#accidentally had too many cocktails

[ceilidho]

hound dog

prompt: You pick up Ghost from a bar for a one night stand. Too bad Ghost isn't interested in a casual hook up. (nsfw, 6.7k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

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Rare is the day when a stupid girl doesn’t do stupid things.

This is just one of many such occurrences. Stepping into the dimly lit dive bar—the one miles from your place, reeking of tobacco and leather and motor oil, the noxious perfume of week old sweat and weed stinking up the joint, pardon the pun—with too much eyeliner and mascara on, and a skirt too short for you—and would you just stop fiddling with it? But you can’t because that would mean admitting that it barely fits over your ass, that putting on a skirt so short was a choice, an invite, a teasing little taunt to the men in the bar saying, what are you waiting for? I’m asking for it, aren’t I—

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

It’s why you’re planted at the bat some six weeks after being dumped, two weeks after being ghosted for the third time in a row, a smile on your face despite your crumbling self-esteem. Pride hanging in tatters. Grimacing when you find the bartop sticky with congealed liquor, the residue sticking to your skin when you quickly lift your elbows off. But there’s a time for self-pity and a time for getting it the fuck togther. This just happens to be one of the latter times.

“What’m I gettin’ you?” the bartender in front of you asks, barely impressed with your get-up. Not even attempting to conceal his distaste when he eyes you up and down, lingering on the way your tits are practically spilling out of your top. 

“Do you have any cocktails?” you ask. Wrong question. The eye roll isn’t even suppressed for your benefit when he makes it clear to you, in no uncertain terms, that it’s whatever he can pour straight from a bottle or the fancy bar for cityfolk down the road. He says it like that, the word practically sneered out. Cityfolk. 

Nerves shaken, you sip at your red wine after he leaves you to your own devices, your glass poured straight from the box. It could function passably as lighter fluid if the circumstances called for it. Still, you swallow it with a positive attitude, emboldened by the knowledge that you’re here for one thing and one thing only:

to get fucked within an inch of your life by one of the greasy-haired, cut-wearing, cigarette-smoking men lining the bar. 

Even the thought sends a thrill down your spine. 

It’s an age old question, isn’t it? What’s a girl to do (when her love life’s falling apart / when her credit score just bottomed out because her ex-boyfriend ran up her credit cards behind her back / when her job’s steadily becoming unbearable but quitting would mean scrambling to find a job that’ll pay anywhere near to what this one’s paying her) to get a drink around here? 

Evidently, the answer isn’t to use a dating app; you can say that confidently after waiting around in fancier bars than this for several no-show dates. 

You’re feeling appropriately over the whole thing. Ready to call it quits. Uninstall all of the apps on your phone and hire a matchmaker or ask a friend to set you up with a coworker of theirs. But that’ll be later, down the line when you aren’t dealing with the issue at hand.

The issue being that—

you’re really fucking horny. 

Embarrassingly so. Enough that you were willing to travel miles away from home to avoid accidentally hooking up with anyone you might run into later on while out getting groceries or on a morning run. 

It’s just better to play things close to your chest. Keep your romantic life and your sexual exploits far apart (not that you’d know much about keeping things separate; you’ve never had much of a sex life to keep hidden) lest you get mired in a stickier situation than you’re comfortable being in. 

Despite the rough start, the bar you chose seems promising. There’s a man at the other side of the bar that keeps drawing your eye. It’s the hulking size of him at first, then the grime clinging to the folds of his skin, worn in from years of hard labor. He looks like a man fresh off a fourteen-hour shift or a fortnight spent on an oil rig in the middle of the Baltic sea, freshly washed ashore, kelp and barnacles still fused to his skin, not yet pried off. 

Rough is the only word you’d use to describe him. A face covered in nicks and old scars, his upper lip slightly puckered and scarred from cleft lip surgery. When he turns his head to say something to the bartender, you catch a glimpse of a cauliflower ear, the cartilage of his tragus and antihelix swollen and deformed. 

He’s exactly what you’ve been looking for. If you’d given it more thought, you think you could’ve conjured up an image of the man across the bar all by yourself. It’s like someone plucked him straight out of your head. Big and brawny, broad shoulders that you can imagine dangling your ankles off, and well-muscled arms that you can imagine digging your nails into. It would take both of your hands and extra to wrap around his bicep. The thought makes you shiver.

You try to catch his attention subtly. Looking over at him from under your lashes, quick, smoldering glances meant to draw his attention to you, so that he approaches you first. You keep waiting for the moment when he’ll notice your stare and hold your gaze, a question being asked and answered between your eyes before reeling him in with a coy little smile. 

But when a half hour goes by without a single glance your way, your hope begins to wane. 

He doesn’t look up no matter how many times you glance over at him. It’s frustrating; you know he feels the weight of your stare. His disregard is purposeful, deliberate; like he knows your attention is fixed on him but he can’t be bothered to so much as return your stare. You wonder if that means he’s got a lady at home, a little bird cooped up in his house that he’s more eager to get back to after he’s had a drink to take off the edge than flirt with some trussed up floozy at the bar.

That makes you squirm, self-consciousness rearing its ugly head again. Maybe you made a mistake coming here. 

It’s not as though you’re being completely ignored, it’s just that the caliber of men that have approached you so far haven’t really inspired much, carnally speaking. You’ve sent the few braver ones away, a half-hearted thanks but no thanks when they offer to buy you a drink. Most leave without a word, though a few mutter obscenities under their breath before shoving their hands in their pockets and stalking away. Bitch. Dumb cunt. 

Calling it a night feels like a natural next step. With the attitude you keep getting from the bartender and the way the only man you’re remotely attracted to refuses to so much as glance your way, it doesn’t feel right to stay out any longer. Embarrassment heats you like a low grade fever, warm in your belly. Wine sloshes around in your stomach when you slip off the stool, hunger now another pressing concern. 

You’ll ask him on your way back from the bathroom. If he turns you down after that, you’ll slink off into the night with your tail tucked between your legs. There’ll always be next weekend to try again. You promise yourself that because the alternative is acknowledging how defeated this entire experience has left you, no less disappointing than going on the same boring first date with a guy from Tinder. 

In the bathroom, you dab your face with water and stare at your reflection in the dirty mirror. It looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years; finger smudges and white strains streaked across the glass. You wonder how many strangers have fucked in this bathroom over the years. The thought makes you grimace even more when you notice that the floor is slightly sticky, the ground sounding tacky beneath your shoes. 

When you come out, the man from across the bar is waiting by the door, so close that you flinch, eyes widening. The narrow hallway means that he’s barely three feet from you when you stand in the doorframe. 

“We leavin’ or what?” he growls, voice as deep as you thought it might be, gruff and husky. 

He’s just as imposing in front of you as he was from across the bar. Maybe more so. You’re forced to crane your neck to look up at him this close, lips parting on an inaudible exhale. There’s something about a brutish man that’s always taken your breath away; everything from the blunt chin to the pronounced brow. His face is flecked with pale, keloidal skin; rubbery nodules from old injuries. 

Dumbstruck, you can only nod, following behind him when he turns away from you, headed towards the parking lot out back where his truck is parked. 

You’re really doing this. You’re really doing this. That’s the only thought in your head when he unlocks his truck and pops the door open for you, waiting until you’re buckled in before slamming the door shut. 

He’s quiet on the car ride back to his place, unconcerned with getting to know you or defusing the tension in the truck. You can’t say you blame him. There’s a reason you chose a bar so far from home as a hunting ground. If you wanted to get to know someone, you would’ve met someone at a coffee shop. 

When you ask his name, he grunts it out like it’s an inconvenience. Simon. He doesn’t give you more than that, even when you awkwardly ask him what he does for work. Blatantly ignores your questions. The rebuff smarts for some reason, makes you frown and duck your chin to your chest, shoulders hunched.

His demeanor is so off-putting that halfway through the drive, you wonder if you misunderstood him somehow, if he means to drive you home instead of taking you back to his place (but that can’t be right, otherwise wouldn’t he have asked for your address?). It’s just hard to reconcile his churlish attitude towards you with his ostensible invitation to fuck. 

Maybe he doesn’t intend to fuck you at all. Maybe you managed to pick up the one serial killer in a twenty mile radius and stupidly followed him back to his truck without telling anyone who you planned to go home with. Your blood curdles at the thought, hackles raised when you imagine him sizing you up from across the bar, all prettied up and doe-eyed, easy prey. 

Your breathing picks up. “I, um…actually, c-could you…could you just drop me off at my place?”

Simon rolls his eyes so hard that it’s almost audible. “Not gonna kill ya, bird.” 

That doesn’t go a long way towards reassuring you, but you don’t dig your heels in and demand he take you home either. 

“Do you live nearby?” you ask, suddenly chatty. Why, oh why.

Simon looks over at you, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. He drives a manual, you notice. A few too many seconds go by in silence. You wish somebody would just staple your mouth shut already. 

“Yeah,” he says finally, turning back to watch the road, taking a left turn up ahead without using his signal. So it’s that kind of drive.

You keep your mouth shut for the rest of it lest he decide you’re too much of a hassle and turn back. You’re poised right on the edge of something new and exciting, and the thought of that slipping through your fingers makes you feel a bit crazy. So many men before have shown you that same snap dislike. Like you’re tolerable over text or as a dimensionless photo, but not as a flesh and blood person, the real mechanics of you all wrong. It’s an intolerable thought—that people can only like you when you smile and keep your mouth shut.

Still, you’ll do it now, for a price. 

Part of you expects him to pull you into his lap when he pulls into his driveway and puts the truck in park. It’s what you’ve seen in movies. The rest of the night plays out in your head in piecemeal flashes; ravenous passion, hands tearing clothes off each other’s bodies, a shoe left on the porch in your hurry to get inside. Hungry, devouring; slick mouths parting for barely long enough to breathe.

Then Simon cuts the engine and gets out of the truck without so much as a glance your way, like you aren’t even there.

He still comes around to open the door for you. You frown at him through the window, affronted. Baffled at his continued nonchalance. Like even keeping your mouth shut isn’t enough to keep a man’s interest. Where you expected passion and fervor, you’re met with cool indifference. 

Simon pops the door open. “Get out.”

The house itself is nothing special. A two-story cookie-cutter house built in the seventies; weathered, beige-coloured vinyl siding and a neatly trimmed lawn, with a few patches of overgrown grass and weeds. There’s a trailer parked in front of the closed garage, a few planks of wood strapped down in the bed. When you follow him up the walkway, you notice how quiet the neighborhood is, and for some reason that makes you even more jittery. 

You stop in the doorway, frustration breaking your timidity like snapping an ampoule. “Do you even want to—” fuck me, goes unsaid. Too humiliating to even ask. But you ask anyway, the question itself implicit even in so few words. 

Dark eyes stare down at you, impenetrable. You’re struck by the sense of something primordial slithering under his skin. His expression is hard, his face carved from granite; when his expression shifts, it’s like watching tectonic plates create mountains, plates pushed upward by mantle plumes.

He fits a big paw under your chin, fingers pressing into the fat of your cheeks hard enough to make your lips purse. Your heart skips a beat when he angles your head from side to side, looking you over like a pet he’s considering bringing home. You almost go cross-eyed when he bends down, his forehead nearly brushing yours, so close that you can smell the scent of cigarettes clinging to his clothes, see the grease smudged on his face and the folds around his eyes. 

A grin flickers across his lips, gone as it came. “Yeah. I do.”

And doesn’t that tie your stomach in a knot? Your nerves in a pretty bow? 

Inside, his house is just as unremarkable. You’d know in a single glance that a single man lived here; a functional, no-frills living space. Nothing more than a worn couch, a TV, and a few pieces of obvious hand-me-down furniture. It’s hard to glean anything from the minimal decoration around his place, but he doesn’t give you much of a chance to look around. That’s not the point of why you’re in his house. 

“Eat anything yet, bird?” Simon asks from the kitchen, opening the fridge without purpose. It looks like more of a reflex than anything, the first thing he does the second he gets home for the night and the last thing he does before going to bed. From the size of him, it makes sense; his body is muscle on muscle, covered by a healthy layer of fat, just a surface layer over the bulk beneath. 

You shake your head. “No.”

“Have a bite, then.”

“I’m not, uh, hungry though,” you deflect rather than saying the obvious, which is, I came to your house to have sex, not make sandwiches at the kitchen counter together. 

He shuts the fridge door, pinning you with his stare. “Your call. Could’ve used the energy though.”

You swallow. 

The first thing you do after he herds you into the bedroom is try to pull him into a kiss, cupping his cheeks and standing up on your tiptoes. Before your eyelids flutter shut, you catch a glimpse of a cocked brow. Then you press your lips to a slack mouth that doesn’t move no matter how much passion you infuse in your kiss and feel embarrassment flare up in your guts. 

Bastard. You should’ve expected that he wouldn’t kiss you back. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, breaking the facsimile of a kiss and dropping back down onto your heels. 

You flinch when he grabs you by the back of the neck and reels you back in, forcing you back onto your tiptoes, “Don’t be,” grunted against your mouth before fusing your lips together. A pathetic keen climbs up your throat, eyelids slipping shut. 

His greed leaks from him like tar, his kiss so messy and violent that you’re almost too jarred to do anything apart from hang on. Teeth clack against yours, a horrid sensation, the lust in your belly abating long enough for the real world to slink back in and you get flashes of it: hands winding around a thick neck, a scratchy cheek against your lip when he twists his head to angle your noses better, a tongue shoving into your mouth unceremoniously, no finesse at all. Straight to the main point. 

A shudder wracks you from head to toe when you try to break the kiss only to find the hand on your neck firm, holding you in place. The subtle reminder that he can do whatever he wants with you, that you willingly went home with a man big and strong enough to pin you down and fuck you however rough he wants. 

“Simon,” you whine, squirming against him, gasping a breath and his name again when he wrestles you back into the kiss. “No—Simon—”

“Stay fuckin’ still,” he snarls against your lips, and you freeze, knees going weak when his fingers dig into your jaw to hold you in place.

The endorphin rush nearly makes your vision white out. A sudden winter storm, the blood rushing to your cheeks and the tip of your nose, your breath coming out quick and choppy. Lungs barely filling up with each inhale. 

“Get this off,” Simon growls, tugging on your skirt when you don’t move fast enough. He doesn’t wait for you to catch up, content to wrench your skirt off himself instead, your panties along with it. 

It takes your breath away, how fast you go from clothed to partially nude. Trying to match his fervor is a losing game, so you just try to keep up. Your hands tug at his belt, desperately trying to undo it, and he chuckles when he notices; big hands paw at your ass while you shakily pop the buckle out of the first loop. 

He takes over after that, popping the button on his jeans one-handed. 

“Wanna handle the rest?” he prompts, an eyebrow jutting up, expectant. Lazy with his arrogance; oozing rugged masculinity. It’d infuriate you if it didn’t get you so hot. 

Your fingers are numb by the time you pull his jeans down, kneeling at his feet and gazing up at him with wide eyed devotion as he kicks off his boots and shakes the pants off his legs, nothing under his jeans. His pale white thighs are dusted in fine blond hairs, mottled with burns and scars and old, faded cigarette marks, like someone used his legs as an ashtray. The thought makes your throat close up.  

He shucks off his shirt while you stare at the shaft heavy with blood hanging between his legs, drooping with its own weight. Flushed red at the head and streaked with dark veins, leaking a steady drip of precum. The hair at the base of his dick is of a darker shade, gold like straw. 

Your stomach swoops at the sight, dropping to the pits of you. You swallow. Maybe you’ve bit off a little more than you can chew. A lot more.

As if sensing your unease, a wide hand is suddenly firm on the back of your head, urging you closer. “Gonna give it a kiss?”

It’s not a question. You know that and you know that you’re way out of your league; that if you panic now you’ll flounder. So instead of fighting it, you lean forward and press a shy kiss to the weeping head of his dick. 

You lick your lips instinctively when you draw back, lapping up the precum smeared across them. The taste makes you wrinkle your nose. It’s salty; bitter. Not altogether pleasant. 

Simon wraps a hand around his dick and holds it to your lips. “Open your mouth, bird. Get me nice ‘n wet.”

A shudder rolls through you, but there’s little else you can do except part your lips and squeeze your eyes shut. It’s a struggle to fit more than just the head in your mouth, his dick too wide to take more than that. Your eyes water at the stretch, the musky taste of his cum overwhelming. 

Any experience you’ve had before this pales in comparison. It’s like the first time all over again. His cock is heavy on your tongue, instantly making your eyes water. The grip he still has on the base of his cock tells you that he doesn’t expect you to swallow the whole length (an impossible task; you go cold with dread at even the thought), but Simon doesn’t hesitate to grip your head firmer when he feels you falter, forcing you to take as much as you can.

When you gag, he shushes you. “Keep at it—you’re fine.”

You wonder if he thinks by saying it, it makes it true. You’re very much not fine, struggling to breathe through your nose and suck him off without scraping his cock with your teeth.

Your exhale when he pulls you off his cock by your hair is full of both relief and trepidation. Your lips feel swollen and tender when you touch them with your fingers. 

“Can we please have sex now?” you ask, dazed enough to be bold. 

Simon cracks a smile at that, endeared somehow. “Gotta get up for that, bird.”

You have to brace your hands against his chest when you get to your feet, the blood that rushes to your head making you wobbly. Even on your feet, he’s so much taller than you, a behemoth. Men like him have always been your type, but Simon is really in a league of his own. 

Glancing up at him from under your lashes, you bite your lip. You’ve seen that in movies before, starlettes bringing men to their knees with just a look. Coquette; demure. It’s harder to replicate than you thought, but you’ve never rehearsed this before. This is a one-time, live performance. The culmination of everything you’ve ever read or watched or studied. 

You keep up the ruse of being sexy by crawling onto his bed on your hands and knees, dropping down onto your elbows once situated in the middle of the mattress. The debauchery of wiggling your ass back at the man who took you home from the bar would overwhelm you if you weren’t playing a part right now. Role playing. This isn’t who you usually are, but if it’s only for one night, you can force out the self-scrutiny and timidity. 

Silence hangs in the air like a bubble, waiting to be burst. You fight the urge to look over your shoulder at him. 

Then Simon exhales, breaking the silence. Goosebumps ripple down your arms. 

The mattress dips under his weight when he settles behind you, hands immediately sinking into the flesh of your ass and pulling your cheeks apart. No preamble. You open your mouth to say something, but thick, coarse fingers are already dipping between your thighs and playing with your hole, sinking a finger in up to the first knuckle. 

You breathe out shakily, shoulders tensing. The sheets reek of him, musky and ripe; you concentrate on that instead of the fingers penetrating you, getting you ready for his dick. Your walls squeeze tight around his fingers when he forces another one in. 

When he finally feeds his cock into you, the stretch is nearly unbearable. The sharp stab of pain that accompanies it almost makes you flinch away, but Simon drags you back by your hips.

“You’re not going anywhere, bird,” he rumbles. “Relax. It’s going in.”

What can you say to something like that? 

His whole frame presses you into the mattress, the breath forced from your lungs. Bigger now that he’s got you on your belly. Suddenly making two hundred pounds seem less abstract, more real. He bullies as much of his cock into you as he can, paying no mind to the way you squeal and kick your legs. 

“Real tight cunt,” Simon grunts, humming with his pleasure when his hips punch forward and your pussy squelches around his length. So lewd.

His knees on either side of you keep you trapped in place, nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. All you can do is lie under him and let him rut between your thighs, gasping for breath with every thrust. The sweat is slick down your back, half yours and half his. 

“Ya let other men fuck this cunt, bird?” he asks. It sounds hypothetical, like it’s said half to rile himself up, and though it prickles at your nerves, you don’t complain too much because he fucks you rougher after the words slip out of his mouth. 

When you don’t answer him though, concentrating more on filling your lungs and not biting your tongue off, he grabs your face and twists your head until you’re looking over your shoulder at him, neck aching with the strain. 

“Answer me,” he demands, sounding almost pissed off. 

“N-no—”

“Good,” he grunts. Satisfied.

His words should piss you off. How dare he ask you about fucking other men as if he were your husband or boyfriend. You have half a mind to cuss him out, but then he pumps his hips forward and your face goes numb from pleasure. Electric impulses zip up and down your skin, sizzling your nerves. 

Besides, maybe it’s hot that he’s acting like you belong to him. Like you’re his; his girl that he picked up from the bar after a long shift, eager to go home and lay her out on the bed so he could fuck his pretty girl into a tongue-tied stupor. It certainly does it for you, a thin filigree of pleasure winding its way down your spine. 

It’s an intoxicating fantasy—being wanted by a man in a real, visceral way. It’s one you’ve never gotten close to before, never even grazed with the tips of your fingers, no matter how far you stretched out your arms. You don’t know what men see when they look at you, but it can’t be anything worth keeping. 

He fucks you like he wants to pry you open and leave a piece of him inside. A big hand fits around your neck and tightens; a collar, a manacle. 

Hard to feel anything but grateful though. It’s everything you wanted but never thought you’d get out of this experience. You expected to feel like a body on a butcher’s block, hacked limb from limb. Marble ribbing on the inside. Brought to a high only to be left out in the cold after. 

You never expected apotheosis. You never expected the filth murmured into your ear, the lurid, coarse diatribe in surround sound, all perfect fuckin’ pussy, can’t wait to shove my tongue inside, gonna make you suck my cock while I eat that perfect cunt out—

All—

Perfect fuckin’ girl; you don’t give this to anyone else, do ya? Knew you were gaggin’ for it back in the bar, but wanted to wait ‘n see; turned the rest of ‘em down, didn’t ya? Not a fuckin’ slut. Jus’ for me—only hungry for my cock—

It’s too rough, too much. Overpowering. Musk and body heat and raw strength, his forearms planted on the mattress on either side of your head. The scent of him suffocating, smothering. Heady. In your pores, on the back of your tongue, in your belly. He’s everywhere.

If only you could put it into words. The fire in your belly growing so wild, so out of control, that it threatens to incinerate you. Thinking dangerous thoughts—that you could be his, that he wants you so bad he can’t stand the idea of anyone having you before him, that he’ll kill anyone that touched you before, rip them apart with his bare hands, cut out their hearts and slice it ‘em up real thin so he could feed you the strips with his hands—

“Fuck—” Simon pants in your ear, pulling his cock out of your cunt. You whine, clenching down on nothing, suddenly empty, until he turns you roughly over onto your back and grabs one of your flailing ankles, hooking it over a burly shoulder. “Cunt this good oughta be locked down. Should just chain your leg to the bed so I can wake up to this pussy every day. Would’ya like that, bird?”

Like it? You think wildly—

Keep me, keep me, keep me, pleasepleaseplease.

The leg not hooked over Simon’s shoulder gets pulled around his hip, spreading your legs wider to accommodate the width of him between them. The scour of his voice threatens to erode you, smash you to pieces. There won’t be anything left after he’s done with you. 

He’s just so big. Built like an ox, broad and solid. When he braces his forearms on either side of you, his biceps bulge, skin pulling taut over the muscle. The dark hair of his pits is stark against pale flesh. 

Blood roars in your ears and over you, he moves like a wave, filling you up again and again. You’re swimming in uncharted waters now; gazing out into an unfamiliar and dangerous sea. A swell this big might take you right under. 

Too bad for you, the hazy adumbration of danger in his words is pitted against the maw in your soul, the deep, cavernous hole that yawns wider with each passing year. 

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: overlooking a sea of evergreen peaks illuminated by a silky moonlight hue, winding a long, narrow road darkened on both sides by tightly clustered trees, your arms wrapped around your chest. Cold layered like a skin, sinking deep into your bones, cold wet like a damp hate; trees clustered around your wandering soul, spurned into wandering like a little undead ghost with teeth clattering in Morse code, saying: so many wrongs done, it is almost incomprehensible.

Is it too much to ask to be wanted? 

You need it like air. 

The issue is that—

more than horny, you’re really, really fucking lonely. 

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: a dream of being a lighthouse keeper, skin saltwater slick, seafoam on the backs of your knuckles, slathering over frozen fingers clutching at the gallery railing. Beckoning something to you.

What it is, you do not know.

“Look at tha’,” Simon says wonderingly, grabbing your face and yanking it towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes again. “Just needed to get turned out on a fat cock, didn’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you gasp. “So good, Simon, ohmygod—”

“Only this needy for me, right?” The glint in his eye is terrifying.

“Only you, only you—”

“That’s right,” he growls, bearing all of his weight down on you, forehead to forehead. His sweat-slick chest slides against yours, cock buried so deep that you can taste him at the back of your throat. Dark eyes stare down at you with an intensity that steals the breath from you, glossy like he’s rapidly losing the ability to be consciously present, but ever attentive to the pleasure rippling across your face. 

When his cock grinds into the soft plug of your womb, his eyes narrow when yours bulge, and he batters that spot until you seize up and spasm around him. His buzz cut gives you nothing to hold onto, so you dig your nails into the bulky planes of his back instead. 

“Fuck—hold on, Christ, fuck; here it comes,” he spits, the veins in his neck protruding when he grits his teeth. 

Your blood goes red hot when he rams deep into you, each thrust deliberate. Hips losing their rhythm. You don’t notice the first spurt of cum, too preoccupied with the smell and weight of him blanketing you, infiltrating every crevice of your body, but the second is hot. Scorching. You ignore the screaming alarm at the back of your head, barely coherent enough to parse out its meaning. All you can focus on is the warmth spreading inside you and your own walls pulsing around his cock, milking his release out of him. 

Time blurs. You lose some of it. 

You don’t come back until Simon rolls over onto his back, taking you with him. His cock is still buried inside of you, his cum running out in rivulets, pooling at the base of his dick lodged at your entrance. You’re going to be messy when he finally pulls out. 

Despite the ache already setting in, you feel reborn. Renewed. The old, dead skin flayed off. You can’t imagine how you’ll feel when you’ve got your energy back, when even tracing your eyes across the other side of his room doesn’t take tremendous effort. The traces of him littered around the room make you curious. A half empty glass. Steel-toed boots sticking out of a half-opened closet. A damp towel crumpled into a ball on the floor. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s no use trying to fill the gaps in. Whoever Simon is won’t matter in the light of day. You repeat this to yourself until it sticks. 

When you try to get up, planting both hands on his chest, he pulls you back down, forcing your head onto the pillow of his chest. “Simon, the sheets are wet—”

“I’ll deal with it later,” Simon says, eyes already shut, on the verge of falling asleep. “Now shut up. You’re ruining the fucking afterglow.” 

You wake up the next morning covered in bruises and bite marks and dried cum between your thighs and on your belly, so sore that even twitching your finger hurts.

It takes awhile for everything to come back to you. When it finally does, consciousness snaps back into you, discomfort giving way to quiet self-satisfaction. You managed to do it. Your first one-night stand. A real milestone. The tacky sheets beneath you are proof enough of your accomplishment. 

The sadness slithers in when you realize that it’s over. One and done. In a half hour or so, the man plastered against your back and breathing heavily on the crown of your head will wake up, groggy and bleary eyed, and side-eye you until you put back on your clothes from the night before and slink out, tail tucked between your legs. A few hours delayed from when you were planning to throw in the towel at the bar, but still. In the end, it always comes around. 

A gruff voice at your side tells you to quiet, bird—s'too early for your bitchin’ before manhandling you onto your stomach and shoving his raw cock into your cunt and it’s only now that it dawns on you that you were too horny last night to remember to ask him to use protection. 

The thought is wiped from your head when he bucks his hips forward, impaling you on his swollen length. You lose track of time after that. 

Breakfast is an informal affair. Cereal from a box and a bit too much milk, and a cup of instant coffee. You wince when you sit down across from Simon at the kitchen table, your inner thighs still tender and pussy sore from the battering it just took. If it strokes his ego to see how gingerly you sit down, he doesn’t show it. 

It’s weird sitting across the table from him after last night. Hard to just leave it unaddressed, the truth simmering in the air. The red marks across his back make you wince, cheeks heating. Thin crescent marks and scored nails. It’s hard to reconcile yourself with the girl from last night. 

He eats in silence for the most part though, ravenous after the night before. Doesn’t comment on the state of his shoulders or the way you shift on your chair. Not even bothering to make eye contact with you. Your appetite takes a bit of a hit watching him shovel food into his mouth, hardly even pausing long enough to breathe, but you’ve seen plenty of hungry men eat before. 

Still though, silence has always had a way of getting under your skin. You’re not comfortable around it, prone to chattering. So you can’t help the way your mouth opens and the words come out involuntarily. 

“Do you do this a lot?”

“I don’t shit where I eat,” Simon grunts dismissively.

The expression makes you grimace. “So do you usually pick up girls elsewhere or—”

The look he gives you could melt the flesh off your bones. You realize your misstep, interrogating the man you just fucked about his other hookups. Best not to ask questions. It’s not like you’ll see him again after this. 

These last few moments are bittersweet. There won’t be many opportunities like this in the future, mainly because you don’t think you’re cut out for one-night stands. Last night proved that. As good as it was—and for as many times as you came, another time in the wee hours of the morning when Simon rolled over on top of you and shoved your legs apart to eat you out (a midnight snack)—in the light of day, you feel world weary. Like something monumental happened and passed you by. 

You almost want to thank him for making it special, but the anxiety around finally pissing him off is more than you can bear. You want to leave on a good note. It’s better this way. You’ll never have confirmation about whether he’d eventually grow tired of you like everyone else. Never know if he’d one day manage to lose interest in the real you, not the made up sex kitten from the bar. 

It’s better this way.

You tell yourself that when you push your chair out and stand up, hands fisting in the oversized shirt Simon made you wear before leaving the bedroom. “I should get going.”

He stops eating, staring up at you. His eyes are inscrutable, and the longer he stares, the less you understand his look. 

You shift from foot to foot. “Thanks for… I had a good time.”

Simon doesn’t say anything, but when he drops his spoon into the bowl, the metal clang makes you flinch. 

His silence leaves you off balance, like you’ve overstepped somehow. All motion stills under his scrutiny. 

“Got somewhere ya need to be?” he asks, a vague, almost menacing undercurrent in his voice. It’s said like a warning. There shouldn’t be anywhere else you need to be. 

“I…—don’t you want me to leave?”

He looks distinctly unimpressed. “You gonna walk home like that?” His words make you tug at his shirt, pulling it down to cover your thighs.

Your whole life has been made up of misunderstandings. Missed opportunities. Men who you thought loved you vanishing into thin air. You’re a poem often lost in translation. A long game of hide and seek; people run towards you then feign right, leaving you in the dust. 

Whatever this is, you don’t recognize it. 

You swallow on a dry throat. “…No?”

Simon searches your expression for something before he nods, satisfied. “Then sit the fuck back down. Finish your damn breakfast.”

You sit back down (wincing when you do) because the alternative is admitting that you don’t know what’s next. That you’re out of step again, but this time without that sinking feeling in your belly. A wild fluttering instead. That thought again that maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew. 

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

[wileys-russo]

body slammer II a.russo

body slammer II a.russo

alessia was dancing like a mad woman beside ella in the poolside beach club, her carefree good mood fueled by many cocktails and the company of some of her best friends in the off season during a well earned little vacation.

it felt like years since she had been able to take a proper break and go on holiday, and to do it with the girls she hardly ever got to see all together from multiple aspects of her life only made it all the more enjoyable and easy for her to let loose knowing everyone was actually gettin along.

“less i’m gonna grab another one! you good?” ella yelled to her, cupping her hand around her ear due to deafening house music pumping around them.

“yeah i’m still goin!” alessia confirmed, yelling back and holding up her drink she’d only taken a few sips out of, the shorter girl beside her sending her a toothy grin and thumbs up before melting away into the crowd.

looking around and spotting the rest of their group not too far away alessia started to make her way over there, mumbling apologies as she elbowed her way through the throng of drunken party goers.

she had almost made it to her friends when she felt someone slam into her back, sending her hurtling forward and meaning her own body smacked into someone else’s, her drink going all over them as alessias eyes widened.

she opened her mouth to immediately ramble out a hasty apology but as the girl she’d just accidentally swilled turned around alessia seemingly went mute, apology drying up on her tongue before she could make it.

the girl was gorgeous, and it had alessia feeling light headed in a way she knew wasn’t just the alcohol currently pumping through her.

“i am so so sorry!” the blonde finally managed to spit out, the mystery girl simply grinning at her. “don’t be. i’d never wear anything here i didn’t expect to be covered in some sort of liquid, its like a zoo in there!” she laughed nodding behind alessia to the thickening crowd of sweaty bodies building behind her.

“you’re telling me, though i think whoever just rammed me might have actually realigned my spine?” alessia joked, stomach fluttering as she was rewarded with a loud bout of laughter from the girl in front of her.

“sounds like you should go thank them! chiropractors don’t come cheap you know.” the girl teased, her nose scrunching up as she grinned and alessia once more swooned.

“can i buy you another drink?” the blonde moved a little closer due to the noise and offered sincerely. “you’re offering to get me a drink when you just spilled yours?” you asked with an amused smile, alessia’s cheeks flushing red with embarrassment as she nodded none the less.

“you’re cute. i should go find my friends before one of them disappears in there, once calvin harris starts later i fear i may not ever be able to get them back.” you’d grinned, and before alessia could even say another word you’d pressed a kiss to her cheek and you were gone, leaving the blonde tenderly touching her face which burned where your lips had just been.

with a deflated huff she dumped her now empty cup onto a nearby table and continued on her way to find her friends, throwing herself down onto a sun lounge.

“woah now! we’re in ibiza baby, why the long face?” katie asked as she sat down beside the blonde. “i bumped into a cute girl, spilled my drink all over her and didn’t even get her name before she dissapeared!” alessia groaned, dragging her hands down her face before flicking her sunglasses off the top of her head and sliding them onto the bridge of her nose.

“i’ll say it again we’re in ibiza russo there’s loads of fit girls around, go find someone else to dance and flirt with!” katie shouted, handing the blonde her drink to finish off and running away after vic who snatched her sunglasses off her head.

sculling the last few mouthfuls of the lukewarm tequila alessia winced at the alcohol burning it’s way down her throat before deciding to heed anna’s words.

she grabbed ella’s hand as her friend returned, dragging them both back onto the dance floor.

but hard as she tried to dance and drink the afternoon away to forget you, you were a thought that consistently lingered in the back of alessia’s mind.

which is why when she heard someone call out her name and quickly turned, knocking into someone who stood a lot closer than she had bargained, alessias hands quickly steadying them as they slipped, a smile tugged at her lips seeing she had once again bumped into you, literally.

“i’m beginning to think you’re doing this on purpose now!” you teased, alessia instantly noticing you’d ditched the top she’d spilled her drink all over last time and your top half was now only just covered by a bright green bikini. it took all of her willpower to focus her eyes on you and not your partially exposed chest.

“no i think this time’s on you!” alessia grinned, her left hand resting on your waist where she’d grabbed at you to stop you from falling over. “alessia.” the blonde removed her hand from your side and held it out with a beaming white toothed smile as she introduced herself.

“then consider us even!” you winked, cheekily snatching her drink from her right hand and once again melting away into the crowd.

“hey! you pinch my drink and i don’t even get to know your name?” alessia didn’t let you get away so easily this time, shouldering her way over to you and slinging an arm lazily around your waist to stop you from running away again.

“i believe in fate alessia, so let’s see if this happens again then and maybe you can get my name if you’re lucky.” you shamelessly flirted, sending her one more wink and again kissing her cheek before charging off after your friends into the crowd.

“unbelievable.” alessia threw her head back with a groan before hands fell to her shoulders and her friends surrounded her, dragging her away with them as the sun began to set, bathing the cluster of drunken sweaty bodies below in a golden orange glow.

deciding that it clearly wasn’t meant to be, alessia didn’t even know your name let alone if you were into girls, she forced you once again to the back of her mind, throwing down shots and cheering loudly as they announced calvin harris.

“let’s go!” hands intertwined with hers as her group pushed in closer toward the stage, alessia almost tripping over her own feet she was tugged aggressively into the crowd, though she waved it off with a tipsy laugh as she hugged her friends and whooped loudly as the familiar bass started to boom beneath their feet.

the set was halfway through when alessia once again spotted you, huddled a few feet away inbetween a group of girls and throwing your head back with a laugh as one of them poked at you, twirling you around and forcing alessia ignored the weird jealous clenching of her stomach at the sight.

she heard her friends yell out for her as she began to break away from them, fueled by tequila shots and liquid confidence she shrugged off their hands and made a beeline toward you.

unbeknownst to alessia you’d already spotted her a few moments earlier, yelling in your friends ear that the girl you’d been flirting with before had indeed found you again like you hoped.

which was why it came as no surprise to you when your best friend twirled you around, “accidentally” shoving you backwards and sending your body hurtling into alessia’s whose hands again grabbed protectively at your hips to stop you from taking the two of you down onto the ground.

“we simply have to stop meeting like this.” you grinned, your friend winking at you from behind the blonde and holding her drink up in a silent cheers before turning away back to your group.

“third time seems the charm then, i’m alessia.” the taller girl wasted no time introducing herself again, knowing it meant you would need to finally reveal your own name.

“so you already said.” you teased, purposefully not giving in to what you knew she was after and watching the girl in front of you shake her head with a knowing smirk.

“it’s not nice to lie, i believe you said if this happened again i’d finally get your name.” alessias body pressed in closer to yours, her hand moving to sit at the small of your back as your own stomach now fluttered.

“I said if you were lucky!”

“well i’m certainly feeling lucky. if i do get your name then maybe you’ll be forgiven for stealing two drinks from me.”

“stealing two drinks? i think you’ll find i’m the one whose still owed an apology body slammer!”

“give me your name and maybe you’ll get a third drink and an apology.” alessia bargained, tilting her head with a sly grin as you shook your own in amusement.

“y/n.” you finally revealed, someone knocking into you from behind meaning you were thrust even closer into alessia, both of you now chest to chest as you both shared a smile, clearly not minding.

“come on then body slammer.” you grabbed her hand tugging her with you as alessia laughed at her apparent new nickname, the music getting louder and louder as pushed deeper into the crowd.

alessia tensed in surprise as you stopped and grabbed her hands, placing them on you as you started to dance, purposefully pressing yourself into her.

recovering from the brief shock the blonde wasted no time in pulling your body tightly into hers, the two of you grinding against one another to the beat, surrounded by hundreds of drunken party goers all doing the same.

by the third song you’d turned so the two of you were now dancing face to face and alessia couldn’t help but find her eyes flickering down to your lips every few seconds, a habit which didn’t go unnoticed to you as your arms wrapped around the back of her neck.

the two of you now locked eyes and you nodded reassuringly as the taller girl leant down but paused briefly, craning your neck to meet her halfway, both of your stomachs doing backflips as your lips met.

neither one of you sober it didn’t take long until the kiss became a little sloppy, alessia ramming her tongue down your throat as you held back a moan and forced yourself to pull away.

over her shoulder you noticed one of your friends frantically waving toward you, struggling to hold up your best friend who had clearly had too much to drink, signalling they were leaving.

leaning in again you shouted your phone number into the blondes ear, removing her hands from where they’d wandered dangerously low down your body and striding off toward your friends without another word, leaving the striker positively dumbstruck behind you.

“i better get a message body slammer, you still owe me that third drink, and an apology!” you turned to call out teasingly toward her, alessias once defeated expression quickly brightening as she scrambled to pull her phone out of her bag.

and it was safe to say you most certainly did get a message, and it was far from the last you saw of the blonde.

[wandasaura]

— THE QUIET GAME

summary — nobody can beat wanda at her own game, but that doesn’t stop you from trying, and roping natasha into your little game much to her amusement

warnings — dom!wanda maximoff, flirting, dom/sub undertones, semi-public sex (nobody’s around), nipple play, finger sucking, face slapping (once), thigh grinding, fingering (r receiving), degrading, praise, slight begging, edging, aftercare, implied past relationship with natasha, smut minors/men dni

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

Wanda was livid, you could tell from across the room, the dim overhead lighting just bright enough to create a million little rainbows reflecting off the sequins of her skimpy black dress and the kink in her jaw as she grinded her teeth together. It was rare to see your girlfriend so dressed up and out of her element — usually sporting a more masculine appearance in various shades of red — but tonight was a special night, and she always strived to outdo the company.

She became the most beautiful woman in the room the second you opened the double doors upon your arrival, hand and hand, standing shoulder to shoulder, both dressed to stun in dresses that left little to the imagination. She’d had no reservations about your scanty red dress, but her sage eyes had been hungry and dark with lust since the initial glance she stole of your put together look before you left the apartment. You’re her most prized possession and all of your friends know it, some more inclined to tease the hardened witch about her soft spot for you then others, but that didn’t quell her insistence to make your relationship known to every stranger who attended; proud to show off what was only hers. Throughout the night, she’d kept a hand on your your hip, whispering into the shell of your ear knowing how it looked and how it made your legs quiver. Throughout the night, she’d been working you up to the point of no return.

When you separated after too many cocktails and not nearly enough fancy horderves to keep up with your alcohol intake that left your cheeks flush and palms sweaty (not by any choice of your own or hers, merely Tony’s elaborate plan to trap his billionaire friends into donating to the Potts Project) your attention had been solely on her and memorizing the way that the light shaped to her sinful body, cleavage glistening and full for anyone to gawk at. And they did. You’d caught a handful of guests ogling the deep neckline of her dress too many times to remain unbothered and composed, and while you knew the only one she was even looking at beneath the yellow toned lighting was you, the offered drinks and fleeting touches to her waist from arrogant men that thought they could get a piece of what was yours, sparked a fire of jealousy you didn’t want to ignore.

It was no secret that these events led to some of the best sex you had in your relationship, a result of spending the long hours of the night too enraptured with each other's bodies to pay soft touches and patience any mind when you finally had the chance to come undone beneath one another, but tonight was different. Tonight you couldn’t play by her rules and watch from a distance as she floated around and socialized, no, tonight you’d play the long game of getting so beneath her skin she wouldn’t be able to wait until you returned home for a piece of you.

That jealousy was what ended you up in such a flirtatious exchange with Natasha, the redheaded widow painfully aware of yours and Wanda’s relationship (she’d walked in on you too many times to deem them all accidents), but she was more than happy to play along with your game, finding sadistic entertainment in the not-so-subtle expressions your otherwise unshakable girlfriend sent her way. With a possessive grip on your hip, chest flush against yours, nose only one accidental stumble away from yours, Natasha was playing with fire, and you were malleable to her every move. Your history with her was only an advantage in this situation as you stole glances at Wanda from across the room, not surprised to find that she was watching you intensely, clutching the stem of her wine glass so tight her knuckles had turned white, lips pursed into a thin line and when you caught her eye, you dared to smile innocently. When Natasha’s calloused thumb brushed against your bottom lip to draw your attention back to her, Wanda’s final straw snapped, and the redhead teasing your body with sensual touches merely chuckled darkly at the approaching footsteps of your possessive girlfriend.

You didn’t break eye contact with Natasha even when you felt the warmth of her body press against yours, her wine glass having been shoved into some poor unsuspecting waiter's chest during her pursuit. “Let’s go.” Her words were cynical, heavy even, but you’d only just started having fun, and Natasha wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

The redhead pulled you closer, so close that you could smell the mojito on her breath, creating space between you and Wanda who hadn’t been quick enough to grab the other side of your waist when she had the chance. “Look who finally has the time for me.” You joked with Natasha, running a wandering hand down the front of her chest where the buttons of her suit jacket revealed milky skin. She was always so pale, even in the summertime, but the deep color of her suit complimented her complexion nicely, and sharpened the deep green of her eyes and redness of her freshly dyed curls. She’d been blonde only three days prior, but her changing appearance wasn’t anything new at this point. Twirling a strand between your fingers, you bit into your bottom lip. “You have time for me, don’t you, Natty?”

“Always, detka.” The redhead smirked, leaning her forehead against yours, bold enough to slide her hands down your waist and grab at your barely covered ass. Wanda seethed behind you, green eyes flashing red as she glared at your best friend and grabbed your wrist before you could go exploring Natasha’s body again. You had the audacity to giggle when she started pulling you away and toward the exit, wiggling your fingers at the widow who sent you a knowing wink, stumbling over to Maria who had watched the entire scene play out behind a bottle of beer, lips upturned in a smirk. You’d get an earful tomorrow afternoon when you returned to the office, but for now, the only thing you cared about was getting your girlfriend undressed and beneath your touch.

“Hi.” You grinned sweetly, voice dripping with lust as you peered up at her clenched jawline and flared nostrils. She was pissed, and a pissed off Wanda was exactly the woman you needed tonight. Her hand was still tight around your wrist, grabbing at you not hard enough to hurt, but giving you no other choice but to follow after her as she dodged guests and furniture.

You’d never been to this specific venue, Tony preferring to host these events in the compound where the only liability was a broken vase that he didn’t really care about anyway, but still, she maneuvered you both through the building like she’d mapped it all out, footsteps only slowing when she had you confined to a single use bathroom down the hall from the main ballroom. In seconds your back was flush against the door, breath knocked from your lungs as you peered up at her with blown out pupils and a hungry smirk.

She didn’t give you the time to make a sarcastic comment, you’d made enough of them already if she had any say in it, but you would never complain about the feverish way she leant in to kiss you, and how her tongue tasted like your favorite cocktail as it brushed against yours. You fought for dominance as your teeth clashed together and your tongues danced to explore the others mouth, fighting to be the lead, but it was no surprise that she won. A heavy moan filled the echoey bathroom when her body warm pressed into yours, leaving you helpless to her assault that you truthfully didn’t really mind. You kissed her back just as aggressively, hands finding their way into her loose locks that fell down her shoulders in simple and natural waves, and you tugged on it in a desperate plea for something more. Anything more.

She chuckled darkly when she pulled away, bringing her decorated fingers toward your face. Her rings sparkled beneath the automatic lights, silver jewelry complimenting her midnight black dress. In any other setting, you would’ve told her she looked beautiful, but you were desperate to reach a high only she could give you, and she seemed to be taking her sweet time in working you up. Just like Natasha had, her calloused thumb brushed across your swollen and wet bottom lip, collecting the wetness that had gathered from your kiss before she forced it into your mouth. The digit felt heavy on your tongue, but not unfamiliar, and without hesitation you began to suck, eyelids fluttering closed at the warm feeling the sheer dominance of the action sent through your body and straight to your already sopping core. You could feel your arousal soaking through your panties, thighs wet and pressed together as you sought out any kind of relief. Wanda gazed at you with stars in her eyes, but her delicacy didn’t last long before she was forcing your legs apart with her thigh, pressing right up into your needy core. The pressure on your clit felt heavenly, your hips grinding to find the right friction without her permission.

She didn’t stop you, letting you hump her leg like a needy slut, instead focusing her attention on the way you hollowed out your lips around her thumb and kitten licked around her ring, eyes pinched shut as your breathing became heavier. “You think you’re so funny.” She sneered, using her pointer finger to tilt your head upward, revealing your unmarked neck. She’d change that. Her red lips didn’t waste a second, and her teeth weren’t gentle as she nipped and licked at your sensitive skin, working her way up toward the shell of your ear where you were the most reactive. You shuddered violently when she licked a bold strip up the side of your neck, blowing out cold air that made goosebumps prick the skin of your arms. Your grinding only became sloppier as your clit pulsates with need, pathetic whines vibrating her thumb and fueling her actions. “You think you can let Natasha touch what’s mine. Think I don’t know what you’re doing. I know everything, malyshka. I know what makes you moan,” She bit down on your earlobe, tugging at it gently with her teeth, and unable to help yourself, you arched into her chest, moaning desperately.

“I know what makes you whine,” The hand that wasn’t occupied snaked between your bodies, and sought out your barely hidden nipples, pebbled from the cold and your turned on state. Your whines were music to her ears as she tugged and twisted at your sensitive buds overtop of the thin dress, not bothering to shove it out of the way like you wanted. Your nipples were always so sensitive, it was one of Wanda’s favorite ways to work you up to a quick orgasm when you didn’t have the time to be fooling around, but that wasn’t her intention tonight. Just like you’d decided to do, she was playing the long game.

“I know what makes you gasp,” Her thumb made an obnoxiously loud sound as she pulled it from the warm confines of your mouth, but before you had time to process the loss, her palm was colliding with your cheek and the sting on your flushed skin replaced the weight of her heavy digit. You gasped, just like she expected you to, peering at her with wide eyes and an entirely fucked out expression despite not actually being touched yet. Her thigh was saturated in your arousal, the scent thick in the air but it couldn’t be blamed on only you. Her own panties, black like the color of her dress because she was ever the meticulous woman, we’re so drenched they stuck to her folds, but her attention was on you right now, because clearly that’s all you wanted, and who was she to deny you anymore?

“What? Did you just need me to pay you attention? Is that it?” She cooed mockingly, pulling her thigh away from your core just as you found the perfect rhythm, disrupting your climbing high before you could fall over the edge into bliss. You whined pathetically, hips frantically searching for her again. “Are you such a desperate little slut you couldn’t get through one evening without needing this little pussy fucked?” You gasped when her hand cupped your mound, skilled fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties and toying at your sensitive clit. “You spent the last hour mouthing off to Natasha, when you could’ve just told me what you needed.”

“P-Please.” You stumbled over your words, breathy moans like music to her ears as she sank two fingers into your willing hole, feeling just how worked up you’d gotten yourself since arriving. You squeezed at her fingers, walls fluttering with desperation as her thumb set a brutal pace on your clit, entirely to soft and slow to bring you to where you wanted to be.

Attempting to take matters into your own hands, you pushed on her fingers that worked at scissoring you open, caressing your velvety walls like she was trying to study you. “Oh no, you don’t get to rush me now. You lost that privilege the second you let her touch what belongs to me.” Wanda’s other hand held your hips flush against the door you were pinned against, keeping her pace slow and torturous and entirely unsatisfying. “We’re gonna play a little game.”

“N-No.” You shook your head frantically, your hands scratching at her exposed shoulders, trying to wrestle them down her arms to free her breasts that had been taunting you all night. Even in her aggression, she still looked beautiful, and you cursed the tight fabric of her dress for holding her in so perfectly. “Wanda please, p-please.” You moaned loudly when her fingers found that perfect spot inside of you, pressing into it teasingly, before they were pulled away. She let them slip past your lips, filling your mouth with the taste of your own juices that glistened on her palm and smeared against your chin.

“Unless you want someone to hear how desperate you sound, you’re going to stay quiet. The second you make a noise I stop, do you understand me?” She pulled her fingers out of your mouth, satisfied with how you’d cleaned them off only for her to get them dirty again. You nodded frantically, desperate to have her back where you needed her most. Your walls fluttered around nothing, that deep ache in your belly nearly unbearable as you’d been left right on the edge twice already. “Good girl. What do you say if you need a break?”

Your heart melted at the tender care she showed, a crack in her facade as she let the both of you exist in a single gentle moment of care and respect. She may be rough when she’s pissed, she may slap you around and drag out your pleasure for her own amusement, but she made sure that you knew you were really the one in charge during these exchanges. The second you asked her to stop, she would. But you trusted her enough to never go there. “Yellow. Red if I want you to stop, I know Wands. I trust you, just please touch me.”

She smirked sadistically, letting her hands roam your body filthily. You bit down on your bottom lip to suppress the moan that threatened to escape when she pulled at the neckline of your dress and revealed your sensitive nipples to the cold air abruptly. Her hot fingers were skilled in many ways, and still slightly damp from your mouth, they moved over your skin easily, tugging and pinching at your nipples with a practiced perfection. She knew exactly what you liked and what made you go crazy, and she was using every skill in the book to get you to break. When her mouth found your left breast, kissing all over the warm and silky skin that she’d spent twenty minutes fondling before you’d even left for the event, you almost broke. Your knees weakened, your belly quivered with need as she kissed and sucked at every inch of skin beside where you really wanted her. When her lips finally encased your erect bud, a wave of relief crashed over you, but was replaced in seconds by an unmet desire. Her teeth bit ar your nipple, tugging until you didn’t think you could take it anymore, but she knew what you could take, and before you could tap at her shoulder, she was letting go and soothing the ache with her skilled tongue. A shaky breath escaped your lips before you could help it, and immediately she was letting go of you completely, leaving you to stand by yourself against the door.

“What did I say?” Her green eyes that were black with lust glared at you, her words sounding so far away as you arched away from the door and tried to persuade her to come back.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please. Please Wands, just touch me.” Your eyes were unfocused and hazy, head spinning as you pined for touch. The long game had definitely come back to bite you in the ass, nobody fucked with Wanda Maximoff and won, but you were too drunk on her touch to care about how you’d walked yourself into this.

“You make another sound and we’re going back out there until the end of the night.” She laid out her ultimatum, words slurring together with the faintest hint of her accent coming out to play as she admired your frantic stare and flushed cheeks, looking absolutely ravenous as you anticipated her touch. You nodded frantically, desperate to win her over, although you both knew she was going to resume either way. Natasha could only work you up so much, but she was the one who made you come undone with the lightest touch, and that was enough to motivate her into continuing.

This time when her fingers returned to your core, she wasn’t as gentle, thumb heavy on your clit as her fingers teased around your entrance, not daring to fill you up how you wanted without making you earn it. She pulled at the waistband of your thong until it snapped, flimsy purple fabric falling down your sweaty thigh to be forgotten about on the tile floor, and finally without the tight barrier that only gave her so much room to work in the way, she set an unforgiving pace that had your head spinning and thighs shaking as she reached the deepest part of your pussy with ease and talent that Natasha never had during all of your hookups. The wet noises that came from your center should’ve been embarrassing, but you couldn’t think about how anybody that happened passed by the door could definitely hear them, focused solely on the way her palm slapped against your clit at just the right pressure and pace, her breath tickling your lips as she leaned in close and rested her forehead against yours. Your hands reached out for her, desperate to have something to ground yourself to as you felt the spring in your core begin to tighten immensely. Her red hair was tousled and frizzy from your desperate pulling, and it only got messier as one of your hands tangled into it again.

Wanda didn’t deny you, grabbing the hand that wasn’t in her hair, and holding it against her chest as she worked you through your orgasm, smiling sweetly as your chest rose and fell in quick succession, bottom lip bitten and flush from both the alcohol and your high. “You can make noise, it’s okay. Let me hear you, it’s just us. It’s just us, malyshka.” Her gentle eyes flashed red, strong tendrils of magic encasing the room im her own makeshift sound barrier. The noise from the party quieted down, leaving only the sounds of your intimacy to be heard. With her permission to moan, you did just that, whining and gasping as you rode out your orgasm on her fingers, hips stuttering to both find a steady pace and pull away from the overstimulating sensations shooting down your spine.

When she pulled her hand away, fingers dripping in your juices, your cheeks flushed, only growing darker when she let them sink past her cherry red lips and weigh heavy on her tongue. She moaned at your taste, eyes twinkling as she made sure you were looking straight at her. When she was satisfied, she leaned in for a kiss, gentle and endearing as she let you work out whatever you needed, pulling back the reins of her dominance for the time being at least. Wrapping your arms around her neck, you looked up at her glassy green eyes.

“I love you, Wanda Maximoff.” You giggled, pecking her lips that your arousal clung to. The taste of yourself wasn’t something unfamiliar at this point in your relationship, but it never failed to make your belly tighten with gratitude that after everything in life, you found your way to her.

“I love you more.” She leaned up to peck your nose, smiling goofily. “We should invite Natasha over again.”

You laughed loudly at the suggestion, remembering the last time the redhead ended up in your bed when you were still living at the compound. She’d limped around for hours afterward, glaring daggers at Wanda from across the room every time she went to sit down.

“You know, she’s equally as guilty as I am.” Your eyes sparkled with mischief, a teasing smirk on your lips as you thought about the unstoppable Black Widow being forced to her knees by your giggly girlfriend.

“Watch it, or I’ll let her spank you with the paddle next time.” Wanda quipped, grabbing your hand and bringing it up to her lips, where her gaze lingered for a few seconds before looking back at you. “Maria’s going to be all over you tomorrow.”

“I guess I’ll just have to have something to brag about then.” You smirked, leading her out of the bathroom and out into the cold of winter. Your breath floated through the air as Wanda wrapped her arms around you, long coats forgotten about as you began to trek toward the car, eager to get home and help her reach her own high.

[gojhoes]

"down bad"

"fuck it if i can't have us."

gojo was used to getting everything he wanted – clothes, sweets, fancy chairs; you name it, he had it. but you? he'd never wanted anything more in his entire life, and you were just out of his reach.

the two of you had shared the same apartment for six months shortly after being introduced by his friend, geto. a sweet smile, bedroom eyes, and cleverness which rivaled his own drew him to you. how convenient was it that both of you had been looking for a roommate at the exact same time?

you sat on the opposite end of the couch (his couch), sprawled out in a fashion that made your ass peek out from the hem of your shorts. just as he had done for the past year, gojo clenched his jaw with the effort it took not to stare. he dug his nails into his palms to take the edge off the desire to pull you into his lap and squeeze. he imagined, and not for the first time, how soft you'd feel grinding on his cock through the many cursed layers of clothing.

but it shouldn't be that way, because you were roommates– friends. it would be stupid to jeopardize such a thing but god, he wanted. the urge to say, 'fuck it' and confess his feelings overcame him once again coupled with a pounding heart. he opened his mouth to speak, your name forming on his lips–

and a sudden, simple announcement from you was enough to rob gojo of the last of his rationality.

"i have a date."

it was said with that pretty smile and genuine enthusiasm, and all gojo could feel was pure unbridled jealousy. who could possibly be making you blush like that? it hit him like a physical blow to the chest; you may as well have punched him in the gut.

"what?" the word came out harshly, much more than gojo knew he was entitled to, but it spilled out of him, nonetheless. "with who?"

you were visibly stunned by his response– gojo never raised his voice, never was cross with you. he was jovial, carefree, downright silly, never getting upset for any reason, not even when you drunkenly spilled a cocktail on his very expensive sofa. but even the most solid of foundations will crack after enough wear and tear.

since you'd moved in together, neither of you had brought someone home, and gojo had begun to think of you as his. incessant casual flirting, fleeting "accidental" touches, sharing the intimacies of mundane life– didn't that mean you wanted him, too?

you spit out some name that gojo didn't even hear, but he noticed the hesitation in your answer.

"no."

you blinked at him. "satoru?"

fuck it.

gojo closed the space separating you, crawling over your body and pinning you to the couch on your back. he plucked your phone from your hand and tossed it carelessly on the coffee table with a thud, earning a surprised squeak from you.

"satoru, what-" you were breathless, looking up into his eyes with panic.

he didn't bother to give a verbal response, instead leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. he half-expected you to shove him off, but pure excitement and possession blew through his chest when your hand slipped over the back of his neck to draw him closer.

"the only person you'll have a date with," satoru said. "is me."

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐌𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 .

# with roronoa zoro.

in which zoro’s refusal to bathe is never-ending, much to nami’s discontentment — and your amusement.

⎰ & fluff. implied fem!reader. no y/n used. suggestive. zoro being stinky. me trying to be funny.

WC: 1.6K !

the light from the midday sun threatened to slip through the thick and darkened lenses of your glasses, forcing your eyes shut. warmth enveloped the many bare pieces of your skin as though a particularly startling — yet not quite unwelcome — hug. waves crashed against the sunny, humming a peaceful and gentle lullaby, with tendrils determined to guide you towards the vague pathway of dreams. a contented sigh trespassed the shut surface of your lips. limbs losing strength and sounds losing focus, it was but a matter of time until sleep claimed your consciousness.

until the interruption — rude, may you add — of those precious passage of seconds.

nami groaned for what seemed to be the uptenth time within less than half-an-hour. with the rise of an eyebrow, you placed the sunglasses above your head and peeked out at her abhorred figure, knees pressed to her chest and an enraged expression as she sat on the wooden-made sun lounger. with a sigh, your sunglasses returned to its previous position as you shifted your attention towards the bright-blue sky.

“what’s the matter?” you inquired, placing a hand underneath your head for further comfort.

“it’s been nine days,” the navigator hissed, to which you frowned.

“since what?”

“zoro’s last bath,” robin clarified from where she, too, had sat to sunbathe, her glance lingering to the page of the book she held.

“two days more than his usual,” nami continued, exasperatedly gesturing to the swordsman, who slept heavily at the furthest edge of the deck, his broad back pressed to a corner.

the sun was neither kind nor comprehensive with his lack of care towards his skin’s health. it licked at the tanned muscles as though a starving beast, whose motives and eagerness you could quite understand. due to the mere tank top he wore and the usual green bandana tied around his forearm, he’d be left with terribly mismatched tan lines, which usually meant him spending the rest of the week shirtless on deck to even them out.

not at all a terrible scenario, you mused with certain malice, having the fantasies of sweat and pleasure and bites interrupted by nami’s continuous complaints.

“his stench surpassed luffy’s! how can i enjoy the peace and warmth of the day with an open sewage on deck?” the navigator whined as you choked with restrained laughter over the comparison.

a splash accompanied by chopper’s cries and usopp’s shouting made it known that your captain had fallen in the sea mid-fishing. yet another splash indicated that someone had come to his rescue — jimbei, if you had to guess.

“considering the amount of times luffy dove underwater accidentally, it’s of no surprise that he’s smelling better,” robin noted with her usual factual tone, absentmindedly flipping a page with an amused grin.

“that’s not something for him to be proud of,” nami whined, throwing her weight back onto the lounging chair.

“maybe they’re competing to see who can withstand the longer without a bath,” you chimed in.

“wouldn’t sea bathing count then?” robin curiously noted.

nami observed the pair of you with utter terror — whether due to your nonchalance or the mere thought of such a competition taking place, you did not know.

the strong and characteristic scent of sanji’s perfume invaded both your nostrils and line of thought as he approached with a tray elegantly supported by his palm. three colored cocktails were above it, and the cook held himself with pride.

“a beverage for the ladies to freshen themselves during this scalding afternoon?” he offered smoothly, to which you beamed before accepting one — as did the other two women.

“see?” nami pointed out, taking a sip from her cocktail. “sanji has a pleasant scent. like a person who bathes everyday should.”

the contained manner with which he held himself vanished as he melted and fell down on his knees, shouting promises of love and adoration tangled with nearly unrecognizable words of gratitude. you moved your head closer to his neck, sniffing. sanji fell with his back against the deck, limbs spread as though a starfish anchored to a rock by the shore.

“too perfumed,” you decided, returning to your previous position.

“i will stop bathing for you, light of my life, rarest treasure of my seas, golden hand whose fingers hold the chain of my will,” sanji declared with a pompous and desperate tone, kneeling as he searched for your hand.

“no, you won’t!” nami shouted with nothing but rage, and you could see the gears turning inside her head: the awful prospect of the one and only man of the crew who bathed everyday, losing this costume all of the sudden.

“no i won’t, my beloved nami-swan, the thunder who restarted the beating of my heart and ignited the flames of love within me!” the cook agreed, turning towards her.

“pity,” you noted, sipping on your cocktail. sanji stopped mid-sentence, as if malfunctioning.

“you’ll break him,” robin said with certain amusement.

neither had the chance to test that theory whatsoever, as luffy’s drenched figure latched itself on sanji’s back, shouting for meat as per usual. once the cook left the scene with the captain on his trail, a second of peace lingered before nami, yet again, returned to the previous subject.

“i forgot men and bathing weren’t your thing,” she stated, to which robin peeked from her book with certain intrigue.

“i mentioned that at the island we last visited,” you explained to her, and the archeologist hummed.

“how did it came to that?” she had asked, absentmindedly returning to her book, though you had known the woman for long enough to catch on the genuine interest and the scheming behind that exterior. she caught onto something.

“the flirty and laidback opponent at the latest island we mentioned, who kept asking us our type in men and women,” nami clarified.

“and i’m presuming that you answered him,” robin concluded, observing your figure.

“muddy and hardworking,” you grinned with certain pride. “he was so beaten up, i doubt he can even manage to remember it.”

“besides, he was tidy,” nami added. “as in, wearing a stronger perfume than sanji’s and whining at a bit of grass, kind of tidy.”

“so, it was a diversion?” robin had asked, her tone amused. “to get him out of your feet?”

you shrugged. “not exactly.”

“enlighten me,” she replied at last, nearly laughing at her own train of thought. “wasn’t zoro paired up with the two of you on the last island?”

nami’s entire expression shifted to one of numbness. your posture straightened and the sunglasses slipped to your lap as a consequence. the navigator was fuming, eyes so intense it was as though they could ignite at any given moment.

“this is your fault!” she shouted, pointing an accusing finger towards you.

the defensive words had abandoned your mind and tongue as nami raised from her seat. without a second thought, you jumped from yours and ran through the deck, the navigator hot on your trail.

“fix that!” she demanded, her loud tone gathering the general attention and pinning it to the both of you.

you thought about the sweat dripping from his muscles after a particularly harsh battle. the seasalt etched to his body. the dried redness of his blood contrasting against the tanned tone of his skin. the mere prospect of maiming that sculpture built by memories and victories with your fragrances and soap and lotions left a sour taste to your tongue. so, you turned on your feet towards the one place you knew nami would never dare to follow — at least, not under those circumstances.

zoro opened his eye, awake due to the commotion. upon witnessing your sprint, a grin etched on his features as his arms traveled from his chest to his nape; as his legs spreaded out in one lazy, yet effective, invitation. once you were close enough, you slid on the deck, and zoro grabbed your waist smoothly to press the side of your body against his chest. the swordsman sat you on his lap effortlessly, and you guided your face to his pressure point, taking in the mixture of sweat and salt and steel.

a whisper of the scent of ointment and gauze from the treatment of his previous endeavors lingered still. minuscule particles of sand, from when he rolled and dug during a battle, scratched against the tip of your nose, and adorned his skin as though beach-kissed freckles. zoro was edges and violence and scars. yet, if one learned where to guide one’s eyes, the brutal exterior would melt into a pool of steel with recollections drawn with passion and effort. luckily, as it seemed, those small little details were sheltered from the external world: hidden through a mist of undeniable stench.

nami ceased mid-run and choked in disgust, covering her nose and mouth as zoro raised an armpit on purpose.

“cheater,” she accused, pointing to you yet again before turning towards zoro with a grimace, “and you, take a shower, you stenching brute.”

“can’t,” zoro answered with undeniable cockiness, hugging your shoulders. “m’girl likes me muddy.”

the navigator contorted her face before throwing the towel and deciding it was best to sunbathe further away. you threw your head back with a genuine smile to observe the swordsman as he smirked, guiding his free hand further down to give your ass a harsh squeeze.

“wanna take it to the crow’s nest?” he offered, a veil of lust settling in his glance.

“have you washed your dick today?” you inquired, precise and straightforward.

the swordsman groaned and leaned his head back on the mast, shutting his eye. “later.”

you hummed, following him suit to take a well-deserved nap, aware that you’d need the energy for when he decided to hop on that damned sink, returning with his pants drenched from the water and malice etched on his face.

muddy and hardworking it is — but with some limits drawn.

— 🐈‍⬛ as tsukumo yuki once said: i like ‘em stinky. and honestly i get her. romanticizing zoro’s stench because why not?

[f14fun]

dc it-girl (mv1) - chapter 1

synopsis: in which case y/n, an it-girl that hails from the united state's capital, washington dc, meets max verstappen in an unexpected occurence at the redbull showrun in her home city. both not knowing each other, immediately find themselves in a once-in-a-lifetime love story.

general info: !fem!poc!black-reader x mv1 faceclaim: asia monet ray + other girls from pinterest/insta!

smau + prose (3.3K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

things to note: yes, in this story i am changing the characters for a bit, i know that david coulthard was driving, but in this case we can pretend that that was max. also, he will be in dc for a publicity event for a week. please let me know if there is anything else you need me to clarify. happy reading! 💙📖💭

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yourusername

liked by florence.jwilliams, user1 and 119,012 others

yourusername: bad gyals thrive in dc

view comments:

florence.jwilliams: babes we looked so hot today xx

yourusername: i knowww, but i was dying like a bitch in the heat 🙄🙄

florence.jwilliams: might visit somewhere cold this summer j to get away from the sun tbh 😭

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Florence was always looking for shit.

She was always looking for shit for us to do, places to go, food to eat, but sometimes, it was a lot.

Like today. Although it was only the nineteenth of April, the sun was blaring down on the little city of D.C. (namely, the District of Columbia, for all of you non-natives) like an absolute bitch. And I, immune to alcohol poisoning, foot fungus, and slightly-immune to bad breath, was not absolutely not immune to the wrathful rays of the sun.

Zilch. Nada.

So when I originally left the house in a cardigan, I immediately went back in to change into a tank top and jorts. It was hot. I was hot. And Florence wanted to spend the whole day walking around the city doing God knows what.

That's how we ended up stumbling across a parade.

Every know and then when I would visit D.C., I would sometimes almost accidentally show up right in time for an event. Sometimes I happened to love the event, other times, I sometimes left, queasy, dizzy, and claustrophobic.

I wasn't sure what to make out of today's event.

At first, when looking from an outsider's perspective, it seemed as if I had walked into one large, large, cult meeting. Oh no.

Every one was adorned in shapes of navy, cheering, screaming, and worse of them all, holding a goddamn can of RedBull's Energy drink.

The air was thick with the scent of anticipation and caffeine, a cocktail potent enough to keep even the most exhausted of souls awake for days.

Banners fluttered wildly in the hands of fervent fans, each emblazoned with logos and slogans that screamed allegiance.

Vendors weaved through the throng, hawking more cans of the ubiquitous energy drink, their cries barely audible over the din.

Occasionally, a shower of confetti would rain down, sticking to the sweat-drenched skin of the masses, creating a mosaic of glittering chaos. The atmosphere was electric, charged with the raw energy of thousands of voices united in a singular, frenzied purpose.

Ew.

RedBull being one of my least favorite sodas (can you even call something you vehemently dislike a favorite at this point?) already made me additionally pissy.

So when Florence and I had just arrived at D.C. and walked towards Pennsylvania Avenue, it was too late for us to realize that the event was actually ending, and the crowd was dispersing.

Even as a girl who hails from the city, I do get quite nervous and claustrophobic around too many people. So to my utter horror, people from the flood of the RedBull cult were heading straight towards us, scattering like a pack of fleas.

Too late.

I had lost my tight grip (I swear I was holding on to her hand super duper tightly!) on Florence's hand, and we ended up getting separated from each other. Calling her name would be no use in this throng of people.

My heart pounded in my chest as I desperately scanned the sea of navy shapes, each person indistinguishable from the next in the dimming light.

Panic set in, and I could feel the beginnings of a cold sweat on the back of my neck. I tried to push my way through the crowd, but it felt like swimming against a relentless tide. People brushed past me, some nearly knocking me over in their haste to leave.

The overwhelming noise of their chatter, laughter, and the occasional burp of a RedBull can opening filled the air, making it impossible to concentrate.

It was gross. It was disgusting. I was disgusted.

I spun around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Florence’s distinctive red scarf, but all I saw were faceless masses. My phone! I fumbled in my pocket, my fingers trembling as I tried to pull it out without dropping it. Just as I managed to get a hold of it, someone bumped into me, and the phone slipped from my grasp, landing with a sickening thud on the pavement.

“Dammit!” I muttered under my breath, crouching down to retrieve it, praying it wasn’t shattered. As I picked it up, I glanced around again, my heart sinking. Florence was nowhere to be seen.

In this crowd of sickeningly electric people over an energy drink, I was dead. Six feet under. Tired, and I had just gotten to D.C..

I looked around in despair, realizing that I must have walked a few blocks without even noticing, my mind too frazzled by the chaos and my separation from Florence.

My phone was clutched tightly in my hand, my lifeline in this moment of utter confusion. I tried to call Florence, but there was no signal. "Damn this shitty data!" I cursed under my breath, feeling my frustration bubble over. The crowd seemed to close in around me, their excited chatter and laughter a stark contrast to my growing panic.

My fingers tapped frantically at the screen, hoping that maybe, just maybe, a bar of signal would appear and rescue me from this nightmare. I could feel the beginnings of a headache forming, the kind that starts as a dull throb and quickly escalates into a pounding, relentless pain.

The one goddamn day I had left the house without my morning coffee and this shit decided to happen to me...

In a desperate attempt, I switched my phone to airplane mode and back again, praying for a miracle. But nothing changed. The crowd jostled me from all sides, pushing and pulling like a relentless tide, each shove adding to my rising sense of helplessness.

I glanced around, trying to find a familiar landmark or a quieter spot to regroup, but all I saw were waves of navy shapes and faces blurred by motion and anxiety.

"Florence!" I shouted again, my voice barely carrying above the din. The energy drink-fueled chaos was suffocating, a cacophony of noise and movement that seemed designed to disorient and overwhelm. I caught sight of a bench a few feet away and made a beeline for it, hoping to gain some semblance of stability.

I was in a twisted, sick, alternative fever dream where my nightmare fuel was in fact RedBull™, ha ha ha.

Whatever, I could probably find her somewhere around the city, I mean, it wasn't that big...right?

So there I was, in D.C., by myself. Not like I wanted to go in the first place that morning, but whatever.

Lost in thought, I was just wandering around, not really concentrating on anything in particular. Horrible city instincts, might I add. Because of my absentmindedness, I clearly did not notice when I walked into someone.

More like someone's RedBull drink walked into me.

I could not escape the nightmare fuel fever dream RedBull™ agenda, couldn't I.

Now I was extremely pissed off. The icy liquid soaked through my shirt, a cold shock that made me gasp and snap back to reality.

Looking up, I was two milliseconds away from berating whoever spilled this devil-drink all over me. But my harsh words died on the tip of my tongue the very instant that I looked up.

I was looking at a man. But not just any regular man. An extremely handsome man.

His startling icy turquoise eyes connected with mine. His stubble, a little overgrown, looked so hot. His mousy, brown touseled hair gave him a nonchalant yet strangely put-together look, and I was all in for it. And I, a girl who never stops talking, I was rendered speechless.

From the first glance, everything about him seemed perfect.

Except for the fact that he just spilled RedBull all over my white tank top and he was even wearing RedBull merch, from head to toe. Like who does that? What fashion choices...

He gave me a sheepish smile, clearly embarrassed. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice smooth and sincere. "I didn't see you there." His soft, European (?) accent lulled me to silence in an instance.

I wanted to be mad, I really did, but his charm was disarming. "It's fine," I managed to say, trying to suppress the butterflies in my stomach. "Accidents happen."

"Let me help you," he offered, reaching into his pockets and pulling out a pack of Kleenex tissues. He reached out towards me, seemingly wanting to put his hands on my shirt.

"Oh, oh, that's okay," I said, freaking out internally. If this handsome European man touched me that close to my boobs I might just have to propose to him that very instant.

"No, no, no, I insist," he said, his accent getting thicker, clearly not understanding my drift. He was too handsome to be doing this shit, I swear.

He came closer towards me, and I instinctively backed up a bit more. Not catching my drift (once again), he took a larger stride towards me. I, unprepared for this wild encounter, didn't step backwards in time, so the sexy European man in all of his glory, collided into me.

And down we went.

It must've been a funny sight to see from the average passerby. Them just minding their business. Maybe walking their dog. Or perhaps getting a morning lattee.

Bam.

Lying in the middle of the street are two people. Just there.

I would've hit my head on the pavement and probably cracked my scull wide open if not for the RedBull man. He had cradled one arm around my head, the other wrapped tightly around my waist. I think (?) he was helping me to try to stop the fall.

To no avail, we still fell.

What he disregarded, though, was when he tried to stop the fall, was the reason why we were falling in the first place. As grabbed my head as we fell, he also let go of the RedBull can. So now, free in the wind and open towards the chaos of the District of Columbia, the RedBull can fell.

Fell where? You may ask. It fell over us. It fell everywhere. The sticky, icky drink splattered across both of our faces, its cold, sugary droplets clinging to our skin like a caffeinated rain shower. The can, released from his grasp, seemed to defy gravity for a split second, twisting in the air before gravity's inevitable pull sent it crashing down.

The can hit the ground with a soft thud, its contents erupting in a fizzy explosion of energy. The liquid sprayed outward in all directions, catching us both off guard.

Streams of RedBull arced through the air, some landing on nearby pedestrians who stared in disbelief, while others formed tiny puddles on the sidewalk, reflecting the cloudy yet impeccably humid D.C. sky above.

For a moment, him and I laid on top of each other (weird and freaky, I know), frozen in a tableau of absurdity, our faces now adorned with streaks of sticky red liquid.

A passerby, caught in the crossfire, chuckled as they hurried past, muttering something about needing to wash their dog now. It was a scene straight out of a slapstick comedy, and despite my initial shock and embarrassment, I couldn't help but laugh along with him.

And you may think, oh wow, that is horrible. That must hurt. Your joints, your back, your legs. And to that I say, yes, yes, and very much absolutely yes.

The very sexy (slightly less sexy, now that we were mangled on the disgusting sidewalk) European man was laying on me with all his bodyweight, and it very much hurt.

To make matters worse, our faces collided. You ask, where did your faces specifically collide?

Our lips. Our lips collided, and they touched.

And me like the dumbass I am, when I see a face coming towards mine unexpectedly, eyes closed, and especially a face who's male.... I puckered up.

Yes, I was stupid.

Now, I was on the floor, sticky, and kissing a stranger.

Out of context, that sounds like a funny and strange sentence. But this whole scenario in the first place was out of context, so bear with me. I mean, how often do you end up on the ground, covered in energy drink, and accidentally kissing a stranger in the middle of the day?

It was like something out of a quirky rom-com (okay, more like the evil-twisted beginning to one of those abduction horror stories grown-ups tell you when you are a kid), except I never imagined I'd be the protagonist.

But in that split second, with the taste of RedBull lingering on our lips and the chaos of the city swirling around us, there was an inexplicable spark. It wasn't just the caffeine rush; it was a moment of shared laughter and unexpected connection amidst the sticky mess.

In this moment, I was either going to die because he was about to kidnap me, or sheerly die out of embarrassment. Or, I would will myself to die, this was not happening to me.

He pulled back, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" he asked, his accent making his words sound even more sincere.

I tried to laugh it off, but the awkwardness of the situation was hard to shake. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… sticky." I wiped at my face, feeling the sugary residue cling to my skin.

He helped me to my feet, brushing off his clothes with an apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to… I mean, that was not… you know," he stammered, clearly flustered.

"It's okay," I reassured him, despite feeling mortified myself. "Really, it's fine. Just a little... unexpected."

He chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. He winced, as he realized that his fingers as well as his hair smelled like RedBull. "Well, this is definitely not how I imagined meeting someone today."

"Me neither," I admitted, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and amusement. "But hey, at least it's a memorable encounter."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, I guess this is one way to make an impression. I'm Max, by the way. Professional RedBull spiller and accidental kisser."

I laughed, the tension easing. "Nice to meet you, Max. I'm Y/N. Apparently, I'm your victim for today."

"Victim? More like an unsuspecting hero," he replied with a playful grin. "Seriously, though, I'm really sorry about all this. Can I at least buy you a coffee to make up for it?"

"Well, considering you saved me from cracking my skull open, I think I can let you off the hook," I said, trying to sound casual while still feeling a bit flustered. "And coffee sounds good."

"Great! I know a place just around the corner. And I promise, no more RedBull," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. (Yeah, the biggest lie I was ever told. Do not trust sexy men, they are all liars)

As we walked towards the café, the awkwardness of our first meeting began to fade into a shared sense of humor about the absurdity of the situation. Max continued to apologize, making light-hearted comments about his job with RedBull and his less-than-perfect coordination skills.

"You know," Max started with a grin, "I guess I should add 'professional accidental kisser' to my resume now."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Not sure how many job openings there are for that, but you'd definitely stand out."

"Well, it's all about making a memorable first impression, right?" Max replied, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Definitely memorable," I agreed, taking a playful jab. "Though next time, maybe aim for something less sticky?"

Max feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. "But where's the fun in that? Besides, it's not every day you get to meet someone while wearing your finest RedBull cologne."

"I have to admit," I said with a smirk, "you wear it well."

Max chuckled, nudging me playfully. "Hey, it's an acquired scent. You'll get used to it."

"And here I thought coffee was supposed to be the only thing brewing today," I teased, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Who says we can't have a double shot of excitement?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at his playful flirtation, feeling myself relax even more in his company. "Well, as long as it doesn't involve any more airborne beverages, I'm all in."

Max raised an eyebrow, pretending to look offended. "Are you saying you didn't enjoy our little RedBull shower?"

"Let's just say I prefer my caffeine in a cup," I replied with a grin, sipping my coffee and meeting his gaze over the rim. "So, Max, what other talents do you have besides professional beverage mishaps?"

He leaned back, pretending to ponder the question seriously. "Well, I can juggle three balls at once. And I'm pretty good at making people laugh, unintentionally, most of the time."

"I can see that," I said, laughing softly. "You've definitely brightened up my day, unintentionally." Continuing, I said, "I was lost in that throng, no, no, no, cult of people wearing RedBull on Penn Ave. It was absolutely horrible, never again."

He guffawed loudly, so loudly, at my slightly funny joke, I for a second, thought that there was an underlying joke in my statement that I had not caught (spoiler alert, there was).

Max guffawed loudly, his laughter infectious. "Oh, I'm sorry," he managed between chuckles, "but you have to admit, it makes for a great story."

"You find this funny?" I asked, feigning offense while trying not to laugh myself. "I was traumatized by energy drink enthusiasts!"

"Hey, at least you made it out alive," Max quipped, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. "And here you are, sharing your harrowing tale with a fellow survivor."

"Survivor?" I raised an eyebrow, pretending to assess him critically. "Or secret admirer of RedBull?"

Max shrugged, his smile mischievous. "Maybe a bit of both. It's an acquired taste, you know."

"You are just saying that as a cult member, I can't really trust what you say still. I am so sorry, but you could not pay me to drink that can of dog piss," I jokingly rolled my eyes.

Max burst into laughter, his amusement filling the air around us. "Dog piss? That's a new one! Trust me, I'm not here to convert you," he said, grinning widely. "But if you ever change your mind, I'll be here with a fresh can and an open mind."

"Hmmm... okay," I reluctantly said. (Yeah, fat chance you would get me to drink RedBull willingly)

"That only made him laugh louder. "So I've heard," Max replied with a grin, clearly taking my comment in good humor.

I chuckled, feeling a sense of relief that he wasn't offended by my playful jab. "I mean, it takes confidence to rock the RedBull look from head to toe," I added, trying to soften my teasing with a smile.

"Exactly!" Max exclaimed, his laughter subsiding into a grin. "You've got to commit to the brand, right?"

"Absolutely," I agreed, nodding. "I have to hand it to you, though. Not many people can pull off such a bold fashion statement."

"Well, thank you," Max said, his tone light and playful. "I guess you could say I'm all about making a statement."

"I can see that," I replied, unable to resist teasing him a bit more. "I suppose next time we meet, I should wear something equally attention-grabbing to match your style."

Max laughed, shaking his head. "Please do. It'll make for an even more interesting encounter."

Everytime he spoke, he made direct eye contact with me. It was so sexy and seductive, and I don't even think that Max knew what he was doing was hella attractive.

I, not immune to anything today I guess, fell hard for a stranger that I had just met.

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yourusername posted on her story

📍washington dc 🎵 see you again (ft. kali uchis) - tyler the creator

view replies

florence.jwilliams: girl we got separated and first thing you do is be big backed??? be so fr... where are u

yourusername: on a date! 😁

florence.jwilliams: oh!-

florence.jwilliams: don't be selfish and bring me back a iced coffee w almond milk and a croissant pls.

yourusername: croissant 👌🏾, beverage 👎🏾, i've had enuf of beverages and spilling today. 😭

florence.jwilliams: oop, tea

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author's note: a little short but sweet! ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾 part two will be out sometime within the next two weeks, comment if you want to be added to the taglist! ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

Can you write about a chubby fem reader who hates going out to clubs. But she goes to this club in town one night. And chubby!reader gets the attention of the guys. They basically become obsessed with her, asking to buy her drinks, asking to dance with her, some “accidentally” touching her stomach and her other soft areas.

Even some of the guys arguing about what her pussy tastes like “I bet it taste like cotton Candy” “Na, I thinks her pussy has more of a strawberry flavor” “Maybe even Cherry”

I've been saving this for the right moment and now's the time—

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Imagine going out to a bar on your birthday or a special occasion. You don't usually go out, but you want to celebrate with a drink so you decide to go to a local bar. You dress up in one of your special outfits, one that hugs your curves and leaves little to the imagination. You dress up for yourself, but a part of you wouldn't mind getting a little attention too.

And attention you get. You enter the bar and within five minutes you've got a couple of guys hanging around you. Everybody watched you walk in, eyes glued to the pretty lil outfit you're wearing, imagining it on their bedroom floor. Only a few have the confidence to approach you at the bar, greeting you, offering to buy you a drink. You think the guys flocking to your side are just being friendly, but they have ulterior motives. They wanna flirt with you, gain your favor, take you back to their place and pound your pretty pussy until you turn to mush. They're already drunk off your perfume and your cute giggles, they just know that fucking your pretty chubby pussy would ruin them completely.

You're so oblivious to their attempts at taking you home, you swear they're just being nice to you! Why else would so many men be so nice to you at a bar? They're just being friendly, right??

Oh, they're friendly, alright, so friendly that their hands find your body. You think it's a mistake at first, when their hands slip along your waist, halting at your tummy, giving the lightest squeeze. But they don't stop there: they touch your arms, your shoulders, your back, any place they can touch without raising your suspicions. Can you really blame them? You're just so plump and tempting, making their mouths water as they savor how soft you felt against their lingering hands.

The men who aren't beside you stare at a distance, whispering to each other.

"Do you think she's shaved?"

"I'd prefer if she had a bush."

"What do you think she tastes like?"

"Oh, she's gotta be sweet."

"I bet she's musky."

"God, I hope she's sour, that would be delicious."

All the while, you're sipping your cocktail, happily entertaining the men around you, blissfully unaware of how badly every man in the room wants to fuck you. In your mind, they're just being sweet and social, but their motives are anything but pure. They pray that they'll get to go home with you, fuck you the way you deserve. They just gotta convince you to let them come back to your place~

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[nolita-fairytale]

comfort & chaos (carmy berzatto x fem!reader) chapter one: october 2019

summary: the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you: carmy, the recently promoted chef du cuisine at the best restaurant in the world, has no idea what he's in for when he accidentally spills his drink on the recently hired patissiere. (prequel to make my heart surrender)

warnings: swearing, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language. eventual smut.

word count: 4.5k

listen to: dover beach part 2 - baby queen | alaska - maggie rogers | less than i do - the band camino | 2 / 14 - the band camino

a/n: i'm back back back again! this is six part series will be a snapshot of carmy x reader's relationship in nyc that span across a three year period. i'm really looking forward to writing their friendship & so much repressed sexual tension it's not even funny. this is the first story i've published without it being almost or fully written so updates will maybe be more sporadic this time.

October 2019 

“i was hoping somehow we'd end up together, outside, past midnight, and smoking cigarettes. the wallpaper inside my brain is decorated with your face. i'm lonely for you only, and i'm trying to convince you that i'm something you could love.” – dover beach (pt 2)

He hates you. 

You’re absolutely sure of it. 

You can see it in the way his body stiffens as you walk by – in the way he hasn’t stopped sending you long, piercing glares across the kitchen – in just how bright red his face turns when you catch him doing it. 

And for what? For being excellent? For being good enough to get a job after staging that one night?

Fuck that, you think to yourself.

You find Carmen Berzatto infuriating, and it begins to dawn on you that you may have had one too many gin cocktails to stomach the fact that you have to be here tonight. 

Here, at his promotion party. 

Here, at this stupid fucking bar that you hate. 

Here, because he’s sort of everyone’s boss now… and it’s something you’re just going to have to live with.

It hadn’t come as much of a surprise. There’d been talk of a leadership change (and Carmy filling the CDC position) when you had first started working here, but having a head’s up didn’t really help you now. You just hadn’t pictured having to go out for drinks to celebrate the man that seemed like he could barely stand being in the same room as you. But your friend Liz, one of the chef de parties at the restaurant, had insisted you come with, since she hadn’t wanted to go alone. You understood why you both had to go, so you’d invited your other best friend to help the both of you get through. 

You thank your lucky stars that your direct report is the head pastry chef and not Carmy. Using your boss as a buffer, you had used every excuse in the book to avoid interacting with him. 

Sure, he was brilliant. 

Sure, he was a wunderkind who had just gotten back from a three month stage at noma right before he was hired here.

Sure, he was kind of a total asshole. 

“Fuck that, man! C’mon. Just one shot. It’s your big night, motherfucker!” Nate calls out, practically shoving a shot into Carmy’s hand. 

“Oh, I- uh, I’m good, man,” Carmy stutters, trying to find an excuse not to take the shot. 

Truthfully, he hates shots… and he’s not much of a vodka drinker either. 

He’s just not in the mood to get hammered either, his thoughts consumed with tomorrow, his first day as chef du cuisine, going perfectly. 

You watch the uncomfortable interaction, almost feeling bad for the guy. Nate and the most recently promoted sous, Tim, are trying their best to corral Carmy into taking the shot as you walk by. You can see the uncomfortable look on Carmy’s face as he declines Nate’s offer for a second time. 

In fact, he seems like a different person tonight. He’s… boyishly awkward, almost, and you wonder if he’s maybe not so great in social situations. As you pass by, drink in hand, you hear a cacophony of sound. Carmy’s trying his best to dodge his friends’ next attempt, and before you know it, Nate’s practically pushing him towards Tim, sending Carmy backwards, tumbling right into you. 

You feel the wet liquid of your gin and tonic, along with the shot of vodka that’s flown out of Carmy’s hand spill all over your shirt. The shot glass shatters as it hits the floor, and the sobering feeling of ice cold liquid soaking through your shirt causes you to shriek. 

“Shit! What the fuck, Carmy!” you yell, angrily, as you push him off of you.

At this point, you could care less that he’s everyone’s new boss, and the drama of it all has caught the attention of almost all of the other restaurant staff that have come out tonight. Your friends rush towards you, searching for as many napkins as they can grab. 

“Fffffuck,” is all he says back and you can’t believe he’s yelling at you right now. You watch as his face changes quickly, from angry, to thoroughly shocked as he begins to stammer through an apology. 

“I-. I’m sorry I-. I didn’t mean to-.” 

He scrambles to help you, with one cocktail napkin as you push him away, your friends rushing to your side. 

“No! I don’t want your help,” you grit through a clenched jaw. 

“Shit, your shirt is ruined… C’mon,” Liz says, as she ushers you away shooting a glare in Carmy’s direction. 

“Damn, man. You could just ask her out,” you can hear Nate say, even though you’re too preoccupied with examining the damage of your totally soaked through t-shirt. 

So much for a chill evening. 

“Oh shut up, Nate,” Maya snaps at the sous. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” You nod, following her as she leads you away towards the bathroom. 

Back at the bar, Liz is trying her best to remedy the situation, trying her best to clean up the mess you left behind. She watches Carmy closely, trying to figure out whether she’s going to pay for this tomorrow. But instead of being angry, he just seems embarrassed… remorseful, even. There’s a small part of her that feels bad for the guy as it becomes clearer that he may just not be great in social situations.

As soon as you get to the single-room bathroom, you're swearing loudly and stripping off your shirt. It’s completely see through and you know you’re going to smell like a distillery until you can get home to shower. 

“I told you. He hates me,” you pout, examining your reflection in the mirror, a scowl glued to your face. You dap a few dry paper towels across your chest.

“I think it was just an accident, sweetie,” Maya says, sympathetically, as she tries her best to console you. 

“Yeah, I know,” you admit in defeat.

As much as you’d like to blame this on him, you know it wasn’t his fault. 

“Sorry I asked you to come tonight. If I knew it would be this much drama-,” you begin, before being promptly cut off. 

“Oh no, I’m all here for this drama,” she laughs, causing you to shake your head and lighten up a little about the situation.

As angry as you’d like to be with Carmy, you know that the truth of the matter is that he hadn’t meant to spill his drink all over you. You should be mad at Nate and Tim… but it just feels easier to be mad at Carmy considering. 

“Incoming!” you hear a voice say as Liz arrives. In her hands, she holds what looks like a white t-shirt, neatly folded up, that she hands to you. “Anyone in need of dry clothes?”

“Oh thank god,” you sigh with relief, glady taking it. 

“Good on you for having an extra,” Maya says. 

“Well, it’s a restaurant. You never know when you’re gonna need a change of clothes,” Liz shrugs, a glimmer in her eyes that Maya notices, as she says it. You find it a little strange that she seems to be watching you for a reaction, but you brush off the look she sends you, as you slide the dry t-shirt over your head.

The t-shirt isn’t much bigger than an oversized fit you’d buy for yourself – which makes sense because Liz is a bit taller than you. The cotton fabric hangs loosely over your form as your eyes flicker over to your completely soaked through shirt that lays crumpled up on the bathroom sink. 

“Well, ladies. We did our best,” you resign yourself, as you notice your still-very-wet bra begin soaking through the white t-shirt. 

“C’mon. Let’s see if we can get some more paper towels. Or uh.. See if the kitchen has a towel we can use,” Liz says, nodding her head towards the door. 

“We’ll be right back,” Maya reassures you, empathy in her eyes.

You watch as Liz follows her, leaving you alone in the bathroom. 

It doesn’t take long for the door to the bathroom to swing open again, which surprises you. You gasp as soon as you see who's come through the door, and you’re crossing your arms over your chest which may only make the wet bra, white t-shirt ordeal even worse. A very flustered Carmy stands in the doorway, his mouth hanging open as if he hadn’t expected you to be in here. 

“There’s uh… someone in here,” you scoff, unable to hide the irritation in the sound of your voice. You hug your arms closer to yourself, almost as if to cover yourself up. 

“No I-, yeah, I know I just-,” he stammers, his eyes shifting to the floor. He feels like he’s walked in on something he shouldn’t have, and he can feel all the blood rushing to his face, instantly regretting his decision not to knock first. 

“I actually, uh… I came to apologize,” he manages to get out, his words quiet. He says it as if there’s an unintentional question mark at the end of his sentence. You can see the way he runs his eyes back and forth, trailing over the fancy floor tile, searching for the right words. 

“I didn’t mean to- I just-. Sorry…”

His demeanor surprises you. At work, Carmy’s this confident, commandeering, talented chef, but tonight, he seems anything but.

Nervous. Shy. Like a fish out of water, even.

You take a breath, trying your best to relax.

You can feel some of your guard coming down as you begin to accept he really hadn’t meant to spill his drink on you. But you’re not eager to forget the fact that he’s been kind of an asshole to you since you started working here. Unsure of how to respond, you give literal effort to replying with a:

“It’s fine. Thanks.”

He knows you don’t mean it. 

In fact, he can hear how painful it is for you to get out those words. 

You wait for him to leave, but Carmy continues to stand in the bathroom with you, awkwardly. But he doesn’t say anything, so you figure that the least you can do is deflect a little with humor. 

“I’ll uh-, invoice you for the therapy session,” you say, trying to eliminate any malice in your tone so that he knows you’re joking. “Walking home in a wet shirt on the streets of NYC is gonna be… fun.”

“Oh uh…” he trails off, his face turning a darker shade of red. 

“I’m kidding,” you state, searching his face for any kind of expression. 

This man is impossible to read, you think to yourself.

His eyes are still glued to the floor as he begins to move, mumbling something you can’t quite hear in response to your failed joke. Carmy slides out of the denim jacket he’s wearing, before taking hold of it, extending an arm out to you. 

“Sorry um-. Here,” he says nervously, and it’s the first time he’s allowed his eyes to meet yours. “You can uh-. You can wear this. For your walk home.”

Well, that wasn’t what you were expecting. 

And had his eyes always been that blue?

Your face softens. 

You take the jacket hesitantly, holding it in your hands. This time you mean it when you say:

“Thanks.”

“Least I could do,” he shrugs, daring to meet your eyes with his again. 

You slip the jacket over your shoulders as the two of you stand a few feet apart. The air feels thick, and at this point, you’re not sure how to feel. Even though your bra has continued to soak through the white t-shirt, the way his denim jacket feels wrapped around your shoulders feels like an added layer of protection.

“After uh-. You know I-,” he stumbles through.

“Yeah. No I uh-. Thanks, again,” you repeat, cutting him off. 

Might as well put the poor guy out of his misery. 

“Anyways, I’ll make sure to get this back to you,” you interject, your voice much more reassuring this time. 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

You swear you can almost see the corner of his lips turn up, but you’ve never really seen him smile, so it’s not like you have much to compare it to. Carmy excuses himself, and you watch as he leaves, genuinely grateful for the peace offering. 

The way that Carmy’s jacket hangs heavily around your shoulders makes you wonder if it’s real denim. You notice that it smells like him too: a faint scent of cigarettes, Old Spice deodorant, whatever scented laundry detergent he uses that feels familiar. 

You and Carmy don’t speak again, save for a few short exchanges at work, but he’s been on your mind. Your interaction the other night had left an impression on you – albeit a strange one – and you’re not sure why you haven’t returned his jacket yet. 

It’s not till a few days later that you speak again, leaving another strange impression on you. You head into the walk-in to get a few quarts of heavy cream and as you pull the door open, you find a flustered Carmy standing there. He’s got his hands on his hips and eyes glued to the floor with an exasperated look on his face as he watches the plastic storage containers he’s just thrown clamor across the floor. You gasp, shocked by the loud sounds, and Carmy knows he’s not alone. 

As he turns to you with a glare on his face, you notice that Carmy’s eyes are puffy, his cheeks flushed red, and he looks sick as a dog. 

His eyes are wide with embarrassment for a moment, before returning to their normal, stoic focus, hardened by a less than positive interaction with the exec chef. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, uncomfortably. He gestures towards the storage containers on the floor, before running a hand through his neatly slicked back hair. 

“It’s uh, you’re good, chef,” you say, trying your best to put your wall of professionalism up. 

You had witnessed the demeaning encounter from the exec chef – everyone had. It had been impossible not to. He’d practically breathed down Carmy’s neck, taunting him for his lack of focus today, that he’s a little bitch for letting allergies get to him. 

To say that the man was emotionally abusive would be an understatement. 

You should leave – turn and go, and pretend that this never happened – that you’d seen nothing. But instead, you stay. 

“You good, chef?” you ask softly, a hint of concern in your voice.

He sniffles again, the searing headache that robs him of his focus only burning brighter after what just happened. 

“Yeah, no. I’m fine,” he snaps, refusing to look at you. 

You wait for him to say something more, only he doesn’t. You can see he’s not feeling well and that he must be feeling worse after his metaphorical public stoning in the town square. He’s not sure what the hell it is you’re waiting for, and he just needs another fucking second to himself. 

“Why are you still here?” he grits through teeth, his eyes fixed to the floor. 

You open your mouth to say something, but you’re honestly not sure why you’re still in the walk-in with him either. 

Maybe because you know that the exec chef is a total monster.

That he shouldn’t have talked to Carmy like that. 

That you can understand why he’d be upset. 

“Chef!” he says, raising his voice a little louder and flinging his hands towards the door. “Will you just-?”

You nod, a feeling of embarrassment filling your chest, as you realize he wants you to leave. You hurry out of the walk-in, closing the door behind you as you escape, your heavy cream quart containers in hand. 

“You good?” Liz asks, as soon as she sees you come out of the walk-in. She’s passing by to bring a few deli containers over to the dish station. 

“What?” you ask back in surprise, unaware that you look visibly shaken up.

“You look… flustered is all,” she points out. 

“Oh. Yeah. I just uh-, Carmy’s in there. Throwing a fit. He just uh… snapped at me is all. But what’s new?” you reply, trying your best to shake it off. 

She rolls her eyes in response, “Yeah, he can be like that. Thank your lucky stars that you don’t have to work under him.”

You let out an annoyed exhale. It’s a funny feeling – one that leaves you a little confused: one minute he’s this chivalrous guy that’s handing you his jacket to wear home and the next he’s practically tearing your head off to get out of the walk-in. You can’t quite figure him out. He’s so hot and cold, you’re not sure what to expect from him anymore. 

As you and Liz are about to part ways, you remember that you have to give her back her borrowed shirt. 

“Oh!” you say, calling her attention before she returns to her station. 

“I have your shirt, by the way,” you say. “From the other night.”

“Oh,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “Okay weird timing considering he’s being such an asshole today but uh…. Yeah. The shirt’s... not mine. I forgot to tell you.”

You send her a puzzled look as she shrugs. 

“I didn’t think you’d take it if I told you but… it’s Carmy’s. He pulled it out of his bag when he spilled the drink on you,” she informs, waiting to gauge your reaction.

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“You were so mad at him that I just figured-, it doesn't matter. He pulled it out of his bag to give to you. I think he felt really fucking bad, babe,” she interjects, revealing the truth. 

Well now you’re really fucking confused. 

And after your little interaction with him in the walk-in, there’s no way you’re going to bring it up to him today. 

“Oh. Yeah um, got it,” you reply, feeling even more confused than when you started the day. 

You show up to work the next day with the t-shirt and his jacket tucked into a canvas tote bag you plan on giving to Carmy. You’d decided to wait till you had them both, and you’re also hoping that he’s in a better mood today. 

Only, Carmy’s not here today. 

“Yeah, he’s out sick. Looks like those allergies turned out to be a nasty head cold,” your general manager had informed you when you’d asked about where Carmy was. “Looks like Tim’s filling in today for him.”

“Got it. Thanks, Kate” you’d replied. 

Later on your mid-shift break, you’d then mustered up all the courage possible to ask if anyone had checked in on Carmy. Kate, your GM, had answered no, and had been more than happy to give you his address so that you could do so. You’re not sure why you feel like it’s the right thing to do, but between his act of kindness at the bar, and his outburst in the walk-in yesterday, you figure it wouldn’t hurt to show him a little kindness. Not that you feel like you owe him or anything. 

Maybe you just want to give him his clothes back and be done with it. 

Maybe you’re also deeply confused about who the hell Carmen Berzatto really is. 

Maybe the mystery of it intrigues you a little more than you’d like to admit.

Dinner service flies by quickly – a string of non-stop orders helps the time go faster. Carmy’s apartment is on your way home, so it’s a no-brainer to make the trip. You stop on your way at a deli nearby, picking up a quart of matzo ball soup, before heading over to his apartment. 

When you get there, you knock on the door three times, anxiety beginning to flood you.

What if he thinks this is totally creepy – that you just got his address from the general manager? What if he thinks you’re stalking him? What if he hates the fact that you’re even there in the first place? 

You wonder if you should just leave the soup at the door and run as fast as you can so that, by the time he answers the door, you’re gone. 

Just as you’re bending down to place the quart container down by his door, the door swings open to reveal a very congested Carmy. His curls seem wilder than normal as he looks genuinely surprised to see you crouching in the hall of his apartment. 

“Hi!” you practically shout, taken off guard as you rise to your feet. 

“Yo,” he says, blinking a few times to make sure he’s not dreaming. “What’s uh-, what’s going on?”

It’s weird – seeing Carmy outside of the restaurant, outside of his chef whites. His usually slicked back, out-of-his-face hair falls in the messiest most unruly curls around his face in a way that's surprisingly unkempt. He’s… almost human-like. 

“This is for you,” is all you manage to say, handing him the quart container. 

“Uh… thanks,” he trails off, taking it and checking out the matzo ball soup. 

You’re not sure where to begin, how to explain why the hell you’re here, so you just start talking. 

“I uh… your place was on the way home,” you begin. “I hope it’s okay but I got your address from Kate. I actually used to go to this deli all the time when I was a kid with my parents and I forgot that it was in your neighborhood so I just figured that I should pick something up on the way over since I heard you were sick and uh-.”

Carmy shoots you a look and he almost looks amused. 

“... I’m rambling, aren’t I?” you ask, a light blush running across your cheeks. 

“Yeah,” he nods, a dry laugh following.

You wait a beat, collecting yourself. You’re not sure why this is so weird, but it’s so weird. 

“I came by because…” you start, digging through your canvas tote bag that’s draped across your right shoulder. “... I wanted to return these to you.” 

You hold out the jacket and t-shirt folded up together to Carmy, his eyes following them. 

“Liz told me that the shirt was yours too. I just-, I know we don’t always… that you don’t-, I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I know it’s kind of weird at work sometimes but… I guess  I just wanted to say thank you. For these. Hence the soup,” you finally explain.

“No problem,” Carmy nods, taking them in his empty hand, before disappearing momentarily to place them somewhere inside of his apartment.  

You’re only a little disappointed by his short response, yet you’re not sure you expected anything else. He returns only seconds later.

“It’s uh-, Cool jacket,” you say. You can’t tell whether you’re making small talk or just saying something out of discomfort, but it seems to pique Carmy’s interest. 

“It actually reminds me of the denim jacket that John Lennon used to wear ”

“You know denim?” he asks, and you could swear that you see his eyes light up for a moment. 

“No, but I know music,” you reply. 

“Uh I mean. Yeah. It is…” he says, with a nod, a hint of excitement in the words that follow. “Not the actual one he wore but… it’s a 1950s selvedge Wrangler. Just like Lennon.”

So he wasn’t just a fine-dining robot. 

“Wow I didn’t know you were into all that,” you say, feeling some of the tension between the two of you melt. “Denim, I mean.”

“Something I picked up from my brother, I guess,” he shrugs, shyly. 

“That’s funny,” you chuckle. 

“Hm?” he hums in response. 

“Just… the thought of you having a brother,” you clarify, jokingly. “Thought you were like… grown in a lab at noma or something.”

And Carmy almost smiles, you think.

“Nope. Just Chicago,” he replies, enjoying the act of sharing something with you. 

“Ahhh,” you sound, following it up with another small laugh. “Well, I’ll let you get some rest. Enjoy the soup.”

“Yeah, uh. Thanks for this,” he says, holding up the brown bag. 

“Of course,” you reply, turning to go. 

But you don’t go yet, not ready to let go of the momentary connection you’ve built with Carmy 

"You know it doesn’t have to be like this,” you say, turning back to him. He's staring at you, just like he does in the kitchen. It’s another long, languid look that makes you realize that maybe they haven’t been hate-glares after all.

“We don't have to do this... start over every time we see each other.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree with a nod. “I mean, I've already worn your clothes so… it’s a rather… intimate thing for us to just be strangers….”

He listens attentively. 

"We could… coworkers… friends, even,” you suggest, hesitantly.

“Me and you?” he asks, a puzzled look on his face. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by what you’ve said, or if he’s about to laugh in your face. 

“If you want,” you nod in response. 

He waits a beat, and you watch his facial expressions soften a little as he finally says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

You smile at him, the man you thought hated you, wants to be friends with you. You get a wicked idea, letting out a chuckle before continuing. 

“Great. There’s just one thing,” you begin playfully.

You can’t help yourself.

“Hm?” he hums. 

“It’s just… I haven’t made my mind up about you. So you should consider this your trial period, buddy,” you tease. 

He lets out a dry laugh, “Like a stage?”

Of course it’s all kitchen-related for him.

You laugh in response, “Yeah, like a stage.”

“Heard, chef.”

“Goodnight, Carmy.”

Carmy’s never had someone joke with him so sweetly. Between his family and, well, Richie… it’s always been callous humor and insults thrown back and forth lovingly. This feels… different: lighter.

As he watches you walk away, he looks down at the deli quart container that he holds in his hand. He’s never had anyone take care of him before – not like this – someone who wasn’t Sugar or Mikey, and certainly not his Mom. Not like this. Not without asking for anything in return. He can’t seem to identify the warm feeling that rushes through him, and wonders, for a moment, if this is what it feels like to fall in love. 

Not that he’s ever experienced that either.

By Saturday, he’s back to work and feeling much better (the soup definitely helps, he decides) but it’s not for another week that he musters up the courage to ask you what you’re doing between lunch and dinner service. 

“Chef!” he calls out to you as you’re cleaning up your station.

“Yeah, what’s up?” you reply. 

It’s not like you’ve been all buddy-buddy and friendly over the last week, but you’ve at least stopped thinking that he hates you. Sure you’ve decided to be friends, but it’s not like you’d expected wildly different behavior. 

“You uh… wanna grab a cup of coffee? On the break, I mean,” he asks, his blue eyes seeming… more brilliant than you’ve ever noticed. 

“I owe you one. You know. For the soup.”

You smile, “Yeah. I’d uh-, I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Yeah.”

read: chapter two

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos

[forthegothicheroine]

Henchwomen Through the Ages

The "ages" of comics are not hard and fast things, and even comic book historians argue where they begin and end. They're more like moods than time periods, and your standard game of Henchwoman RPG will probably be set in a vague time period that could be anywhere from the thirties to today with an overall Silver Age mood. Still, let's take a look at how the roll of the Henchwoman has evolved, shall we?

Goldie is a gun-toting, cigar-chomping bank robber in victory rolls and a bullet bra. She's not called a henchwoman- she's called "Look out, that broad has a grenade!" She's loyal to the boss despite his dumb penny gimmick, but if he ever finked on her in court, he wouldn't live to see the sunrise. There's no Henchwomen's Union for her to join yet, but she's provided muscle for plenty of mob-backed unions. Goldie can't afford to be soft on heroes since they'd be just as happy to throw her off a roof as to arrest her, but she might be wooed by an appeal to patriotism- she ain't no Nazi rat! Her hobbies include matinee shows, swing dancing, and blasting coppers.

Sylvia is a competitive surfer and was a cocktail waitress until they fired her for slapping too many customers. Thanks to the newly formed Henchwomen's Union, she's treated much better by her current job, which usually involves crashing parties to steal themed jewelry. She and the heroes she fights have an understanding- they'll never be rough with her, and she won't check up on them after putting them in a death trap to see if they've died. On her off hours, she can go dancing in the same outfit she worked in- a silver jumpsuit, gogo boots and a purely decorative motorcycle helmet.

Brawny is a member of the Sisterhood of Wicked Witches, and she fights for a cause- or rather, several causes. These range from the reasonable (Save the whales!) to the less reasonable (A free ray gun for every child!) The Henchwomen's Union is strong enough to get her good pay, so many of her problems are philosophical- is she a good guy or a bad guy, and what do good and bad even mean? Brawny has to be a bit more careful than she would have been ten years ago, since death may well stick- but that also means she might really kill a hero, at least for a while, and that's what matters!

Tenebra prefers to be called a Dark Muse, a member of a vampire circle dedicated to bringing art to life, painted in colors of blood. Her eyeliner is swirly and her gowns are velvet, and she wears them onstage in her sideline darkwave band. Tenebra arranges her crimes in accordance with pre-raphaelite imagery, with victims displayed in heartbreakingly beautiful and mythologically-influenced poses. Her boss may technically be the Queen of the Vampires, and she may have a card with the Henchwomen's Union, but her true loyalty is to art itself.

Ferra is a mercenary with a separate pouch for each type of bullet, and she has a lot of types of bullet. Her stilettos are tall but her hair is taller, and she can strike intimidating poses that would break a normal person's back. The Henchwomen's Union had its own back broken by the bosses, and is now more of informal underground thing, but it still hooks her up with real deal bad guys. She'll kill without a second thought for her boss, but she's only one bad day away from turning her gun on him. It might even happen accidentally, since he and the heroes dress exactly the same. Ferra somehow has a heavy metal soundtrack even when there's no music playing.

Ally got a degree in psychology but until she can afford grad school, she gigs as a henchwoman. Her bosses are sillicon valley dickheads, but the first one to offer her real benefits will have her loyalty for life. Thanks to the resurgence of the Henchwomen's Union, Ally gets to wear big stompy boots instead of high heels, but she still has to wear a big day-glo logo on her leather jacket that might as well be a target sign. Her hobbies include pop culture conventions, smoking weed and credit card fraud.

[ghostchems]

a/n: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THIS ASK 😭 but good thing i took a screenshot! here are some secondo date night thots!

You are sitting pretty on the couch, snuggled up beneath a blanket as you scroll through your phone. The lights are dimmed in the den and you’ve just had a big bowl of homemade linguine and shrimp, a perfect cocktail for a sleepy evening, though you are trying valiantly to stay awake. An attempt has already been made to help Secondo with cleaning up but he playfully escorted you out of the kitchen and back to the couch, telling you to relax and warm up the blankets for him. You’ve already learned that you should let him have this, the night being an important one for the both of you.

Papa Emeritus the Second could have anything he wanted from anybody he asked every single day. Clergy members flocked to his side to ensure that he had everything he needed and that he was taken care of and happy. No matter how hard he tries to avoid it more often than not a sibling or a ghoul is trailing behind him. He works hard as Papa, spreading the dark gospel and inspiring the masses, so there are times where he does take advantage of the assistance. Meanwhile, you bust your ass every day in the finance department and end up working late nights every so often to ensure expenses are booked and more.

But not on Thursday nights. The siblings know you have to be back at your quarters by 4pm but they don’t know what exactly happens. Papa Secondo belongs to you on Thursday nights. He cooks you dinner, usually a pasta dish, he cleans up after himself and doesn’t allow you to lift a finger. A dessert, something he picks up specially for you from the local bakery, waits to be nibbled on. Light Italian singing flows from the kitchen into the den.

Volaré, oh-oh

Cantaré, oh-oh-oh-oh

Nel blu dipinto di blu

Felice di stare lassù

It’s taken some getting used to on your part. You used to be one of the siblings who assisted Papa which evolved into an insatiable affair. He couldn’t get enough of your body, stealing you away to taste and feel you, and eventually that grew into something more. Something unexpected. The look in his eyes started to change when he saw you and his kisses began to linger. His strong arms would curl around you, keeping you from your usual ritual of slipping out of his bed, and press you right up against him, nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Late night discussions about ministry drama and movies gave way to deeper conversations about aspirations and life so far. You fell hard and fast and he did too.

Thursday nights are to show you just how much he has fallen. Secondo shows you his love by doting on you and taking care of everything date night related with no help from clergy members and certainly no help from you. He coos that you work so hard and he wants to take care of you, to provide for you. Something he isn’t able to do for many others. It’s his love language and it makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

So you sit on the couch, warming it up for him just as he asked. The dessert is cannoli and the trashy television show of choice is Below Deck. A nice bottle of wine sits on the coffee table waiting to be opened to fuel the deep talks and silly flirting for the remainder of the evening. Secondo’s singing has only grown stronger and more impassioned as he finishes up cleaning.

It’s his favorite night of the week and it shows.

[theonevoice]

Maggie's spelling mistake

Ok, I've just had a wild thought about this moment, that led many people to theorise that Maggie could be a demon in disguise, given that 1) everything is intentional in this show, so the accent on the "ugrency" detail cannot be meaningless, and 2) demons are repeatedly characterised, of all things, as being bad at spelling.

To be honest, I cannot bring myself to believe the "Maggie is a demon" theory, but I agree that the emphasis on her spelling mistake is weird and it very much looks like a hint.

And now I think I finally have a hypothesis that I like (not because it's plausible but because I find it funny) about what it could be hinting at.

Let me list a couple of premises first:

- we know that when Aziraphale and Crowley "do a miracle together" it ends up "working a little too well"

- we have evidence of animals brought back from death (the dove) and of people brought back from Hell (Mr Brown)

- we have the Nina Sosanya and Maggie Service recasting choice, that I was obviously very happy with but never really understood

So, when in s1 Aziraphale and Crowley meet Mary Hodges, former Sister Mary Loquacious, we see Crowley initiating the hypnosis miracle and Aziraphale "stepping in" and ending it.

He is not just reversing it, he is working within the perimeter of the "miraculous window" opened by Crowley and weaving in an instruction before closing it:

So here's the wild part: what if, upon meeting Crowley after eleven years, Mary Hodges, now successful business owner, was taken back to that fatal night of the Antichrist and her dream of "whatever you like best" got mixed with shreds of memories? What if the satanic order who clearly didn't appreciate her turned into an abusive partner who "never really liked her"? What if the assignment to go fetch some bisquits from the refectory turned into the idea of having a nice little coffeeshop full of sweets and cakes? What if the contact with "His Royal Excellency the American ambassador" caused said coffeeshop to be right in front of a certain bookshop that happens to be an Embassy to Heaven? What if Sister Theresa Garrulous, the only person who that night had showed Mary some validation (although only for a happy miscommunication incident), turned into a neighbour shopkeeper with a strong bond to her mother superior great-grandmother, who keeps coming back to her coffeeshop, over and over, to grab the superfluous child a cup of coffee and have a little friendly chat?

The unknown and unforeseen power of a miracle performed by both Aziraphale and Crowley, although not intentionally and only as a result of a partial overlap of miraculous actions, could have make Mary's dream actually and literally come true. So we are not seeing a funny casting choice, but two actual characters from s1 transformed by the accidental interference of an overflowing miracle and Mary's confused memory-dream cocktail.

But if Maggie was indeed Sister Theresa...

...that would mean that the miracle did not just magically get Mary/Nina a coffeeshop in Soho, it also brought back Theresa/Maggie from Hell. So her "ugrency" spelling mistake could be there not as a sign that she is a demon herself, but as the trace of a sort of demonic contamination, a bad-grammar-contagion either from her time as a satanic nun or from her eleven years in Hell after Hastur killed her.

And if this was the case, wouldn't it be convenient that the only person who can corroborate her family history is none other than Mr Fell, the one unknowingly involved in her comeback, possibly not even knowing himself that there never was any great-grandmother selling records in the corner of his bookshop in the Twenties?

So this:

this could literally be Mary's dream come true, where miss Hodges' entrepreneurial side was fused with scraps of Sister Mary's memories from the night of the Antichrist.

Of course, this could be just Neil Gaiman jokingly referring to Maggies Service's previous role as a satanic nun with demonic acquaintances, but where's the fun in choosing that interpretation when we can run wild with outrageous theories like this?

Also, I like to imagine Mr Brown inexplicably starting to make spelling mistakes all over his impeccable tax returns after his trip to Hell...

[multch]

Pig Mask.

Hoffman x Reader [18+] CW: Suggestive content\ Drinking\ Implies Hoffman is here for a job\ afab Reader

It's Halloween and it's the reader's first time at a kinkclub were they run into a mysterious man- dressed head to toe in full black with an interesting pig mask covering their face..

Oh curious stranger, what brought you here?

Tonight is cold and the streets in this part of town run wild. You never found a reason in particular to celebrate Halloween- it was the race for discounted chocolate afterwards which you found more amusing. Never did you expect yourself to have heels on the pavement below you and an ID in your hand on a Thursday night yet here you were. 

Barely dressed at 11:35 outside a hardly discreet looking kinkclub.

If it wasn't for the line of skimpy costumes, animal heads and ghost masks waiting in line- Sure, any observer would have mistaken it for just a simple bar; however, it was far from that…

After a week of whining, your friends managed to finally drag you out of bed and out of your shell. God had it been ages since your last relationship! They pestered. 

They weren't wrong… However, there's only so much a girl can do when her last partner was as much of a train wreck as they were. What are you supposed to do when your “sweetheart” manages to cheat on you 6 times before you even realized!

Safe to say, all you knew after that was the day-to-day work, eat, aggressively binge watch netflix just to eat again and sleep.

No doubt- if you were desperate you could've handled yourself but I guess the look of all the sleepless nights you held under your eyes finally broke your besties because god where they relentless.

Practically pushing you out the door, you had spent the hour prior having costumes thrown at you, glitter getting everywhere and successfully having your face beat half to death.

You wore a black silk bikini top, a pleated mini skirt and lacy rabbit ears.

Anyone could've mistaken you for a hooker but you're not. You were a sexy little playboy bunny. Duhhhh!

*

Carefully managing yourself down the steps, you find yourself amidst a crowd of too many people leaving no room between them for Jesus. You understood this club was sexual but you could have never anticipated seeing it to this extent. The room was open with a hallway breaking off to a series of rooms you’d expect people to use but the sheer velocity of makeout sessions against the ignored doors made you second guess their purpose. Towards the back were shelves of bright coloured bottles with a group of seemingly regular swingers sitting in a pack and enjoying a couple drinks. There were staff openly walking around with protection and… toys.. but they were hard to see amongst the dense crowd of creepy rubber masks. You were beginning to sweat like a hooker in church from so many crude acts. So many people grinding and grabbing made you subconsciously wander over towards the less rowdy bar near the back- ignoring a few wild requests with each step closer.

Keeping your head low to avoid your eyes accidentally meeting the sudden sight of an exhibition, you sat down- waving down the bartender for a fruity cocktail to ease your nerves

Beside you sat a larger (almost threatening) man dressed head to toe in black tactical gear with a matted and grimy pig mask concealing his face. He had a cold whisky in front of him. You kind of wanted him to take a sip so you could see his face yet still, he didn't. You had no way of seeing where his eyes landed in the room but you could tell his focus was anywhere but at his drink as he perched like a stone statue staring out into the crowd.

After some contemplating, curiosity finally caught the cat. You shuffled one seat over and saw his head turn from the crowd to your attention.

“Got a partner out there I’m guessing?” you chuckled.

“Who in their right mind would go here if they could do it at home?” he joked. Wow! You thought. In shock at his sass, yes, but more at the low growl of his voice. You could care less about his face now. You could already tell he was HOT.

“What's up with the mask?” 

“What's the deal with the ears?” he mocked.

He turned back to lift and gently swivel his drink. 

You look back at him. He looked back at you. 

The silence would have almost been uncomfortable if it wasn't for the audible sounds of moaning coming from the other side of the room making it impossible to take this situation seriously. Exhabitionists.

He was quiet for a few seconds, then sighed. “You haven't been here before have you?”

“How did you know?” You questioned.

“You don't exactly look like… a regular..” he answered. Clearly.

It took you a couple seconds to understand what he was suggesting. 

No, you didn't look like a regular. 

You couldn’t understand if he was talking about substance abuse in this part of town- cheap thrills with lifelong side effects your friends had already chewed your ear off about- or if it was your costume. A few people wore similar outfits yet the majority of this club consisted of bulky character heads or people holding one beside them as they practically got their mouths chewed off by a partner..

Shaking his head, he proceeded to lift his mask up above his chin and take a long sip of his now room-temperature glass of whiskey.

You stared at his lips as they pressed against the glass. They were plump enough to make you wonder if they would feel soft against your own. How they would feel along your skin. How they would feel sucking deep on your- No! You fought back.

Dirty thoughts were one thing but imagining having sex with the person sitting right next to you is crossing a line!

“Take a photo, it'll last longer” he chuckled, placing the glass back on the bench.

You hadn't realized how long you had spent gazing at his lips that when he finally spoke, it almost made you jump out of your seat.

“Ah! Sorry it's just… I haven't seen who I'm talking to,” You blurt out, “your face..”

You couldn't see his eyes but you knew just then that he was staring right into yours.

“Good thing you’re not going to,” he sighed, “You should learn the rules around here before you fall in- girly, if you wanna see who someone is- you better be taking them to bed tonight..”

The flush that fell over your face was laughable! Bright pink and at a loss for words, The man decided he’d answer the question painted- no, stained across your shocked face…

“Comin’ here dressed in nothing but a pair of ears is risky, lucky you found me in time.”

“In.. time?” you repeated, mumbling.

“Waltzing in here declaring you’re free meat, the wrong asshole could’ve swept you off your feet and done God-knows-what to you,” he groaned, “I’m Mark.”

You sat there, wide eyed and more flushed than ever, “Y\n” you breathed. 

You sat beside Mark for a brief moment. The constant sounds of sex and small talk felt like it had finally drowned out as a new wave of confidence overcame you. This was your chance. You shifted in your seat to try to close some of the space between the two of you. 

Were you rusty at this, obviously! But you decided to consider the sheer quantity of romance movies you watched like gospel to be ‘training’. This was going to be a cake walk, you believed.

The black, lacey rabbit ears you had been wearing hit this side of his drink with a loud clink! as you slid them down the bench.

“I wouldn’t mind a little fool around if it meant I could see the man behind this mask of yours..” This was super forward. More than usual but you couldn’t shake the yearning of your own curiosity. You had to see what he was hiding under that mask- maybe even under that tight shirt too.

He let out a quick grunt. Watching the gears turn in his head, you looked up at him through your lashes. He seemed to struggle under your gaze a little.

“Look, Bunny- I just can’t. I’m not here for that tonight,” sighed Mark, “You’re a tempting little thing but I’m supposed to be on the lookout for something a little… different..” Just your luck! you were upset to say the least. Your first time hitting on someone since you and your ex broke up and you get rejected. 

You gesture over the bartender, at least with a drink maybe you’d feel a little less embarrassed. 

You ask for an old fashioned. Before you can pay and leave, his deep husky voice speaks up, “Add it to my tab”

*

You get your drink and turn your chair to thank him but what meets you instead is a surprise.

Expecting a ratty pig mask, you meet two dark eyes gazing back at you. His eyelashes were low and seductive. His jaw stubbly and defined. His lips just as plump and round yet you now notice the long scar stretching along the side of his face once shrouded in darkness, Wow.

You were now just as curious as ever.

The sound of an abrupt low and grouchy cough snaps you back to reality. “Y\n was it?... I might be a bit.. preoccupied at the moment but that doesn’t mean I wont find the time to teach a newbie like you,” whispered Mark, “Meet me here tomorrow, same time, same place and I’ll teach you what this club really is all about..” He leapt up off his chair and grabbed the black duffle laying at his feet, walking off and disappearing into the crowd. The black mess of hair on his pig mask being the last you see of him. If it wasn't for sex, what could a man like him want from a place like this?

[sol-consort]

Do you think it confused the other species that the turians of all people are the ones humans bonded with best? First Contact and the minority of humans who hate aliens aside, the most emotional species in the galaxy latched right onto the most emotionally constipated species.

Oh, it definitely confused them. Because other species have had attempts at bonding with the turians before.

The salarians were too hesitant and cautious for them.

The asari acting superior and looking for their own interest.

The krogans are fun to wrestle with, but their core beliefs are just too different for them to work together.

So what's better than the galaxy equivalent of overly curious animals who just can't sit still without packbonding with something around them?

Don't forget that even on earth, humans have this weird relationship with birds. They tend to accidentally mate with us because we pet them so much. Hell pigeons have been in a symbiotic relationship with us for so long that they can't leave our cities anymore. It's their jungle now.

And turians like any other birds would probably latch onto the humans giving them chin scratches and dextro seeds.

Much like how talented bartenders take it as a challenge to make non-alcholic versions of cocktails. I feel like human chefs and scientists would try their best to create dextro versions of our food just so the Turians could eat it. Humans made wine suitable for cats. Why wouldn't they make dextro chocolate ice cream for their beloved turians' neighbour?

We're loud, expressive with our emotions, blunt with our flirting, and very, very ready to latch onto an alien for eternity. Turians gotta respect our loyalty and countless attempts to understand their culture, truly understand it and not just an on papers clinical documentation.

We're also relentless. We fail at something and keep trying. We had so many people die when we first discovered the artics, but we still kept sending researchers over to figure it out. No, like it was voluntary, we were so interested in this cold freezing hell that talented people kept agreeing to go there even if it cost their life.

I bet you every turians have met at least one human they admire, we're stubborn and petty, but use these traits to accomplish something and as fuel for our passions.

Look at how fast the humans bounced back after first contact war. Dude, if it was the asari or hanar, I bet you, my liver, that they'd never let their war with turians go and always hold a grudge.

Not that humanity didn't hold a grudge, but when all the new generations are seeing are friendly adorable featherless birds who are so fun to poke and tease until they come out of their shell, it's hard to remember the grudge from a war you weren't even old to participate in.

We've had countless wars with ourselves, the turians aren't special. And when an entire race is raised upon public service and discipline like them, they must be so repressed for a wild human to come along and be a bad influence on them.

Like live a little! Make bad choices, take risks, and be a little more selfish. Likewise, there are humans who will come along and help strengthen their core values, give your best to others, stay honest and loyal, and help people without looking for payback.

Turian and human duos become far too common that they're excluded from the galaxy program to integrate every race into each other's military and jobs.

Every turian ship has had at least one human working on it. Some even develop a taste for dextro food and cut any risk of contamination by never bringing other foods onboard. Teaching the other turians fun games or showing them human music. The humans proved they could keep up with the turians, even join in on their wrestling matches just for fun.

and while the humans didn't have the same thing because of how much we outnumber them, every human ship at least has met a turian ship and sent them a hello or told them their ship is very pretty then moved on their way.

And it's not all sunshine or rainbows. There are incidents where turians and humans just could never agree or meet eye to eye. Especially with how blind turian loyality to their group can be and how individualistic humans are. Turians are used to accepting orders from highers above without questions, while humans are used to having a vote and a say in every important decision.

We think giving up our individuality is basically the same as dying since you are truly alive if you're not free to be yourself? Nothing defines you in this life but you, doesn't matter what group you leave behind.

they think giving up their clan is basically the same as dying. Because exile must have meant death for them before, if someone isn't loyal to their group, how can they be loyal to anyone?

Some humans and turians just could never get along, but the majority of them proved their ability to overlook the differences and work together despite all.

Turians who become close to humans learn how addicting the taste of freedom is. Humans who are close to them learn how reassuring being a part of a community is.

There is a reason why C-Sec is mainly made out of humans and turians. We both are looking to make a difference in our own way, prove a point, or find a purpose.

I like the idea of humans and turians being the first races to ever look past each other's different appearance and actually see each other's spirits. The first two races to pass the test of the universe and work together and start relationships despite knowing they can't have children, fall in love, and grow old together.

The novelty of an alien falls off very quickly. It takes a human 3 months to develop a habit. After 3 months, you'd stop introducing your friend as Viteponia the turian and just start introducing them as Via, my pal.

You'd even forget the fact they were a turian, like they obviously are, duh, but you just don't think about it anymore. To you, they're Via, the person who held you back from texting your ex and the person who you share your dextro snacks with. You bring them over to your family and forget to mention the fact they're a turian.

I think at some point, turians would try to get you to wear face paint because they forgot you're human and got sad over the fact you don't have any clans. That you're such a good and loyal person, you don't deserve to be bare faced, so here, let them paint your face with their clan colours.

Also I think they're very curious about human hair. Birds love human hair, pulling at it, sitting in it like a next, even using it to build their nest. Turians must have looked at human hair and felt a very weird primal urge to touch it and test how it feels.

[anlian-aishang]

[sub!levi x reader, smut, restraints, choking // 700 words]

Levi whines so weakly - it puts his title of humanity's strongest to shame.

Levi moans so miserably - neighbors temporarily mistake which one of you is making all that noise.

Levi curses so consistently - his day-to-day language is a lullaby in contrast.

Levi screams so sharply - you question if this sex is more pain than pleasure.

Even as his spouse of so many years, you were shocked at the sight - the sound - of him tonight. Your heart was overwhelmed by the adrenaline rush of witnessing Levi the way he was now: compassionate concern with his strained outbursts, sadistic annoyance at his bitchy mewls, a surging confidence knowing that your sex could bring him to this end. With each pitch and acceleration in his voice, Levi forced a contradictory cocktail of arousal and aggravation down your throat - culminating in its tightening. An internal struggle between a-are you okay and shut up slut - you know you love it rendered you ultimately speechless, the perfect opposite to him.

"Fuck... F-huh-ck me!!" Slender fingers curled around your satin ropes and threatened to rip your ties, but this was not your first time working with bondage.

It was the first time, though, that you cupped your hand around his throat. Watching the veins rise in his neck, you longed to feel their movements under you. Seeing shadows of his tendons make love with moonlight, you longed to project their scene onto your skin. Adam's apple bobbed, pulse fast against your palm - Levi's life in your hands - there was no greater power trip.

At least, you believed that for a few seconds until his voice rose again, "Oh god, oh shit!" Levi writhed in sweat-soaked sheets. Legs stretched. Muscles flexed. Bruises began to bud where your fingertips pressed, but he did not seem to mind. In fact, given the buck of his hips and curve of his cock, he appeared to ascend in your grasp.

His incoherence played evidence to a sky-high headspace. "C'Cum... want to... I can't...!"

Your brows narrowed in total focus, all senses honed in trying to read him: feeling his heat radiate into you, listening to each of his sighs and syllables, seeing his struggle. Come on. Spit it out, Levi. What do you want, baby?

And despite how noisy he had been all night, it was his eye contact that communicated most in the end. Steel irises endeavored to peek past his eyelids squeezed shut. In them, an ounce of calm in meeting your gaze, glazed over by the climax of pre-orgasmic strife. Trembling lips and vulnerability's look worked together to convey, Please - Please let me cum!

It was admittedly inadvertent then - how your motions quickly morphed into the ones that would get him there. Your generosity - merciful or accidental - beckoned immediate thanks from the man below you. A white-knuckle grip of your curves, crescent fingernails dug into them. As his eyes rolled back, he likewise released his reins: succumbing into pleasure - screaming with the waves of it.

He never did arrive at an adjective, but your ego swelled at the thought: you were beyond words.

"Oh fuck! Shit... Shit!" Levi's hips begin to spasm, nearly throwing you off of him. In that way, the orgasm itself continued to test him, as breaking from your contact was the last thing he wanted. Fists clenched in ironed bedding, leaving sinful folds, as he attempted to subdue his spasms. Teeth grit, swears snuck through, "F'Fuck... Feels so - you feel so - !!"

As his breaths slowed to standard, as his tone came back to earth, and as his skin dimmed from bright red to pink blush to warm white, the Levi Ackerman that everyone knows reinhabited the figure beneath you - so recently fucked out beyond words, now too humiliated for them. Atoning for his shameless other side, he gazed up to you - pleading once again. This time, not for his release, but for your restraint. In response, your reassurance rained down with a silent smile: his secrets were safe with you.

// masterlist //

[every-aj-needs-an-angel]

Chapter 11!! I’m very sorry but I’m taking full advantage of the AU here. I do know this is not at all how to take care of a tattoo but I seem to have massage on the brain this week and it didn’t even occur to me until it was too late so I'm sorry but they’ll just have to live in an AU whereby tattoos heal differently

Betting It All On Love

The suite was as quiet as a mouse late into midmorning. Both couples, finally settled in their relationships, had actually managed to get a decent amount of rest; only bothering to move from their cocoons when they could no longer ignore their stomachs, and even then they didn’t go far.

The girls had been the first to get up, so when Eddie and Steve finally emerged from the bedroom, there was already a random assortment of foods strewn all over the coffee table. Steve and Chrissy sat on the plush rug, passing food up to Robin and Eddie who were sprawled out on the sofas, only getting up to join their partners when all of their bellies were full. 

The foursome laid together chatting about their evening apart, Chrissy gushing over the proposal while Robin fondly rolled her eyes, although Steve could tell she secretly was pleased for them; and Robin regaling them with their night at the Glover’s. They’d had cocktails, far too many cocktails in Chrissy’s opinion, and Beth had regaled Robin with stories about the antics they had got up to on their cheerleading trips.

Eddie was enthralled, listening intently to every word of the life he missed out on with his best friend. Steve could tell he would’ve liked to be there to hear it from the horse's mouth, but Eddie had him wrapped so tightly in his arms, pressing absentminded kisses to his temple and playing with their rings as he shifted his grasp on Steve; their legs wrapped so tightly together Steve wasn’t sure he’d even be able to get up without falling face-first into the coffee table, so he felt that maybe Eddie wasn’t entirely disappointed either.

Eventually, they lapped into a contented silence, happy to just be together watching the sun beat down on the strip through the windows. Steve thought it’d be nice for them all to go home and make it their weekend thing to just spend lazy Sunday mornings curled up together, chatting about the intricacies of their week and doing nothing for a few hours.

He hadn’t even realised he'd been so relaxed that he’d dozed off until he awoke with the worst crick in his neck. Eddie stirred underneath him when he had accidentally flinched whilst rolling his neck, trying and failing to get the pain to ease.

“Sit up, and I’ll rub that for you,” Eddie offered, and no way was Steve going to turn down the opportunity to have Eddie’s hands on him.

Except Chrissy made a quiet disgruntled noise, “Ah, hon, I wouldn’t do that if I were you” she warned.

“Whaddya mean?” Eddie asked, affronted.

“Eddie, darling, my beloved best friend, I love you but, unfortunately for you, you’re the worst at massages,” she told him empathetically, as Robin snorted a laugh from under her arm.

“Am not!” Eddie squawked.

Chrissy snorted and raised her eyebrows, “No? Remember when Ronan dropped me? The PT sent me home with those stupid exercises, and you said “If it’s hurting I can massage it for you” I swear my neck still hasn’t recovered,” she teased, looking over to Steve, “Unfortunately your husbands got talon fingers, so if you want your muscles to still work, don’t let him anywhere near you!”

Steve had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling too broadly, as Eddie huffed and threw himself dramatically back against the arm of the couch. 

“Y’know insteada bickering we could just take advantage of the fact that his hotel has one of the fanciest spas in the country?” Steve reasoned.

“Oooh, spa day!” Chrissy squealed at the same time Robin grouched, “Ugh, spa day!”

It wasn’t that Robin was really opposed to the whole spa experience, in fact, once she actually got into the spirit of it she really enjoyed getting pampered, she just needed to seem reluctant to join in. He had tried to explain that it wasn’t selfish to do something to make herself feel good every once in a while, but it was like she just couldn’t accept it, always grumbling something about her parents and never really wanting to talk about it. Not that it stopped him from affectionately bullying her into experiences he knew she loved but would never choose to do for herself.

Steve had been surprised when the receptionist had told them to come right down, but when he was promptly handed a mimosa and directed into a hot tub, he wasn’t exactly going to complain.

He sighed heavily as the bubbles and the steam worked their magic, relaxing him from the inside out. Chrissy seemed to be the only one enjoying the experience with him, giggling happily as she poked him in the thigh with the tip of her toe. Robin was still pretending to be blighted and Eddie seemed to have gone suddenly shy since they'd been asked to remove all their jewellery, his arms crossed tightly over his chest watching sullenly as Steve's leg reached across the hot tub to poke Chrissy back, making her squeal with delight.

Steve reached down to take Eddie’s hand but found it was gripping tightly onto the edge of the seat, so he changed course and put his hand on his knee instead, leaning heavily into his space and planting a quick kiss on his cheek, “Y’okay?” he asked, but Eddie only nodded solemnly and just as Steve opened his mouth to ask what was wrong their names were called, and before he knew it he was laid out on a table next to Eddie in a room full of candles and essential oils, getting every knot in his body dissolved until he felt like he was floating on a cloud.

The masseurs left the room eventually and Steve found it took real effort to even lift his head, so he could turn to look at Eddie, who was already facing Steve, but his eyes were closed and, if the soft snores and drool pouring out the side of his mouth was anything to go by, was already fast asleep. He took the opportunity to close his eyes too, he wasn’t sure what Eddie and Chris had planned for the rest of their trip, but he hoped maybe they could spend the evening doing whatever Eddie wanted to do, just so they could put a smile back on his face.

He awoke when his name was softly called as he was manoeuvred into a giant fluffy dressing gown, helped to his unsteady feet and guided down a corridor, the only thing keeping him from a total state of bliss was being unable to see Eddie, but it wasn’t long before he was reunited with his three companions.

They were all lounging by a huge pool, steam rising steadily from its surface. Chrissy looked lost in the amount of fabric she was wrapped in, especially as she poked her tongue out as far as it would reach, trying to reclaim the straw poking out of her fruity cocktail. Robin didn’t look like she had to energy to hold anything, practically moulded into the sun lounger below her, glancing at Steve out the corner of her eyes, so she wouldn’t have to move her head.

Eddie smiled sleepily at him, patting the empty sun lounger next to him, practically waiting with his name on it, but it’d been ages since he’d had a proper swim and the water looked too good to resist. Leaning over Eddie he kissed him deeply, tangling his fingers into his bun with one hand and undoing the tie on his dressing gown with the other before in one swift motion he released Eddie, threw the fluffy towelling over his feet and within three strides threw himself into the water, diving in as graceful as a dolphin, as he’d always been.

The water felt amazing against his skin, but his muscles were too relaxed to do more than a few laps and he didn’t want to get out, but he also didn’t want to be so far from Eddie, so he swam up to the side where they were laid watching him, and called out, “C’mon guys, the water's great!”

Chrissy darted up like she wanted to get in but leaned slowly back against the chair as Robin flopped a dismissive arm at him. Eddie was just staring dazedly at his chest, seemingly tracing water droplets as they dribbled down his chest. Steve took it as a win, he’d always received the most attention as a teen when his adoring fans had been watching him glide up and down.

He was just considering getting out and going to sit in Eddie's lap when Robin purposefully cleared her throat, giving him a look that said don't you dare! Which was fair enough but if he wasn't allowed to ravish his husband, the least she could do was entertain him, “Bobbie,” Steve whined, splashing water at her, successfully landing a stream of water against her legs. 

She scowled and sighed heavily, “You’re not gonna stop until I get in, are you?”

Steve put on his best puppy dog eyes, the ones he knew she couldn’t ignore, “S’lonely in here all by myself,” he pouted.

She raised her eyebrows, glared at him for a second and threw herself out of the chair, hurling the dressing gown off her shoulders and dashing at him, “You’re gonna regret that Steeby” she yelled, cannonballing into the water. Surfacing quickly to chase him around the pool, splashing him in the face whenever she caught up with him. “Not showing off now!” she cackled, and she jumped on his back and pushed him under the water, enjoying tugging each other into the depths until they’d worn themselves out, Robin calling time as she hacked water out of her lung.

Chrissy was sitting up watching them, like a puppy stuck behind patio doors watching other dogs play, “Come join us,” Steve called, he didn’t want her to feel like she couldn’t join in if she wanted to. She got up, immediately flicking her dressing gown excitedly into her vacant seat, and then glanced at Eddie and sat straight back down.

“It’s fine, you go,” Eddie muttered, playing with a loose strand on the tie of his robe, purposefully not looking at any of them.

“S’fine, I don't mind,” Chrissy mumbled back, picking her drink back up.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, because the more he thought about it, the more he realised Eddie had been in a weird mood since he’d suggested they go to the spa. Admittedly, he hadn’t thought much of it when he’d seen Eddie’s trunks were brand new, most people bought new clothes when they were going on holiday, but maybe?

“Nothing,” they both answered far too quickly, Chrissy now not looking at them either as Robin swam over to join him by the side of the pool.

Steve glanced between them both and was about to let it go when Eddie sighed heavily, “I can’t swim,” he admitted to his hands, “I had lessons, four years worth but…” he trailed off with a shrug. 

Steve suddenly felt terrible for showing off. He pushed himself out of the water, throwing on his robe and waving Chrissy into the water, waiting for her elegant splash before sitting himself down on the end of Eddie’s lounger, pulling his feet into his lap, listening to the girls giggling as he thought how best to broach such a topic.

It was obviously something he was self-conscious about, and he didn't want to make it worse, but it was something he needed to know. Summers learning to surf wouldn’t be possible if Eddie was terrified of water.

Luckily, Eddie saved him from trying to start the conversation, “I can swim, like I won’t drown if you throw me in there, but I’m not good at it,” he muttered.

Steve nodded in understanding, not everyone was a strong swimmer and it wasn’t something to be ashamed of, “Robin’s not a strong swimmer either,” Steve told him, effectively snapping Eddie’s attention to him

“She’s not?” Eddie asked in disbelief.

“No, have you not being watching her?” Steve asked with a breathy chuckle. Eddie did look around him then, watching Robin as she squealed and kicked wildly, barely keeping her head above the water.

Eddie looked back at Steve with a furrow between his brow, “What’s she doing in there then?” he asked like it was the stupidest thing she could possibly do.

“She loves it! Plus she knows she’s perfectly safe,” Steve admitted, smiling gently at Eddie.

He watched Eddie process what he'd said, watched the minute expressions as he thought about it, dazedly watching Robin over his shoulder, “But you’re not watching her,” Eddie murmured.

Steve smiled a little cockily, shrugged nonchalantly, “I know where she is.” 

It’d just been something he had found himself scarily good at, whether through instinct or practice, he couldn’t honestly say. The first summer after Billy had moved to Hawkins, it was like he was trying desperately trying to prove something to himself, hitting on as many girls as humanly possible, nearly getting himself fired on several occasions.

All the while he had actually been stalling, hanging around and waiting for Billy to see him flirting with whatever pretty brunette had caught his eye, as he came out to take over his shift. Billy would do it too, like they were simultaneously in some weird competition with each other and at the same time trying not to spend too long in each others proximity.

Strangely, all the not paying attention to the pool had actually made him a better lifeguard, like he could use his peripheral and hearing to recognise where people were, could pinpoint an accident waiting to happen better when it didn't have his undivided attention.

“How?” Eddie asked, a little starry eyed.

“Swim team co-captain for three years, lifeguard for five,” Steve admitted, scratching the back of his neck, for all his prowess he didn’t actually want him to feel like he was rubbing it in his face.

“C’mon Teddy,” Chrissy yelled from the shallow end of the pool.

“Evie won’t let anything bad happen to you,” Robin chimed in.

“You don’t have to,” Steve cautioned, “We can just cuddle up here,” he offered.

Except Eddie had already set his shoulders like he was determined not to let something spoil his good time, and Steve wasn’t about to argue with him. 

They ended up having a lot of fun, playing Marco Polo, eventually venturing into deeper water when Robin and Eddie wanted to play chicken. Steve did have a moment of panic when Robin pushed Eddie backwards off of his shoulders, but when Eddie came up laughing and demanding vengeance, Steve was more than happy to breathe a sigh of relief.

When Chrissy was retying her hair after Robin had nearly tugged out a chunk of it trying to save herself from crash landing in the water, Chrissy had lost the tie and while the three of them debated who should have to go down to fetch it, Steve just dunked himself under the water and brought it back with a grin.

Except instead of Chrissy being able to tie her hair back up, Robin snatched it from his fingers and flung it into the water, turning it into some weird game of fetch. Even Eddie had a go whenever it got flung into shallower waters but eventually the girls ended up in the deep end of the pool and were so caught up in whatever they were chatting about they hadn’t noticed they’d left Eddie behind.

Steve didn’t want to ruin their fun or draw any unnecessary attention to the fact that they’d been separated, so he casually scooped Eddie into his arms, making him laugh

“Having a good day?” Steve asked as he secured Eddie’s arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his bicep.

Luckily for Steve, Eddie took it as him being romantic, which he supposed it was in a way, “Mhmm,” Eddie hummed, locking his own legs around Steve’s waist, “Are you?”

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s back and started casually walking into the deeper water, “I’m having a wonderful day, I’m with you,” he declared, humming happily as Eddie kissed him, using the distraction to tread water over to their friends, Eddie only realising what he’d done when his back hit the pool wall.

He narrowed his eyes playfully at Steve in a I know what you just did way but he didn’t look upset by it, just snuggled closer into Steve as he held onto the side of the pool to make sure his legs wouldn’t get too tired.

Chrissy seemed to notice as she glanced up to the top of the pool, but other than an apologetic look, she didn’t draw attention to it. She did, however, thank Steve when they finally got out of the pool, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and giving his cheek a quick peck as Robin and Eddie got further into their discussion about working hours and the blight of capitalism.

The foursome eventually headed back to the suite, intending to order room service for a late lunch but got back to find someone had left a message. Steve tried not to listen but although the space was large it wasn’t big enough not to hear Charlie’s voice coming through the speaker after the beep, “Chrissy!” Charlie cheered, followed by a purposefully flat, “Brother mine!” making them all laugh. “Just wondering if I’d be seeing you before you head home tomorrow? I know you’re both grossly in love, but spare five minutes for your favourite sibling?” Charlie pleaded.

Steve could practically hear the puppy dog eyes and tried to focus on that because if he thought too much about spending a night without Eddie, or about going home, he thought he might just sit in a ball and bawl like a baby. 

“I’m performing tonight,” Charlie announced flirtatiously, “Come down, you can finally meet Riley,” they added, and even Steve could hear how they were trying not to make it sound like a big deal and how much it obviously was a big deal that Eddie met his sibling's partner or at least partner to be. “Bring the spouses, of course!” Charlie tacked on, and it was impressive how they sounded simultaneously like it was obvious that they should be there but needed to use a faux exasperation to make sure they knew their partners were welcome.

Steve thought it must’ve been tough while they’d both been with Carver’s, he doubted either of them had been very warm to or accepting of Charlie; he wondered absently if that was one of the reasons Charlie had upped and moved across the country, hoped maybe he’d get a chance to ask.

It sounded like they were about to hang up when the phone crackled, “Oh,” Charlie yelled like they’d forgotten something, “You better have proposed, Teddy, or I’m doing it for you! If I have to tell you again how in love with you, he is, I might hurl,” Charlie really did sound exasperated that time and Steve wondered just how many pep talks Eddie had needed. The couple smiled at each other across the space until Eddie blushed and looked away as Charlie signed off, “Okay, love you both. Kisses.” Beep.

It was a lot of emotions for a message that lasted less than a minute. For as much as it had ended on a high, Steve couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his chest. He knew they were leaving, he and Robin were heading home themselves the day after, but the thought of actually going home terrified him because what if things weren’t the same? What if they went home and fell out of love as fast as they’d fallen in? 

What if Eddie had only fallen for him because of some kind of Nevada magic? And whatever had put Eddie under its spell had only ever intended for them to be a holiday romance. 

Or worse, what if Eddie did love him but something awful happened? What if he never saw Eddie again?

Steve could feel his breaths quickening and Eddie appearing at his side seemingly out of nowhere, made him jump out of his skin as Eddie lightly grazed his arm, but as Steve glanced up into those coffee ringed depths, so full of love and concern, Steve felt awful for even allowing those thoughts in. He knew Eddie loved him and even if there ever came a time when he didn’t, well, they could cross that bridge when they came to it. 

Eddie pressed a grounding palm against his forearm, slipping his hand up to hold onto Steve’s elbow, tugging him gently but purposefully into his embrace, pressing their foreheads together, feeling all at once a comfort and a promise.

Robin declared loudly that her and Chrissy were going out to eat and that they’d be back later, offered for them to join without actually giving them the opportunity to agree, making them chuckle, and dragged a giggling Chrissy out of the suite. When he opened his eyes to thank her and tears dripped down his cheeks, she just smiled tightly and nodded, pulling the door gently closed behind her. 

They both sniffled and kissed the tears off of each others faces, pulling closer, holding tighter, and Steve felt comfort in that knowledge that Eddie didn’t want to leave him as much as he didn’t want to leave Eddie. They kissed desperately, tugging hair and grasping waists and shoulders, never being able to keep their hands still.

Somehow they gravitated toward the sofa, Eddie flopping gracelessly down into the cushions, and it was only as he tugged on Steve’s hand for him to follow that it even registered in his consciousness. 

It was only then that it hit him that this was probably going to be the last time they’d get to be together, completely sober, before they left Vegas, and the thought of it just being a quick thing on the couch made his stomach turn. He wanted the chance to worship every inch of Eddie, to map his body like a lost pirate, and have the memory of it, just in case.

Steve shook his head gently and watched Eddie spring to his feet before he even had chance to speak around the lump forming in his throat, “What’s wrong?” Eddie asked, hands hovering over Steve, wanting to touch but unsure he was allowed.

He swallowed hard, shook his head again, “Nothing’s wrong,” he whispered, taking Eddie’s hands in his and kissing along his knuckles, then up his hand and along his wrist.

Eddie pulled his arm away before Steve had chance to get any further, “Stevie,” he breathed, concern pulling his brows together.

Pulling their hands back between them, Steve looked deeply into Eddie’s eyes and whispered, “Take me to bed, baby. Please.” It came out whiny, but Steve couldn’t find it in himself to care, not when Eddie let go of one of his hands to cup his jaw and brush his thumb over his cheek.

Not when he nodded and whispered “Okay,” not when he smiled like that and started slinking backwards towards the bedroom, tugging Steve along after him.

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

the angels on the tag list ❤️ @estrellami-1 @auroraplume @gregre369 @adhdsummer @nerdfighteratheart @anaibis @dolphincliffs @hbyrde36 @marinarasarah @deadflowercollector @lunabookworm @a-couchpotato @wonderland-girl143-blog @ddharrington @abstractnaturaldisaster @lololol-1234 @bestwifehaver @steviejeebiez feel free to lmk if you want removing 💖

[dks-smut]

Somebody… Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairing: Kyungsoo x female reader

Rating: Mature, Explicit (Just fucking filthy)

Word Count: 6,500

Genre: Smut, Jealousy, Angst, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers.

Warnings: Teasing, name calling, degradation, edging, exhibitionism, orgasm denial. (No more spoilers! I’m depraved and embarrassed.)

——————————

His flight wasn’t due to land until close to 1:00am. You’re twiddling your thumbs behind your desk, killing time until you get to lay your eyes on his face. To feel his lips and glide your nails through his hair. Ahh, this was too much to think about. You cross your legs to relieve some tension, feeling dampness in your panties. You breathe quietly through your lips, hiding your arousal from coworkers. You look down at your keyboard, you’re sure your cheeks are rosy and hot.

You send a thirsty text to Kyungsoo, “My wetness has ruined so many pairs of underwear.” He sends a string of swears then, “Baby, my dick hurts. I’m going kiss and fuck your pussy until you come over and over. Until I say you’re done.” You touch your breast, typing, “Please. Use me. See you soon.” You hope your monitor hid you well enough. Finally, Friday night is here; nervous and horny.

/////

You’ve denied yourself since the promise with Kyungsoo, settling for the warm shower stream. It’s always just a tease like the seam of your jeans rubbing against your clit when you sit down. Or the edge of the kitchen counter jutting into your pussy when you reach for a glass from a high shelf. Accidentally denying and teasing yourself in unexpected ways. Shaving your legs in the shower always causes you to drip profusely while one leg is propped up on the tub edge. Remembering him pushing you against these very same tiles, fucking your hot cunt and groaning loudly. Just taking what he needed, using you. These nasty memories cause your stomach to flip. You eek out a slight moan, the echo startling yourself.

You’re thinking of all the dirty things he’s going to do to you tonight. Denying you an orgasm or not letting you touch him. Calling you hot and upsetting names. Maybe you won’t let him penetrate you. Maybe just tease his tip. This should piss him off, enough for him to hurt you. Shit, you are cock drunk.

Being needy and denied makes you thoughtless. Just erotic scenarios repeating. The anticipation of knowing for the past week that you’re about to be dicked down by Kyungsoo causes your pussy to clench around nothing. Your clit has been engorged for a day which makes any sudden movement difficult. You decide on a green knee length cocktail dress, no panties and thigh high stockings. You’re meeting at his place again. He sends a text and a taxi appears in front of your apartment. This repeated and generous gesture makes you grin ear to ear.

/////

You love the smell of his apartment; it’s comforting. You open the door after knocking and hear his deep voice say, “Come in. Take off your shoes.” You’re not sure why he’s being terse. No hello or excitement in his voice. He didn’t greet you at the door, and above all else, no kiss. You had dreamt what it’d feel like to have his lips on yours again, and on your neck and nipples. You walk in and kick your heels off. It’s dark in his apartment save a table lamp. It’s illuminating an empty chair which is beside a sofa in the shadows. You see his knee hit the beam of light as he parts his legs wide and exhales.

You start to think he’s tired from flying and work so you ask, “Hey, are you okay? It’s dark. I can’t see you.” You start to shuffle in the dark towards the sofa. You’re quiet on the hardwood floor, your smooth stockings helping.

You hear him stir on the couch and say, “Yes. I’m fine.” You turn on another lamp, “Now, I can see you. I missed you!” As you’re running towards him to hug him, he puts his hand up, “No. Sit.” His hand moves to pat the seat next to him. Your eyes grow wide and you sit quietly with your head down. You feel like a little girl who did something wrong and now you’re being scolded. Your heart thumping out of your chest, “Is everything really okay? You don’t seem excited to see me.” He responds, never taking his eyes from yours, “I am. I’m afraid I’ll get carried away.”

“A simple hug and kiss won’t hurt you,” you offer.

“It will. I won’t be able to stop once I start kissing you.”

“You’re making yourself sound like a monster. It’s okay if you come fast. And I can help you get hard again.”

“I feel like a monster sometimes. Treating you like an object, no regard for your feelings and needs. It bears repeating, I’ve never been like this with anyone before. It’s a part I didn’t know I was hiding.”

You grab his shoulder and slide your other hand to his nape, getting closer. “Please take what you want. Do whatever you want to me.” Your deep gaze on his eyes drops to his lips, causing you to lick your own.

“I’ll make you beg,” he moans, pressing his bottom lip between his teeth, brushing his long bangs back, showing his forehead. “Are you sure?” He asks this as though you don’t understand what you’ve unleashed in him. He’s almost threatening you into making any other decision.

“Please just kiss me. I missed your lips,” you beg him, whining and scooting closer to him.

He’s wearing another one of his dark suits, paired with a white button up and tie. You pull him toward you by his necktie, your lips barely touching, hot breath breezing across each others’ faces. You grab the collar of his jacket, jerking him downwards to line his lips up better to yours. He cranes his neck back, still trying to resist his urges.

You drop your hands in your lap and look down, frustrated, “I get it. I know you missed me, but the way you’re acting makes me feel repulsive. Touch me. Kiss me. Please” The last few sentences come out in a high pitch whine. You sigh, looking down at your hands.

“Baby. I fucking want you so bad right now. I just don’t want to rush. Come here,” he grabs your waist to pull you toward him. He looks down at your form, “That dress is gorgeous on you. I’m sorry I haven’t changed out of my work clothes.” He’s rubbing his thumb across your hip, fingers smoothing over your waist. His lips part in awe, uncovering every curve of your figure, the low neckline giving way to the swell of your tits; your bra is just barely visible.

“Your suit is making me drip,” you grab his tie again and pull him even closer, interrupting him practically drooling over you. His eyes look up into your wanton gaze, eyelids heavy.

The kiss he plants on your lips is breathtaking. He literally stole the air from your lungs. His damp, thick, and soft lips engulf yours. His other hand grabs your jaw, caressing you with his fingertips. His light touches cause you to shiver and moan in his mouth.

Your tongues are enmeshed while he grabs onto your hip, being more forceful and needy. You place both hands on his face, falling into his lips completely. The fervor is palpable. You take heavy breaths, parting momentarily from him. You smash your lips back onto him, sucking his bottom lip with a nice wet sound emanating. Your parted lips kiss down his chin to his bobbing Adam's apple. Slowly moving until his shirt collar blocked your way. You whine and grab his tie, pulling it loose from the knot, and tossing it to the floor.

As you unbutton the first couple of buttons of his shirt, his palm reaches up to fondle your boob through your dress and bra. This causes you to stiffen and shiver, moaning out, “Baby, more.” He kisses you suddenly forcing his tongue into your hot mouth. You’re both panting and acting more and more desperate.

He takes control of you. Pinning your arms behind you, he picks up his tie, and starts winding it tightly around your wrists. “No touching,” he says as he finishes tying your hands up. “Not fair. I’ve been thinking about touching you for a week,” you moan out, thighs rubbing together. “You’ll be just fine. I’ll treat you with the utmost respect tonight,” his tone drops to a whisper, his deadly smirk making you freeze on the spot.

He notices you clenching your legs together. Another wicked idea forms as he presses you to sit back onto the sofa. Your chest arches forward and he begins to rub at your breasts. Your hips thrust up as he fondles you, getting more and more helpless. You emit quiet whimpers not resulting in anything coherent. You writhe back and forth, your hair obscuring your face. He delicately moves the meandering strands from your features, “So much better. I love seeing you like this. So needy.” His fingers fall behind your ear and land on your hair pooling at your shoulders. He yanks a handful back, causing your neck to jerk back. You’re staring at the ceiling now, shadows dancing. You moan out loud, the tension in your neck causing a guttural noise.

You’re still begging him, “Please,” as he loosened his grip on your hair. Your neck straightens when you focus on the floor to ceiling windows in the living room. They were the same as in his bedroom. At the angle the sofa sat, anyone across the way could see you. Only glowing TVs are noticeable through your watery eyes. He places his hand on your thigh, “Please what? Tell me,” fingers ghosting over your black stocking.

“Give it to me,” you beg. His hand sneaks under your dress, sliding up slowly. He stops where your stocking ends, he can feel the hem is satiny and taught around your upper thigh. He groans and bites his bottom lip, “Give you what?” You squirm around, your feet hitting the floor causing thuds to rise over your heavy breaths. His hand goes higher and stops when he feels that you're not wearing panties. He twists his left palm to stroke his middle finger up your little slit.

He pushes his head into the crook of your neck, “Is this what you want? I bet it’s something that a certain asshole from your work could never give you.” You yelp out small whines, mostly from the pleasure he’s barely giving you. Some of it due to shock at his dirty statement. “Uhhh, what?” You are hardly able to articulate yourself, his finger still teasing your shaking lips.

He lets out a strong laugh, “Aw you’re so cute like this. You can’t even speak coherently.” His middle finger pushes through your puffy lips, feeling your slick drip down. Your throbbing clit aches for his touch. You beg again, “Pl—, -ease… I—I want you. That guy is nobody.” His tongue dips behind your ear, “Not as much as I want you.” He chuckles, “And you really have no idea how that picture of him touching you affected me. Still affects me,” he ends by moving in close, staring at you like he wanted to hit you and fuck you at the same time.

“I swear, I’m yours only,” you beg as he presses his finger onto your clit. “I’m going to punish you and you’ll be begging me to stop,” he says as his lips peck your cheek. You’re both still fully dressed with his tie around your wrists. Your pussy is dripping onto his knuckles as he’s massaging your labia. He then lands on your clit to only lift his hand to slap it. Your hips jut forward and you moan out, “Holy fuck, yes! More!” He touches his fingertip to your entrance making you shake and your toes curl. The looks and sounds you create make him emit a low growl, “Not yet,” he continues circling your clit with even more pressure. He knows you’re close when he feels your clit flex repeatedly. “Please, I’m so close,” you yell out, opening your eyes to meet his lustful stare.

His hair falls into his eyes due to his hand’s rapid movement on your clit. He uses his right hand to brush it back off his forehead. This beautiful sight had you getting even closer to snapping. You’re still wriggling and whining, repeating Kyungsoo’s name over and over with each exhale. Just as you’re finally about to come, stomach tightening, calves flexing, he takes his hand out from under your dress.

“Fuuuckk. Please baby. Please,” you beg, pulling at the tie around your wrists. “No. I have to punish you for what you did. Letting another man put his hands on you,” he says, standing up from the couch. He looks down where you sit, your knees together, legs swaying. You look up at him, giving him your best puppy dog eyes, “I’m sorry. You should have been there with me. I could have sucked your dick in the bathroom,” you smirk. Then in a moment you whine again, “Baby I was just about to come, touch me, please!”

“You’re being dirty. I want you to remember that you belong to me. I get to control when you come,” he lowers his scowl as you sulk on the sofa. Feeling frustrated you blurt out, “I didn’t do anything with him. I kept pushing him away. Can’t you let this go?” He adjusts his posture and takes his jacket off. He begins to fold his sleeves up to the elbow and chortles, “Did you wear panties under your skirt that night? Or were you looking to get drunk and fucked?”

“Do you think I’m that much of a slut? You’re starting to hurt my feelings,” you protest. He starts to unzip his slacks, freeing his hard dick and says, “You didn’t answer my question, darling.” As you’re staring at his veiny dick you quietly respond, “I did wear some, please. I went out to have some fun, but not get fucked. I was too busy dreaming about making you come. I missed you and only thought of you. I swear.”

After you’ve said your piece, Kyungsoo walks toward you, holding his hot and erect dick. He doesn’t say a word, just locking eyes with you. He places his other hand on the back of your head. He taps his tip to your lips, then rubs it around while moaning. Without a second of hesitation, his hips move back and he thrusts his cock in your mouth. “Shiiit. I missed your mouth on my dick,” his throat rattling while clenching his eyes shut. You hum in response which causes him to jolt. He’s motionless, letting you decide the speed and depth. He’s watching you with adoration at how noisily and sloppy you suck on him. “Your mouth is perfect,” he grunts, then adds, “Your pussy is even better,” now smirking.

His deep brown eyes open again to see drool running down your mouth. He puts more pressure on the back of your head which startles you. He forces almost his whole dick in your mouth at once. You can tell he’s getting more desperate to come. You begin to gag as tears fall down your cheeks. He’s at full throttle thrusting his dick into your mouth, making deep grunting sounds. His dick hits the back of your throat which causes you to whine. Still fucking viciously he asks, “You can take it, right? A filthy slut like you should be able to. Show my neighbors how well you suck my cock.” This causes you to panic, forgetting the curtainless windows. Your eyes move toward the windows, trying to see if anyone is watching. Just then, his dick begins to twitch and throb at the shaft, you know he’s close to coming. His cock is getting thicker and makes your jaw sore and tight as you’re barely able to breathe.

“Oh that’s right. You can’t answer. Your mouth is too full,” he winces and grunts, panting loudly. As you feel him about to come, he lets out the sexiest and deepest moan and suddenly, moves his hips back and pulls his cock from your mouth. Strings of saliva connect from your mouth to his shaft. You’re both trying to catch your breath. Kyungsoo looks even more angry than earlier. “Baby, I wanted to taste your come,” you look up at him with an innocent stare. “I’m not coming until I make you come first, which may be awhile. I wanna play with you and deny you until you beg me over and over,” he says as he moves strands of hair from your face. Your pussy aches at his dirty words, now dripping onto his sofa.

“Let’s see how wet you got,” he says with his hard dick still protruding from the opening in his pants. He takes another step toward you and leans over you. His hand goes to your knees and opens them forcefully. Still struggling against your restraints, he pushes you, straightening you against the backrest of the couch. Your legs open even more, your feet no longer able to touch the floor. “Please untie me. I wanna touch you,” you mumble out, still writhing.

Not answering, Kyungsoo reaches his hand back under your dress, touching your labia softly. “I see gagging on my dick made you drip even more,” he says with a tight-lipped smile. “Or was it the fact that someone was watching us? You like being treated like a little slut, don’t you?” Forming a coherent sentence isn’t working, so you just look up at him and nod frantically. He’s now barely touching your engorged clit, sliding up and down. Each time he puts a bit of pressure on your entrance, you instinctively close your legs. “Open. You like when I tease your pussy?” he asks while lowering himself, kneeling on the floor in front of you. All you can do is arch your back and nod.

You’re now deeply gazing into each other’s eyes while Kyungsoo massages your needy pussy. Your dress is still covering you which makes your insides flip. This reminds you of the first time you met him. He ghosted his fingers up your skirt at a bar, a total stranger. You blurt out, “Everytime. Especially when you fondled me at the bar.” He raises one eyebrow at you and says, “Oh, so you like it when people watch? The bartender definitely noticed.” He continues his ministrations on your vulva and adds, “Fuck baby, you are drenched.”

Your gaze goes down to his still rock hard dick. You want to touch it, you want it inside you. He sees the way you’re looking at him and where you’re looking but doesn’t let up on your pussy. He starts stroking his dick with one hand and circles your clit with the other. You’re both panting and moaning. You start to whimper louder at him while watching his veiny forearm moving under your dress.

You see a flash of light in your periphery, causing your head to turn toward the windows. Your blurry vision is making it difficult to discern shapes and forms. Maybe someone was watching you. Maybe they took a picture. These thoughts cause you to gush even more resulting in Kyungsoo saying, “Eyes on me baby. You checking to see if anyone is looking?” The speed of his fingers on your clit makes you throw your head back. Now you’re moaning and moving your hips up and down, wanting to make his fingers go faster. You take deep breaths and look into his dark wanton eyes, “Yes, baby. I want them to see how you make me come. See how wet I am for you. I’m so close.”

Your movements are more rapid and desperate, matching the rhythm of his hand. He’s still death gripping his cock, you’re convinced he’s going to come all over you and your pretty dress. Your yelps get louder and louder, “Kyungsoo! Pll-leeease. Let me come on your hand!” Just as you lift your weight from the couch, about to snap, he stops again. “Fuuuck! You can’t,” you yell out to him. He just grins and places a hard slap on your clit, causing you to jerk and yowl. More tears come streaming down your face as he takes his hand away from your clenching pussy yet again.

He stands up, towering over you, and starts to jerk off. He seems to be getting more aroused after denying and edging you for the second time. “I can. And I did,” he says in a flat tone. He strokes himself quicker until he can’t edge himself any longer. “Shit. I almost came,” he says as he tries to place his raging dick back inside the opening in his pants. You’re in shock right now. The way he’s speaking to you, treating you, making sure his neighbors watch, making you so dripping wet and not letting you come.

Once he’s done zipping himself up, he comes closer to you. He closes your legs and has you sit forward on the couch. He begins untying your wrists very slowly, with purpose. You are finally able to place your hands in front of you, your shoulders aching. He soothes over your wrists now bearing red marks where you were rubbed raw in all your writhing and grinding. He softly fixes your hair so it’s not in your eyes and wipes away your tear stained cheeks. “It’s okay now baby. I think you learned a lesson. And I learned that you like to be watched and degraded,” he says and then places a hot kiss on your lips. As your tongues meet, he can taste himself and starts to moan.

He sits next to you on the couch after breaking away and says, “Your mouth tastes like my dick. That’s so fucking hot.” You finally reach out for him, placing your hands anywhere and everywhere. His face, his chest, his dick straining in his pants, and then embrace him in a comforting hug. As your head rests on his shoulder, squeezing him tightly you say, “You have corrupted me. I was never this slutty before. You like teaching innocent women to be whores?” He removes you from your embrace gazing into your eyes, “I didn’t realize you were so innocent. But I still have some things to teach you.” You begin kissing him again, his soft plump lips are irresistible.

“Please make me come. I need you,” you start to whimper while climbing onto his lap, locking lips again. His bulge is pressing into your bare cunt. He can feel your wetness soaking into his pants. He touches your thighs while sloppily making out, loving the feeling of your nylons. He grabs on your thighs harder and stands up. You lock your legs around his waist and whimper with surprise. You stop kissing him to see where he is taking you. You ask, “Where are we going?” He continues walking and with each sway his bulge knocks your pussy, causing small moans to emit from your throat.

He reaches his bedroom and walks towards the bed, tossing you on it. You drop down flat on your back and move your legs up and open them wide. It’s only for a second, then you place the fabric of your dress in between your legs, hiding your dripping and drooling pussy from him. He notices this and snickers, “Not uh baby. Don’t hide, I know what you want. Don’t be shy now.”

He’s removing his button up shirt in the slowest, most painstaking way imaginable, just standing staring at you. You reach your arms out without saying anything, just whining and rocking your hips up and down. “Just a minute. You’re so impatient,” he says with a slight annoyance in his tone. “You teased me for so long and didn’t let me come! Of course I’m impatient!” you quip, not able to wait any longer.

You get up from the bed and start rushing to help him remove his pants and underwear. Once he realizes, he holds your wrists shaking his head, “No baby, let me. No touching or I’ll have to tie you up again.” Heeding his command, you look down and return to his bed. “Don’t sulk now,” he says, throwing his shirt to the floor. God, his fucking body was perfect. His skin, a nice tan, glistens with beads of sweat. You want to put your mouth all over him, your hands lightly scratching his ribs to see his reaction. You just sit there and sigh while watching him ever so slowly undress. Once his pants pool around his ankles, your eyes brighten, knowing you’re about to witness his hot throbbing cock.

Once his cock is free, you can’t help but stare, not caring if he notices. You start massaging your breast while ogling his body. He smiles and gives you a sweet but passionate kiss. You wrap your hands and legs around his waist while he’s still standing over you. He starts to unzip your dress, lowering it over your chest, exposing your lacy black bra. He moves a strap down your shoulder, finally revealing your breast. He immediately starts to grab at it and pulls your nipple, still placing smothering kisses to your lips.

He grabs your thighs and drags you to the edge of the bed. He moans aloud seeing the sight of your bare and dripping pussy. He frees your arms from your dress and bra, sliding it down to your waist. He then flips the bottom of your dress up bunching in a band with the top. He’s obviously too worked up to properly undress you. He strokes his dick and places the tip over your slit, collecting your slick. He places light smacks to your pussy with his heavy twitching cock. You’re moaning and writhing, “Baby, please give it to me. I need your cock.”

He places his bulbous tip to your tight opening, “I got you, it’s okay.” He slowly works the tip in your pussy, feeling your wetness cover you, glistening. He’s teasing you over and over with his tip only, barely thrusting. You try to buck your hips to bury more of his dick into you. His hands come to both hips and hold you tightly to the bed, unable to move. Keeping you still, he buries more inches into your clenching cunt. You moan uncontrollably, head thrown back, “Ow baby! It’s too much!” He grunts and halts his movements, “You’re dripping wet. You can handle it.”

He fucks more of thick cock into you, each time you whine and try to pull yourself away from him. His grip on you prevents you from moving at all. He comes down to your face, placing his mouth to your ear whispering, “You’re not going anywhere. You can take it.” Your arms start pushing at his chest, then hitting his thighs. No matter how you struggle, he thrusts more of himself into you. He’s unable to bury himself completely, you’re not open enough, still tense and frightened. In the struggling and writhing, you fuck your pussy on to him not meaning to, causing a loud grunt.

He releases your hips and holds your knees wide. You moan and more tears stain your red cheeks. “You’re too big,” you yell out and his hips still, dick throbbing in your pussy. He gives you a devilish grin and starts moving his hips slowly back and forth, stretching you out and says, “Shit, your pussy is clenching so hard. You took it before.”

You whine and start humping to meet his thrusts. Since he’s holding your legs open, you start caressing your clit. “I’m gonna come on your dick!” You yell out and start moving faster. He takes the hint and rails into you. He looks at you, his bangs obscuring his eyes and thick eyebrows, unable to read his expression in the dim light of his bedroom. He looks down at your tight pussy lips wrapping around his cock, sucking and throbbing around him. He can notice his dick is covered by your white slick, ending in a ring, showing him how deep you can take him.

While he’s hypnotized by your pussy being stretched, his face shifts lower, his features disappearing altogether. He thrusts even deeper into you, giving you slower strokes. This becomes too much, you can feel every vein and twitch in his cock, filling you tighter, stretching you more. Your head flies back and your arms stretch out to touch his chest, “I’m coming!” He holds your legs back and tries not to come, affected by your thrashing limbs and constricting pussy. Your eyes shut tight, seeing kaleidoscope-like patterns behind your lids.

While shivering and moaning from your orgasm, Kyungsoo never lets up, still thrusting into you. Your pussy flexing on his dick takes him over the edge, he groans slack-jawed and pulls himself from your pussy. He unloads on your mound and pussy lips, some landing on your stomach and dress, as he grunts and strokes more come onto you.

You’re still shaking from coming and then feeling him come onto you just made it last longer. Without a lull, he fucks his come-covered cock back into you. Your eyes open wide, focusing on his face. His pupils are blown wide, a primal need. The noises you both emit are so fucking hot and needy. He really starts to pound into you, neither of you are able to recover from your orgasms.

After so much buildup, he can’t stop, he needs to feel you around him so badly. “Fucking god, baby. I can’t stop. I need your pussy always. You feel so good around my dick,” he says with heavy eyelids, grunting each time he penetrates you.

“Give it to me now. I want more,” you whimper as he pumps into you even faster. He places his hands on your shoulders, rocking you down into his cock. You hold your legs back and crane your neck down to take a glance at his dick. It’s sticky with each other’s come, creating wet, sloppy noises.

He’s fucking into you and pressing you down onto him, meeting in the middle, using you like an object. His head tilts back with a look of ecstasy, moaning deeply, “You’re going to make me come again.” He thrusts more and more until his hips go farther back, making his dick fall from your pussy. He whines out and humps his cock over your slit, coming all over you again.

When the come hits your chest, spurting a greater distance, you start to writhe and then giggle. You’re in disbelief at how much there is and how quickly he came again. “Holy fuck baby. You’re unbelievable. Missed me huh?” you ask while batting your eyelashes at him. He’s trying to catch his breath and holds onto his dick, slapping and smearing his come around your pussy lips.

Your body jerks and your eyes flinch at the feeling. You moan and smile up at him. He meets your stare, his eyes are dark and dreamy. He places his tip near your entrance and starts rubbing it in circles, trying to fuck you again. You jerk again due to oversensitivity, whining out. “It’s okay. I denied you, now I will overstimulate you,” he whispers into the silent room.

He thrusts into you without warning causing you to yell out. Your cunt is still dripping and wrapping tight around him. “How are you still so tight? Sluts aren’t supposed to be,” he says while fucking into you with desperate strokes. Your pussy clenches at the words that just fell from his amazingly plump lips. He is so sexy and mysterious, especially in the low light. Your inner slutty thoughts invade; you hope you are being watched. It’s like he’s a stranger that broke in and decided to have his way with you. He’s not speaking much but when he does he’s either praising or degrading you. There’s no inbetween.

Your legs go up onto his shoulders, his dick pressing into new places within your cunt. He’s massaging your breasts, pulling at your nipples, still fucking you as hard as he can. Moaning out louder, yet deeper, “I’m going to come inside your pussy, it’s just too pretty.” You yelp and start twitching, arriving at the end before you snap. Your grunts turn into yells, feeling his cock driving all the way in and stills. You’re coming all over him again, gyrating your hips, making your pussy fuck onto him. His dick throbs again, causing him to get thicker, and squirts his come into you. He’s so deep inside and moaning and delicately fondling your tits. He moves his body lower, feeling his lips yours, just breathing heavily into each other.

You can feel his dick release more come into you, each time you both moan out in harmony. “I love feeling you come deep inside me,” you mumble before pressing your lips to his. His lips move harder and quicker once they meet yours, desperate to feel you moan into his mouth. He’s propped up on his elbow above you, just kissing you passionately, still hard inside you. He starts to lightly thrust his come into your pussy. You gasp out and hear how your pussy squelches around his dick. You can feel so much wetness and come squish around your thighs and in between your chests.

You have been completely fucked dumb and used. He has come on you twice and in your pussy once. Now he’s fucking his load deeper inside, while making out with you and using his come as lube. It’s not as if you haven't had a fountain between your legs since walking through his door. “All of this come for me?” you ask him and wiggle your hips, causing his dick to grow in your pussy. “You’re just cock hungry aren’t you? At first you couldn’t take it, now you can’t get enough,” he says, still barely moving his hips.

He straightens back up, standing above you, rubbing his hands up and down your soft legs. He flips you over onto your stomach. He gropes your pussy and smacks your ass with his wet fingers. You moan out, “Fuck.” You clench your thighs tighter and start whining, hips moving in circles. He’s slapping each cheek harder causing you to yelp. Your ass stings and burns as you’re gradually moving up toward the pillows, away from his angry palm.

You feel his weight sink onto the bed and slowly straddle your legs, his dick snapping against your ass. He pries your cheeks apart to see his come oozing from your used hole. “You said you needed to come. I’m just helping,” he says while pressing his thumb on his tip forcing it into your pussy. His tip pops inside and you release a guttural yell. He’s fucking you into the mattress which is helping his thrusts bounce back.

With your legs together, you can feel every part of his throbbing cock rubbing and stretching you. He’s huffing and puffing with each stroke, his hair damp falling into his face. You’re tugging and punching the pillows above your head as you try to lift your hips from the bed. His weight keeps you still and he begins to pump faster and faster. You start to shiver and your toes curl. He recognizes this as a sign that you’re close, always quietly observant.

His pupils are blown out as he moans and ruts into your clenching pussy. With his new pattern of strokes, hitting a new spot inside you, you yelp, “-Soo… I’m coming again, oh god!” He doesn’t slow down through your orgasm. You keep whispering his name and expletives as you’re still convulsing and whining. His cock pummels faster than ever. He grabs onto your hair and pulls down, causing your back to arch. “Shit baby, keep coming on my dick,” he says as he’s now about to come for the fourth time tonight.

The feeling of being filled up by him again makes your orgasm never end. You feel waves washing over you with each spurt of his cum. Your pussy is still contracting, milking him until empty. He grunts each time he spills into your tight pussy then moans out a loud exhale, this repeated over and over. Your clit is flexing as he’s still fucking into you. He wants to fuck all of his come deep inside, none of it wasted. His hips halt, but his dick penetrates you.

He lets go of your hair, allowing your chest to fall to the bed. You huff out and your pussy throbs, causing him to grunt. He gives you a few more little pumps. You both whine when he pulls his come-covered dick from your used pussy. His come begins dripping from your hole. He stares in awe as it leaks out, your pussy flexing each time. His fingers slide over your slit and he gathers some come. You turn your head to look over your shoulder, he puts his fingers in his mouth, moaning while sucking them dry. This is honestly the hottest thing you’ve ever witnessed, and the dirtiest thing you’ve seen Kyungsoo do.

He smacks your ass causing you to whimper at the stings. He moves to lay next to you. You turn on your back, matching him, and place your head on his chest. He rubs his hand over your ribs and stomach, making you shiver. His open palm covers the expanse of your torso. His fingertips hit below your tits and his wrist below your navel. You feel so small next to him.

“Shit, baby. I’ve never come that many times in a row. You have the best pussy,” he whispers, kissing your head. “I was saving it all up for you,” he adds. You lovingly look up at him, blushing at his compliment. “I love that you treat me sweetly outside the bedroom and a whore inside it,” you smirk and rub your thumb on his bottom lip. Your hips move forward, touching his body and kissing him with fervor. Between breaths from kissing you can hear Kyungsoo say ‘baby’ and sexily sigh.

You’re still slick as Kyungsoo turns on his side facing you. You instinctively place your leg over him, your calf resting on his hip. You start rutting forward, your pussy lips hardly making contact with his hard, glistening cock. You moan, “I need more of you.” He smirks, thrusting toward you, “You can come on my dick again. Give me your pretty little pussy.”

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I know it ends too abruptly. Kinda blanking on what’s next. Any suggestions for further arcs? Where should it go next? Should I end it? Make a new fic?