heart pound and your head spin. You didn't know how long you had been without her touch. How long had you gone without feeling her skin under your fingertips?

But here, in her arms, the world was right again.

"Are you okay?" You asked, leaning back. “Truly?”

"I'm okay," She smiled.

"I can sit with you a little longer," You suggested. "Maybe help you tidy up a little?"

"You don't have to,"

"But I want to," You insisted.

Natasha kissed you, smiling softly as her lips brushed against yours. She was still smiling when she pulled away.

"Okay," she agreed. "But only because you asked so nicely."

*****

There were moments when Natasha wished she could turn back time and redo it all. When her guilt ate her alive, she could think of nothing else but how horrible she felt. When the days seemed longer and the nights were darker, she could only think about how alone she was.  She looked up at the home she'd built with Steve and felt nervous. She was not an anxious person. She was someone who was always in charge of her emotions. Always knowing what was going on and able to deal with the situation accordingly. But right now, she was lost, unsure.

It was hard.

To face the person who thought he knew her. The man who loved her.

It was difficult.

She had to live a lie, to pretend she wasn't hurting, and to smile and pretend everything was okay. She wasn't a martyr. She was the cheater. She stomped on their vows. She broke Steve's heart, so she avoided this for so long. Coming home after being away felt different. She was a stranger in her own home.

She let herself into the house. Hanging onto the key rack, she’d painted herself. The radio played softly in the background, and she could smell something cooking in the oven. She hadn't expected anyone to be home since the car wasn't out front.

He looked up, hearing the sound of her heels. His eyes widened when he saw her.

"I'm sorry," Natasha began. "I ran out of clothes and didn't expect you to be here. I can come back."

"No, it's fine," Steve shook his head. He turned back to the oven, leaving her standing there and wondering. 

"Are you cooking?" Natasha dared to ask.

"Yes," He nodded. "Well, I am trying to, at least. It's a recipe from my mom's recipe book."

"It smells good," She commented.

"Thank you,"

They stood there for a moment, both of them staring at each other. Neither seemed to know what to say or do next.

Finally, Natasha cleared her throat.

"I'll just go and grab my clothes," She hitched a thumb over her shoulder.

"Okay," Steve nodded, turning back towards the stove.

Natasha walked quickly down the hallway, not wanting to prolong the awkwardness further. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her stomach twisted. She wanted to throw up, but she pushed the urge away, swallowing down her nerves and anxiety.

She reached the top of the stairs and turned towards their bedroom. It was the same as she left it. Not that she expected there to be much of a difference. It had only been a month.

Natasha walked over to her side of the bed, grabbing her suitcase. She packed some of her favorite pieces and another pair of shoes.

"Natasha,"

Steve's voice was gentle, almost hesitant. She didn't respond; she just continued packing.

"How are you?"

"Fine," Natasha shrugged, her gaze focused on the clothes.

"The inn's getting expensive," He tried again.

"I know," She nodded.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do?"

Natasha paused. She glanced up at him but couldn't look him in the eye.

"No," she answered honestly.

"We should talk," Steve said. "About us."

''Is there still an us?"

"Of course," He replied.

Natasha swallowed thickly. "I can't go back to how things were."

"I know," Steve shrugged. "I don't want to either."

"You didn't do anything wrong," She started. "You were perfect. You are perfect."

"I'm just not her," He finished.

Natasha sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping forward. "Yeah."

"When did you know you were a lesbian?" His brows furrowed as if it were painful to say.

Natasha hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. "I'm not sure."

"Did you have a crush on your best friend in middle school? The way you would talk about her always seemed a little odd."

"I did," Natasha said. "Hilly Thompson was a girl in my class. She was smart and funny and pretty. But I didn't realize I was in love with her until we got older. After she moved away."

"Did you ever kiss her?"

"No," She admitted, blushing. "Y/n was my first time being with a woman."

"How many times have you slept with her?"

"Steve, that's-"

"How many times?"

"Eight or ten? It could be more. I haven’t exactly counted. It was only a couple of months."

"That's all?"

"It's not like we had time."

"Was it the sex that made you cheat? I could do more. We could try new things," He suggested. "I know I wasn't as experienced when we got married."

"Neither was I, Steve," Natasha sighed.

"What if I learned," He swallowed. "Would that be enough for you?"

"What are you saying?"

"That I can't lose you," He admitted. "That I don't want to lose you."

"I don't think changing how we have sex would make me feel any different," She swallowed.

"We never had children," Steve looked down at his feet.

"We tried," Natasha pointed out. "It wasn't something we could control. It just didn't happen for us."

"You didn't want a baby, did you?"

"Not especially," Natasha sighed. "But I wouldn't have minded."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you did." Natasha shrugged. "I wanted to be a mother. Then I didn't. When we found out I had trouble conceiving, I just threw the idea away."

"What else aren't you telling me?"

"There isn't anything,"

"Don't lie."

"I'm not. I'm not lying," She shook her head.

Steve sat on the bed, his hands folded in his lap. "Then why did you come back here at this time? You know my schedule like the back of your hand. You knew I’d be home.”

"I didn't know what else to do," She admitted. "I missed you. I came to get my clothes, but part of me hoped to see you."

"Have you seen her?"

"Don't make me answer that," Natasha swallowed.

"So, you have," He nodded, a bitter tone seeping through his words.

"Yes," Natasha exhaled. "We've talked."

"You have an affair with a married woman, and you still choose her over me," He chuckled.

"Steve-"

"No, no. I understand. You two have history. I'm just the one who had to find out the hard way."

"It's not like that. If I could, I would go back and change it all," Natasha insisted. "Please believe me."

"What happened? Did you realize she was the love of your life?" He scoffed.

"Yes," Natasha said without thinking.

"You're serious?" Steve gaped.

"You wanted the truth," She sighed.

"She's not leaving Sam," Steve stated. "I've seen them together recently."

"I don't care," Natasha shook her head.

"But she's still married, and she's the mother of a young child."

"And I'm still married," Natasha countered.

"So you remember?"

"I'm not divorcing you," She stated.

"Then what's the point of this?"

"To give us both time to figure things out," Natasha explained. "You can't expect me to jump straight into a decision. We both have some healing to do."

"But if she leaves Sam-"

"She's not leaving Sam. He's her husband, and Claire needs both her parents."

"If she leaves him, will you run to her?"

"I don't know."

"I want a divorce, Natasha," He said suddenly.

"Okay," She nodded. "I'll get a lawyer."

"And I'm staying with Bucky until I find a place." He nodded. "You can keep the house."

"Whatever makes you happy."

"I'll have all my things out by the end of the week." He decided. "The car is at an auto shop."

"That thing crap out on you again?"

"It did," Steve nodded. "Buck's got a spare bed for me. I'll stay there."

"Okay,"

"Nat," He started.

"I'll leave," She grabbed her bag.

"I'm sorry,"

"For what?"

"For not being the right man for you."

"You were the right man, Steve."

"But I'm not her."

"No," Natasha swallowed thickly. "You're not."

"She makes you happy?"

"She does," Natasha nodded.

"Does she make you feel alive?"

"Yes."

"Like the sun's coming up inside you,"

"Yeah,"

"Then, I can't compete with that," Steve said. "I wouldn't want to."

"So this is it for us? Our marriage is just over?"

"I guess so," He tucked his hands into his pocket. "I've been thinking about joining the army again." He admitted. He didn't know why he told her. Maybe because he felt he had nothing to lose.

"Really?" Natasha raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah," He nodded. "My therapist thinks it could be good for me."

"You're seeing a shrink?"

"It helps," He shrugged.

"What do you need from me?"

"I need you to sign the papers," Steve answered.

"You have them drawn up already?"

"No, but I will."

Natasha studied him for a long moment. There was something deeply unsettling about seeing Steve like this—so resigned, so… defeated. He had fought for so much in his life, their marriage, and the future he thought they would have together. And now, he was letting go.

But what else could he do? She had given him no choice.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she admitted quietly.

“I know,” he said. “But it did.”

Steve had always been good, always steady. If anyone could have given her a safe life, it was him. She had tried to love him how he deserved—to be the kind of woman who would never stray or feel the pull of something beyond her quiet, respectable life. But trying had never been enough.

She thought of you, of the way you looked at her like she was something precious, something worth breaking all the rules for. She thought of how her chest felt lighter when you were near and how your touch made her feel like she was stepping into the sun after years of cold.

Steve must have seen the answer on her face before she could even say it because he exhaled deeply and nodded. “That’s all I needed to know.”

He wasn’t bitter. He wasn’t cruel. It would almost be easier if he were.

“Steve…”

“I’ll have the papers ready in a few days,” he said. “Take care of yourself, Natasha.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Natasha in the middle of the room, her bag hanging loosely in her grip.

******

Through all of the commotion, Claire had been the highlight of your life. Her constant, steady presence gave you a reason to believe you were still a good person. Her tantrums gave you something else to focus on, her giggles reminded you there was still joy in the world, and when she tucked her little hand into yours without a second thought, everything felt less impossible.

She sat cross-legged in the grass, plucking petals from a daisy, humming some half-remembered tune. You stretched out beside her, letting the sun warm your face as you glanced toward the porch where Sam leaned against the railing, watching the two of you with the look he always got when he was about to ask something you were not ready to answer.

"Mama," Claire said, drawing your attention back to her. "Are you sad?"

"No, love," You frowned. "What makes you think that?"

"Because you didn't smile at my joke," She shrugged. "And daddy didn't give you a kiss for morning wake-up."

"Your dad was busy this morning," You told her. "And I was tired."

You hadn't realized how important something like a morning kiss was for her.

Claire considered that for a moment, her little fingers twirling the daisy’s stem. She doesn’t look entirely convinced.

"Do you want me to tell you another joke?"

"Yes, please." You smiled, and she beamed up at you, her eyes bright.

"Okay, okay. What did the grape say when he got squeezed?"

"What did the grape say?"

"Nothing, he just let out a little wine!" Claire burst into giggles, dropping the ruined flower in her lap.

"Who taught you that joke?" You questioned with a smirk. You weren't even sure she understood what she was saying.

"Daddy did," She said. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," You replied.

"Good." She smiled. "Mama?"

"Yes, honey."

"Will you be happy now?"

"I am happy," You promised. "I'm always happy with you."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Claire seemed satisfied with your answer, and she leaned back onto the grass, her hair fanned out around her head, eyes closed.

"Daddy, you should come over here and feel the sun with us," Claire called to Sam. You looked over to him. Family things like this made him uncomfortable now. He had been actively avoiding you except for when it came to Claire. You didn't understand how long the two of you could keep this act up.

"Sam," You sighed.

"Y/n," He began.

"I'll go," You sat up, brushing your hands off. "Spend some time with her."

"It's fine." He shook his head. "She wants both of us."

"Are you sure?" You asked.

"It's fine," Sam repeated. He walked over to the pair of you, crouching to Claire's level. She rolled onto her stomach, a smile on her lips.

"Hey, baby," He greeted. "How's the sun feeling?"

"Good," She said. "Warm and soft."

"Good," He nodded.

"Do you feel it, too?"

"Yeah," He said.

"And Mama," She pointed to you.

"I do feel it, baby," You nodded.

"Hey, why is there so much grass in our yard and not in Mr. McCready's yard?" She asked with wide eyes.

"Hmm, I don't know, pumpkin," Sam shrugged. "We take care of our yard a little better.”

"Because Mr. McCready is not nice," Claire stated.

"Right," Sam chuckled. "And you have to be nice to your plants and flowers, right?"

"Yes," Claire nodded.

"And why is that, sweetie?" You prompted.

"Because the world is beautiful, and we have to take care of it," Claire recited, and Sam shot you a grin. It was the first time he'd smiled at you in a while. Claire pushed herself up, brushing grass off her dress before taking off across the yard. She giggled in a way that indicated it would be nap time soon. It was the sort of subtle loopiness that only children could manage. You smiled after her, but a wave of dizziness washed over you when you moved to stand. You pressed a hand to your temple, blinking hard as the world tilted slightly.

"Whoa, easy," Sam said, stepping forward to steady you with a firm grip on your elbow. "You okay?"

"Yeah," You exhaled. "Just stood up too fast."

Sam watched you for a second longer before letting go. You took a slow breath, shaking off the feeling.

"She’s somethin’ else, huh?" Sam nodded toward Claire, now twirling in circles near the oak tree.

“She is,” You agreed, softening.

Sam shifted, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

"You went to see her," he said casually.

Your stomach clenched. "Sam—"

"I'm not mad," he interrupted. "Well, actually, I'm pissed, but I'm just sayin'—I know."

"I wanted to make sure she was okay," You explained. "She's alone."

"You're her best friend, I get it," He nodded.

"She is,"

"You know when we got married, I thought it was the best day of my life," He folded his arms over his chest. "I told my sister that as long as I had you, she never had to worry about me or us."

"I never thought you'd have to worry about me." You admitted.

"But then I found out about the affair." He said more to himself. "I found that this happy life that I thought was happy wasn't."

"I'm sorry."

"You've been sorry," He pointed out. "It hasn't fixed anything."

"What do you want me to say, Sam? What can I do to make it better?"

"Nothing," He shook his head. "You can't."

"We're leaving each other in limbo," You sighed. "Claire's picking up on it. I don't think you realize that."

"So, what?" He scoffed. "You're telling me I should divorce you?"

"I'm saying, I think it would be better for us."

"You mean for you," He narrowed his eyes.

"No," You denied. "This isn't what I want, and you know it."

"You can't have both of us," He said. "You can't have a husband and then have an affair. It's not how this works."

"I know that," You said, your jaw tightening. "And I don't want that. I never wanted to hurt you, Sam. I never wanted any of this."

"Then what did you want?"

"I wanted someone to love me," You whispered. "I wanted her to love me."

"Oh, so my love wasn't enough?"

"No, yes, Sam," You squeezed your eyes shut. Why were feelings always so complicated? "I told you how she makes me feel. Claire, honey, not too close to the street!" You called after your daughter.

"Why her?" He asked. "Why not someone single?" 

Why not a man? It was a question left unsaid but settled loud between the two of you. 

"Because I fell in love with her," You answered.

"And how am I supposed to trust that now?"

"You're not," You sighed.

"So what now?"

"I don't know."

Sam exhaled, his shoulders falling forward. He seemed tired, his usual optimism gone.

"What if I wanted to leave you?"

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know. It's a big decision," Sam said.

"Yeah,"

"But maybe we should think about it," He swallowed. "I didn't come from a broken home."

"I know,"

"And Claire—"

"We would figure it out," You reassured. "You're my best friend, Sam."

"You were mine too," He said, his expression painful.

"Were?"

"Am," He sighed. "You're still my best friend. No matter what. Even if I'm not yours anymore."

"Sam,"

"Don't." He shook his head. "Please."

"We don't have to figure it all out right now," You said.

"We need to figure out something."

"Yes," You nodded.

"And you want to be with her?"

"Yes," You closed your eyes.

"I guess I can't compete with that," He mumbled.

"There's no competition, Sam. This isn't a contest."

"It feels like it," He admitted.

"You're still my child's father and best friend," You explained. "No one can replace that."

"Not even her?"

"That's different."

"It shouldn't be,"

"Sam,"

"What?"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore,"

"Then what do you want to talk about, y/n?"

"Nothing."

"You can't keep shutting me out,"

"I'm not,"

"Yes, you are."

"Can we just not fight for five minutes?" You pleaded. "Just for a little bit? Most days you ignore me. Other days, it's this. Talking in circles. I think I would feel better if you just kicked me out."

"Why haven't you left yet, then?"

"Because Claire is here," You explained.

"Nah, that's not it," He narrowed his eyes at you. "You're scared."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're afraid to lose us,"

"Us?"

"Claire,"

"Of course, I'm afraid of losing Claire," You snapped.

"But you're also afraid of losing me,"

"Sam,"

"And Natasha,"

"You don't know what you're talking about," You glared.

"You're afraid you made a big mistake," He continued. "You're afraid that whatever life you had with me is the best it gets. That what the two of you have done is the biggest mistake of your life."

"It's not the mistake," You whispered. "Cheating is a mistake."

Sam exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "And yet, here we are."

You didn't have anything to say to that. Because he was right. Because you did this, both of you did. And now there was nowhere to put it—nowhere to hide from the weight of it.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, then exhaled. "You think I don’t know what this is like for you? You think I don’t get it?"

You swallowed, looking away. "You don’t."

He huffed out a humorless laugh. "I don’t? You don’t think I wake up every damn day wondering where I went wrong? If there was some moment where I could’ve done something different, said something different, been different? And then I look at Claire, and I think—none of it even matters. Because we have her, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Not even to go back and fix whatever the hell happened to us."

"Are you still in love with her?" He asked after a beat.

Your breath caught.

"I don’t—"

"Don’t lie to me, Y/n," he said quietly. "Please."

Your eyes burned as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "Yeah," you whispered. "I think I am."

Sam nodded once as he expected it like he’d known it all along. "Then what are you still doing here?"

You thought over his words. This entire conversation was almost as if he was urging you to go to Natasha.

"You should have her," Sam added.

"What are you talking about?"

"If you want her," He said. "I won't stop you."

"What about Claire?"

"I would never take her away from you," He promised.

"Mama, I have to potty bad," Claire chose that moment to abandon her flower picking.

"Come on," You sighed, scooping her into your arms. You gave Sam one last glance.

"Mama, hurry," Claire wiggled.

"I know, baby," You nodded, rushing her inside.

What now?

***********

The knock at Natasha's door came later than she was used to. She wasn't used to visitors, it was too late for housekeeping, and she wasn't expecting a second visit from you. But she knew. Before she reached for the handle and pulled the door open, she knew it was you. She hoped it was you.

"Hi," She greeted, trying to ignore the sudden flutter of her heart.

"Hey," You smiled, leaning against the frame.

"You're here pretty late," She commented.

"Yeah, well, I wanted to see you," You shrugged. "Can I get a proper hello this time?"

"Really?"

"Yes," You grinned.

Natasha stepped back, pulling the door wide enough for you to enter. Your eyes met hers, and suddenly, all the words she'd planned to say disappeared.

"Come here," She whispered, pulling you in.

"God, I missed you," You murmured against her mouth, hands sliding over her hips.

"How much?" She challenged.

"So much," You pressed another kiss to her lips, this one harder, more desperate. Natasha moaned softly, tugging at the hem of your shirt. You broke the kiss only long enough for her to pull it over your head.

"Not that I'm not happy that you're here," She said through peppered kisses against her neck. "But I thought we weren't doing this. At least until we figured things out."

"What if I said they're figured out?"

"Sam-"

"He wants a divorce," You explained. 

"Oh," Natasha breathed. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not," You shook your head. "But, we've been talking and... I can't stop thinking about you. So, we decided—"

"We?"

"We talked," You nodded. "A long talk. Lots of wine and tears. He's willing to let me go."

"To me?"

"If I want," You confirmed.

"And you want this? Us? All the things that come with it?"

"More than anything."

"Are you sure, y/n? Because the second we do this, there's no going back. You know that, right? We won't be able to show or tell anyone."

"I don't care," You cupped her cheeks. "As long as I have you and Claire has us. I don't care what the world thinks."

"And what about your family, y/n? The neighborhood? We have to keep things a secret."

"I'm a sinner," You shrugged. "So, fuck them. I want you. All of you. And no matter how hard the world tries, they won't be able to take us apart."

"What's gonna happen with Sam?"

"He's keeping the house," You explained. "For Claire's sake. There will be too many changes for us to take away from her right now."

"Will he tell?"

"No," You shook your head. "I'm the bad guy here, not him. It's easier for him this way."

"How are we going to do this, y/n?"

"One day at a time," You answered. "I have no idea. I have no clue what the future holds, but I know I want you, Natasha."

Natasha leaned in, kissing you softly. "You have me, Y/n."

"I love you," You mumbled.

"I love you,"

"Natasha," You breathed.

"Yeah?"

"Let me touch you," You whispered.

"Okay,"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," She nodded. "Touch me."

Your hand slid under her nightgown, caressing the skin of her stomach. Natasha gasped, arching into your touch.

"Bed," She urged, tugging you by the hand.

You followed her inside, pressing her up against the wall and kissing her hard. Her nails dug into your shoulders, and you hissed, grinding your hips into hers. You hadn't realized how much you missed her until you were touching her. Her lips were everywhere, and her touch seared.

"I've been thinking about this," You told her, pulling her top over her head and letting it fall to the floor.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes,"

"What else have you been thinking about?"

"About your legs around my waist and your nails on my back," You said as you fell back onto the bed.

"That's a lot of thinking," She smirked as she hovered over you.

"I've had time," You ran your hand up the back of her thigh, tugging her toward you.

"Show me," She urged. And you did just that.

After what could have been hours of lovemaking, you collapse onto the bed with Natasha in your arms. She traced patterns into the skin of your chest as she cuddled closer.

"There's something different about you?" Natasha broke the silence.

"Is there?"

"Mhmm," She hummed. "I don't know. Maybe it's the sex. It's been a while since you've had any."

"Maybe," You chuckled. "I think it's more than that."

"Do tell,"

"I finally found a way to live without lying," You explained.

"How's that?"

"By not hiding who I love," You turned and kissed her forehead.

"You're cheesy,"

"You like it,"

"Maybe,"

"Tell me something,"

"What?"

"What are we going to do next?"

"I found a place right outside of Colombus," Natasha began. "Just a drive away. It's beautiful. I've already put an offer on it."

"They let you do that? By yourself?"

"I have a good realtor," She grinned. "And they're not a bunch of close-minded assholes like around here."

"So, when are we leaving?"

Natasha smiled wide at that.

"We're doing this,"

"I love you, and I don't want to spend another day without you,"

"You know I was so scared to let myself have this," She admitted. "I knew what the consequences were."

"And now?"

"Now I have hope," She answered.

"For us?"

"Yes,"

"We can make it work,"

"I know,"

"You're so beautiful," You breathed.

"And you're sappy," She giggled.

"But I'm all yours," You leaned over to kiss her cheek.

"Y/n?"

"Yes, my love,"

"Thank you,"

"For what?"

"For giving me a chance,"

*********

Living on Natasha's farm was a dream and a learning curve. It differed from the lives both of you led in the city. Natasha divorced Steve. They kept minimal communication as he kept true to his word and joined the army. You and Sam were still married but had plans to divorce eventually, wanting to avoid raising suspicion. Sam ended up selling the family house and moving to the next town much closer to the farm. So Claire still had that stability. She loved the animals you had and didn’t fully understand the nature of your relationship, but she enjoyed having two moms.

You didn't think that life would ever be this perfect. It was better than perfect.

"Daddy's coming," Claire announced, hopping onto the porch with a bright smile. She was much taller now and certainly more energetic, if possible.

"Is he?" Natasha asked from her spot next to you on the swing.

"Yup," She nodded. "And he said he has a surprise for me."

"Oh yeah? What kind of surprise?"

"I don't know," Claire shrugged.

"Did you give him any hints about what you wanted?"

"I already had my birthday," She furrowed her brows.

"So a late gift,"

"Yeah,"

"It must be a pretty good surprise,"

"It must be,"

Sam pulled onto the dirt road like always, and you watched as he parked. The door opened, and he stepped out with balloons and a box of chocolate.

"What's all that for?" You stood, walking down the stairs to greet him.

"Just a sweet gift for my pumpkin because I missed her." He greeted her with open arms.

"Hi, Daddy," Claire jumped up and hugged him. She left a slobbery kiss on his cheek that had him feigning annoyance.

"How are you, little lady?"

"Good,"

"Did you eat your vegetables like I told you to?"

"Yup,"

"And did you help Mama with her chores today?"

"Yes,"

"Good girl," He smiled. "You've gotten so tall. Soon, I won't be able to carry you."

"No, I'm not getting too big," Claire waved a hand. She wiggled out of Sam's arms to show the chocolates to Natasha, who was still sitting on the swing.

"Natasha," Sam acknowledged shortly. There was still tension there, but they were cordial. "And how's my little man?" He asked, directing his smile to the baby boy in your arms.

William Sawyer Wilson. 

You hadn't expected your belly to get bigger in the months after your separation. Swept up in the whirlwind of divorce and heartache, you hadn’t realized you were pregnant. Coparenting with Sam was already great, but another baby made you nervous. Especially since his parents and the community would question how a woman could get pregnant during a divorce, Sam and his mother had tried their best to explain it away as a miracle child, and the gossip eventually died down.

“He’s perfect,” you answered.

Sam reached out, his large hands cradling the baby’s tiny form. William blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. “Hey, little man,” Sam murmured, his tone softer now. “You’re getting big on me too.”

You watched as Sam gently bounced the baby, his movements natural, familiar. Despite everything, the past and the tangled mess of emotions, there was no denying his love for his children and even you. After all this time, he was still a part of your life, and there was no one else you would trust more to be the father of your kids.

Sam looked up, catching your eye. His gaze was steady, unreadable. Then, his lips curled into a small, private smile.

"We did good," He nodded, and your heart squeezed.

"We did," You agreed. "Come inside, we cooked dinner."

"Daddy, do you want some cake?" Claire asked, pulling on his shirt.

"Cake?" He repeated. He bounced William in his arms and followed the three of you into the kitchen.

"Mama made it."

"Oh?" He gave you a knowing look. "Which one?" He eyed Natasha suspiciously.

"It wasn't me. You don't have to worry about it," Natasha smirked.

"It's really good," Claire added.

"I'm sure it is," Sam rolled his eyes.

"It's strawberry," You smiled. "It's her favorite."

"Can we have dinner now?" Claire asked.

"We can," Sam answered.

"And cake after,"

"And cake after,"

"Mama, can daddy come live here too?" Claire asked.

"Not yet," Sam said before you could answer. "But I'm only a couple of miles away, okay? So I can visit any time."

"How about a sleepover?"

"A sleepover, huh?" Sam looked up at you.

"Maybe," Natasha shrugged. "If that's what daddy wants."

"Then we can have a sleepover," Sam confirmed. As the conversation died down, Claire beamed, satisfied with the idea of a sleepover with all of her parents. She skipped towards the kitchen, already gabbing about setting up blankets and pillows.

You met Sam’s gaze, a quiet understanding passing between you. It wasn’t conventional; it wasn’t easy, but you were making it work. For Claire. For William. For yourselves.

Natasha stood, stretching her arms before resting a hand on your lower back. “Dinner, then?” she asked, voice warm, steady.

You nodded. “Dinner.”

Sam exhaled, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Let’s eat.”

And just like that, the four of you entered, the scent of home-cooked food filling the space. It wasn’t the picture-perfect family you once imagined—but it was yours. And that was enough.

[jason-t0dd]

ATTENTION PEOPLE OF GOTHAM

I, Jason Peter Todd, am running for Mayor of Gotham.

Here are my plans for when I am Mayor of Gotham:

1. I will be legalizing abortion.

2. I will be making healthcare more accessible to everyone.

3. Pay will be equal for men and women.

4. Everyone will be paid fairly and no longer have to rely on the tips they make.

5. There will be free tampon/pad dispensers in every public toilet, and sanitary products will be funded by me personally.

6. Repercussions for acts of crime like murder, sexual assault, etc. will be taken more seriously.

7. Prisons will be more secure, so no more corrupt guards in the facilities.

8. There will also be an increase of facilities for people who do not have the financial stability to take care of themselves or their families where they can go and get groceries, food, and clean water for free.

9. Pollution will be taken care of, water and air. There will be an increase of purification filters to take care of this problem, and all pollution/waste will be disposed of properly.

10. LGBTQIA+ rights. Getting the proper supplies and help for trans people will no longer be an issue, there will be people available to help you and get you settled in the right direction for your transition goals and achievements.

11. POC will have equal rights. I want to make sure you all feel safe and welcomed in Gotham.

12. Animal testing will no longer be legal.

13. Foster care systems will face a visible change. The children who suffered this unfortunate fate of already having no home to return to will no longer have to suffer. Buildings will be renovated, the foster system will have better funding, and we will make sure that these children can have a better future to look forward to.

14. Disability awareness. Disabilities, visual or invisible, will be taken in accountability. Schools will have a better way of understanding and will all be accessible for everyone.

15. School intuition will also be free, funded by me personally.

16. I will be taking care of the metahuman discrimination. No longer will people who are different against their personal choice be cast out of Gotham.

Vote for me and receive a free leather jacket!

[vrachis]

imagine having drunk car sex with subby robin(hsr)... fuck imagine spilling some wine over her body and licking it off HSWHSUWHUSEB i want her so abd

the halovian had deemed it as inappropriate considering you were both in a moving vehicle, the driver being in there nonetheless, so why were you here spitting such nonsense?

well to put it simply, a celebration after one of her performances had gotten you in this intoxicated state, and she was not at all surprised to see you stumbling around and mumbling dumb, sweet nothings into her ear

it was already quarter to midnight by the time the party was over, and now the two of you are stuck at the back of the limousine, and robin espies your intense gaze on her, those hazy (e/c) irises staring at her being like some sort of foreign thing. the winged woman gulps, knowing where this would end up thanks to proper understanding of your behaviour from past events

your next action confirms her thoughts ; shifting next to her and feeling your arm creep around her waist, squirming in her seat while your lips plant against the inside of one of her wings, gradually trailing from the soft bundles of feathers down to her neck. the sensation of your soft lips on her skin elicits quiet sighs, though she was supposed to be obligated to push you away, her body instinctively leans into your touch, seeking more of that irresistible warmth.

each touch sets her body on fire, rekindling that restrained desire hidden behind several weeks worth of work. her hums sound in the back of the car, unable to hide her desire, satisfied with your lecherous ministrations. when your foreplay was done, you're ridding yourself of your own clothes, as well as robin's, determined to make the most of this long travel.

both of you are naked in the backseat, your mouth latching onto her skin, addicted to her taste and scent. to spice things up, you're taking a spare bottle of wine in one of the hidden compartments, popping it open and gently spilling it all over her slicked body, groaning at the sight of the red liquor trickling all over that fair skin.

the surprise comes later, replaced with newfound sense of arousal, robin moans when your tongue laps up at the liquid glazing her body, unable to peel her eyes off the sight of you salaciously delighting in her wine coated skin. the mere idea had popped out of nowhere, but it had served properly as a way to enjoy drunkenness on a whole new level. when your head makes its' way back up to hers, your lips press against hers and the halovian can taste the sumptuous, rich wine on your tongue, humming in approval and satisfaction. robin can feel herself getting immersed in the taste, finally aware of as to why you had been consuming so many of such.

"taste so fuckin' good for me, pretty girl," you're groaning against her lips, giving her a few more pecks before pulling back, your hand reaching to ghost above her wet cunt, feeling her wetness ebb at the tip of your fingers.

a whimper escapes her lips when your digits rub all over her wetness, thighs trembling from the euphoric feeling. her quiet noises turn into slightly louder whines, clawing at your arm when two fingers sink into her warmth, creating filthy, sloshing sounds that splash onto the faux leather fabric of the car seat (you gotta clean it up after y'know).

her eyes roll back then snap shut when your pace becomes faster, much more eager to see her come undone. she can't help the filthy mess she makes, not when your fingers have her legs shaking and inner walls spasming. you moan in tandem with her, the pleasure she's experiencing fueling your own desires.

"ah, ah- 'm so close, please-" you silence her breathy moans with a kiss, chuckling when you pull away. her wings flap rapidly, moving up to cover her flushed face when your tongue traces circles all over her upper body, licking up the soaked mess of wine on her breasts.

"you gonna cum for me, my angel?" you mumble against one of her tits, earning a desperate nod from her. with that affirmation, you curl your fingers inside, hitting that sweet spot within her, cooing when her hips stutter and grind against your hand. "go on, cum for me."

the last few loud moans she lets out and the spasming of her cunt is all you need to know she's close, placing a thumb above her clit to help her come undone faster. with a suck to her nipple, she comes undone in your arms, thighs shaking uncontrollably and copious amounts of slick coat your hand. you hold her through every moment of it, pulling away from her breast to come up and place several kisses on her forehead, whispering praises. her orgasm starts to die down, her breathing evening through the slow rise and fall of her chest, and with the way her wings flap open to reveal her exhausted face.

your lips curl into a smile, then you retract your fingers from her sore hole, moaning at the amount of slick that webs at your skin. taking them in your mouth, you hum in delight, still hazed from drunkenness, the taste of the halovian serving as a remedy. "you taste so good, angel."

she's limp in your arms, still a bit shaky from her orgasm but you don't seem to mind it one bit. after all, the night is still young, and it's still a long way until you both are home.

thank aeons there had been a partition wall in this limo, or all of this wouldn't have happened. just pray that the driver hadn't heard anything, or else you're in deep trouble with another certain halovian.

[evergreen-endo]

you are literally crazy if you thought i wasn't gonna write this for my pookiepies too. + some extras.

18+ minors dni. perverted jack off/cum analysis ft. takiishi chika, endo yamato, kanon banjo, hiragi toma. pt. 1 here.

takiishi has such a pretty cock. long and tanned and veiny. a hard dick is such an inconvenience to him though. doesn’t really jack off with the intention of self pleasure, just taking care of business. it does always make him feel much better though. he just doesn’t do it that frequently! when he does, he’s pretty quick because he knows what he likes and how to cum as fast as possible. another one that prefers to stand so he can cum into something; like a sink, the shower, whatever. gets really breathy when he’s close. soft grunts and groans as he’s cumming. literally like…squeezes the cum out of the tip of his cock. can i say something? i’m going to say something. and listen. i love this man, i really do. but his cum is foul. all he eats is junk. i really do not think he ever drinks water. it is so, so thick. thickest of all the windbreaker men. and i’m not going to lie to you, it’s the kind that is like super gloopy, and sticky, and tinged more of a creamy yellowish color. it’s a bitch to clean up. and he cums a lot, and has so much stamina. 

endo is so slutty with it. leaks so much precum. noisy as all hell, whines and whimpers and moans and gasps. throws his head back a lot, rolls his eyes back into his skull, thrashes around and bucks his hips. edges himself sometimes but he’s just a bit too impatient to do it properly. if he wants to cum, he wants to cum now. the day he discovered his nipples were sensitive he nearly exploded on the spot. gathers up some precum on his fingers so he can tweak and pinch at them while he works himself with his other hand. talks dirty like he’s not alone. so good, so so so good. just like that, yeahyeahyeah. fuck you’re gonna make me cum. gonna make a mess. and he does. strokes so much faster when he’s about to cum because he gets desperate so even if he were to shoot beautiful perfect ropes clean onto his abs, it ends up flying all over the place from the force of jerking his dick around. so out of breath and panting and gulping when he finishes because his mouth is so dry from having it hung open while he plays with himself. also! gets morning wood real real bad. humps his pillows, humps the bed, muffles his moans biting into the sheets, really likes being able to move his hips and thrust into something. again, he makes a huge mess. sweat everywhere he lays from exertion, spit soaked sheets and drool, and of course, cum all over his abdomen and the pillowcases. 

kanon banjo is a SLUT. WHORE. and a SKANK. (affectionate). ahem. let me elaborate. he is so depraved. bites his lip till he damn near starts bleeding, the type to get really delirious and giggle and smile with pleasure. realllyyyy likes cock rings. he gets so sensitive and whiny and whimpery, twitches like crazy. edges himself till his tip is bright red. pinches the fuck out of his nipples like can someone get him some clamps. does a lot of breath play! holds his breath for as long as he can, hangs his head off the edge of his bed…genuinely might be stupid enough to try autoerotic asphyxiation but i’m not gonna get into it LOL. anyway. cums hard every time. his cock is so restricted the cum spurts out in forks, like three separate streams shooting out of his tip….n then it sets off his cum kink and he’s gotta scoop it all up and use it as lube for a second round.

hiragi the man that you are. jacking off is the stress release/medicine he can only get in private! gets home from something stressful and beelines to the bathroom to unzip his pants and whip it out. i mean, he strains against those leather pants all day, giving it some fresh air feels good in and of itself. not taking his pants off fully puts a little pressure on his balls and he likes that. sighs so heavy when he wraps his hand around it. def the type to end up fucking into his hand, hips moving more than his arm is. so much deep sighing. his tummy clenches up really pretty when he’s close, and when he finally cums, he lets out lots of sounds that seem really frustrated; breathy, choked groans and strained grunts. i think his cum is a really good consistency, not too thick or thin, but the actual streams seem thin because it shoots so far! he kinda likes the sound it makes when it drips onto the floor. will purposefully move a towel or rug out of the way so he can hear it go plap onto the tiles.

[blckbrrybasket]

25. “Hell And You”

Stu Macher x Fem!Reader

꒰Mask Kink + Knife Kink꒱ - 1k

• consensual object penetration, consent check

kinktober m.list

Okay, if one of your friends came to you saying they were dating one of the infamous Ghostfaces that ran around killing people you would tell them to run the other way. What sensible person would date somebody like that? Well, you, obviously. You knew it was wrong, but it wasn’t your fault Stu was hot!

It also wasn’t your fault that the Ghostface signature mask turned you on. Did that make you fucked up, sure, but it was worth it when Stu fucked you in it. It wasn’t your safest decision, but you were already here and it would be fine. Stu would never let anything happen to you. 

His gloved hand held the blade of the knife while he prepped it. Every few seconds he’d look over and scan your body admiringly, eyes hidden behind the mask. You could only tell of his gaze by the way his head would tilt, what it meant was imperceptible. Truthfully, it was a wonder how Stu had been patient thus far.

He tended to be impulsive and rush into things, but he was taking his time now, watching your body from where he sat. Stu finished cleaning the knife properly, any germs long gone. Two of his leather cover fingers smeared lube over the handle, blade fully covered by his other hand.

Once it was thoroughly covered, his head turned to look down at you sitting on the bed. The cloak brushed against your legs when he leaned forward to guide you back to prop yourself on your elbows. While holding the bolster of the knife under his fingers he pressed just the tip against your skin and gently trailed it down your body.

He had full control over the movement of the hunting knife. Once the tip reached your underwear Stu glanced up at you. “Open,” he said, one of the first words he’d spoken since he’d ‘gotten into character’. Stu shuffled back again to sit somewhat comfortably on his knees in front of the bed.

Your legs followed his command, opening obediently as you looked down at him. Ghostface on his knees shouldn’t be such a sight, but it was and it was beautiful. The white of the mask shone in contrast to the completely black material he wore everywhere else. Even more enticing was the glint of the knife when the light hit it.

The permanently opened mouth on the mask pressed to the junction of your knee in a mock kiss. You couldn’t tell if Stu was looking up at you, unable to see, but you could feel his eyes on you when he dragged the mouth up to your inner thigh. You were unsure what he was doing until you heard his deep inhale. 

He was savoring you, breathing you in. However, his nature got the best of him being this close to your cunt. Stu grew too excited per usual, and hooked the tip of the knife on the hem of your underwear. The sharpness caught on the flimsy material, pushing up through it with a riiip.

You gasped, hearing his distorted chuckle at your reaction. “What’s the matter, baby?” His head tilted, mask looking back up at you. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Stu hooked the knife up, pulling to cut away the rest of the fabric. He let it fall open, haphazardly shoving it down the leg it limply hung onto.

Looking at your pretty pussy like he won the lottery, Stu had to stop himself from yanking the mask off and delving into you. Behind the mask he silently licked his lips, view locked on your sex. His free hand slid up the bed, making its way to your cunt. The pads of his rough gloves made contact with your skin, your shiver making Stu more excited, tapping the tip of the knife against your thigh with his occupied hand.

Stu pressed one fingertip to your clit and let it sit there before sliding it down. He softly rubbed in between your wet folds, separating them. His thumb joined his index finger to keep your lips spread, watching you pulse and leak onto the fabric of the blankets.

“Hiding all this from me?” Stu nudged forward and sighed heavily. You tensed, bracing for his breath to hit you, when you realized it wouldn’t. The plastic prevented him from breathing on you, but he’d gotten the reaction he had wanted, being able to see your pussy clench close up.

He glanced back up for a second, studying your antsy expression. Mistaking it for second thoughts, he checked in. “You still want this?” He would have sounded irritated to anyone else, but you knew he was checking on you even as he played it up. Your eyes were completely locked on the mask, his voice breaking you from your trance.

You nodded, speechless from his act. “Words, baby.” He grunted and you could imagine the way his eyes narrowed. “Yes…yes sir.” Stu smiled, satisfied, and looked back down at your soaked cunt. At the confirmation, Stu turned the knife over in his hand, once again covering the blade with his hand entirely. 

He teased your swollen folds by running the hilt of the knife up and down, teasing your entrance with the curve. Slowly, he circled your pussy with the cooled handle. When you clenched down around nothing, he laughed. “Oh, you like that?” He asked with a small smirk. 

Stu kept moving it in slow circles, working you up and rubbing your arousal around. You whined when your warm walls fluttered around nothing for what seemed to be the millionth time. He seemed to finally take mercy, or pity, on you and he notched the curve in your entrance, turning the hilt to trace the very inside of your pussy. 

The arousal he had made you build up made it easier for him to inch the handle into you, his gloves shielding the blade from causing any harm. This wasn’t about actually harming you, but you couldn’t lie and say the danger isn’t making you clench down harder. 

Your moans were quiet, increasing in volume as he faintly thrust the knife in and out. “You like being fucked by my knife, knowing what it’s done to people? …What it can do to you.” You groaned, tossing your head back as the cool metal drug along the walls of your cunt. You did. You fucking loved it.

tags: @babybatlover, @starrgurl46, @wowzers-07, @nenukkjhj, @morgan0lw21, @kinokomoonshine, @slut4ddn, @adventures-of-impala, @dreamerjj

[littlest-w01f]

AZRIEL NSFW ALPHABETS

AZRIEL MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Cw: Nsfw stuff, 18+ MDNI

A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Depends on the nature of your relationship, he doesn't care much to care for you after if it's a random hook-up.

But if you're in a relationship, he'll always make sure you are comfortable after, hydrated and clean.

He'll ask what you need at the moment and won't hesitate to give it to you until he knows you better than you know yourself and provides you with everything you need by your tells.

B: Body Part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

On him, it's his cock, straight up, a damn cocky little bastard he is knowing he's hung, loves the look in your eyes when you see the size of him every time, and loves how you always struggle to take him.

On you, It's your legs, love how they feel when they're wrapped tight around him to keep him close, loves feeling them up and down, your thighs, and calves.

C: Cum (Anything to do with cum)

Loves to cum on your skin, mixing his scent with you so that people know you are his for as long as possible.

Loves when you cum on his face and tongue so he can taste you directly from the source

D: Dirty Secret

He's been to many orgies in his times in Illyria, taking more males there than females, has dominated both Rhysand and Cassian.

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He's got 500 years of experience in pleasuring his partners, he knows exactly what he's doing.

And he's very good at it.

F: Favorite Position(s)

Good old missionary, loves to look at your face contort in pleasure as he takes you.

Cowgirl, he loves watching you on top, bouncing on his cock, gripping onto the talons of his wings, head tipped back.

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

He's always been serious during sex, especially during a scene with you.

But if something goes wrong, he's started to make jokes about it after making sure you are alright and to make a lighthearted atmosphere.

H: Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes)

A mess of hair as a teen, didn't much care for how his hair looked.

Grew to properly groom his hair, and doesn't really care how you keep yours.

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Is very loving and gentle during soft sex.

Not so much expression on his face during play.

J: Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Doesn't really have to use his own hand when he had yours.

Only masturbates while he is on a mission and away from you

K: Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Corruption - He had a thing for messing up the innocence of his mate, loves how much of an experimentalist you are, willing to try most things he suggests

Bondage- Leathers: loves Illyrian leathers on you, loves the feel of the leather.

Chains: likes to chain you to his bed and his dungeons, chains over your throat for breath play and he licks over the cold chains on your neck.

Ropes: Hogties you on his bed, loves watching you struggle knowing the ropes would leave burns, then after, kissing over your wrists and ankles.

Dacryphilia - Your tears turn him on, loves your tears streaming down your face whenever he takes you rough, at a punishing pace mostly when you try to flirt with other males to get a rise out of him.

Erotic asphyxiation - Loves forcing air out of you, with his hands, pulling on chains to mark your neck up.

Gagging - Gags you with his fingers and cock, loves the sound of you choking

Blood play/Knife play - Uses truthteller on you, cutting your skin just enough to make you bleed, watching the blood spill and healing back up, carving his name into your abdomen.

Shadow play - His shadows LOVE you, just as much as he does, they love to play with you, make you cum, tie you up, and keep his cum inside you.

Public sex - Fingering you anywhere, making you be quiet as he makes you cum on his hands, then walk away nonchalantly.

Sadism - Adores seeing you in the constant pain and pleasure that he causes.

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Prefers his bed and his dungeons, but will take you anywhere if he is horny enough, and has taken you everywhere at least once.

M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You, just you, everything about you gets him going, especially your eyes and the way you look at him

N: NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He will be wary of anything you aren't downright enthusiastic about.

Will stop if you close your bond with him during play, he needs to have you open your bond with him at all times so he can feel what you're feeling.

O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves both, has an obsession with hearing your whines as he keeps making you cum on his tongue.

And with the sound of you gagging on his cock.

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

He prefers to be rough in most settings, it's the Illyrian rage he fucks out on you.

Is sensual when it's intimate, soft lovemaking for your anniversaries, important times for you both.

Or when you ask depending on what you want.

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Prefers to take his time with you, and make you cum hard over and over again.

Will have a quickie if either of you is in a hurry and doesn't want to pass an opportunity to taste you.

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

You two take so many risks in your sex life.

You love the thrill of getting caught.

He prefers to sometimes fuck you on the door of Nesta and Cassian's room so that you can cry out directly in their room, as payback to everything they kept him up with their noises.

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last?)

Loves nothing more than being inside you.

Things don't end until you want them to, until all your holes are dripping with his cum, your legs shaking hard for hours after

T: Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Less "Toys" and more like torture devices, he uses those things to bind you up.

Paddles, whips, vibrators, dildos, gags, he had everything you might want.

U: Unfair (How much they like to tease)

He's very fair, a little too fair, things didn't end till you cum so many times it's painful.

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Not really loud, but growls and groans in your ear

W: Wild Card

He loves sharing you with people, Nessian, Feysand, Eris, Lucien, and anyone you want.

X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

MUSCULAR

Every inch of him has muscles, thick arms, legs, cut torso.

Biggest wingspan, obviously.

When you first gripped his cock while busy making out with him, you thought it was his arm.

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Very High

Especially after accepting your mating bond

He needs to be inside you as much as possible

He is dtf anytime, unless you don't want to

Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He first wants to make sure you're comfortable.

After you are, he sometimes helps you sleep, whether singing to you or giving you a small massage.

He falls asleep to the sound of your comfortable breathing.

{General taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria}

{Azriel taglist - @fxckmiup @annamariereads16 @saltedcoffeescotch}

[sturniolostars]

﹫𝓢𝓤𝓒𝓚 𝓟𝓣 𝓣𝓦𝓞﹫

Masked!Matt x Kinky!Reader

In which: after you blow him he bends you over the couch and fucks you

TW: p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do it!), knife play, mask play, dirty talk, spanking, rough sex, hair pulling

First part of suck

I quickly undress myself, eager to be fucked by Matt. I scurried over to the couch and bend over the arm of it. The leather was cold against my skin and sent goose bumps through me. I felt Matt walk behind me and my pussy clenching around nothing just knowing he’s about to fuck me.

“Are you going to be a good girl?” He asks. I whine. Smack. “Words” he whispers. “I’ll be such a good girl please!” I beg. He chuckles and runs his length through my soaked folds to lube himself up. I felt the cold metal of the same blade he’s been holding slide up my ass. He pulls my hair back so I’m looking up and places the knife to my throat from behind.

I gasp, but it quickly turns into a loud moan as he plunges all the way into me. He thrusts hard and fast knocking all the air out of my lungs. I moan and claw at the couch. The knife grazing my throat every so often reminding me my life could end making this pleasure so much better.

“Fuck Matt!” I moan out. His thrust only speed up. “Such a tight little pussy” he groans. “I can feel you clenching” he whispers and a broken cry slips free from me. He pulls my hair some more making my mouth hang open and unholy sounds flood out from it.

I can feel my orgasm building up quickly. And I know Matt was already sensitive from the blowjob I gave him earlier and his thrusts were already getting sloppy. He was right there with me.

“Matt I’m gonna cum! Please let me cum!” I beg. “Not yet baby” he says. His tip was repeatedly hitting that spot inside me that made me see stars. A tear slips down my check rolling down to the cold metal that still threatens to slit my throat.

With a groan he finally says “cum for me baby let go”. I don’t need to be told twice. My eyes roll back and I squirt all over his cock. I think I might have passed out from that orgasm because when I come back to my senses the knife is gone and Matt must have gone to the bathroom because he’s cleaning me and him up.

“That was so good baby” he says to me throwing away the rag he got and kissing me. I hum. “Can you carry me? I’m tired and I don’t think I can walk” he smiles. “Of course baby” he pulls his mask off setting it down so I can see the ice blue eyes hiding behind the dark sockets of the skull.

Sex was a completion between us both at times and that’s how we liked it. And I was going to make him cum even harder once I could properly walk again.

And I just think I’ll use his own mask to do it

@kadesturnz part two how we feeling?

[mlmxreader]

Not a Clue | Ian Malcolm x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ What do you think of 98. “I need to snuggle.” “Why?” “Cold.” ? ❞

: ̗̀➛ Malcolm goes to see his partner whilst they're at work, even if it's just for a bit of a chat.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, arachnids, snakes (specifically my babies <3)

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

spotlight fundraiser : ̗̀➛ Help Dr Bashar to evacuate his family from Gaza

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You stretched as you read through the previous day's log; everything had been fed, except for the scorpions. You rolled your eyes, of course no one fed them - it was always down to you to make sure that they were kept properly, as everyone else was too scared to bother.

The perk of being the only ecologist in your team who actually knew the key signs of aggression and defensive behaviour to look for; the perk of being the only one in your team who actually liked arachnids.

You nodded to yourself, deciding that they should be fed first, and started to make your way over to where the crickets, locusts, mealworms, waxworms, earthworms, snails, and both kinds of roaches were kept - but you stopped when you heard the door open, and you raised a brow.

The familiar scent of recently cleaned leather bit you in the nose, and you relaxed immediately.

"Doctor Malcolm," you hummed. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

Ian shrugged as he leaned against the table and rubbed his hands together; his knuckles were red and raw from the cold, and his fingers weren't as quick as they should have been. "It's, uh, it's always warm in here, isn't it? How'd you manage?"

You grabbed the tank of locusts and brought it to the table. "Plents of heat mats, UVB bulbs, and never opening the window. How else?"

He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Y'know, all these, uh, creepy crawlies - you'd think that InGen would've hired you."

You scoffed as you glared at him and grabbed a pair of rubber tipped tongs. "You really think, after everything, that they give a single solitary fuck about ecology? When they practically destroyed several ecosystems?"

Ian hummed, watching with only slight discomfort as you grabbed a locust and opened one of the scorpion tanks; it was a big bugger. At least the length of his hand from the tip of his middle finger, with thick armoured pincers and a prominent, hairy, stinger; a blueish hue, the arachnid looked like something from a shitty monster film.

He cringed as he watched it grab the locust between two giant claws, and smash its venomous stinger right into the middle, nearly splitting the thing in half.

"You actually like these things?"

You grinned as you closed the tank and locked it, watching with fascination at it began to munch on its prey. "I think they're wonderful, Malcolm, you know that... saying that, actually, did you feed ours?"

He shook his head as he threw his hands up. "Oh no! I, uh, I thought we agreed, baby, that uh, you could have them - but you feed them."

You rolled your eyes fondly at him. "They're not that bad."

"One of them nearly took my finger off," he pointed out. "I've gone toe to toe with dinosaurs, I don't need an... a, uh, eight legged snipping machine to chase me."

You wanted to laugh as you brought out the next locust and dropped it into the second tank; Ian didn't mind that one. It was smaller, a uniform shiny black colour with a bit of a brown shine, and a yellowish stinger. It still looked like some sort of monster, though.

"Y'know, Malcolm, Grant came to see me the other day," you explained, "he didn't mind the scorps - he actually helped me."

Ian grimaced slightly; he liked and respected Grant, even considered him a friend, but that wouldn't change his mind. "That won't work on me, you know that."

"So did Sattler," you hummed, locking the second tank and opening the third.

The smallest of the three, it was almost impossible to see with the naked eye; dark brown amongst darker substrate, it was so small that you had to crush the locust's mouth parts before serving it to the little thing. It was, in a way, cute with its small pincers and even smaller stinger.

"Please tell me you're finished," he hummed, and once you had put the tanks and live food back, you nodded. "Did you, uh, did you speak to Sattler recently?"

You nodded as you dusted your hands off and opened one the other tanks; inside it sat a large snake, which hissed in protest for a moment before pressing its mouth to your hand.

It stopped hissing, and laid its head on your thumb; it was an impressive size, with dark brown and black scales alongside yellow and orange markings. It looked perpetually as if it was pissed off. Just looking at its light brown head and black tongue, Ian could see that it was longer than he was tall.

"Yeah," you hummed, gently coaxing the snake out and letting it sit around your shoulders. "Remember? She called me about an interview or something she was doing."

"Oh, right!" He nodded, snapping his fingers. "I, uh, I forgot about that."

You gently placed the snake on the table and started to check over its body; mumbling to yourself about its eyes being clear and none of its scales being damaged. "Why?"

Ian rubbed the back of his neck, waiting for you to put the animal back before he dared to sneak up behind you, his hands resting on your stomach as he pulled your back to his chest. "Well, uh, a little birdie came and told me that someone told the press about us."

You turned around, your hands resting on the lapels of his jacket as you tilted your head to the side. "That may have been me."

"Uh-huh... and what did you say?"

"Nothing much, to be honest," you admitted with a shrug. "Sattler called me and said that people had been asking why you were here so often and what my opinions on InGen were, so I told her."

He nodded slowly. "So you didn't tell about us liv-"

"No," you shook your head. "We agreed. The fact can be public, but not the detail... except the jacket, I told her about you buying me that fancy leather jacket."

Ian nodded back at you for a moment before coaxing you to sit on the table, he stood between your legs and pressed his forehead to your shoulder. "I need to snuggle."

"Why?"

"Cold." He huffed out, practically trying to wrap himself around you.

With a quiet laugh, you pushed him away, daring to kiss his nose. "I have work to be done - unless you have the population density chart of javanimetrus cyaneus in Borneo compared to the Philippines and Indonesia and how it's changed since last year?"

Ian had no fucking clue what any of that meant, so he just smiled. Chaos theory was easy for him, mathematics in general was easy for him - but practical stuff like using those funny little grids and taking samples and collecting specimens to study their relationship to the environment?

He didn't have a clue.

But just as you could listen to him waffle on about his latest theory or whatever, he could listen to you waffle on about how the population of animals like scorpions, spiders, snakes and roaches could determine how healthy a local environment was.

He still didn't know what the fuck a biome was, even though you had explained it thousands of times.

[16mecrazy]

LIQUID COURAGE

"⠀my god sits in the back of the limousine, my god comes in a wrapper of cellophane, my god pouts on the cover of the magazine, my god's a shallow little bitch trying to make the scene.⠀" ft: reboot dante and vergil word count: 1118 words

tags: dubious consent, rough oral sex, no aftercare, brother/brother incest, canon divergence, gross pervert vergil because he's a fucking freak

minors do not interact. dont like? dont read!

"Bite your fucking tongue."

Dante spits those words out with anger, with impact, like every single vocal cord he possesses has no other purpose than to tell Vergil how much he dislikes him.

"Ah ah ah, what have I said about manners, Dante?"

There's that condescending lilt, that face that smiles softly and acts like he's holier than thou--he hates it, he hates it, Dante hates it.

He really hates Vergil.

He hates him and his stupid fucking slick-backed hair that makes Vergil look like a generic pin-up poster boy for a cologne ad were it not for being an albino. He hates Vergil's branded and expensive turtleneck and how Vergil always smells like air-conditioned citrus.

He hates Vergil's stupid smirk and his calmness and how every single word sounds like it's pristine and elite and, and, and--Not even hate's a good enough word, and resentment and abhor are too prose-y poetic words to use, and Dante hates poetic words because it just reminds him of Vergil.

Anyway,

For all nephilims with a twin brother that's also sort of your boyfriend that you really hate, don't go cold turkey on him. Communication's key or whatever. Talk to him instead of going on a marathon of cleaning out demons nonstop and busting down doors of mobs comprised of remaining demons trying to take up Mundus' throne.

Because 1.) You'll feel like shit, like maybe not even shit, just rotting chicken that's been vomited out by an infant and turned into radioactive waste. And 2.) Your brother might be a sleazy opportunistic asshole who's gonna zero in on you and patch things up with sex instead of actually acting on the advice your mutual friend's given you.

"I didn't join your little boy scout crusade to suck your fucking dick, asshole."

Profanity was always Dante's strongest suit, but Vergil was a stuck-up snob-prude than sneered every single time Dante's immature mouth would blabber anything ranging from shit, fuck, bitch to balls.

"Who said this was about rank, hmm?" He drags out his syllables in the way kindergarten teachers would, and it pisses Dante off. Him and his stupid fucking leather coat and his tailored pants that Dante wants to rip off.

"Can't a brother simply want to bond with his twin?"

"We're not in the south, Vergil. I don't think this classifies for bonding, maybe more like incest. And not really wholly consensual incest. I'm thinking like, sexual harassment."

"Semantics, semantics. Come now, it isn't as bad as you put it."

Dante snorts, rolling his eyes with enough sarcasm to kill an elephant. (Doesn't make sense, but you get his point.)

"Just so you know, I really fucking hate you, and this doesn't mean anything." Dante growls, shuffling on his knees because he's too tired to properly walk. Cut him some slack, the world's been so cruel to him lately.

Vergil's oxfords frame his hips, his obnoxious spandex gloves coming to teach Dante's face to Vergil's crotch.

"Whatever puts you to sleep easy, brother."

"This sure as hell won't."

It's routine when Vergil unzips his pants and so very un-elegantly fishes out his cock, and he doesn't care when it slaps on Dante's cheek because Dante doesn't deserve adequacy.

Act like a dog, get treated like a dog.

"Go on now, brother. You know what to do. Must I teach you everything?"

Dante grits his teeth, grumbles something under his breath, most likely a litany of "screw yous" and "i hate yous" but lets it abate--lets it subside and roughly grabs a handful of Vergil's dick, kissing the pretty pink tip with his fruit-punch lips, before licking a stripe on the underside.

The most infuriating fact about this is that Vergil always seems so fucking pleased with himself, and Dante likes it. Likes it when Vergil lets out that sigh of relief he's been holding all day and cards through Dante's hair while his younger brother licks and teases him, spits on his cock and gets it all filthy.

There's nothing romantic about this, nothing loving or affectionate. When Vergil touches him, it's so prissily-possessive, greedy, hoarding, selfish.

Especially when Dante's about to take him in, slowly, mouth wrapping around Vergil with begrudging love, Vergil knots his hands in Dante's hair and forces him down.

Chokes him, lets him gag and sputter, forces Dante to breathe in the musk of the hair on his pelvis. He thinks Dante's divine like this, throat convulsing and saliva sputtering out. His baby gray-blue eyes that try to act all punk-ish start to soften in panic and it gets Vergil off, that momentary look of alarm never fails to get Vergil so fucking hard.

"Fuck, yes, like that." Vergil pants out, letting the rare profanity stun Dante. "Suffocate on me like that, look at me like I'm disgusting, like you hate me." That small sliver of paranoia and hate in Dante's eyes doesn't discourage Vergil.

Fucking weird. Dante thinks, but he wouldn't love Vergil if he wasn't weird. He wouldn't love Vergil if he wasn't the Vergil who drags and yanks Dante's head, fucks his throat and makes it burn, engraves his taste in Dante and thrusts in with something that cares so much that it hurts.

Dante's grunts and groans are blotted out when Vergil's dick hits the back of his throat, teeth grazing Vergil's foreskin and it makes Vergil slam down harder. Violent love thrust upon Dante's gullet, tears start forming and it makes his older brother so excited, starts to drop being prude and says nasty things like— Keep at it like that Dante—fuck yeah look at me, look at me as if you don't want this—I love you so much I want to rip your teeth out and fuck this mouth forever—my little brother, this is where you belong—Why didn't I recruit you sooner, you'd be cuter being naive and young—I'll make sure you taste me whenever you try to eat breakfast or lunch or dinner and—hate me, hate me hate me, hate me for this Dante,

Vergil groans when he christens Dante's throat with cum, martyrs his mouth on Vergil's cock, forces his face flush against Vergil's lower half even when Dante gags and tries to pull away, nearly puking in the process.

Vergil's a little disappointed when Dante doesn't, but it's alright. He's had his fill tonight.

Dante lets off with a signature pop, cum stringing his lips to Vergil's tip, and he pants—his hair is disheveled, sweat down his face, chest rising and falling, oh and there's even some stains around his lips because he couldn't swallow it all...

"Gross... god you're disgusting, Vergil. Fuck you."

"You already have, brother."

Vergil's face is loved with a slap.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 17-18

Prompt: Headache (alt)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

You had not been home long when Daryl came shuffling through the door. He had gone on a run, leaving at the ass-crack of dawn but they were back by early afternoon with two boxes of medical supplies as fruits of their labor. Then he had been helping to move the solar panels and work on the battery hookup with Eugene. You were certain he was thrilled about that. 

You knew he hadn’t stopped; hadn’t told anyone he needed a break. It’s just who he was. Help until the job was done. It was a given that he’d be exhausted. You’d let him relax, maybe shower, while you made a quick dinner. 

Except… he stumbled after closing the door, the tips of the fingers on his left hand pressed against his temple. He didn’t so much as wave before depositing himself face first onto the couch, long legs hanging over the edge of the cushions. If it wasn’t so out of character for him, you’d find it comical. 

“Uh, hi.” You leaned into the room before actually entering. “Rough day?” There was a muffled mhm. “Hungry?” Another muted answer, but this one was mm-mm. God, you wanted to laugh, but that would need to wait until you found out a little more about why your boyfriend came home and immediately attempted to suffocate himself on the living room furniture. 

You knelt slowly, rubbing your hand over the warm leather on his back. You were pretty sure the next noise was a sigh. 

“Are you okay?” You ventured, probing a little more while leaving space in between questions so as not to irritate the archer. You thought he might have said super and was a bit dry, but it was hard to tell with the thick fabric pressed against his face. 

You shifted to properly sit on the floor, moving your hand in random patterns over his back. Maybe if you were patient, he would decide air was a good thing and sit up to enjoy it. You didn’t have anywhere else to be. It took about five minutes for him to very slowly roll his head toward you, expression drawn and eyes squinted. Uh oh. Your Dixon sense was tingling. 

“What’s wrong?”

He visibly attempted a scowl but gave up after only a brief effort. “Head.”

Oh, the jokes you could make. Not the time, Y/N. 

“Headache.” It wasn’t a question. It was blatantly obvious after he’d given you a clue. Judging from his flushed skin and the tension nearly vibrating over his form, it was a bad one. “Okay, just a second.” Daryl didn’t normally get headaches, so you were unsure how to treat one in a man that never complained and despised feeling weak or vulnerable. As you pulled the shades and closed the curtains, you glanced back at him. 

Weak was a fitting word. If a herd plowed through right now, he’d probably thank them when they started to eat him. 

With the room sufficiently darkened, you crouched in front of him, brushing his hair away from his eyes with a barely there swipe of your fingertips. “I’m going to go get a few things for you. Just relax here until I get back.”

“S’okay.” He mumbled, his arm falling away from where it had been tucked at his side. He let his hand hit the floor with little care. “Don’ need ta go outta yer way. M’good.”

A tilt of your head and tender smile should have been enough of a response, but just in case it wasn’t. “You know better than that. Sit tight.” You backed away from him in case he was about to offer any other objections but he surrendered and turned his hand with a thumbs up. 

You made a list in your head as you shuffled around the house. Pain killers. Tylenol would be okay but you were hoping for one of the stronger ones he’d been given when he’d broken his ribs. He was just as stubborn then so there were probably at least a couple left. 

While on your search, you were passing by other things you needed. Washcloths. The small basin that you reserved for cleaning him up when he came home bloody. And eureka! Pills! 

You contemplated getting him some comfortable clothes but the less he moved right then, the better. As an afterthought, you toed off your boots, quieting your steps significantly when you descended the stairs. If he noticed you bypassing him to disappear into the kitchen, he didn’t voice it. He’d need a glass of water to take the pills though you were certain he wasn’t beyond swallowing them dry. You filled the basin with cool water as well and strategically balanced your burden while padding back into the living room. 

Placing the items on the end table, you leaned down to press the most gentle kiss to the crown of his head. His eyes were closed but you were almost certain he wasn’t asleep.

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to move around for just a minute and then you can stay still as long as you want. Deal?” 

“Don’ wanna.” He groaned, reminding you very much of a grumpy toddler. Your hands drifted to his shoulders, pulling up as gingerly as you could to motivate him. 

“Come on.” His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched against the throbbing in his skull. Those things were counterproductive when dealing with a headache but if you could get him to take the pills and lie down more comfortably, maybe he’d relax a little. “I got the leftover strong ones so this should start helping pretty quickly.”

“Okay.” He was so quiet and looked so small at that moment. You wanted to wrap him up and hold onto him forever. He held out his palm and you handed over the medication, barely getting the glass in front of him in time for him to swallow with the water. 

“Okay, now you get pampered.” You crawled to the far end of the couch next to your supplies and sat, patting your thighs. “Your pillow awaits, handsome.” You were barely able to stifle the giggle when he rolled his eyes before promptly pressing his palm against his forehead with a drawn out whine of ow. 

He stayed silent while stretching out on his back, his head resting on your lap. You smiled down at him while one hand dipped cloth into the water and squeezed out the excess. 

“You don’t have to do anything. I’ve got you.” You were gentle and careful when lifting his head slightly to place the cool cloth over the back of his neck. He winced at the movement regardless, making you frown. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” He murmured, but you still felt a pang of guilt. 

The second cloth now wrung out, you folded it and placed it over his eyes. When he melted deeper into the couch with a sigh, you grinned triumphantly. That part out of the way, you pressed two fingers, gently but firmly, against each of his temples and began massaging the area. You could feel the pulsing there, so too much would not be beneficial. You began to alternate between that and carefully scratching your fingernails over his scalp to stimulate blood flow. 

After no more than five minutes, before you even needed to rewet the cloths, he was softly snoring on your lap. Still, you continued, determined to make sure the headache was gone before stopping. 

An hour later, you had removed the cloths and stopped massaging. Your fingers carded idly through his hair as he slept. He had turned onto his side and pressed his face into your stomach, not a single line of pain left showing. 

Daryl so seldom got to relax that seeing him like that and just being able to take it all in was something you found you wanted to do over and over again. Maybe you’d start being more appreciative of the time you could spend watching him sleep in the moonlight from the bedroom window. You knew that was going to be your new favorite bedtime ritual. 

A deep breath drew you from your thoughts and back to him, his eyes fluttering but barely opening. 

“Thanks, sunshine.” He whispered against your shirt, back asleep before you could reply. 

“Anytime, love. Anytime.”

[danopdf]

spit-shine : winnix smut

summary: Winters is spit-shining his boots in his office, Lewis interrupts, smut ensues.

warnings: SMUT (+18), messy blowjob, spit kink?, Winters is a service top but let's himself be a sub because he needs to relax.

a/n: crossposted on my ao3 here! please be aware that this is some mildly kinky smut, that rides the line of dom/sub dynamics and also a vague smutty military kink? anyway, enjoy!

======

Cleanliness.

Something the army- and therefore, Dick- valued highly. Cleanliness of your hair, uniform, your rifle inside and out, and of course, your boots. Boots that should reflect the sun and blind your enemies.

‘A good way to pass the time.’ had been the words spoken to him in officers' school, and had been Dick’s go-to when the teadiusness off writing field reports and signing paperwork became too much. He sits on the edge of his alcove bed in the attic of some house in Holland that had been seized for a series of offices and bedrooms.

The tops of his boots shine, gleaming as he rubs a browned cloth over the brown leather of his jump boots, placing it down to get started on the other.

He spits and starts to wipe away the dust and mud that’s built up after a few days out in the field. The grime washes away just as all thoughts of battles, as Winters lets himself focus on the mundane task, and the thoughts of gunfire, blood, and keeping his boys out of harm's way, all fade into the single thought, ‘A clean soldier is a god soldier.’

The quiet of the attic isn’t around for long, the door below opening and shutting with a slam as heavy footsteps creak up the stairs, a mop of messy black hair peeking over the half wall before Lewis Nixon appears in all his glory.

The man goes right for Dick’s footlocker, already mumbling to himself as he unlocks the mental container and throws the top open.

“Lew.” Dick greets, rubbing at a particularily rough spot of mud right on the heel.

“Hi.” He grunts back. He’s rummaging through his locker, shoving aside his perfectly packed clothes, letters, and extra uniform clothes, until his hand wraps around the cool glass of the scotch bottle.

Flask in hand, Lewis uses his perfectly white teeth to turn the cap on the bottle, spitting it onto the small dresser and carefully filling the metal flask.

Winters watches for a moment, his eyes raking over the man, the broad shoulders and thick waist covered by his billowing uniform, cinched at the waist and bloused at the calves. Hiding unassuming muscle and hard-earned strength that he rarely shows, working behind that office desk.

Spilling only a drop, Nix brings his thumb ot his mouth, sucking the side of it and turning to Winters to properly look at the man.

Said man quickly turns back to his boots, the tips of his ears turning a warm pink at the smirk he can feel Lewis giving him, ‘caught in the act.’

It’s not often Winters lets himself indulge in looking. Every look at Lewis that isn’t directly in the eye feels too intimate, too voyeuristic, and pleasurable that he has to save it for the dark of the night, the quiet moments after sex, when Lewis is asleep, and he can look freely. His fingers ghosting over him like a visage that may disappear if he presses his fingers too hard, like trying to touch smoke from Nix’s usual cigarette.

“Thought you were supposed to be writing reports?” His voice was a knowing drawl as he puts the bottle back in Dick’s footlocker and closes the top, clicking the lock shut.

“Thought you were supposed to be cutting down.” Winters teases back, a joke they both know isn’t true, and most likely won’t ever be.

Nix laughs warmly, taking a draw from his flask and licking a small drop from his lips as he twists the cap back on. The redhead’s eyes caught the movement and lingered on the plush pink of Lewis’s mouth.

Taking a few short strides to the alcove Nix flops down on the bed behind Dick, the hard mattress barely giving under the weight of the grown man, but at least it’s more comfortable than the ground or an army cot.

“Did you finish?

“What?” Winters’ freckles disappear for a moment as his cheeks flush a soft pink, feeling caught once again as he tears his eyes away from the man’s mouth.

“The reports, Dick. Are you that efficient?” The dark-haired man smiles knowingly, his lips curling into a cattish smile, the flickering of his canines letting Dick know that there’s a hint of something else in his tone.

He rolls his eyes affectionately and turns back to his boots, spitting onto the toe and rubbing it with the cloth.

“I got bored, needed to step away.”

“Uh-huh.” Lewis lets his eyes linger over the long line of Winters’ back, the broad man curled in on himself to get some leverage as he rubs at the mud on the worn jump boots. “So you’re spit-shining your boots, again.”

“‘A clean soldier is a good soldier.’” He repeats the mantra from officer’s school, making Lewis laugh again.

“Jesus, been a long time since I heard that one.” His laughter makes Winters smile, a warm ball of light growing in his chest at the familiar sound, one that’s become less frequent in the present days.

They’re quiet for a while. Lewis, lying on Winters’ bed, his breathing slow. Dick sitting on the edge by his legs, spitting onto the leather and rubbing until it’s shining. The room is warm, the last warmth of October rising into the attic room, and the small alcove bed helping keep their body heat in as they sit close, Lewis’ leg pressing against the bottom of Winters’ back.

They’re quite the image. Total opposites dragged together by war, and finding… something, together.

Even just knowing that Nix is behind him, the soft sound of his breathing and the solid press of his warm leg against him, makes all the thought’s from Dick’s head focus on the dark haired man. Focusing on his warmth, his breathing, the scent of cigarettes, vague scotch, and the army-issued soap he occasionally covers up with rich cologne.

Lewis, on the other hand, has never been more focused in his entire life. Watching the way Winters’ hands move and press, wiping away the dirt, strong fingers using the blunt of his nails to pick at the more solid flecks of mud buildup. But mostly, Lewis Nixon is focused on the way Winters hollows his cheek to gather saliva before spitting onto the leather, biting his lip to catch the small dribble that catches on the pale pink.

Winters has finished his second boot and lines it up next to his first, placing them uniformly near the bottom of the bed.

“Want to do mine next?”

Dick startles, not even realizing that Lewis was still awake, let alone watching him as he worked. His head whips around to the man, who’s propped himself up onto his elbows, his eyes dark and hair hanging over his forehead as he watches the redhead.

“What?” His throat is dry, and he licks his lips nervously, an action that gets watched like a hawk by Lewis.

“You’re so bored, and value cleanliness so much,” He raises a leg and brings it up over Winters’ head until a dirty boot lands in his lap, the heel barely brushing his slowly stiffening cock. “I bet it just kills you to see these on a fellow Captain.” Lewis’s voice is rough, and his gaze unwavering as he watches the redhead, his eyes drooped.

Winters stares at the man further up the bed. The dark look makes his cheeks heat and drop into a deep pink that hides his freckles. He can feel the need to shift as the length in his pants gets stiffer, his pants feeling all too tight as Lew moves his heel just right so he catches the sensitive tip through his fatigues, making Dick bite his lip and huff through his nose. Slowly, Winters’ turns to the boot in his lap; build up mud, surely thickened by rain and blood, coats the leather, dust running up the laces and to where his pants are bloused, staining it all a slightly lighter shade than it was upon arrival to Holland.

He feels himself twitch in his pants at the thought of cleaning Lew’s boots, the scene in his head is dirty, embarrassing, and…

Winters slowly runs his hand up the leg of the shorter man until his palm his cupping the back of his calf. He lifts Nix’s leg just enough that he can slip from the edge of the bed onto the wood floor.

Dick’s hands are warm through the fabric of Lewis’ pants, and almost warm enough that he can feel the heat through the back of his ankle as Winters takes hold of his left foot, placing it in his lap as he kneels in front of Lew. It takes everything in Lewis not to groan as he moves to sit upright in front of Winters, allowing his foot to drop its weight right onto the man’s covered crotch.

Winters’ breath hitches, and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to moan as the pressure hits his crotch, making his toes tingle.

Looking up at Nix, Winters waits for a moment, looking him in the dark, depthless brown eyes that have been blown out into almost pure black as he looks down at Winters.

With the smallest nod the higher man gives Dick permission, and, Christ, he could cum just from the sight of Winters raising his foot and hollowing his cheeks as he rolls a wad of spit around his mouth. Slowly, he parts his lips just enough that the spit falls from his lips in a long line, catching the low light of the oil lamps scattered through the room.

The spit lands on the top of Lewis’ boot with the softest splat, which Lewis moans loudly and unabashed at. His cock strains against his ODs and when Winters starts rubbing at the boot, spreading the spit in a shiny circle and wiping away the dirt, he feels a tingle of arousal shoot right from his toes to his crotch.

Winters focuses on the dark man above him. Lewis’s breath hitching and his hand going to palm himself over his uniform, as he cleans Nix’s boot in some odd pantomime that reminds him of the painting of Jesus washing Judas’s feet, which hangs in the church in his hometown.

Rolling another, larger wad of saliva around his mouth, Winters feels his cheeks go hot, and he has to resist reaching up to pop the next few buttons of his uniform, not wanting to stop this ritual of care and arousal by any means.

Spitting the glob of saliva with a hard push, it lands on Nix’s boot and splats all over, some dripping off the side and leaving a streak of clean brown among the dust and dirt.

“Fuck, Dick, you’re doing so good.” Nix praises above him, making Winters want to finish and do a good job at cleaning his boots- ‘I’ll do that later.’ He promises himself, focusing on forming the next wad of spit, and suddenly, also focusing on the wet tip of Lewis’s cock as he pulls it out of the fly of his trousers, thumbing it and spreading the beads of wetness, his stomach tightening as he grunts.

Nix leans forward and gently wraps his fingers through Winters’ hair, pulling him to release his grip on his foot and calf, and lean closer to the pulsing cock in front of him.

“Come on, handsome.” Nix teases lovingly, meaning the compliment but also knowing just what it does to Winters. “You gonna be good and spit-shine it for me?”

Winters nods, his brain short-circuiting at the thought of sucking Nix off.

“Maybe, if you’re good, you can use my boot.” He purrs, watching how Dick’s eyes go from black to frankly a little stupid, like every thought has been pushed from his tired mind and all that matters now is doing a good enough job and sucking cock, that he gets even half the pleasure he is looking to give.

He opens his mouth and it’s already filled with enough spit that some drips over Winters’ soft lip and onto the side of Lewis’ member, the man hissing at the obscene sight and warmth of the redhead’s breath.

Winters’ mouth is hot and slick, his cheeks hollowing on memory the moment his lips wrap around Lewis’ cock, moaning softly at the salty taste of his precum.

Nix, on the other hand, nearly jumps out of his skivvies at the tight, wet warmth and his grip on Winters’ hair gets tighter, quickly guiding the redhead further down until he gags softly, and coarse black hairs prickling at his nose, making his eyes water.

“Shit- God, Dick, you’re so fuckin’ good at this.” Lewis puffs hot breaths, his face scrunching in pleasure as he tries to keep some decorum, and stifle his moans and sharp hisses. Dick doesn’t make it easy for Nix, he swirls his tongue around the salty tip of his cock and hollows out his cheeks in intervals. Sometimes he parts his lips just enough that drips and strings of spit can pass between the puffy lips, and leave sticky tendrils along his mouth and Lewis’ cock, other times his lips are locked around him and sucking, swallowing around him like he’s trying to pull an orgasm right out of Nix.

Lewis lets his head tilt back, his hand roughly messing up Dick’s perfect, clean hair, and he gets lost in the familiar warmth and building of an orgasm that’s deep in his stomach, ready to burst.

“Look so fuckin’ good down there, pretty mouth all over me like you just can’t resist.” Nix purrs down, dark, almost black eyes meeting the innocent blue or the man below him.

The words Lewis spits so easily make Dick’s cheeks flush a deep pink, and make his cock twitch more than he’d like to admit. But the hand running through his hair, making the shortest parts stick up, and the longer front pieces go in every direction, helps keep the man grounded as he feels that familiar hazy warmth wash over him. The warmth of letting everything fade into the background, except Lewis, never the man whom he loves so, he will always, always be at the front of Winters’ mind, whether in the battlefield, or in the bedroom, it’s always Nix, Nix, Nix.

“Dick- Dick I- I- Jesus Christ!” Lew gasps, his moans turning to breathy grunts as his high gets closer. He wants to say it to Winters, tell him how he feels and lay his heart bare, but not here, not like this. Instead he says, “Anywhere.” Anywhere you go, I’ll be right behind you. Anywhere you want me, I’ll come. Any way you head, that’s where I’ll be.

Dick looks at him with fluttering eyes, his lashes brushing over soft, pink cheeks as that wave of loving warmth washes over him. He squeezes Lew’s thigh tight and sucks hard.

Lewis can feel the orgasm coming, building faster and faster, Winters’ mouth moving as far as he can down the shaft before pulling almost all the way off. And Winters can feel it too, Lew’s member twitching and spurting more salty precum over Winters’ tongue.

He looks up at the dark-haired officer, his hands holding his thighs tight, nearly digging his nails in to keep Lew from ducking up into his mouth. Blue eyes meet brown- almost black with pleasure, brows set and daring him to cum, to show that he’s done a good job, that he’s needed, wanted for more than just reports and spit-shining boots.

“Dick- God- F-Fuck!” Nix curses loudly, fingers clenching strands of copper red hair as his cock pulses, pumping stripes of hot cum down Winters’ throat.

Winters feels the heat hit the back of his throat, and it takes everything in him not to pull off instantly. When his mouth is full and Lew lets go of his hair, petting through it instead of holding, Winters can pull off, reaching for a handkerchief from his desk and spitting the load into it, clearing his mouth out, though the salty taste stays behind.

When Winters turns back to Nix, he’s lying back with his eyes closed, breathing evening out slowly as his cock softens and lays limply against his stomach. He shakily steps over to him and lies next ot him in the small alcove, grabbing his legs to swing them properly onto the bed, curling into his side.

“Jesus, Dick you’re… you’re too good at that.” He compliments, turning his head and letting his eyes crack open, hazy and warm as they run over Dick’s face, cheeks warm.

Winters smiles and leans over him, slotting their lips together slowly and gently peaking his tongue between the brunette’s lips. Lew moans softly at the taste of himself on Dick’s tongue, eagerly giving him access, letting tongues swirl together before pulling back, a little string of spit connecting the two.

“Did- Did you, you know… cum?” Lew’s eyes are a little nervous at the thought of Winters doing something and not getting the same pleasure that he was giving.

“Yeah, when you were, I uh- your boot moved and caught me and I-... yes I did.” He shyly admits, the feel of Nix’s boot pressing against his hard cock fresh in his mind and making him warm from his cheeks, down to his crotch in his messy skivvies.

Lewis smiles and nods, running a hand gently through the messy red hair of the man pressed against him. “Good. I’m staying here tonight.” He grumbles, rolling over to snuggle into Dick’s chest, arms wrapping around his middle and face nuzzling under his jaw, pressing a few small kisses before sighing happily, sated and warm in the arms of his lover.

“Night, Dick.”

“Night, Nix.”

[w1ld-wr1t3r]

The shoes are finished!!! :D

They came out even better than I'd imagined! I used a pair of white J.Crew sneakers for the base and used Angelus paints to customize them, along with some specially ordered laces (they're a tad shorter than I expected but I think they'll be fine). The project was actually easier than I anticipated, with the hardest part just being keeping my cat from trying to rub against the shoes before they were dry. I can't wait to rock these on race day in Austria!!!

If you want to recreate these shoes yourself (or do it for your own favorite driver), here's the materials and process I used:

Materials:

1 pair of white shoes (I used a pair made of polyurethane, but you can use any other kind of shoe instead. If you want to use the exact same shoes I did, I used Women's Road Trip Sneakers from J.Crew Factory). Starting with a white shoe will make it easier to build up bright colors quickly, especially if you're working with a color like yellow.

I've read that Angelus products are best for shoe customs. Acquire paint in your desired color(s). Note that they won't stick to rubber soles, only the other parts of the shoe.

If you're painting on canvas shoes, you'll want to get 2-soft solution, which you'll mix 50/50 with the paint before applying it. I bought some before realizing I didn't actually need it for the shoes I was using.

If painting on leather or polyurethane shoes, buy a delgazer/preparer solution.

A sealer is recommended. I used a matte sealer, but there's also satin and other options.

Optional: buy shoelaces in color(s) to match your design.

Process:

Remove the shoelaces before doing anything else.

If painting on leather/polyurethane, use the deglazer to remove the factory finish. Use a cotton pad or cloth to rub it onto the shoe. Wear gloves to protect your skin and make sure you're in a well-ventilated area when using it - I sat outside to do this step. When done, wipe off any excess and allow to dry for a few minutes.

For best results, I recommend sketching your design lightly with a pencil before you start painting.

Apply paints. Don't forget the 2-soft if you're painting on canvas! If you want clean lines, make sure you have fresh brushes. Apply the paint in thin coats, with 15-20 minutes of drying time between coats (it actually dried pretty fast for me, but that's what the bottle recommends). Dark colors like black might be fine with only one coat, but light colors like yellow are definitely going to need at least two or three coats. I got away with only one coat of black, but had to do three coats of the yellow. I also recommend applying the lightest color first and then working down to the darkest color - it's a lot easier to cover up a light smudge on a dark spot than a dark smudge on a light spot.

Once you're satisfied with your paint job, make sure it's all completely dry before applying a coat of sealer. You can apply it with a brush. The package says to let it sit for 24 hours before trying to bend the material, to make sure everything is set properly, so don't go putting the shoes on just yet!

After 24 hours, lace up the shoes and you're done!

Angelus also has a YouTube channel with tons of great tutorials and tips for making custom shoes, if you want visual examples for each step. I know they were extremely helpful for me!

All told, I think the main part of this project took maybe four hours total. It was definitely worth it!

[rilamelafin]

Offer Me That Deathless Death

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition Rating: M Pairing: Cullen x Female Lavellan Tags: Body Worship, Victory Sex, Bathing/Washing

[Read on AO3]

~~~

He all but carried her up the stairs to her bedchambers, exhausted as she was. He carried her staff for her, something he would never have imagined himself doing even three years ago, before he had been recruited to lead the Inquisition’s forces. Neddirra leaned heavily on his shoulder, every step leaden and weighted as the heat of battle ebbed from her body. She had saved them all. Again. Corypheus was finally defeated, the hole in the sky repaired with nothing but a scar to show how close they had all been to destruction. At the top of the steps, Neddirra’s knees buckled, and Cullen scooped her up properly into his arms. He set her staff in its place along the wall, carried her to the tub he’d had drawn when news of her victory had reached Skyhold ahead of her, and carefully set her back on her feet.

His hands were light as they set to the task of removing the Keeper robes she had crafted since the fall of her clan. As each layer was lifted, he could see her body growing lighter. The tension slowly eased from her brow. She tried to help, started to lean down to remove her leg wraps, but he gently pushed her hands away and insisted she let him. He knelt before her, a supplicant at her feet, as his hands unwrapped the leather that protected her. He was careful to put her robes and other pieces of her armor on their proper stands — they’d be cleaned in the morning — and in minutes he had her bare before him. Her body was covered in grime — blood and corruption, and viscera — and already-darkening bruises.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes upon.

She was alive. 

Cullen helped her into the bath and sat on the stool beside it, taking a cup to rinse the warmed water over her auburn hair. Her breath left her in a rush, her shoulders sinking lower as he worked soap into a lather in her hair. Flakes of red and black fell, staining the water in the tub. He wetted a cloth and began the slow, tender process of cleaning the battle off of her skin. He started with her back, careful of the angry red mark that burned a line over her shoulder blades, and moved slowly down each arm. With every inch of her pale skin he cleansed and revealed, a piece of her seemed to come back to herself and she relaxed against the back of the tub. She was so tired, drawn thin and empty from her battle with Corypheus high in the mountains. Cullen had only been able to see flashes of light in the distance, green and crimson and terrifying. When Neddirra had returned, triumphant, he had finally been able to breathe again.

Once her skin was clean, Cullen helped Neddirra to her feet and out of the tub. She leaned heavily against him as he drew a towel over her body, gently caressing as he helped her dry. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, her forehead, the tip of one ear — the last one elicited a soft gasp. She tipped her head back to kiss his mouth, lips slow and languid. Cullen’s arms wrapped around her, drawing her as near as he could manage. Her skin was still warm from the bath through his linen shirt, and her hands glided over his chest to wrap behind his neck. She opened her mouth to him, and a low groan rumbled in his chest as her tongue slid against his. He should let her rest, he knew. But her hands tugged at the back of his shirt, drawing it up as best she could, and all Cullen could do was breathe out a laugh against her lips as he pulled back and lifted the shirt over his head. 

Her lips were on his chest the second it was bared to her, tracing over scars, kissing and sucking gentle bruises into his skin, marking him as hers and hers alone. His hands roamed her naked body, feeling for the aches and bruises from her battle, marveled at the strength of her. One hand cupped her breast, and she gasped, breath hot against his chest. Cullen moved his hands under her thighs and lifted her with ease — she was always so light — and she wrapped her legs around his waist. His lips found hers again as he carried her to the bed and gently laid her down into the plush covers. She stared up at him with desire-blown eyes, and a hand trailed down his side, to the hem of his trousers. Cullen gently grasped her wrist and brought it back up to his face so he could kiss her there.

“Allow me to tend to you, just this once.”

Their lovemaking was a place where they were true equals, usually. Tonight, Cullen wanted for Neddirra to just exist in pleasure. She had done so much for him — for the world — he wanted her to stop giving just for one night. His lips traveled slowly up her arm, dotting her skin with gentle, reverent kisses. As he reached the juncture of her neck and shoulders, one of his hands moved between her legs and cupped her there. The gasp and shaking breath she gave went straight to his cock, but tonight was not about him.  He worked her slowly, drawing gasps and sighs and moans from her lips with every pass over her slick core. Her hips canted in time with his fingers. 

Cullen slowed his movements and pressed a kiss to her lips at her responding whine. A promise of more to come. He kissed his way down her body, all lips and tongue — no teeth because she had been marked enough and he wouldn’t add to it tonight — and her hands buried themselves in his hair. She sighed his name as he continued his worship of her. He had learned the Chant of Light in his Templar training. Had he the time, he would recite it in entirety into her skin. He could spend weeks venerating her, and may the Maker strike him down for his blasphemy.  He kissed her inner thigh once, twice, and then his mouth was on her folds, and her voice echoed off the walls of her chambers. 

He could spend hours here, between her legs, tasting her very essence, tongue tracing every line of her while she whispered her pleasure for only him. He groaned into her, and her ankles crossed behind his back, holding him close. Even as fatigued as he knew she was, she was still so strong. His tongue delved into her heat, and he could feel the muscles of her thighs trembling. She was gasping his name now, all but begging him to bring her to release. And who was he to deny her anything? His lips and tongue worked her, sucking and licking gently in just the ways he had learned she liked. Her voice rose, a song sweeter than any lyrium, as she fell apart and he worked her through her climax until she squirmed under him. His jaw ached, but he kissed her folds once more before rising to meet her eager lips with his. She groaned, low and throaty, as she could taste herself on his mouth.

“I love you,” he breathed.

“Ar lath ‘ma.” Neddirra’s hands traced lazily over the scars on his back, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. They trailed down to his pants again, and this time she tugged insistently at them. “Aman na’mis.” He remembered this one. She often said it when they made love, and the memory made him impossibly harder. “Sathan, vhenan.” Please, she begged. Cullen realized she was so exhausted she had fallen back on the language of her people, but he had learned enough in their time together. His trousers were gone in short order, and he blanketed her with his own body. She begged him again in Elvish, and he slid into her with practiced ease. 

The pace he set was slow and languid. He relished in the feel of her, every inch of her skin that touched him. His lips were on her — kissing her throat, her jaw, her lips — as his hips rolled into her. She threw her head back, eyes closed in bliss, no coherent words passing her lips besides his name and a few words in Elvish that he hadn’t learned yet. He kept his pace even and controlled, bringing her to the brink of her climax again. Her whole body trembled beneath him, fingertips bruising into his skin — yet she still never allowed her nails to graze over him after that first time. She shattered again around his cock, voice high and keening, and he kissed his way up her throat again, swallowing her moans with his own mouth. He started to pull back, to finish over her belly as usual, but she managed to hook her legs behind him, holding him in place inside her. Her green eyes seemed to glow in the night as she met his gaze.

“Please,” she whispered. That was all it took, and Cullen’s release washed over him before he could even think to argue. He groaned her name, burying himself deep inside her. Neddirra held him close, whispering sweetness in both Elvish and the common tongue, and all Cullen could do was kiss her. 

As he finally slipped out of her, she dragged him to lay beside her in the bed and curled into his side. Cullen’s arm wrapped around Neddirra’s shoulders, drawing her close, and he pressed his lips to the crown of her head once more before she drifted off to sleep. 

She was alive. She was in his arms. He could finally breathe, knowing she wasn’t facing death and destruction. Tonight, there was no threat to face. No Inquisition to worry after.

There was only them.

[rorywritesjunk]

You've got to promise not to stop when I say when

Buggy's been a bit of a brat today and you've had enough. Rating: NC-17, MDNI at all. There be sex happening here. Warnings: Mommy kink, use of 'baby boy'. Everyone's consenting. Buggy is such a brat and a sub. My first time writing something like this. Pegging. Buggy cries and is overstimulated because of course he would be. Aftercare. A/N: Suggested by an Anon for Buggy to have a Mommy Kink. I hope you like it! Thank you for the suggestion. I had fun writing it! Also, I've never participated in anything kink related personally, so what I write is just from what I've picked up on other fics.

Title comes from "Everlong" by Foo Fighters.

“I need you to be good, baby boy.” You murmured as you knelt between Buggy’s spread legs. He could only nod slowly, swallowing heavily as your lube covered fingers brushed over his tight entrance. He shut his eyes, taking a few deep breaths as he forced himself to relax. Your movements were slow and gentle, applying just enough pressure for the tip of your finger to breach him. He let out a soft whine, head turning to the side as he threw his arm over his face. 

“It’s okay, baby boy.” You assured softly as you pushed your finger up to the first knuckle, then the second. You poured a bit more lube onto your fingers, wanting to make sure he was prepped safely. You never wanted to hurt him. “Mommy’s got you.”

He whimpered when you said that, moving his arm away from his face so he could look at you. Tears were welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill. You reached down with your free hand, touching his cheek; the tears started coming, staining his face and ruining his makeup. He turned his face to kiss your palm, letting out a quiet whine when you pulled your finger back, only to push it back in. 

You chuckled softly, caressing his cheek before pulling your hand away, resting it on his stomach. He was already getting over stimulated just on your voice, the gentle tone almost too much for him. Buggy had been a brat all day to you, tracking mud into the bedroom, destroying the frosting on a cake you made for a crew member’s birthday, and when he tracked mud into the room again, this time getting it onto the clean bed linens, you were finished. He needed to be punished, that behaving like that was not acceptable, and that Mommy was disappointed in her baby boy.

And now you had him on his back, spread open for you as you added a second finger, humming contently as he tried to figure out where to put his hands. Sometimes he’d grab locks of his hair, but he often pulled too hard and caused himself discomfort. He didn’t want to grab the bed sheets, worried he’d get in trouble if he messed them up even further. You thought about taking some pity, letting his hands touch you perhaps, but you remembered this was a punishment, that you’d be fucking the discipline into him once he was ready for it. 

“Relax, Buggy.” You reminded him as his hands went to his hair, grabbing fistfuls as your fingers pumped into him. 

“S’toomuch.” He whimpered. “Please-”

“Please what, Buggy?” You asked. He was almost ready for you, for his punishment, but you wanted to make sure he was okay because you never wanted to hurt him or make him uncomfortable. This was all for him, every time, and he needed to let you know if he was okay. “Baby boy, I need you to tell Mommy what you need, okay?”

He nodded as he took a deep breath, shuddering as you teased him with a third finger. He took a moment, trying to get his brain working. After an eternity, he exhaled, body relaxing as he looked at you.

“I need you, please.” He mumbled. “Please, Mommy.”

You gave him a smile, adding a third finger slowly, making sure he was properly lubed up for you. It was hard to move your hand away, you loved seeing him like this, spread out on the bed, a whimpering mess as he begged for you. You moved your hand from his stomach, brushing over his cock as you reached for the black leather harness laying on the bed beside you. You pulled your other hand free and grabbed the base of his cock, giving him a few strokes, tightening your grip around him.

“You’ll have to help me out, baby boy.” You told him. Buggy nodded, swallowing heavily as he closed his eyes, relaxing into the sheets. This wasn’t the first time you fucked him using his own cock, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but it was always fascinating to be holding it in your hand like a toy before attaching it to your harness. Giggling, you poured a generous amount of lube onto his cock, stroking your hand over it to ensure it was fully coated. 

“Relax, Buggy.” You reminded him as you pressed the tip to his entrance, holding his cock in your hand as you pushed your hips slowly. He let out a whine at the breach and you waited for him to adjust to the feeling. You put your other hand on one side of him, bracing yourself on it as you pushed the tip in just a bit. “You’re being so good, baby boy. The tip is in and you’re handling it so well.”

“I-I’m good?” He whimpered softly. Oh, he was so sweet in that moment. Tears were already streaming from his eyes, his makeup running, and you wanted to wrap him up in a cozy blanket and hold him all night, but you also knew he’d be such a brat if you stopped right then to do that. So you pushed forward, glancing down to see his cock slowly entering him. 

“You’re being so good, baby.” You assured him as he sniffled. “You’re taking your cock so well, baby boy, I’m so proud of you.” 

He nodded, eyes shiny with tears as you pressed forward, your bodies flush as you bottomed out. He let out a choked sob, covering his face with his hands as he forced his body to relax. You reached over and pulled one of his hands away before leaning over to press kisses to his face.

“I got you, baby boy.” You murmured, rolling your hips slowly. 

He was vocal as always with whimpers and whines for you, the sweetest noises you could ever hear. You kept one hand on his face while the other supported you, keeping you upright as your hips thrust into his. He shut his eyes and covered his mouth with his hand when you brushed against his prostate, the sensation almost too much for him.

“No, no, Buggy.” You pulled his hand away from his mouth. “Don't be naughty when I'm punishing you. Mommy needs to hear those beautiful noises, my baby boy.” He nodded, biting his lip as you pulled your hips back, only to thrust back into him harshly. He let out a moan, hands now gripping the bed sheets. You decided to take some pity on your baby boy. “You can touch me.”

His hands were on your waist before you even finished talking. You chuckled and kissed his forehead, stroking his cheek gently. “You're doing so good, baby boy, taking your cock like this. You're learning your lesson, aren't you? You're such a good boy, Mommy’s so proud.”

Buggy leaned into your touch as he rocked his hips with yours, clenching around himself. He took a shuddering breath, eyes shut as he nodded to your praises. He was being good for you, that’s all he ever wanted. He dug his nails into your hips when you stroked his prostate again, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he would last much longer like this. Between the praises, your touches, and fucking himself on his own cock, he was surprised he was lasting as long as he had. He wanted to hold out, to enjoy the punishment just a bit longer, but you angled your hips suddenly, and every thrust was hitting that bundle of nerves inside of him.

“It’s okay, baby boy.” You said to him as he let out a cry, eyes shut tightly as he started cumming. You stilled your hips, keeping him plugged up with his cock. Tears were rolling down his cheeks still and he moved his hands to cover his face once more. You pulled your hips back slowly, humming in approval when you looked down between his legs. You chuckled softly as you removed the strap, allowing him to reattach his cock as you laid down between his legs. “You made such a mess, Buggy.” 

“I-I’m sorry-”

“No, no, it’s okay.” You told him, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh. His body was trembling, and you weren’t sure how much more he wanted to take, but you wanted to clean him up, and this was something he often enjoyed. Tentatively, you spread him just enough to drag your finger over his hole, collecting some of the cum spilling out. He cracked an eye open just as you took your finger into your mouth, licking it clean. 

“Oh fu-”

Your mouth was on him, tongue lapping at his skin, collecting the mixture of cum, lube, and sweat that was coating his thighs and ass. You started stroking his cock as well, and every other stroke you’d pull your mouth back, praising him, saying what a good boy he was for you, that you were so happy and proud of him. It didn’t take him long to start cumming again, his cries weak from the exhaustion of the whole ordeal. 

There was a fuzzy blanket at the foot of the bed that you grabbed, wrapping it around him as you pulled him against you. He buried his face against your chest as you rubbed the soft fabric against his cheek, wiping at the tears and makeup, not caring if the blanket got dirty. You needed to ensure he was okay.

“Buggy?” You murmured as you ran your fingers through his hair gently. He mumbled something as he shut his eyes, cheeks starting to turn red. “Hey, hey, you okay?”

He just nodded, not looking at you as you cleaned up his face. You started to pull back, wanting to get him properly cleaned up and to get him a snack, but he wrapped his arms back around you, pulling you closer.

“I’ll be good from now on.” He mumbled against your skin. You chuckled softly, letting your fingers run through his hair. “Promise, Mommy.”

“That’s all I want, baby boy.”