#i have now pink hair and embraced my feminine side

[beebeedibapbeediboop]

It's witchsona season again so it was time to update mine

[littelestvic]

About the Damon Baker x Kris Gustin photo session and what it means to me as a queer artist obsessed with Joker Out

Note, this is not me trying to look smart and trying to talk about someone else's art pieces, although my dearest Daria made a small analysis on the Kris-Bojan set that I found very interesting, and it is interesting that these are a somewhat subjective views of Bojan and Kris's souls, or at least a visual representation of themselves as people. In any case, this is, if anything, an overview of what these art pieces make me feel and their significance to me.

First I must admit, as an artist, that these photos are beautiful and actually hold a lot of artistic value from my perspective. I think these should be seen as pieces of art and must be perceived in a different way than other Joker Out photos. However it is still very interesting how much these photos actually talk about the subject: these pieces are an exploration of Kris Gustin, the person portrayed, and I've honestly never have seen portraits that explore the nature of the subject in such a personal manner. Kris is displayed in a subjective, intimate way, whether how Damon sees him or how Kris himself sees himself deep down. I'm sure more elaborate and accurate explanations of Damon's art can be found online, as I actually didn't know of his work until now, but as I was able to read he focus a lot on the intimacy of the subject.

Anyways, there's a clear theme this session follows: femeninity and vulnerability. The usage of visible makeup (a first time for Kris on camera if I'm aware), the flowers, the exposed skin, the cloth (a typical femenine piece of clothing on Balkan/Slavic cultures), I think they were all choices to purposefully provide a more femenine vision of Kris. But he still allows himself to do poses similar to those I've seen him do before, there's still a hint of the Kris I know, his posing flows naturally and doesn't feel forced because this is just a natural extension of what he is, this is a natural exploration of his most femenine side, he is simply letting himself flow.

I think we all know Kris seems to be a man with a complex relationship with normative gender roles. Even as a cishet man he has this appearance and mannerisms that can be more related to a more "femenine" convention of gender and I have always wondered if he has ever struggled with this, and that if he has ever felt forced to keep the normative conventions of what a man should be. Things like asking to have his hair cut shorter after being called a girl when he was a child, or denying to be put makeup on by fans, he sometimes tried to run away from things that could be perceived as "feminine", maybe out of insecurity, maybe out of fear.

But there he is,

Glitter on his eyes,

Flower in his head,

Embracing himself.

I am a person with a complex relationship with gender roles. I was born a woman. I am short and tiny and have feminine features that simply cannot be ignored. I will forever be perceived as a woman by the people around me. I look like a girl, I have long hair because I am not allowed to have it short and I wear women's clothes. And while I don't want to be a girl, my relationship with femininity is actually very strong. I like pretty things, I like sparkles and pink, I like everything girly, I like girls. I've been told it's stupid to perceive myself as a guy since I look so girly, since I like so many girly things, and in times I don't feel I have deserved the masculine pronouns I use and my neutral name I've given myself (the ones I can only use online out of fear).

So I try to put some sense into it. I draw girly things because I like girly things. I draw men because I want to be like men. I draw men in pretty soft pinks and sparkles and sequins because that's what I am.

And I've found a safe place in Kris, with his non conforming masculinity that more often than not becomes femininity. As many other people like me, I like him because he helps me put sense to my feelings. I draw him in soft pastels and pretty clothes and delicate features because in my mind, if a man like him can be allowed to be femenine, then I can allow myself to feel the way I feel too. I can allow myself to simply not fit any binary gender convention, and I can allow myself to be myself. I like Kris because I find a part of me in himself, I relate to him and I see myself in his eyes. It is a complex relationship where I don't necessarily like him because I find him attractive, I am not actually sexually attracted to him; I see myself in him, in my own little weird way. I have distorted my own reality to make my own perception of him fit my needs. This is why I draw him the way I draw him. And perhaps that's why so many praise how I draw Kris. It is unique because it's personal. And I know he doesn't necessarily see himself this way, at least not in the degree I do. My Kris talks much more about how I see myself than how I see him. The way I draw Kris represents myself. My Kris is myself.

So when I saw him in this session, with the glimpse and the passion and the attitude I draw him like, it felt special.

"He looks like my art" I told myself. "He's seen himself the way I see him."

This is Kris,

This is my Kris,

This is me.

So I'm very thankful for Kris trying to open himself, and embracing this vulnerable side of him I purposefully push into the narrative of my art. He called these "therapy sessions", so I can't help but wonder if these have been helpful to him, if he has found something about him, if he has learnt to accept himself the way he is. He has helped me cope with complicated subjects of my life, and I cling to him to keep with life. He is my special little obsession that keeps me alive. So I can't help but sometimes wonder if he's happy, If he's loved, if he's content with himself.

And I think this exploration of himself will be very helpful to his soul. I am very proud of him, I am hopeful for his future, and I wish him the best.

I love you, my muse, and thank you for allowing yourself to see you with my own eyes.

[starrysnowdrop]

FFXIVWrite 2023 #26: Last

Idiom: at last; after a lengthy pause or delay.

In ancient times, before the Final Days and the Sundering; Hermes arrives in Amaurot in order to take over the Seat of Fandaniel, and is given a very warm welcome from Azem herself.

As Hermes admired the morning sunlight dancing on the windows, illuminating the towering heights and highlighting the sheer magnificence that was Amaurot’s capital building exterior, Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus held the doors to the building open for Hermes to walk through first. A moment later, the three men, who were now wearing their masks and full robes with the hoods over their heads, stood in the lobby with about a dozen Amaurotines going about their business, Hythlodaeus was the first to speak.

“Now that we have fully recovered from the incident with the Kairos, missing memories aside, allow me to show you around the Capital building, and you can see where the Convocation offices are. I shall be happy to introduce you to everyone along the way.” Hythlodaeus gestured with his hands in an open and welcoming manner, ready to play tour guide for the future Fandaniel.

Before Hermes could answer properly, Emet-Selch replied with a shake of his head and a touch of sleepiness in his voice, “If you both don’t mind, I shall take my leave. I need to speak with Fandaniel and inform him of Hermes’ arrival.”

Hythlodaeus nodded with a gentle smile. “Of course! We will be along in a little while.”

Hermes was prepared to follow Hythlodaeus when suddenly a rather loud yet feminine voice rang out, which caught the attention of everyone in the vicinity. “Hyth! Emet! Wait!”

With a chuckle, Hythlodaeus turned around and confirmed where the voice was coming from, a familiar figure who had just walked through the same doors that they had moments ago. “Ah! Right on time.”

“Huh?” Hermes also spun around towards the source of the voice, but his confusion soon melted away once he realized who it was that called out.

Hermes’ heart leapt out of his chest and his breath caught in his throat as he stared at the woman in front of him, the woman that had stolen his heart and that he could never forget, no matter how much he tried.

She was much shorter than average, more than a fulm shorter than himself, and she wore a distinctive black mask. Though he could not see her eyes, he instantly spotted strands of pink hair peaking out from underneath her hood, and she had the most stunningly beautiful smile he had ever seen.

He had let slip her personal nickname, but quickly caught himself. “Rani… I-I mean, Azem?”

With a squeal and a hop on the balls of her feet, she exclaimed in reply, “Hermes! You’re here at last!”

Hermes could not stop himself as he smiled brightly and opened his arms, anticipating that he would be met with a hug.

As he held his arms out, Azem ran forward at full speed, which surprised the curious onlookers.

Emet-Selch went back to stand at Hythlodaeus’ side, his finger wagging furiously as he reprimanded his friend and colleague in vain, “Azem! How many times have I told you to stop running in the lobby!”

Completely ignoring Emet-Selch’s scolding and everyone else around her, Azem leapt into Hermes’ arms and the two embraced each other, both filled with joy. Azem then reached up and planted her lips onto Hermes’, which surprised him, but he quickly melted into the kiss.

The onlookers gasped and began whispering to one another. Surely the news of Azem kissing the man who is to become Fandaniel would spread like wildfire, but Azem nor Hermes didn’t seem to worry about that fact now.

Emet-Selch sighed and held his head as Hythlodaeus laughed with glee.

“Now that’s a warm welcome,” Hythlodaeus said as he struggled to maintain composure from laughing much harder than he already was.

As he turned to make his retreat, Emet-Selch sighed even deeper. “I’m too tired for this…”

[runthepockets]

I've been thinking a lot about "the war on masculinity" today and I came to this conclusion: I don't believe there's any grand war being waged on it, or that men are being "pussified", or whatever, but I do have reservations and resentment toward anything that boils down to "if men would just embrace their feminine sides and paint their nails and wear pink and show their soft sides more, everything would be perfect!" and nothing beyond that.

Look. I like stuffed animals, and chick flicks. There was a point in my life where I was a "boy with long hair" (I had dreads and cornrows till I was like, 14) I tell my little brothers and my dad and my roommate and my friends and pretty much everyone I love in my life that I love them and miss them and am proud of them and when I'm sad or insecure like, every day. I'm chill with dudes who like makeup and skirts and pink stuff, and wholeheartedly believe there's merit and letting these guys know they're as sexy and desirable as any flannel wearing, beefed up dude. I'll admit that there was a point in my life where I was that of your standard homophobic middle school straight boy where I turned my nose up at / mocked guys like that, but now I'm older and wiser and learned better and I have no ill will or condescending remarks or anything to say toward them. I know all that soft stuff pretty intimately, and feel no shame in admitting anything of it.

That said: I still kinda hate the idea that in order to be seen as "nonthreatening" I gotta divulge all of these things about myself. I won't say it's a large scale issue, or whatever, but I do sense the hesitation when I see people recommending that men who worry about their positions as patriarchs under patriarchy and what that means for the women and kids and gay people in their lives, who have never explicitly expressed any prior interest in experimenting with their presentation or interests or genders, simply "accept the feminine side they're so obviously in denial of" as the solution to combatting the capitalist white supremacist patriarchy and the rigid gender roles they're beholden to rather than, like, advising those guys to pick what they like about their current interest / presentations and shirking off all the bits that come off as chauvanistic (IE: I'm a heterosexual, working class dude from the south. I like guns, I like fancy pocket knives, gritty rock music, I like old school muscle cars and 90s pickup trucks and doing shit with my hands. I'm also black and a huge nerd, and am fully aware that these subcultures are very gatekeep-y toward women and gay people, let alone myself as another straight dude solely because of the color of my skin, so I just treat everyone that shows any interest in them the same as I would any other dude.) and simply proceeding on as you were before.

Again, I think it's great that men are very openly wearing skirts and painting their nails and watching magical girl animes, and stuff. That shit is wicked, and I know the occassional "friendly reminder that it's ok for boys to be soft" or "I love boys who've undergone the trials and tribulations of unpacking toxic masculinity, I feel so safe around them" post is helping more than it hurts, and generally isn't the grander opinion society draws to and needs to be said as a result. But also.....idk man, you can't be telling me the only way to escape hegemonic masculinity as a man is by being more like Harry Styles. Or by telling girls you listen to Pop Music and cry over Disney movies. Like even in a world without patriarchy, that's not going to be most men. Even under patriarchy, that's not all women. That's not a sustainable mindset. This can't be all there is. Surely there's a way to enjoy action movies and archery as a man without alienating the marginalized people around you or having to compromise yourself.

[dearestones]

Death Note Matchup: Amane Misa

Warnings: Fluff.

@romanovvas Request: hi!! can i please request a romantic death note matchup? im bisexual (with no gender preference) & use she/her pronouns!

for my appearance, im 5’2, have light brown hair (i dyed it bubblegum pink temporarily so that’s what i’m rockin with now abdjsjdnd), and brown eyes! im usually kinda pale but i actually tanned this summer! so im really happy. i also have perpetually rosy cheeks & a few moles that dot across my face. i have baby summer freckles, but ah that’s just from the sun. my friends say i’m basically like sarah cameron at this point (obx) which is the biggest compliment ever to me because she is so pretty ajdjdkek. my style is usually very girly and feminine, i love dressing up and i tend to wear big shoes a lot, since i’m on the shorter side and being tall makes me feel cool ansndjsn.

for my personality, i think im fairly bubbly and optimistic! my mbti is enfp & im a cancer, so yes, im fairly sensitive and emotional but!! i still try to look on the good side and see good in people. i love anything soft or cute, and i love animals!! i have a pretty soft heart, i can’t even kill bugs without feeling bad, so i take them outside (even though they kinda scare me). im very physically affectionate with people, and i like to hold hands and hug and stuff :). i also really like complimenting people, because seeing others smile is just so !!! i also take a lot of my friends clothes and accessories, i just think it’s fun :). i have anxiety, so i can get a little withdrawn sometimes, but usually i’ll just cling onto a squishmallow or a friend. i swear, hugs are like, healing or something. i also can get jealous fairly easily, and i hate that about myself, so im trying to work on it! my hobbies include yoga, gardening, baking, makeup, waking, & reading!

my highest kins/comfort characters are mitsuri kanroji from kny, historia reiss from aot, nene yashiro from tbhk, & killua zoldyck from hxh!

please & thank you! hope you have a wonderful day & remember to drink some water :)

.

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Oh my, thanks for such a lovely description of yourself! After going through your request, I can see that you are best matched to Amane Misa.

When the both of you first meet, you will immediately notice that both of your personalities simply click together! While the both of you may be extraverts at a first glance, there are much softer and more sensitive sides to the both of you. Misa is quick to pick up on your anxiety and when your friendship first starts, she’ll make sure to give you space or a hand to hold in case the situation gets too much. When your romance begins to bloom, she definitely is a great stand in for a squishmallow.

Not only is Misa drawn to your gregariousness, but she absolutely digs your style! Most of her aesthetic is based on gothic lolita fashion, but she adores and embraces all of your aesthetics and fashion choices. Also, pink hair? Big shoes? Misa will definitely love taking you out to her favorite brand stores and may even convince you to model with her because you’re just so cute and adorable! The both of you can be as girly and as feminine as possible—Misa doesn't care about the haters and neither should you. What matters is what makes you happy.

Call Misa a hopeless romantic, but she swears she can see the stars form constellations from the moles and freckles that she sees on your face. If you argue with her, she’ll shake her head and playfully trace a finger along your facial features… as if tracing one of the many constellations in the sky. 

She also absolutely adores the rosy hue on her skin. Misa’s skin has always been fair, but to see someone who can effortlessly rock “pretty blushing maiden” at all times? She’s jealous, but so very proud that she has someone like you by her side. 

Between the two of you, Misa can actually be the more pragmatic and level headed person (surprisingly). She loves your sensitivity and emotional side—after having spent so much time at Light’s side and witnessing the Kira investigation unfold, it’s kind of hard to find someone who relies more on emotional decisions rather than cold, calculated thinking. Because of this, she often looks to you for when she wants to feel uplifted and loved—these things are increasingly hard to come by when it comes to the members of the Kira investigation, she finds. 

Misa will take any of your physical affection and return it to you tenfold. You hug her early in the morning as she’s making breakfast? She’s going to give you soft butterfly kisses in front of her modeling agent and fellow models. You hold her hand while walking in the park? She’s going to have you dancing in the rain the next chance she gets. Just so you know, this is a war of romantic gestures and Misa will make sure that neither of you will be losers at the end of it. If you prefer, though, Misa can stick to hugs… But they will last an ungodly amount of time and she will squeeze all of her love and affection for you with every second that passes. 

Misa knows a thing or two about jealousy… but because the both of you now have each other and if the both of you are willing to communicate and work on these problems together, then there should be no problem! With the way your personalities balance each other out and how you bring out the positive sides to each other, it’s safe to say that these jealous tendencies can be curbed. 

Please, please, please include Misa whenever you engage in your hobbies like makeup and yoga. She would absolutely die of happiness to know that a loved one actually cared enough to let her indulge in the activities that you find appealing. The both of you can do each other's makeup or Misa will simply stare and watch in enraptured wonder. Don’t worry; it’s just that you’re too cute and Misa wouldn’t want to miss any moment for the world!

Basically, you’ve found a life partner in Misa Amane. As long as you both don’t bring out your respective toxic traits and talk out your problems, you will have one long lasting and fulfilling relationship. 

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If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

DEATH NOTE MASTERLIST

[lespritdekin]

enslaving appetence.

the man dressed in white was an enigma, but his revolting desire to possess you for all of his eternity wasn't. na jaemin was the devil's entity in human form, and he scorched you in the burning flames of your nightmares.

pairingㅡ yandere!jaemin x fem!reader

other charactersㅡ best friend and crush!jeno

genreㅡ yandere!au

warningsㅡ madman!jaemin, stalking, obsession, unhealthy possessiveness, mentions of sexual preferences, breach of privacy, implied physical abuse, use of a baseball bat.

song recㅡ she will be loved by maroon 5

disclaimerㅡ as far as my miniscule intelligence could muster, i may have posted this piece on wattpad a year ago or two under the name 'neo alternative plots' or alike. with that explanation, please don't react to the oneㅡshot's presence here on tumblr negatively. this also isn't proofread.

You watched as the pink decorations of the ceiling mimicked your nose, the happy smile on your face getting greeted by an excited Roseanne. You embraced her dressed her figure as she did your own, the gentle noise of the lullabies of her favorite songs supplemented her girlish saturnalia.

You observed your environment and smiled widely, this was the theme you wanted when you were sixteen, and you're happy your best friend got to live her dreams.

You were scooping in a small bowl of punch to drink and munch on as all of you were at the backyard of Roseanne's home, a film on going about your female companion's life story to where she is now. As you were about to pull a slice of lasagna from the tray, a large figure dressed in white shadowed your hand.

You looked up to see a gorgeous brunette with dark, tantalizing eyes, his pretty lips in a small lopsided smile. You unconsciously swallowed the lump in your throat and pulled your hand away from him, apologizing for the things you've never done wrong.

❝I don't accept apologies from gentle faces, princess.❞ A lethargic smirk made its way to his devastatingly breathtaking face, the air escaping your nose suddenly asking for entrance.

❝Although, I'd love to see you rotten.❞ The leathery substance of his inky voice held your throat captive in its seat, the inching hand on your own tiny one made your skin crawl. Your eyes trembled from their sockets, the humidity of his lips turning your skin cold.

What did he want to turn you in?

R-Rotten?

❝P-please,❞ You squeaked, his eyes turning darker, duller, more disheartening. ❝Let go of me.❞ The nimble appendages around yours tightened their grip, the male forced a smile. You yanked your hand away, and a broad back made its way to greet your mousy nerves. Your cheek touched the soft fabric of his lavender pullover, and you immediately acknowledged the scent.

❝Respect the girl's privacy, man.❞ Jeno grumbled from his strong stance, the sardonic, hateful laugh of the man with midnight eyes eyeing your best friend's hand on yours, the way your fingers clutched at Jeno and not at him.

❝Pretty boy came to pretty girl's rescue, how romantic.❞ The white silk of his fit tuxedo adjusted, his hand running up the thick strands of his brown hair. His head hung down, but his eyes bulged forward. Your hands scrambled to find substance of relief when his feet came closer and closer, his abyssmal orbs boring right into your savior.

❝Better watch out for the Madman if you want your skin unscathed.❞ The silence of his voice caused you to wince, and you hid your face on Jeno's back, his hand instinctively holding your arm. The odd chap turned away, went on his heel, and disappeared into the party. You held your head, Jeno turning immediately to hold you close to him.

❝You're alright, [Name]. You're safe.❞ Tears blurred your vision and you cried, large thumbs swiping them away. Jeno didn't need to ask what you needed to have, wanted to hold, he was there through it all, and he's seen you in lights other people haven't, seen you burned and drowned and survived.

❝I'll take you home.❞ Jeno excused the both of you, telling the birthday girl that you needed to leave. Rosie embraced you and wished for your well-being before you left. Jeno never let go of your hand, you've been staring at it for the entire while. The male looks down at you, an apologetic smile on his face.

❝I'll hold your hand, don't worry. The parking lot's only a few blocks away, I'll keeping you close.❞ You didn't give him a response, continuing to walk along side him.

You sat inside the front seat and held your phone with trembling hands, your best friend turning on the heater for you. He kissed your head before driving away from the parking lot, wanting to play the first song of your favorite playlist whenever you're feeling down.

❝Dㅡdo you mind?❞ You softly asked Jeno, his eyes suddenly turning into crescent moons when he looked at you. ❝Go on.❞ You turned your phone of and browsed through the screen, pressing onto the first song of a dozen. Your nose had turned red from crying, and the only way you could ease it away was by listening to your favorite songs.

Jeno caught a glimpse of your face once the tune reverberated within the vehicle. He sighed, absolutely despised when male after male molest you. You weren't a toy to play with, you needed care, love and guidance, some things he's always done to you for so long.

You felt revolting. You felt like your world was crippling, distorting, shattering, just as you were finally alright again, just as you were finally read to be happy again. Your fingers shivered despite the ongoing heat of the car. Your best friend took notice and held your hand in his again, your heart almost ‎skipping another beat.

He brought you to your flat and made sure that your roommates were home. He gave you a towel after knocking on the door for permission, seeing your newly washed face gave him feathers inside. You were so adorable like that. You dried your face and changed into a pair of thick pink pajamas, your thoroughly scrubbed hand rivaling the feminine color.

You assisted Jeno on the way to the door after he made sure all of your windows and doors were locked and snug. You laughed at him softly after the occurrence of a male touching you like a predator temporarily left your mind as you see Jeno with roseate adorning his cheeks.

You look up at him with red eyes, already wrapping your arms around him. ❝I could kiss you right now.❞ He muttered, holding your cheek. ❝But, I don't have your consent, and your roommates are probably awake.❞ You giggled wholeheartedly, causing him to heave a sigh despite chuckling.

❝[Name], your parents might hate me!❞ He whined, but you continued to laugh, you didn't give a damn if he brought you to a stage and kissed you in front of a crowd, you didn't care if he kissed you in a family reunion.

❝You two are so annoying!❞ Someone screamed from two bedrooms down, the both of you and Jeno genuinely laughing. Despite allowing his submission to appear, his hands never left your back protectively, and you felt safer than a baby getting taken care of an entire village.

He held you in his arms one last time before walking through the doorway, closing the door after him. You leaned your back on the smooth wood and slid down, keeping your squeals at minimum. Your person of interest of almost a year held you like you were the most delicate thing in the world, kissed your hair, made you feel special, and wanted your parent's approval of everything.

You went back to your room and screamed into the pillows, your hand waiting for the phone to ding. You eventually turned drowsy, but you couldn't sleep. You tossed and turned, but they were futile. You went downstairs and had three glasses of water, all chugging them down in one go.You washed your face in the kitchen sink and washed your glass and was about to return, not until one of your favorite songs played through the speakers from your room.

Your eyes trembled, and so did your hands.

You immediately hid inside a bottom cabinet, covering your mouth with your hands.Your roommates never entered your room strictly without your word, and they disliked your odd taste in music for them to play your speaker and one of your favored songs. Just before you could foolishly land your foot over the creaking wood of the stairwell, the screeching noise of your room opened, heavy, aching boots gripped the silence of the flat, and you almost pissed yourself.

You covered your ears, the sound of another thumping object frightening you. He desired nothing but to daunt you, turn you into a demented marionette, just like him.

Beauty queen of only eighteen

She had some trouble with herself

He was always there to help her

She always belonged to someone else

Each nerve in your body stiffened and your teeth clattered, you assume your hair stood in all directions, and you're certain your heartbeat's abormally thumping inside your chest. You need Jeno, but your phone's in your room, you could call or run for your roommates, but he'd already be there, appendages wrapped prettily around your neck.

And indeed, he was awaiting for your arrival of submission.

I drove for miles and miles and wound up at your door

I've had you so many times, but somehow, I want more

The deafening dollops of burning rubber on wood ceased sound, but the certain reverberating outcries of polished wood on rusty ones had you inching closer to the corner of an enclosure that barely fit you, and your mind was running wild. He could feel it, your idiotic heartbeat grumbling inside an unprotected fence, something he can break so easily.

❝I don't mind spending everyday out on the corner in the pouring rain.❞

Your eyes shot up, the accostumed voice in your ears, the silent, demanding whispers, the glacial, dispassionate delivery of a monster, and you've only heard it once. He smirked, tracing the dimly lit crevices from the street lamps standing tall on the fronts of the floor, the thin glass of the windows making him believe how pathetic you were, how much of a feeble-minded whore you were.

Look for the girl with a broken smile

Ask her if she wants to stay a while

You hear footsteps again, aggressive, menacing, resounding, and he was so close, so near of getting his hands on you, taking what was never his. You enclosed your fingers and bit your knuckle, closing your eyes shut. Tears encaptured the pink-stained skin of your plump, delicate cheeks. He could materialize the trembling clatter of your teeth, the perspiration in between your chest, and the reverberating drift of your clenching pussy.

And she will be loved

❝She will be loved.❞

[ughihategmail]

signs you might be a child of aphrodite

you put your eyeshadow on with your fingers because 1) it’s easier and 2) it looks softer and more whimsical that way

your eyeshadow is also almost always sparkly

eyeliner. that’s all

you have a very strong opinion about lipgloss vs lipstick and you won’t be swayed

you wear SO MUCH highlighter and you have so many different highlighter palettes and compacts

you fall in love with people for reasons that you can’t make sense of

you’ve often thought that love is both so simple and also the most complicated thing in the world

there’s one person who Fucked You Up, and you don’t think you’ll ever truly forget what it was like to love them with your whole entire heart

almost all the people you’re close with now were intimidated by you at first

“i thought you were mean before we became friends”

you run late all the time because you change your outfit because of last-minute outfit or hair changes

you ALWAYS have at least one hairbrush

either pink or black is your favorite color and you can’t decide between them

rosé wine is your favorite alcoholic drink and cherry or vanilla coke is your favorite soda

you’re a really good listener and you’re the person your friends go to for advice or validation

people have made fun of you for reading novels that mix romance and fantasy, but you know they just don’t understand

you’re really soft, sweet, and affectionate, but, with good reason, you will not hesitate to Fuck Shit Up

(if you’re a girl) engaging girl on girl pettiness is NOT the move

hating it when people call other people ugly just because they don’t like them (on that note, ugly isn’t a thing because eurocentric beauty standards are invalid)

you’ve gone through so many different fashion phases that they all just blur together and there's no telling how you’re going to dress the next day

you loved pretending to be a mermaid in the water when you were younger (say what you will about poseidon, but that's an aphrodite thing idc)

sometimes you say really sarcastic or petty things without thinking but you almost always feel bad after (but sometimes they just needed to be said)

you think thrift stores are always more fun

you know that actually you’re not overdressed, everyone else is just underdressed

you’ve always thought valentine’s day is NOT just about romance, it’s also about friends, self-love, and embracing your glamorous feminine side

you know all the good tips and tricks for skincare, face and full body lotions, shampoos, conditioners, and hair masks, makeup, color palettes, non-toxic metals for jewelry, etc

you hate it when people underestimate you because of your more “materialistic” interests, “it’s your loss that you think i can’t wear sparkly pink lipgloss, and also carry our biotech lab group on my back for the quarter”

you love switching up your accessories, hair dye and hair cuts/styles, makeup, fashion)

you’re either fluent in a romance language, took one in highschool or college, are taking one now in highschool or college, or have always wanted to learn one (it’s never too late!)

disco music hits different for you

you love writing poetry and long ramblings (waxing poetic)

you’ve always had a knack for reading emotions and body language and deciding how to respond to them for the best outcome, as well as the best way to comfort people depending on what they’re dealing with

you’re trying to drill it into your head that people who don't appreciate your flair for the dramatics are people you don’t need in your life

you know love and beauty are underrated as values and that needs to change

[xlovelyyoongix]

happy birthday | myg

♥ summary: When a birthday foot massage turns into something a bit more interesting 18+ ( established relationship) 

♥ paring: slight dom yoongi! x f. sub reader (established relationship)

♥ warnings: SMUT! swearing, female receiving, multiple orgasms , over stimulation, creampie, squirting and use of a sex toy.

♥ a/n: Not gonna lie I wrote this for myself on my birthday because I’m such a simp for Min Yoongi. Also, I apologize that this post is a day late. I watched Day 1 and Day 2 of the MOTS 7 concert and I was so sleep deprived so please forgive me. Enjoy! Feedback is welcome!  

You always hated being the center of attention, in a room full of crowded bodies with all eyes on you was never your forte. So, when you explained to your boyfriend of 2 years that you wanted a simple celebration of your birthday, he promised you just that. Your special day consisted of breakfast in bed, shopping, a movie, and dinner at your favorite restaurant. To others, a birthday spent like such would be considered a boring one, but for you, a day spent with Yoongi by your side was perfect.

"This was such a fun day!" Your exhausted body pushed through the door for your apartment, dropping your shopping bags on the living room table. "I'm beat!" Kicking off your shoes, your body collapses on the couch, releasing a heavy breath as your lashes flutter shut to relax.

Yoongi closes the door behind him, chuckling at your animated demeanor. "I'm glad you had a great time,__" Before anything else, Yoongi escaped into the back room, only to reemerge with a few items in his hands, an eager smile stretched across his face. "But it's not over yet."

Your lips curve in question, "Huh?" and the moment your eyes blink open, a romantic flickering of dim orange light begins to dance across the apartment walls along with the soothing scent of lavender. Your brows crinkle together, dimples digging into your cheeks upon realizing, Yoongi lit your favorite scented candle. "What's this about?" You pull yourself up with a toothy grin in observance of the scene before you.  

A twinkle of delight shimmers within Yoongi's onyx orbs, taking a seat on the carpet between your legs. "Your last gift of the day." His proud gummy smile gleaming up at you.

It wasn't until Yoongi gently placed your foot onto his lap, removing your socks, that you realized what he was doing. Your cheeks lighten with an innocent hue as his long fingers brush against your tiny toes. "Y-Yoon?" You question, with a rapid heart beat.

"Hm?" He questions, pulling a bottle of oil out of the silk bag only to pour a modest amount into his hand. "You act like I've never touched you before,__" His hooded eyes dart up at you, though only for a second before talented fingers are massaging the warming oil into the balls, arch, and toes of your foot.

"Mhm..." A small moan vibrates from the back of your throat, the newly found pleasure rippling throughout your being, practically melting your body into the sofa. "Feels good~" You purr.

Yoongi takes pride in the blissful expression plastered across your face. "I'm happy you're enjoying yourself." Voice music to your ears as his fingers work between your toes, ankle, and back up the sole of your foot. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

"Okay." Your lashes flutter shut, body loosening up as the soothing scent of lavender sways within your nostrils. Yoongi, being skillful with his hands, takes his time and massages all the spots you seem to like most. He doesn't speak, merely allowing you to fully embrace your very own euphoria.

You're unable to recall a time your body experienced this type of tranquility; with work and school swallowing your livelihood, you're surprised you're able to even manage a relationship with your hectic schedule. Always a paper due, an extra shift that needed to be worked. There were times you barely even had time to sleep...

"SLEEP?!" Realizing your body was a bit too tranquil enough to doze off, your back arches off the couch, frantic eyes darting across the room in search of your boyfriend. Had it already been that long he chose to leave for the night? "Yoongi?"

"Don't worry, you weren't asleep for too long." A teasing smirk pulls across his full cheeks, taking a seat on the floor between your legs again. "Had to wash my hands and get your other present." Unlike before, his demeanor changed. His hooded eyes, a shade darker than normal, tongue lapping across his bottom lip, along with a seductive arched brow. Surely, Yoongi was up to something.

"I thought the foot massage was my last gift." Your head tilts with confusion.

Yoongi chuckles at your obliviousness, placing a pink rectangular box on your lap. "This is just the other part of your present." He nudges you to open it.

You sport Yoongi an -what are you up to- expression, only for your curiosity to become interrupted by the heaviness of the box. What else could he possibly be gifting you with after a day of shopping and dinner? "Okay." Your fingers slowly unravel the bow, careful with removing the lid. The moment your eyes make contact with what's inside, your jaw drops in awe at the objects.

"I saw you googling them a few weeks back. I figured I'd get the set for you." There's a moment of hesitation in Yoongi's tone, your silence instantly forcing him to contemplate his gift. "I-It is what you wanted,.. right?"

Your eyes bounce back to your blonde-haired boyfriend, noticing the doubt trickling across his expression. "Yes, Yoongi, it is!" You praise, heart fluttering that your boyfriend paid that much attention to notice your personal interests. "Thank you so much!" It was a set of 3 clear glass dildos, all shape and length in different sizes, with adorable pink, heart-shaped handles at the end.  

Regaining his confidence, his blond head slips between your legs, lips ghosting over the sensitive spots of your inner thighs. “Ya, know..." Mint breath slapping across your skin, causing a delightful shiver up your spine. "We can test them out right now if you want." His jet eyes cutting dangerously at you before placing a kiss on the spot that causes your abdomen to tense deliciously.  

With the tempting look in Yoongi's eyes and the grip he has on your thighs, your body heats with desire, feminine core throbbing against the now annoying material of your panties. "I-I mean..." You swallow hard, attempting to catch your staggered breath. "D-do you want to?"

A dimple forms in the crevice of Yoongi's cheeks, snickering at your timid question. "Of course I want to, kitten..." He purrs, fingers working to unbuttoning the metal of your jean shorts. "But today isn't about me, is it?" dark eyes rolling up to you while the echo of your zipper tauntingly fills the room.

If you blinked, you would have missed the dark, carnal switch that happened deep within Yoongi's eyes. Clearly, he was ready for whatever the night had in store. You gulp, "No," You answer back modestly but also notice the rising heat growing between your thighs. "It's about me tonight." You answer back with a nod, slightly more confident than last.

Yoongi snickers devilishly at your reply. "Yes, it is." He pulls at your jean shorts, helping you shimmy out of them. Yoongi gestures at your shirt with a tempting bite of his lip only for it to disappear behind you a second later, leaving your body in nothing but a black bra and panties set.

Your boyfriend takes in the magnificent sight of your hair framing around your adorable cheeks, romantic flames of candlelight across your skin and eyes, and your practically nude body that lit a hungry flame within his core. "Fuck..." Unable to hold back any longer, Yoongi lunges forward, harshly gripping onto your thighs as if to hold you in place while his plush lips place rough kisses and love bites along the innards of your thigh.  

"Mhm, Yoon..." Your hips stutter forward, a zap of electricity zipping up your spine, awakening your body with a fevering heat.

As Yoongi's tongue laps across the sensitive parts of your inner thigh, his sneaky index hooks onto the wetness of your panties, slowly sliding down the flimsy fabric before tossing them over his shoulder, not caring where they landed. "Hope you're ready for your gift." His tone holding velvety dominance as his lust-filled eyes peer up at you.

Before you could even mutter a response, Yoongi's crafty tongue laps across your throbbing slit, hands spreading your thighs open for better access. You release a whimper, and the moment his lips latch onto your pulsing clit, your hips snap forward, tongue slipping and sliding between your folds, leaving you a stuttering mess.

Taking his time, Yoongi lapped figure eights around your sensitive nub, large hands cupping at your ass cheeks, sliding you forward into his mouth. "You taste so good, kitten." Words vibrating against your delicate flesh as he spoke.

Even with his tongue moving so deliciously between your slit, body floating into cloud nine, the flame burning inside of you craved more. "S-so good b-but...please~" your walls clenching around nothing in dire need to be stretched. "Inside~." You mewl with a needy wiggle to the edge of the couch.  

Yoongi cocks a brow, peeking up at you while working your marvelous wet pussy. "You can't wait anymore, can you." He teases with a confident chuckle. "Your pussy is always so needy for attention." He cheekily mutters, slowly slipping two long digits into the slick of your folds.

"Fuck!" You yelp at the instant pleasure of Yoongi’s curving fingers locate the spongy surface of your inner walls. Back arching off the couch only to roll deeper into Yoongi's thrusts and tongue. "So good..." Managing past the dryness of your throat to whimper.

Yoongi's fingers pump in and out of your gushy slit with ease, tongue attacking your clit for maximum effect. "I want you to cum." the curve of his digits jabbing at your g-spot. You whimper a moan, walls tightening around his knuckles, sending waves of pleasure through your core. "I want your pretty pussy to cum all over my face, kitten."

Feeling your orgasm quickly approaching, the pit of your abdomen tightens in a knot, tight pussy swallowing long fingers, teasing at your approaching release. "Y-Yoongi..." You pant, fog of tears swelling at the corners of your eyes, cheeks a misty hue with thighs opening as wide as humanly possible for your boyfriend's assault on your pussy. "G-gonna cum.... Uughh." Your fingers thread through Yoongi's blonde tresses with a yank, guiding the male's mouth all the places you need him most.    

Yoongi snickers at the aggression you have with his hair but doesn't let up. Feeling your soaking muscles clenching around his digits, your fucked out expression says it all, that you're ready to burst at any given moment. "Be a good girl," His fingers pick up their pace, assaulting the sweet spots of your insides at devilish speeds. "and cum for me."

As if on-demand, the tight knot built in the pit of your abdomen finally bursts, sending your body into an eruption of pleasure. "FUCK!" Your back arches off the couch, vision clouded with an assortment of colors, legs collapsing into jelly, as your sopping pussy leaks creamy arousal.

Plunging from the high of your orgasm, your exhausted body plops back onto the sofa, glistening sweat built across your brow with lungs heaving for breath. "So good." You murmur with what little strength you have left.

Yoongi snickers at your weakened expression. "We're not done yet,__" His words are sly as he opens the birthday box that contains a multitude of glass pleasure wands. "Which one should I use on you first?" He takes a second to observe, index tapping his chin in thought. "Got it." Picking out the wand, he knew would send you over the edge.

"H-huh?" Before you could comprehend what was happening, a sudden stretching of something strong and firm slips inside you. "Hmhmm." Your body awakens again, teeth digging into the bottom of your lip as your hips unknowingly roll forward, allowing the glass dildo to plug into your soaking slit.

"You almost forgot about this, didn't you?" Yoongi grins devilishly, the deep ridges of the wand satisfying your greedy entrance.

Your body shutters with delight at the feeling, lashes fluttering as your neck rolls back. With your body still processing the high of your first orgasm, you feel a new wave of arousal collapse over you. "You wanna make me cum again, Yoongi~?" Your once shy innocence, now engulfed by the sparks of lust dancing within your hazed eyes.

Yoongi wiggles a brow at your confidence. "You know it, kitten," he answers back almost too quickly. "Let's see what this thing can do." And without the need for direction, Yoongi slips the rigid object back into the hilt of your core, tilting at just the right angle.

"Shiiiiiit." Yoongi picks up his speed, your ass cheeks bouncing on the glass dildo as he rams it in and out as if it were his profession. Your walls take a liking to the newly discovered object, aroused and clutching tightly around the ridged glass, welcoming it deep within your pussy like the slut it was.

Being the generous pussy eater that he was, Yoongi positioned his mouth against your overwhelming heat once again, plush lips latching onto the sensitive nub, nibbling and sucking all the while thrusting your new favorite toy into your shameful entrance.  

A new wave of pleasure zaps through you. "F-fuck, Yoon!" Unapologetically, you grab at your boyfriend's blonde hair, pulling and yanking at the tresses as if your life depended on it. Your brows furrowed together and teeth tugging at your bruised lips as your foggy gaze peers between your legs at the man feasting upon you as if he were starving. "Yoongi, s-so good." Your neck rolls, the familiar tightness in your abdomen returns, threatening to rupture your release.

Your pussy is gushing, sending streams of milky arousal down the shaft of the dildo and onto Yoongi's glistening chin. Even though he couldn't feel your muscles tightening within you, he knew you were reaching the peak of your second orgasm; your words slurred, legs shaking uncontrollably along with the death grip you had on his hair. Yoongi smirks, your incoherent and shaken state, stroking his ego.

Your body uncontrollably humps into Yoongi's mouth, hips matching the rhythm of the glass wand slamming into the wall of your cervix, hitting all the spots you need it most. "P-please..." You're a whimpering mess. "Baby, m-make me cum again...wanna so bad..." Addicted to the taste of release, you plea your boyfriend to fuck another orgasm out of you like that dirty whore that you were.

More than happy to oblige your request, Yoongi stiffens his tongue, lapping over your glistening clitoris at record speed while your soaked pussy sucks in the rigid wand. "Cum,__" He orders with a stern tone.  

As if Yoongi's voice was the switch to your light, the tightness within your abdomen snaps on queue. "Shit!" You're crying out again, white noise clogging the tunnels of your ears as your vision fogs with an explosion of different colors. Your lashes flutter the tears from your eyes all the while attempting to catch your staggering breath as the second orgasm pulls from your body. "W-wow,..." Your nearly horse voice stutters out. "T-that was great I-"

The moment your glossy orbs stutter open, you're immediately met with an immaculate sight. It was none other than Yoongi standing proudly naked before you. Smooth, ivory skin that seemed to glow under the romantic candlelight. A hard chest that sculpted into a lean abdomen, showcasing a happy trail of hair leading down to the object you desired most to see. "We're still not done, kitten," Yoongi smirks devilishly, gripping at the base of his thick shaft, standing proudly.

You gulp, the curve of his impressive dick bobbing against his lower abdomen, thick veins protruding from the sides of its girthy shaft. Hungry, Your eyes follow up to the summit of it's red, angry tip, slit oozing delicious pre-cum. You lick your lips at the sight, aroused walls clenching around nothing.  

Yoongi stands over you, stroking his monstrous dick with a bit of dominance. While he patiently took care of the needs and desires of your body, Yoongi's dick grew angry and more impatient against the fabric of his boxers. Finally freed, it was more than ready to plug deep into the warm, wet sleeve of your walls. "Tell me what you want, kitten." Yoongi's voice dipping an ungodly tone.

"I-I..." You know precisely what you want, for your boyfriend to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk in the morning. The heat and slick of your previous orgasms, still fresh between your legs, ready to be put to good use, but you wonder if your body can take it—the anxious build-up of another orgasm. You swallow hard at the thought, eyes faced with the perfectly crafted perfection, which was Yoongi's hard dick, a erection you didn't want to go to waste. "I w-want." Your eyes flicker back up at Yoongi, shimmering orbs glowing with desire and lust. "I want you to fuck me, Yoongi." Your voice, dripping with confidence.

Leaving no time for his response, Yoongi pens your legs back with a growl, using his free hand to align his angry tip to the soak of your heated entrance. His hooded eyes cut to you, giving one final look, "Happy birthday, kitten." and as quickly as the words fell from his lips, Yoongi sends his hips soaring forward, plugging his dick deep within your walls as if he were a missing piece to your puzzle  

You wince at the sting of his stretch, girth unmatched to any finger or sex toy that could be purchased. "Yoongi~" Due to the multiple orgasms your body endured, the stretch of your entrance was met with a tasteful mix of pain and pleasure. Your orbs slamming shut, releasing a stream of lovely tears from the corners of your eyes.  

"Fuck your so tight." Yoongi grunts, gripping onto your thighs as if to hold you both in place. "So fuckin' wet." He leans in, his button nose ghosting over yours as his lustful jet eyes peer into your glossed orbs. "My perfect peach." It was then his lips forced onto yours, tongue dancing within your mouth to give you the sweet taste of your arousal.

You moan into Yoongi's mouth, welcoming the taste of your own pussy as thick thrusts pump into your core. "S-so good." You're a whimpering mess, hips rutting forward as the song of slapping skin echoes throughout the living room.

Typically, Yoongi was slow and patient when making love to you, but something about watching your pussy orgasm and your lips moaning his name awakened a carnal side of him, hidden deep within his psyche. "Sorry, I'm so rough...mhm." Yoongi grunts, eyes rolling while your juicy walls hug around his hostile dick.  

"I-its okay..." Your fingers grip onto Yoongi's shoulder blades, nails digging into his flesh as he pounded into the spot that made you see stars. "Fuck, just don't stop." Your walls begin to clutch around him, along with the tight build-up of the familiar knot in your abdomen; however, this time is different. A pressure building behind the structure of your pubic bone that you desperately want to find the reason behind. "Y-Yoongi...." Somehow your release feels out of reach "I-I don't think I-I c-can." You whimper, feeling as though your maximum peak was untenable.  

"Y-yes, you can, kitten." Yoongi huffs out, placing kissing and love bits along the lobe of your ear and the curve of your neck. "Cum for me again." Knowing exactly what would bring you over the edge, Yoongi snakes his arm between the two of your sweaty bodies, fingers locating the ball of your clitoris, slowly swiping across the needy nub before attacking with rougher speeds

"Naha!" An electric jolt zips throughout your body, causing your back to arch off the couch. Your senses are on fire. The sweat dripping down your flesh, Yoongi's breath puffing into the shell of your ear, skin rubbing against one another as his thick dick takes you savagely. Was there ever a better feeling than this?

Like a volcano about to erupt, your body begins to shake, unholy moans screeching from your throat, as the knot in the pit of your abdomen becomes incredibly tighter as a sudden urge to pee spikes. "F-fuck Yoon, I... I-I t-think I'm gonna..." And just like that, the build-up inside you snaps, an explosion stronger than ever before. "Fuck!" Your soaking pink muscles push out, liquid squirting out like a waterfall as colors of red, purple and blue, fog your blissful vision, body going limp    

Your warm wetness sprays across Yoongi's pelvis, lines of pearling liquid trickling down his flesh. "Kitten, did you just...?" He silent for a moment upon realizing what exactly just happened. You squirted, the evidence of your unholy release trickling to Yoongi's shaft, still plugged into you. "So. Fuckin. Hot!" The carnal need to release overpowers Yoongi, large hands grabbing hold of your hips, and he snaps his thrusts at record speed. With your walls sucking in Yoongi's girth, the tease of release trickled throughout his body. "F-Fuck, kitten, gonna..." He releases a throaty grunt. "Shit!" One final thrust and he was over the edge, ropes of semen coating your insides like a painter, his canvas.

For a moment, Yoongi's body is in tranquil bliss, limply plummeting onto the couch to lay beside you. The two of your eyes following the shadows of candle-light  flames dancing around the walls as you gasp for air. "Wow." Yoongi snickers with a toothy grin. "I can't believe you squirted." He comments proudly.

You giggle. "I didn't even know I could do that." Responding between breaths.

"Well, know that I know how to make you squirt," Yoongi pulls you into his chest, fingers caressing your hair as he places a kiss atop of your glistening forehead. "I'll be sure to fuck that glass dildo into you more often." His lips pull into a smile while taking in the beautiful sight, which was you... "Happy Birthday, __."

a/n: this is the first time I’ve posted a smut that is this detailed. So, if you have  any pointers or recommendations on how I can improve, please don’t hesitant to reach out. Thanks for reading! ♥

[dcbutinamrev]

LAMS LAMS HISTORICAL LAMS ONESHOT!

Of course, anon! There wasn't any specifics for this one which is no worries, so I decided to go with the duel between Laurens and Charles Lee cause why not?

***

Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton gasps sharply when he hears the front door to the aide-de-camp office on the mid-morning of December 24, 1778. Valley Forge still covered in a blanket of snow, flakes still fluttering from the overcast, gray-clouded sky, a soft breeze blows through the office, making the room colder than before which causes Hamilton to shiver and his teeth chatter slightly. Hamilton stands up abruptly from his wooden chair, the legs of the chair squeaking against the hard wood floor as it scoots back. Hamilton's silver, moonlight violet eyes widens at the sight of a seething Laurens in front of him. The fellow aides, Richard Kidder Meade, Tench Tilghman, Robert Harrison, John Fitzgerald and even the Marquis de Lafayette all stand as well at the sudden dramatic entrance.

Hamilton stares at Laurens for a breath, blinking once, twice before rushing over towards him, gripping both of Laurens's trembling hands in his, wondering just what had gotten Laurens so upset. He has seen Laurens angered before but not seething as though Hamilton could feel his blood boiling, like a kettle whistling.

Hamilton places a hand on Laurens's muscular bicep, drawing Laurens's attention away from the front door. He stares at Hamilton confusedly, blinking as he starts to become calm instantly, feeling all his burdens wash away as he gazes at his Hamilton before him, Laurens's sky-blue vibrant eyes ticking down to their clasped hands and then to Hamilton's soft, thin pink lips before back to his stunning eyes.

"Laurens? Are you...are you alright?" Hamilton finally manages to gasp, though he knows the answer. He just can't help but ask.

Laurens coughs as he starts to become calm once more, sniffling due to allergies from the cold before fully stepping into the parlor, yanking his hands away from Hamilton's and growling low and deep from the back of his throat. Like thunder rumbling.

"My God, Laurens!" Meade gasps, rounding the corner of the table behind Harrison and the Marquis to try to help Hamilton calm him. "Where the hell have you been?! What the hell happened?!"

Laurens continues to growl like a dog, baring his teeth as he glares at the closed front door, curling and uncurling his fists at his sides, itching to punch something--to release his anger and frustration--his eye twitching as he heaves, pacing back and forth, shaking his head.

"What--" McHenry gasps, startled as he just enters the room from the kitchen with a cup of tea in his hands.

Laurens feels as though he's about to roar and spins around in a sharp circle only then to punch the brick wall. Laurens groans and hisses sharply as he cradles his now injured hand, cursing silently to himself as he stares at the scrapes of fresh dark crimson blood oozing from his knuckles.

"Mon ami!" the Marquis cries at the same time Hamilton yelps, "Laurens!"

Hamilton rushes towards him again, cupping Laurens's now wounded hand in his own and with his free hand, yanking his neck cloth off and wrapping it around Laurens's palm and knuckles.

"John," Hamitlon whispers, so only Laurens could here. This catches Laurens's attention as he turns to Hamilton instantly coming back to the present. "What happened?"

"General Lee happened," Laurens grumbles, narrowing his eyes at the front door as he scrunches up his nose in a tight scowl.

"General Lee?" the Marquis asks, resting a hand on Laurens's shoulder, comfortingly. "What about him?"

Before Laurens could say a word, Hamilton drags Laurens to the sette in the living room, forcing him to sit and Hamilton flops down himself beside him, his thumb rubbing descreetly over the tendons of Laurens's hand. The Marquis sits himself on Laurens's right and the other aides watches with concern and confusion from the office.

"Lee...General Lee, I mean...he uh...he had insulted General Washington," Laurens explains.

Hamilton gasps, eyes widen. "Insulted? Our General?"

"Yes, Hamilton, are you deaf?!" Laurens snaps. "Do I need to repeat it?"

Hamilton sets his jaw, clamping his mouth shut as he sits taller somehow, squaring his shoulders and raising an eyebrow challengingly at Laurens, his chest puffing out as he cocks his head to one shoulder. Making him look like the Little Lion he is.

Laurens clamps his mouth shut, gritting teeth as he sets his jaw, tipping his down as if being scolded by a parent.

"I understand your anger, John," Hamilton whispers, his finegrs itching to tuck back the loose whisp of honey blonde hair that's dangling in front of Laurens's ear behind his ear in comfort. "But there is no need to use such tone at me."

Laurens puffs out a sigh, leaning back so his head rests against the sette, staring up at the ceiling as he closes his eyes.

"My apologies, Alexnader," Laurens sighs. "It's just...what he said about he said about General Washington--"

"Which was what?" Tilghman wonders.

"He...he called the General..." Laurens grimaces and swallows as he speaks. "A 'dirty earwig' for turning against him."

"Does His Excellency know about this?" Harrison growls.

Laurens shakes his head. "No. Not yet, at least, and I'd rather much prefer it be a secret between us at the moment."

A pause.

"And not to mention for disobidence and being a coward at Monmouth and retreating when he had the oppurtunity to attack the British."

Hamilton grimaces and tightens his hold around Laurens's larger hand, remembering the chaos of that day in June, with the blistering heat making the wool of their coats and clothes stick to their skin and their fingers slick with sweat and the fall Hamilton had taken after his horse fell beneath from a gunshot wound.

Hamilton stands up suddenly, dragging Laurens up with him. Laurens’s tense shoulders slumps as he’s reluctantly forced to being dragged up the wooden stairs to their shared bedroom, Hamilton exclaming to the others over his shoulder that he’s going to escort Laurens to his quarters for the night to allow himself some time to rest. Hamilton pushes Laurens into the room gently and closes the door behind him, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding until he hears a soft, audible, satisfying click. 

Hamilton stares at the silver knob, his hand hovering over it gently. He tenses, breathing in sharply through his nose as he could feel Laurens’s presence directly behind him. Hamilton swallows the lump in his throat, licking his dry, chapped lips. Dry from the lack of kisses Laurens has yet to give him due to seperation most of the day. 

“Finally,” Laurens sighs when Hamilton finally turns around to face. Hamilton smiles sheepishly as he crosses his thin arms over himself and takes three steps towards Laurens. Laurens puffs out a breath as he grips one of Hamilton’s elbows, tucking a loose dark red curl behind his ear. “I have missed you.” 

Hamilton giggles, leaning up by his toes to reach Laurens’s soft, heart-shaped pink lips. Laurens sighs happily as he kisses back, just a simple quick little peck. 

“Happy Christmas Eve, my dear boy,” Laurens whispers breathily against Hamilton’s lips, his teeth grazing over them, wanting an invitaiton. 

Hamilton smiles, the corners of his lips tugging upwards as the tip of his nose nudges agaisnt Laurens, opening his mouth for Laurens. 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Hamilton giggles as Laurens pulls back from the kiss, pulling back a little to get a view of Hamilton’s beautiful face with an angled jawline and feminine, freckled cheeks and hair red as fire pulled back into a rather unkept braid and of course, the dark purple of Hamilton’s eyes--almost silver now due to the sun glinting in the afternoon sunlight. Hamilton leans up to steal a kiss, surprising Laurens entirely. “Happy Christmas Eve my dear Laurens.” 

Laurens chuckles, gripping his hold on Hamilton’s slim waist tighter, causing Hamilton’s breath to hitch as he rests both hands flat on Laurens’s chest, his head right underneath Laurens’s chin. 

“What has really gotten you this upset?” Hamilton whispers, tipping his head up to meet Laurens’s eyes. “I’ve never seen you this angry before.” 

Laurens hums as he shifts a little closer so his chest is near Hamilton’s, resting his cheek on Hamilton’s brow. 

“I told you, Alexander,” Laurens says. “Lee happened. HIs inuslts not only of His Excellency but me.” A breathy pause. Laurens grits his teeth. “And you.” 

Hamilton grimaces. He wants to ask Laurens what the insults had said, but thinks better of himself and keeps his mouth shut and just simply listens. 

“Alexander, my love,” Laurens says, pulling back from the embrace to grasp hold of Hamilton’s small hands in his slightly larger one. Hamilton tips his head up. “I have something to ask of you and you’re not going to like it.” 

Hamilton stands somehow taller, his shoulders squared and eyebrows raised high challengingly, a sign for Laurens to continue. 

“I um...I...I um...I uh...” Laurens stutters, scratching the back of his neck. 

Hamilton frowns, furrowing his brows together as he knows Laurens is not the person to stutter. 

He’s probably going to kill me, Laurens thinks to himself as he glances back to Hamilton’s divine eyes and sharp features. Okay, Laurens, plan of action of here... 

“I uh...” Laurens says instead. “I um...” 

“John? Are you alright?” Hamilton asks. 

“I uh...” Laurens clears his throat, standing an inch taller. “I’d uh...I’d like you to be my second.” 

Hamilton stills, his eyes widening as he turns slowly to Laurens, raising only one eyebrow this time, his face paling as his heart thumps with fear and anxiety. He swallows. 

“Second?” 

“Yes.” 

“For what?” 

Laurens presses his lips together, swallows nervously, shifting around on his feet. He chews the inside of his cheek, wondering the best way to say the words would be without causing any drama. 

Laurens sighs defeatedly, hanging his head low as if he were merely a boy beging caught and scolded by his parent. 

“I...I challenged...I challenged...I challenged General Charles Lee to a duel...” A pause. “And I’d like you, my Alexander, to be my second.” 

Hamilton freezes completely, still as a tree trunk. His arms stiff at his sides, his stance taller than before, shoulders squared and eyes slowly widening. His face paling as he swallows, grittinng his teeth as he lets out a shaky breath. The very thought of his Laurens standing six paces in front of General Lee with his arm extended outstretched with his pistol in hand and a gunshot being heard terrifies him. 

“A...A...A duel...?” Hamilton chokes, slowly turning to Laurens as though he may be crazy. He just might be. “A duel?” 

“Yes,” Laurens says. “And I’d like you, Alexander, to be my second.” 

Hamilton laughs dryly, shaking his head as he closes his eyes. “No. No. No. No.” 

“Hamilton--” 

“No. Absolutely not,” Hamilton  huffs, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly. He can see Laurens firing his pistol at Lee,  but missing completely as Hamilton can see a bullet ripping Laurens’s side, causing Laurens to cry out in agony, flinging backwards before collapsing completely. 

“Hamilton, please--” 

“No, John,” Hamilton snaps, narrowing his eyes. “I can’t...I won’t...” 

Laurens grabs Hamilton by the forearm roughly and pulls him close, smashing his lips onto his. Hamilton grunts with surprise but melts into the kiss nonetheless, huffing a sigh through his nose as he feels his tense arms go slack at his sides. Being totally helpless. 

“I’ll be safe. I promise you,” Laurens assures. Though, Hamilton doesn’t find that reassuring whatsoever. 

Hamilton shakes his head. “You can’t know that!” His voice cracks as his chest squeezes with pure fear. “You can’t! I just...We’ve only...” 

Laurens puts a finger up to Hamilton’s lips, shushing him. “Shh. Hush now. You trust me. Don’t you?” 

Hamilton tips his head up to lock Laurens’s eyes with his. “What if you get shot--” 

“Ah,ah,” Laurens says. “Answer my question. Do you trust me?” 

Hamilton swallows as he hesitates for a moment. In all honesty, he does trust him. Of course he does! But still... 

“I do,” Hamilton whispers breathlessly. 

Laurens smiles as he leans down to kiss Hamilton’s lips again. 

“Then know, in your heart, I’ll be alright.” 

Hamitlon bites his lip and nods. Laurens pulls back from their embrace and tucks a loose curl behind Hamilton’s ear. 

“What should you have me do now?” Laurens says. 

Hamilton grins, one corner of his lip turning up softly. He takes two steps closer so his chest is flushed once again with Laurens’s and tugs on Laurens’s lapels. 

“Kiss me,” Hamilton gasps agiainst Laurens’s lips. “Kiss me and make love to me as though it may be our last.” 

Laurens chuckles darkly and grins as he kisses Hamilton once more, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling Hamilton close as Hamilton loops his arms around Laurens’s neck, smiling into the kiss, deepening it. 

“Your wish is my command.” 

~~~ 

At half past three, Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens make their way towards the woods just outside Philidelphia. The snow crunches underneath their boots with each step they take, Hamilton clutching onto Laurens’s hand at thier sides for as long as he is able, stopping occaisonally to steal a kiss or two. Laurens sighs when they reach the clearing, swallowing nervously as he bites his lower lip, eyeing Lee chatting to his own second: Evan Edwards. 

Laurens stops just outside the clearing, glancing over his shoulder as he grips both of Hamilton’s hands in his, bringing them up to his lips to press a kiss to each of his knuckles before lowering them at their sides. Hamilton grasps hold of one of Laurens’s hands in his as he reaches to cup Laurens’s cheek with the other, standing on his toes to steal a quick, chaste kiss before releasing him. Laurens sighs and pulls a miniature portrait of him and places it in Hamilton’s palm. He smiles softly as he meets Hamilton’s glittery eyes. Hamilton blinks, swallowing. 

“Here,” Laurens sighs. “Just in case.” 

Hamilton nods. “O-Okay...Okay...Thank you....Jack...you...you better...you better get going.” 

Laurens nods in agreement as he pushes Hamilton out into the clearing with his hand resting on the small of his back. Once Laurens comes into view, he instantly drops his hand and stands stiff and soldierly, narrowing his eyes at Lee. Laurens whispers quietly in Hamilton’s ear, “I love you, my dear boy.” 

Hamilton whimpers. swallowing thickly as he lets out a shaky breath. “I love you too, my dear Jack.” 

Edwards walks up to Laurens with the box, well it looks more like a wooden chest, the lid popped open to reveal a pistol inside. Only one remains inside meaning the second one must have been taken by none other than General Charles Lee. Laurens ticks his eyes towards Hamilton, who watches him anxiously, letting out nervous and shaky breaths with pure fear in his eyes, 

Laurens ticks his eyes back to the chest, staring down at the pistol. He presses his lips together, glancing at Hamilton one last time before snatching the pistol from the chest. Edwards snaps it shut and nervously fidgets on his heels as he stands between Laurens and Lee, watching the two readying thier pistols. 

Once the two have loaded their pistols. the two jerk their heads up sharply at the same time as Hamilton and Edwards discuss the course of action a few feet away. General Lee smiles cunningly. 

“Lieutenant Colonel,” General Lee hisses. 

Laurens scowls. “General Lee.” 

Silence.

“I do hope your precious General has heed my warning,” General Lee says. 

Laurens doesn’t answer as General Lee merely chuckles, clicking his teeth as he shakes his head. Laurens stiffens as he turns to Hamilton and Edwards. 

“What do you see in him?” General Lee says, turning back to Laurens. He turns back to the two again. “Hamilton?” 

Laurens stiffens at the mention of his Alexander’s name and tightens his hold on his pistol. Laurens doesn’t say anything, He just grits his teeth behind his closed lips and sets his jaw, growling. 

“A mysterious boy, don’t you think?” General Lee hums. 

More silence. 

A bit louder now, General Lee clears his throat. “I call a proposal!” 

Hamilton and Edwards stop chatting and quickly whip thier heads over their shoulders with surprise, glancing at each other before back at General Lee and Laurens. 

“I propose we advance upon each other,” General Lee says. “And fire at what time and distance he feels proper.” 

Hamilton and Edwards glances at each other, both seeming extremly nervous and worried and anxious, turn towards Laurens now. Laurens thinks about this suggestion for a moment, before expressing his own preferences and agreeing accordingly. 

Hamilton swallows as he and Edwards step two paces back as General Lee and Laurens stand back to back with their pistols raised, cocked, loaded and ready. Laurens closes his eyes before opening them again, staring at the barrel of his pistol. 

Edwards commands, “The duel will now commence.” 

Hamilton breathes in sharply, closing his eyes as he silently prays for Laurens’s safety. With their backs facing each other, Laurens and General Lee march six paces away from each other before both spinning around on their heels sharply and aiming their pistols directly at each other. 

Hamilton screams, “No!” at the same time the shot is fired with a sudden bang. Hamilton sucks in a breath and holds it as he hears General Lee cry out, “I’ve been shot!” 

Hamilton bites back a choke sob of releif as his puffs out a breath, visibily relaxing when he sees Laurens still standing, bringing his pistol to his lips and blows out the smoke from the barrel, grinning with triumph. 

General Lee grunts as he’s being hoisted by Edwards, one arm around Edwards’s shoulders while Edwards’s arm remains tight around General Lee’s waist. 

“The wound is inconsiderable,” General Lee barks, trying to shoo Edwards off. “I wish to fire a second time.” 

“No!” Both Hamilton and Edwards both bark, thier voices made clear that it is done. 

Hamilton rushes forward, tears with relief already springing to his eyes. He yanks the pistol away from Laurens’s hand and slams it back in place before forcefully dragging Laurens back towards the woods. 

Laurens opens his mouth to protest but is cut off short when he feel something agaisnt his cheek. A sharp noise could be heard like a crack when a branch is being snapped in half. Laurens’s head swivers to the side. He stares at the white blanket of snow before them, blinking with surprise and shock before cradling his cheek and gaping at Hamilton. 

“Never do that again!” Hamilton bellows, a hand on his hip as he jabs a finger at Laurens, pure anger in his eyes.

Laurens couldn’t help but chuckle as he puts both hands up, trying to calm Hamilton as he paces back and forth. 

“Hamilton--” 

“No! I don’t  want to hear it! You’re never going to challenge anyone to a duel ever again!” Hamilton cries. “Ever!” A pause. “Under no circumstances!” 

“Alex--” 

“No! You’re coming with me, sir!” Hamilton hisses, grabbing Laurens’s elbow and dragging him back towards headquarters. “Nearly gave me a goddamned heart-attack. What the hell were you thinking?! Wanting another round of fire?! One shot should be good enough and make full of your satisfactory considering where General Lee had been hit! My God, Laurens! You’re going to be the death of me! You and your brash recklessness! I fucking swear.” 

Laurens just chuckles, rolling his eyes as he shakes his head as he lets Hamilton drag him back to headquarters. 

Sometimes, Laurens wonders just how he managed to end up with a man like Hamilton. 

[drabblers]

A Moment of Peace

Prompt: Sensitive Fandom: Inuyasha Characters: Kagome, Sesshoumaru’s Mother Setting: All human AU; Continues Late Night Musings 1,008 Words

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

The next day dawned bright. Despite her trouble falling asleep the night before and the morose thoughts that had plagued her in those dark late night hours, Kagome woke up well-rested and ready to face the new day. Whatever challenges it might bring, she was sure she could persevere.

She’d barely got up when there was a knock at the door. Kagome beckoned them to come in. A servant slid the door open and bowed to her in the doorway, before picking up the breakfast tray and stepping into the room.

This was becoming a habit now, Kagome mused, sitting down to eat her breakfast while the servant carefully set aside the futon and the quilts.

“Is there anything else that you need, honoured guest?” the servant paused to ask.

“Ah, yes, actually.” Kagome smiled. “I was wondering if I might be able to take a bath?”

“Certainly. We’ll have the bath house readied. I’ll be back to get you and show you the way.”

“That is very kind of you. Thank you.”

The servant bowed again and left. Kagome went back to her breakfast.

It was tasty and filling. The breakfast was one of her favourite things about her stay here, Kagome decided. Not having to worry about food or make do with what provisions she could carry was definitely one perk of being the guest of the Nishikawa clan.

She’d just finished up the last of her tea when the servant returned.

“Are you ready, honoured guest?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Kagome got up and crossed the room. Then she followed the servant down the corridors until, finally, they stepped through a side door. There, across the small enclosed garden, Kagome saw the bath house.

“Do you need assistance?” the servant asked.

Kagome offered them a smile. “No, you’ve helped me plenty. I’ll manage from here, thank you.”

Kagome crossed the garden and entered the bath house. She hummed to herself as she undressed, carefully folding the clothes as she set them aside. She washed herself thoroughly, scrubbing away until her skin shone pink. Then, with a contented sigh, she sank into the hot bath.

The tension slipped away from her shoulders. Her eyes fell shut, her lips curving in a smile. Her muscles eased and relaxed, lulled by the water’s comforting embrace. The heat soothed her sensitive skin. Kagome basked in the warmth for a long time, drawing out this moment of luxury.

Finally, and not without some reluctance, she climbed out of the bath, dried herself and donned her clothes again. She returned to her room – only almost losing her way once after taking the wrong turn in the corridor. Back in the safety of her own quarters, she sat out on the little walkway, enjoying the sunshine and looking out into the garden as she combed through her wet hair. She was perfectly tranquil, almost in a meditative state. The most comfortable she’d yet been during her visit with the Nishikawa clan.

And then, for the third time that day, there was a rap at the door.

The servant again, Kagome thought, calling them to enter. For one traitorous second, her mind flickered to Lord Nishikawa, recalling his surprise visit to her quarters the previous day.

But it was neither s servant or Lord Nishikawa who swept into the room as the door slid open.

Kagome dropped her comb and scrambled into a deep bow, damp tendrils of her hair brushing the polished wooden floor.

"Yes, yes, very good, please raise your head," came the voice, both feminine and imperious. A feat mastered by the women of the upper class – when it didn't suit their need to appear demure.

Kagome straightened, her spine stiff with trepidation as she looked up at Lady Nishikawa.

She was smiling, the curl of the lip knowing.

"You truly are so well-mannered," she praised.

"Thank you, my lady."

"A very pleasant day out, is it not?" Lady Nishikawa said as she crossed the room to join Kagome on the walkway overlooking the garden. "I can see why you would prefer to sit out here."

"Yes, I thought I'd enjoy a bit of sunlight," Kagome replied, her fingers clenched in her lap.

"Ahh, speaking of enjoyment." Lady Nishikawa waved her hand and a servant Kagome hadn’t noticed before stepped forward.

"I thought you might need something to help pass the time so I've brought you a collection of poetry. I also asked a few more fresh sets of clothing to be provided for you."

Even as Kagome gaped, the servant laid down a poetry book and a set of clothes. With a bow, they then left the room.

"Thank you, my lady. You are very kind."

"Just looking after our precious guest,” Lady Nishikawa said, dismissing the courtesy. “How did you find our bath facilities?”

“They were excellent. I was tempted to stay in for the rest of the day,” Kagome replied truthfully.

Lady Nishikawa laughed. “I understand that need for peace and quiet. There’s nothing as relaxing as a nice bath.” Lady Nishikawa’s eyes sparked, the corner of her lips curled. “Well… almost nothing.”

Kagome shifted, discomfited by that gleam in her eye and turned to look at the garden.

“You will be teaching little Rin archery, then?” The Lady asked, after a moment of tense silence.

“Yes. It was what Rin-hime requested."

"I am glad to hear it. A lady should know her way around a weapon," Lady Nishikawa opined.

A lady had various kinds of weaponry at her disposal, Kagome mused, slanting a glance at Lady Nishikawa. The courteous manner, the sharp wit, those pale, piercing eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

Kagome was quite convinced that Lady Nishikawa was the most dangerous person under the Nishikawa roof.

"It's always good to know how to defend oneself," Kagome murmured her assent.

Lady Nishikawa nodded. “Quite right.”

The silence, for a brief moment, was almost comfortable.

Then, Kagome found herself the recipient of Lady Nishikawa’s level stare.

“I'm hoping my son has proven a courteous host?"

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

To Be Continued

[cestlestial-beings]

like that

Summary: Three times Sam and Dean have sex: 1. Dean visits Sam at Stanford and they find out they feel the same way about each other; 2. Sam confesses to Dean that he's a man, and Dean does his best to ease Sam's worries; 3. Years into Sam's transition, Dean enjoys Sam's masculine traits.

Fandom: Supernatural Characters: FTM!Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester Word Count: 4600 AO3: Link

Notes:

Thanks to @jackklineisperfect for beta reading :) Any errors you find are my own.

Pronouns are based on Dean's perception, not Sam's identity.

Part 1/Stanford Sam looks like this.

More notes on physical transition for transgender men are included in the end notes on AO3.

Full Fic:

The First Time with Her

Dean fell in love with Sam when she was sixteen. One day, it just clicked. She was beautiful.

He would never act on it. She was four years younger than him, and they were siblings.

But every time he hooked up with someone else, he thought about her.

* * *

Dean visits Sam a couple of days before her birthday, two years into her time at Stanford.

He has no idea how she’s going to take it—they’d had enough angry arguments over the phone during Sam’s first six months that they haven’t spoken to each other in more than a year, despite how much Dean has wanted to—but here he is, in front of Sam’s apartment building, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk.

Finally the front door to the building opens, and Dean sees her.

His breath catches. She’s embraced her feminine side since she’s come to Stanford. She’s wearing a fitted t-shirt and shorts that show off her long legs instead of the too-loose hoodie and jeans of her high school days; she has a wavy, shoulder-length hairstyle and bangs instead of a choppy, done-at-home haircut; and she has just a hint of makeup on—light eyeliner and lipgloss. She looks nothing like the frumpy, tomboyish girl she’d been when Dean saw her last.

“You’ve been standing out here for two hours. Are you just gonna stand there looking like a stalker, or are you coming to come in?”

He ducks his head and jogs up the steps to the door. Right back into her sass, before even a hello.

“You look so grown up, Sammy,” he says, as she walks him up the stairs to her apartment.

Sam smiles shyly. “My friends are really insistent on helping me with my style.”

No kidding. Dean’s never seen her look so much like a girl.

She leaves the stairwell at the third floor and stops at a door about halfway down the hall, then turns to him.

“Dean, why are you here?” she finally asks.

He gives her a wavering smile. “I wanted to surprise you for your birthday, Sammy.” He knows that doesn’t answer her question, so he sighs and adds, “I know I gave you a lot of crap for leaving me and Dad behind, but…” He shrugs. “I miss you. I’ll accept your decision if it means you’ll be in my life.”

“Awwww. That’s so cute.”

“Shut up,” he says, rolling his eyes. All grown up and yet still the annoying little sibling.

And then she smiles, and it lights up her whole face. His heart melts, and he hates himself for it.

She pulls him into a hug. “I really missed you too, Dean.”

* * *

Sam introduces Dean to her roommates as “an old friend” which strikes Dean as strange, but he rolls with it. She grabs her stuff and they go out for burgers, talking about everything except what Sam left behind. The conversation is so natural, it’s almost as if the two-year gap since they last saw each other hadn’t happened at all.

Dean gives her a gift (a small stack of classic movies he knows she hasn’t seen but should) and buys her a milkshake. He sticks a candle he’d brought with him into the top of the milkshake and lights it, and Sam laughs when an employee comes over to tell them to put it out because it’s a fire hazard. As it gets dark, Sam takes Dean on a walk around the Stanford campus, pointing out certain landmarks as they go.

It’s almost ten at night when they get back to Sam’s apartment building. They stop in front of the building, and it feels like the end of a date, neither of them sure where to go from here. Something shifted in their relationship since they’d seen each other last; there was a new, unexplored dimension to it that hung heavy in the air between them.

“Where are you staying?” Sam asks him.

Dean points to the Impala, parked across the street. “That’s my room for the night.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she says, already headed inside.

“Won’t your roommates mind?”

“No,” she says. “They have boys over often enough, I don’t think they’ll care.” Dean feels his cheeks start to burn, and he can see Sam start to blush at the careless comparison as well. “You know what I mean!” she says, elbowing him hard in the ribs.

Sam lays a futon out on the floor for him and gives him a stack of sheets before leaving to go through her bedtime routine. He sets up, feeling nostalgic for when they shared rooms as kids. You have to sleep on the floor because you’re younger, Dean would say after setting up the bedding on the ground, and Sam would throw a fit but finally give in, and ultimately Dean would give her the bed because he felt guilty.

Dean looks around the room, running his fingers along the back of the spines of textbooks and picking up picture frames with photos of Sam and people Dean doesn’t know.

Sam finally comes back into the room, dressed in plaid pajama pants and a loose AC/DC t-shirt. She’s so gorgeous that Dean loses his breath for a moment.

“Hey,” she says, shutting the door behind her, and it’s a little awkward now, since they’re alone, awkward like it hasn’t been all night. She bites her lip and pauses like she’s going to say something. It takes her a moment but she finally says, “There’s something I feel like I should tell you.”

“Hm.” He’s completely still, waiting for what she’s going to say.

She takes a deep breath. “Part of the reason I left was to get away from you.”

It feels like a punch in the gut, and he turns away.

“No, Dean, I…” She runs a hand through her hair. “I wanted you in a way that I wasn’t supposed to, so I ran. I ran because I was guilty, and scared. I just thought you should know, before you leave again. So you can know not to come back.”

Dean’s breath stops completely as he takes in her words.

She forces a laugh. “God, it was a mistake inviting you up here tonight when—”

He cuts her off with a kiss. She’s surprised but leans into it almost immediately, the tension melting out of her body. He thought this would feel worse. He thought this would feel gross, and predatory, and wrong. But he can tell how badly she wants him, so it just feels good.

He pulls back, just a little. “I want you too,” he says. “In a way that I’m not supposed to.”

She lets out a short, giddy laugh, and pulls him back in for a kiss.

He sits down on the bed and pulls her onto his lap, their mouths never leaving each other’s. His hand slips up under her shirt to cup her breast, and he’s surprised to note she’s still wearing a snug-fitting sports bra, even in her nightwear. She leans away from him and pushes his hand down.

“You don’t want to…?” he starts to say.

“No, I do. You can touch me anywhere but there.”

He doesn’t really understand but he doesn’t mind because there’s so much more of Sam to explore. He lets his hands roam down her back, across her belly, around the firm curve of her ass. He pulls her shirt off of her and helps her slide out of her pants and she’s here, bare in front of him in just her underwear and so, so beautiful.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, and she nods, hungry. “Okay.”

He flips her over onto her back and takes a moment to pull off his own clothes. He feels self-conscious in a way he’s never been with other girls as he undresses in front of her. When his clothes are off, he crawls over to look down at her. Her eyes are sparkling and happy, the corner of her mouth just barely pulled up in a smile.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, and now she does smile, fully.

He presses kisses down along her body, along her collarbone and arms and stomach—careful to skip over her still-covered chest, like she asked—and he pulls down her panties, down and off (lacy pink doesn’t seem like Sam’s style, but the thought only registers in his head for a moment).

He kisses her lower stomach, and he feels her gasp lightly, goosebumps rising on her skin. He pushes her legs apart for access and slides his tongue along her folds and up to her clit. She’s wet already.

“Dean,” she moans, and the sound runs straight through him to his rapidly hardening dick. She buries a hand in his hair while his tongue swirls around her clit. She tugs his hair a little bit. “Dean, I want you inside me.”

He slides back up and kisses the corner of her mouth. “Sure, baby.”

“Condoms in the second drawer,” she says, pointing to the nightstand.

He opens the drawer and rifles through it. There’s a couple of dildos, a vibrator, several sizes of butt plugs. “Sammy, you naughty girl. Playing with yourself, huh?”

Her face is in the shadow of his body, but he can still see her blush. She slaps his arm. “Just get the condom, asshole.”

He obeys. Fishes one out, tears open the packaging, slides it on. When he looks back at her, her lips are parted just slightly, her eyes hooded with desire. Fuck, she’s beautiful. She’s everything he’s ever wanted.

He lines himself up with her hole and she uses her hand to help guide him in. He pushes in and she gasps, pressing her head back into the pillow and squeezing her eyes shut. He slides in slow, letting her adjust to his presence inside her. She’s tight and warm and it feels so good it’s almost overwhelming.

Dean stops when he’s all the way in.

She opens her eyes and meets his, bringing up her hand to rest on the side of his face. “This is pretty fucked up, huh?”

Yeah, he wants to say. There’s a part of him insistently reminding him that it’s not too late to stop, to put things back to the way they were. To make their relationship be that of siblings, not whatever the fuck this is.

But he wants this and Sam wants this and he doesn’t want her to feel like a freak for her desires, so he says, “Less fucked up than everything else about our lives,” and she laughs softly before pulling him down for another kiss.

Sam keeps him close as he rocks into her, slow and sensual, and sometimes when he hits just the right spot, she’ll moan against his lips. Their bodies move together with a familiarity that only comes from having known each other their entire lives, though they’ve never known each other like this.

She comes with a moan, and the feeling of Sam clenching around him pushes him over the edge a few seconds later.

“Fuck, Sam,” he says, the pleasure washing over him in waves.

“Dean,” she says, and, breathing hard, she takes his face in both of her hands, watching the pleasure on his face with a satisfied smile.

He pulls out and flops down next to her, lying on his side so he can watch her catch her breath.

She brushes a lock of sweaty hair out of her face and rolls to face him as well. She grins. “God, you’re hot.”

“I know,” he says, and she rolls her eyes. He leans in close and kisses her forehead, the way he’s done since she was a little kid. He thought it would feel weird, a gesture of an older sibling right after sex, but it just feels natural. Like the physical intimacy they’d just shared was simply an extension of the emotional intimacy they’ve had their entire lives.

“Hey,” she says, running her fingers along Dean’s cheek. “I don’t have class tomorrow morning.”

“So...?”

“So you can keep me up tonight,” she says, and she winks at him, an awkward wink closer to a blink, and he laughs at her attempt to be sexy. Her cheeks turn red, but she scowls at him. So cute.

“Okay, I’ll keep you up tonight,” he says, giving her a quick kiss.

And he does, but they spend more time talking than fucking, and he’s so content. He could stay here forever.

* * *

Dean doesn’t call for a year, even though he knows he should. But what is he supposed to say, after a night like that with his own sister?

Finally he works up the nerve.

It’s a short conversation.

Sam is in a committed relationship now. She’s trying harder than ever to distance herself from her past, and Dean doesn’t fit into her new life.

It shouldn’t hurt like it does. Dean is the one who’d put space between them, and she was going to move on eventually. But he still feels hollow, and he doesn’t call her again.

The First Time with Him

Sam is having a breakdown in the motel bathroom and Dean doesn’t know what to do. Dean thinks she was set off by meeting Dean’s old flame Cassie, and Dean doesn’t know how many more times he can assure Sam that Cassie isn’t the one he’s in love with anymore, that Sam is the only person he has eyes for.

“That’s not it,” Sam said, but wouldn’t elaborate any more than that.

“Come on, Sam, just talk to me,” he says, resting his head against the bathroom door. “Please.”

“Give me some space, okay?” she says again.

He sighs, but there’s not much he can do, so he goes out and gets a couple of burgers and comes back. When he enters the motel room, Sam is sitting on the bed in a huge, oversize hoodie and a loose pair of Dean’s jeans, staring at the wall. It’s almost impossible to make out any of her form beneath the clothes. She’s been dressing in super loose, baggy clothes like that more often than not lately, and Dean doesn’t understand.

“Food,” he says.

Sam begrudgingly gets up and sits down at the motel room’s table, helping herself to one of the burgers. She munches on it silently, her red, puffy eyes carefully avoiding Dean’s.

She’d been so much more masculine by the time Dean had broken into her apartment to tell her Dad was missing. Away from her feminine attire and presentation she’d had the previous time they’d met, and back to a short, boyish haircut and masculine outfits that hid her curves. Anyone would see her as a guy at first glance, and probably at second glance too. I just feel more comfortable like this, she’d said, and then it turned out her committed relationship was with a woman. Dean was shocked. Had Sam really been a butch lesbian this whole time? Was what happened between them two years before just a dream?

It didn’t make him any less drawn to her, though. She was still Sam, with her piercing green eyes and sharp intelligence and a level of empathy and kindness that seemed miraculous, given the background she came from. And she was still drawn to him too—their relationship became physical a few weeks into working with each other again.

The closer physical intimacy meant that in the past couple of weeks, Dean has been noticing that some things are seriously off. Sam wears a tight sports bra every time they fuck and refuses to take it off. She barely speaks to him when she’s on her period. Sometimes during what he considers pretty vanilla dirty talk, she shuts off for the night. He chalks it up to hormones, but he knows it’s something more, especially now that she’d had a full breakdown over whatever it is.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” Dean asks, not yet starting in on his burger. He tries to keep his voice gentle and even, to coax her into talking about what’s been bothering her so much.

She sets down her food and pushes it away. She absently taps the table with her finger like she’s trying to decide whether to share what she’s thinking or not. She’s still avoiding looking at Dean, and it’s starting to piss him off that she’s barely acknowledging him.

“Sam, come on,” he says, and his voice comes out harsher than he intends. But he’s tired of her brushing it off and pushing him away when it’s not something that either of them can just ignore. “You can’t just expect me to walk on eggshells around you, hoping that I won’t set you off about something I don’t even understand. Why the hell are you upset?”

Sam shakes her head.

“Come on, man, give me something,” Dean pleads.

Sam swallows. “I’m not who I am, Dean.”

Dean furrows his brow. Sam couldn’t be any more unclear if she tried. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I’m…” She gestures down at herself. “This isn’t me. It’s not me. I’m not supposed to be like this.”

“Like what?”

“A girl.”

“I don’t get it.”

She takes a long, shaky breath. “I want—I need—to be a man.”

Dean supposes he should be more shocked by her declaration, but Dean has always seen her more as Sam than as a girl. And finding out she feels like a guy… Things just start to click.

All the times Sam had called herself Dean’s brother as a little kid, despite John and Dean’s frequent corrections. Excited chatter about how much she related to the boys in her most recent book. Complaining about not playing soccer at the same time she quit the girls’ soccer team. The complete withdrawal into herself as soon as she hit puberty.

Dean had always figured it was identity confusion because Sam had never had a female role model growing up, but that wasn’t what it was, not really.

And more recently—leaning into anything masculine while distancing herself from femininity. He remembered when a store clerk had called her “sir” the other day, and her face had brightened. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time—it seemed a lot of people mistook Sam as a guy—but it makes sense now why it would make her happy.

“Okay,” he finally says, waiting for her to elaborate.

“‘Okay’?” she asks. “What do you mean, ‘okay’?”

“I guess I don’t understand what this means, exactly.”

“It means…” She sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “I’d be different, Dean. If you were okay with me starting hormones, it would mean I would look different, and sound different, and probably feel and smell different too.”

She laid it all out for him, but he’s still not sure he understands. He has no clue what the changes would look like on Sam specifically. He focuses on the one part of the sentence he did understand. “What do you mean, if I’m okay with it?” he asks. “The Sam I know would never ask permission.”

Sam picks at a fingernail nervously. “I don’t want to lose you,” she says softly.

“You’re not going to lose me, Sam,” Dean tells her. “I’m going to stay with you, I promise.”

“No, Dean, I mean… You’re attracted to women. Just look at Cassie. She was so… And I’m so…” Sam shakes her head as she struggles to find the right words. “I’m going to change and…” Her voice starts to fade as she talks. “You’re not going to want me anymore.”

Dean has no idea what to say. He can’t see any universe where he wouldn’t want Sam. He’s silent for a long moment as he looks at Sam carefully, thinking about what she would look like as a guy. Yes, he loves her body as it is now, the soft curves and smooth skin and feminine moans he pulls from her during sex. So what would it feel like to be with her, if it was different? Stubble and broad shoulders and a dick?

He tilts his head slightly. He’s never sought out guys, never really been interested, but he’d never really been averse to it either. If Sam became a man, Dean’s pretty sure he wouldn’t mind. He would miss some things, but he wouldn’t mind. His attraction to Sam is because she’s Sam, not because she’s a woman.

Sam shifts uncomfortably, his eyes still avoiding Dean’s.

“Hey,” Dean says, and his hand snakes across the table to take Sam’s. “I’m gonna love you no matter what, okay?”

“Yeah, but not like—”

“Yes, like that,” Dean says. “I loved you the way you were when I came to see you in college. I love you the way you are now. I’ll love you no matter what changes you or your body go through, okay?”

Sam’s eyes well up with tears. “Really?” he says softly.

Dean squeezes Sam’s hand and gives him a reassuring smile. “Yeah.”

Sam sniffs. “God, I tell you I feel like a guy and then start crying like a girl.”

Dean stands up and pulls Sam up to his feet too.

“Hey,” he says, taking Sam’s face in his hands and wiping away Sam’s tears with his thumbs. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Dean pulls him into a hug and holds him close while he cries himself out.

Normally they’d look for their next job at the end of a day like today, but they take the night off and talk about where Sam is going to go next. How he’ll get hormones, if he’s going to get surgery, how fast the changes will happen.

Sam gradually starts to open up about it and get more and more excited, and Dean can’t help the warm feeling deep in his core. When Sam is happy, Dean is happy too.

* * *

Dean falls asleep in Sam’s arms that night and only wakes up when the light streaming through the crack in the curtains hits his eyes.

He groans and rolls over so he’s facing Sam. He nudges Sam awake.

“Hey, handsome,” Dean says, and Sam blinks his eyes open sleepily. Sam smiles when he meets Dean’s eyes.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

Dean brushes a messy lock of hair away from Sam’s face. It falls right back into place. “Since you’re a guy now, would it be gay if we fucked?” he asks. He’s excited to try, now that he knows the feminine words to avoid and the masculine words to try out. Now that he knows what will turn Sam off and what might turn him on.

Sam rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, does that bother you?”

“Can’t knock it ’til I’ve tried it,” Dean says. “I’ve always wondered what it’s like to suck a dick.”

Sam raises his eyebrows.

Dean starts to scoot down the bed and looks up at Sam through his eyelashes. “You mind if I give it a try, stud-muffin?”

Sam bites his lip. “Hey, I’d like if you never called me that again, ever.”

“Daddy?”

“Gross, that’s so much worse.”

“Lover boy.”

“Dean.”

“Little brother?”

Sam doesn’t object to that one, so Dean takes it as a green flag. Not a traditional sexual term, but he thinks it’s kind of hot.

While Dean goes down on Sam and listens to Sam’s moans, he realizes this feels right. Sam, a guy. It’s going to take some getting used to, but it fits. Things have changed, but they’re the same; it’s a new chapter, but still the same book.

The Hundredth Time with Him

It’s a few years later, sometime between near-world-ending events, that Dean wakes up in a motel bed with his arm draped over Sam. Dean still likes being the big spoon, no matter that Sam is bigger than Dean now. When Sam started testosterone, he bulked up big time. He’s huge and all muscle, but that doesn’t stop him from snuggling up against Dean.

Dean yawns and strokes his fingers lazily through Sam’s chest hair and Sam hums sleepily. He runs his hand down Sam’s side. Gone are the feminine curves Dean loved about Sam before, smoothed out and adjusted by hormones, but Dean loves the new shape just as much. And ever since the surgery they’d only had to commit light fraud to afford, Dean’s pleased that he can touch Sam’s chest wherever he wants.

Sam rolls over and nuzzles his nose against Dean’s. Dean strokes a thumb along Sam’s jaw, the stubble prickly under the pad of his finger. Dean hadn’t expected so much facial hair growth, but he doesn’t mind it. The scent of Sam’s aftershave turns Dean on just as much as the familiar smell of her vanilla shampoo used to.

“Hey,” Dean says, pressing a light kiss to Sam’s lips. “We should get up.”

“I don’t want to,” Sam mumbles, eyes still closed. He’d been up far past Dean, finishing up on a lead for some research, so Dean doesn’t blame him for wanting to stay in bed.

“Come on. We’ve got work to do. I’ll suck your dick if you come take a shower.”

That seems to do it. Sam groans and rolls out of bed. “Fine.”

Sam is too sleepy to do much himself, but Dean takes his time lathering Sam up with soap, scrubbing him all over his body with a washcloth. Sam is so comfortable in his body now, too, in a way that he never was before. It’s a relief to be able to touch Sam anywhere without Sam turning off or pushing him away.

Dean massages shampoo into Sam’s scalp and grins at the moan it elicits from Sam.

He shuffles around so he’s in front of Sam and gets on his knees, brushing his soaked hair from his eyes. Sam looks down at him through hooded eyes and buries a hand in Dean’s hair. Dean smiles and takes Sam’s dick between his lips, lapping at the tip and water running over it. Sam’s cock is still small, but it’s grown since Sam started hormones, almost an inch and a half long now, sometimes a little more when Sam is hard.

Dean slides two fingers into Sam. He knows Sam’s body almost better than his own, so when he curls his fingers, he finds Sam’s g-spot instantly. “Mm, fuck, Dean,” Sam says, pushing his hips towards Dean.

Dean takes his time, sucking on Sam’s cock and stroking his fingers in Sam, enjoying Sam’s panting and gasps until Sam comes with a moan. Dean feels himself start to get hard as Sam’s pussy clenches around his fingers. Dean runs his tongue along Sam’s cock one more time and then stands up. He meets Sam’s lips with his own. “Worth getting up for?” he murmurs.

“It was… adequate,” Sam says, and Dean punches his shoulder while Sam laughs.

“Last time I ever do anything nice for you,” Dean grumbles.

“Aw, come on,” Sam says, and he tugs Dean in, pressing their bodies close together. Dean leans his forehead against Sam’s and lets out a contented sigh. It crosses Dean’s mind, briefly, how far they’ve come. How far Sam has come.

How everything about Sam is different, except that he’s Sam.

And Sam is all Dean wants.

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip: Pt 25 - Club

“Come fuck me, daddy.”

She steps away from you, and with a look that could have melted steel, she takes your hand and begins to drag you away from the dance floor.

The crowd of people falls apart like the Red Sea - faces and bodies pass in a blur. Your full focus is on the young woman leading you through that crowd with a purpose, ignoring everything in her way as she drags you past people and bar stools and eventually the two large metal doors that lead into the alleyway behind the club.

The first thing that hits you is the humidity - it was Hawaii after all - but it only momentarily distracts you as Tzuyu almost immediately pulls you towards her as she leans her back against the brick of the club building. You press yourself against her, wanting, needing to feel her body against yours. Her tongue quickly finds its way into your mouth again, and you accept it, eager to continue your oral duel.

Tzuyu’s hands are already working at your belt, and before you know it she has undone your belt and jeans, pulling them halfway down your thighs, freeing your quickly hardening cock. Soon she is on her knees, and then her soft, wet tongue is on the underside of your shaft.

You always hated clubs.

 You hated the loud, repetitive, “music” - if you could call the overly produced, booming electronic noise that. You hated the lack of personal space, crammed as you were in a small building that was probably built with half the number of its current occupants in mind. You hated the expensive liquor that you could’ve had for free back at the resort, and most of all, you hated the people - the douchebags that acted like they had something to prove, and the girls with makeup so thick it looked like they were wearing rubber masks.

 But you needed to get away - get away from the potential storm of drama that was slowly brewing back at the resort, what with Jeongyeon’s newly revealed feelings for you on top of the storm that was the entire situation with Momo and Sana. Jeongyeon wanted you to stay a little longer and spend the rest of the day with her, and while the thought of spending the day and night swimming in a sea of cotton sheets with her tight, slim body was appealing, you knew it probably wasn’t the best idea.

 You were attracted to Jeongyeon - she had a certain je ne sais quoi about her, a certain charm that was hard to define. She was so unlike any of the other girls in your life, all sarcasm and geekiness on the outside, but possessive of a soft vulnerability beneath it all. She was at once a guy’s girl and perfect girlfriend material.

 This was all to say nothing of how intensely beautiful she was, especially now that she had grown her hair out a little and had begun to embrace her feminine side a little more; not that you minded the days when she rocked ice blue hair and boys’ clothes in the office. Her physical charms were only amplified in bed, when she had only her natural allure to clothe her.

 And she pursued you, too - she made it known to you straight up that she wanted to be with you. She knew you were technically in a relationship with Momo. She knew Sana wanted you too, and she knew, at least on some level, of the drama between of the three of you. But she wanted you anyway, and she told you as such.

 But you had to get away - clear your head and think about everything. Things were complicated when it was just Momo and Sana who had feelings for you; now that Jeongyeon was in the picture it was downright messy.

 It was a real test of will, but you eventually left her room, and on your way back to your own you passed through the resort foyer where Tzuyu, Seolhyun, and Jihyo were waiting for cabs into town. Tzuyu and Seolhyun had more than simply made up - they appeared to be the best of friends now, their arms linked to one another as they watched some apparently hilarious video on one of their phones, giggling sweetly the way young women do. Jihyo stood a little apart from them, idly browsing through her phone.

 Tzuyu is the first to notice you, and she smiles excitedly as you approach. Seolhyun does the same, and before you know it you are being dragged into the cab that had just pulled up to the resort. Jihyo is likewise dragged in, the two other girls insisting it didn’t make sense for her to get another ride if they were heading downtown as well.

 And so you found yourself in a club in downtown Honolulu less than an hour later. You hated clubs, of course, and you made your thoughts on them known, but Tzuyu and Seolhyun were hell bent on going to one and dragging you along with them. Jihyo had originally just wanted to find a quiet bar somewhere to relax, but the pitiful look you gave her when the other girls invited her to join was super effective - and the young detective soon found herself similarly trapped in this dark, crowded, overly loud dungeon.

 Tzuyu and Seolhyun soon lost themselves in the crowd, although from your seat at the bar next to Jihyo you still kept an eye on the two of them as they swayed smoothly to the beat of the music, finding some sort of rhythm amidst what sounded to you like just a series of loud booms. You couldn’t deny the smoothness of their dancing, the way their tall, slim bodies swayed to the beat, and you lost yourself for a moment, enraptured by the sight in front of you as the two girls danced the night away.

 “Yeah, they’re fucking hot,” Jihyo half-shouts into your ear, barely heard against the loud booming. As you turn to face her she takes a swig of her beer, but her eyes remain glued to the two girls.

 “You’re not so bad yourself, detective,” you say, and it wasn’t a word of a lie - the young woman looked gorgeous in a simple blue button up and jeans. Not exactly typical clubbing attire, considering the tiny strips of cloth that apparently passed as club outfits around here - but unsurprising considering she initially wanted to go to a bar and not a club.

 “Shut up,” Jihyo says, not even bothering to acknowledge your comment by looking at you, “I look like a three day old bag of garbage compared to those two.”

 You had to admit - Tzuyu and Seolhyun would’ve been gorgeous wearing garbage bags. But here, all prettied up and dressed to the nines in short, slinky dresses, they were on another level altogether. But that certainly didn’t mean Jihyo was anything to sneeze at.

 “I want Tzuyu’s legs. Fuck, those thighs! And Seolhyun’s abs. And her boobs. I saw her in the pool this afternoon and almost wanted to punch her in the face. Speaking of which, I want her face. But also Tzuyu’s. Like, I want a combination of-”

 “You sound like a serial killer, Jihyo. If those two go missing I’ll be sure to send a SWAT team into your basement.”

 “Well now that you know of my plans, I’ll have to eliminate you.”

 “You could try-”

 Your answer is cut short by a hand grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you away from the bar. Once you recover you realize the hand belongs to Tzuyu.

 “Come dance with me!” she says, barely audible, over the booms. She drags you to a corner of the dance floor, mercifully out of eyesight to Jihyo.

 “I’m not really much of a dancer,” you half-shout into her ear. That was a lie and you knew you could at least sway to a rhythm, but regardless dancing wasn’t exactly on the top of your favorite recreational activities list.

 “You don’t have to move,” Tzuyu says, suddenly bringing her body close to yours and her mouth to your ear, “just stand there, daddy.”

 Her use of your pet name and the sudden proximity of her young, slim, body pressed up against yours ensures she has your full attention. The tight, short red and pink dress she is wearing did little to hide her curves, nor the hint of cleavage between her breasts.

 Tzuyu wastes no time keeping her promise, and she begins to sway around you, her young body moving smoothly to the music. She circles you twice, each time pressing her tall torso against yours, pressing against you once with her chest and once with her butt, enjoying every moment of the little show she was giving you.

 She stops during her third time around and presses her chest against your back. With slim hands she reaches around you and cups your crotch with her right hand.

 There were probably a few hundred people in the club, but at that moment none of them mattered. The entire population of the city could’ve been watching, and that couldn’t have taken your attention away from the young woman’s hand cupping your cock through your jeans.

 You reach back with your left hand to touch some part of her, and Tzuyu lets you, pressing herself tighter against you. She lets you have a good squeeze of her butt before she slips around you until you are facing her. She wraps her arms around your neck.

 Your foreheads touch, and suddenly you are both swaying to the music, neither paying attention to whatever manufactured, electronic beat is booming through the speakers. You’re both dancing now to a beat only the two of you can hear. You let Tzuyu lead, and you follow, the sway of her body giving you all the music you need.

 After a few moments Tzuyu breaks the contact of your head against hers and she looks up at you with those large, round eyes of hers. There is a little alcohol, a little youth, a little naivete in those eyes, and they combine into an intoxicating look of utter sexiness as she stares deeply into yours.

 Before you know it her soft, full lips are pressing up against yours, and soon you are making out on the dance floor as her lips crush themselves against yours. Your tongues soon follow suit, and all pretense of dancing goes right out the window in favor of exploring Tzuyu’s mouth with your tongue as she does the same, your wet appendages swirling around each other.

 The club may as well have been empty at that point - no one else existed aside from the young woman in your arms.

 Tzuyu is the first to break the kiss, and you watch, intoxicated, as she licks her lips, her eyes half-lidded with the first vestiges of physical pleasure beginning to course through her young body.

 She brings her mouth to your ear, dragging her lips against your jawline as she does so.

 “Come fuck me, daddy.”

 She steps away from you, and with a look that could have melted steel, she takes your hand and begins to drag you away from the dance floor.

 The crowd of people falls apart like the Red Sea - faces and bodies pass in a blur. Your full focus is on the young woman leading you through that crowd with a purpose, ignoring everything in her way as she drags you past people and bar stools and eventually the two large metal doors that lead into the alleyway behind the club.

 The first thing that hits you is the humidity - it was Hawaii after all - but it only momentarily distracts you as Tzuyu almost immediately pulls you towards her as she leans her back against the brick of the club building. You press yourself against her, wanting, needing to feel her body against yours. Her tongue quickly finds its way into your mouth again, and you accept it, eager to continue your oral duel.

 Tzuyu’s hands are already working at your belt, and before you know it she has undone your belt and jeans, pulling them halfway down your thighs, freeing your quickly hardening cock. Soon she is on her knees, and then her soft, wet tongue is on the underside of your shaft.

 Only a few minutes have passed since she pulled you by the wrist away from the bar; and now here she was on her knees in the alleyway, taking your now fully hard cock in and out of her mouth. You were hardly opposed to the audacity of it all, of getting head and likely fucking a girl in what was probably a public alley - but you didn’t give a damn. It was probably hardly the first time some drunken club goers had participated in lewd acts in this alleyway, and you had no qualms whatsoever about joining that illustrious group.

 You didn’t even think, not even for a split second, about stopping her or even telling her to slow down. The prospect of a simple, quick fuck without any additional drama or baggage appealed to you, especially given the events of the past few days. Momo, Sana and Jeongyeon could wait until later. For now, all you wanted was a break away from it all - and currently that break was on her knees, taking your rock hard cock in and out of her wet, hot mouth.

 Involuntarily, you grasp Tzuyu’s head with both your hands, slowly rocking your cock in and out of her mouth in time with the bobbing of her head. Tzuyu gets the hint and her hands, which were pumping the base of your shaft, leave it to brace herself against your hips. She looks up at you, her mouth still full of cock - as though giving you permission.

 And so in an alleyway in downtown Honolulu, you start fucking Chou Tzuyu’s mouth.

 No words could possibly describe the feeling of her hot mouth, those full lips wrapped tightly around your cock as her wet tongue presses against the underside of your shaft with each entry and exit. She knows you are taking liberties with her, knows you are being a little rougher, and not only does she allow it - she welcomes it, gets off on it.

 She grunts - not a grunt of pain or discomfort - one of pleasure. The kind of grunt that one lets out when they get a taste of something they want, something they need.

 For a long minute you stand there in the alleyway, bracing yourself against the club’s brick wall with one hand as your other braces the back of Tzuyu’s skull. You pump away at her pretty face, and she loves it, loves every second of it, loves every time your cock fills her needy little mouth with hard flesh.

 Eventually she eases herself off your cock, and grasping it with her right hand, she lifts it and gives it a long, slow lick from top to bottom. Then she rises to her feet.

 “Enough. Fuck me now, daddy.”

 You turn her around, grabbing her by the waist and facing her to the brick wall. Instinctively she braces herself against it with her palms as you press yourself against her, your wet shaft pressed against the small of her back.

 You reach down and pull the hem of her short dress up, quickly revealing her round, firm butt and the flimsy piece of cloth that passed for a g-string beneath it. You reach around her body and quickly slip a finger between her warm thighs, and you almost immediately feel warm juices on the tip of your finger.

 “I’ve been a bad girl, daddy. All that dancing, all that sucking your cock… it made me so wet.”

 “You have been a bad girl, Tzuyu. And you know what happens to bad girls.”

 “They get punished.. By their getting brains fucked out,” Tzuyu answers, her words half-plea and half desire, spilling from her lips, “Please… please punish me with your cock, daddy! I need it! I don’t want it slow. I want it hard. I want it now!”

 You enjoyed going down on women, tasting their juices on your tongue as their bodies writhed in pleasure on the bed beneath you; you enjoyed slipping your fingers in them, penetrating them with your long digits and feeling their warm walls wrap themselves tightly around you as their slick juices flow into your palm and their moans filled your ears. But there was something to be said about those times when you didn’t need to do either of those things - when she was so wet and ready that she didn’t need your tongue or your fingers or anything else other than your cock.

 As Tzuyu rubs her round, full butt against your rock hard shaft, finding and capturing it between her cheeks and rubbing it up and down, you knew this was one of those times. Your cock is already leaking pre-cum, and it smears between her round cheeks - the sight of it glistening on her perfect skin brings a small smile to your lips.

 You reach down and grasp your cock, taking a moment to line it up with her needy, wet pussy. Pushing her wet thong aside, you slide your shaft inside her.

 “Oh, god, daddy!” Tzuyu gasps, with enough volume that you would’ve been worried you’d be caught if it weren’t for the booming of the club music, which was loud even here, outside in the alleyway.

 You take her up on her earlier demand to get it hard and fast, and you don’t give her much time to get used to the feeling of being filled before you are pulling your cock out of her. When it is halfway out you thrust right back into her young, needy body, pressing her tight against the cold brick wall.

 “Oh, fuck! Yes!” Tzuyu exclaims, “Yes! Fuck me, daddy!”

 There was something so freeing, so liberating about sex with Tzuyu - sex with her never brought with it emotion, or feeling, or drama; there was only pleasure. No worrying about what would happen before or after, no worrying about how this particular session would affect your future relationship or your relationship with some other girl. With Tzuyu, there was only ever the moment, and nothing more, nothing less.

 You give her a few more slow but deep thrusts, delighting in the sight of her fingers curling, trying to find purchase against the cold brick; the sight of her cheek pressed against the same wall, pleasure written all over her perfectly sculpted features; and, when your gaze drifts down, the sight of her round cheeks, bouncing and rippling with each thrust inbetween the mounds of soft flesh as you thrust in and out of her young, needy body.

 Soon you are fucking her, truly fucking her, your shaft pumping in and out of her with little regard for anything aside from your own pleasure. You didn’t even give a damn how it felt for her - all the frustration, all the drama and worries in your head about Momo and Sana and Jeongyeon and Irene - it all built up inside you, and you were taking it out on Chou Tzuyu’s willing, wanton body.

 The fact that she got off on the liberties you were taking on her body was a nice little side effect.

 “Fuck! Fuck yes, daddy! Pound me! Use me! Fuck my tight little pussy!”

 Tzuyu sounded like he was shouting, but even if she were shouting at the top of her lungs you doubted anyone more than a few feet away could have heard her above the loud booming of the club music.

 Your only response is to fuck her harder, taking out more and more of your frustration with each thrust, delighting in the tightening of her slick, wet pussy around your pistoning shaft. Tzuyu was getting off on it, getting off on being treated roughly, being fucked and used. Not that you gave a damn at the moment about anyone’s pleasure but your own, so lost are you in the pursuit of some sort of outlet for the frustration that had built up over the past few days.

 But you needed more - you needed to see her, needed to watch that perfect little face as it was twisted and warped with the pleasure you were quite literally pounding into her body.

 The three weeks she had spent staying at your place taught you that Tzuyu loved being fucked against a wall. She loved being pinned against a hard surface like she was a painting and your cock was the nail literally drilling into her. She loved knowing your cock was literally the only thing keeping her upright. She loved spreading her legs wider and wider as you pounded her, and loved wrapping them around your waist in some vain effort to drive you deeper inside her.

 And you were happy to give her exactly what she wanted.

 And so you withdraw your slick shaft from her hot body, and grasping her hips, turn her around quickly so that she is facing you. Then, not giving the girl any time to recover, you reach down to her lower thighs and lift her up - pressing forward with your shaft at the same time, so that it lines up with her entrance - and with the assistance of gravity, you let her impale herself on your shaft.

 “Aaannnghhhh!”

 The loud shriek that escapes Tzuyu’s throat is full indication of the harsh spike of pleasure that courses through her body at being impaled on your shaft - and the short, rapid thrusts that you give her afterward only keep her from truly catching her breath as you fuck her face to face, her legs wrapping themselves involuntarily around your waist.

 From this position your face is right next to her left ear.

 “Fucking take it, Tzuyu,” you hiss, not even realizing the harshness of the words that are leaving your mouth until they had left it, “fucking take my cock!”

 “Yes! Yes, daddy, I want it! Give it to me! Fuck, you’re so deep inside me! I… oh god, daddy, I…  I’m gonna cum!”

 Her words are followed shortly by her body writhing and shivering almost uncontrollably as an orgasm courses throughout her veins. Her world explodes in white, and her eyes roll to the back of her head as her mouth is held frozen in an open “o”.

 Tzuyu’s orgasm pushes you over the edge as well, the tightening of her wet, warm pussy around your shaft making it impossible to hold on. Not that you even wanted to - this little session was all about pleasure, all about cumming, and using each others’ bodies to get there as fast as possible.

 You push yourself as deep as you could inside Chou Tzuyu’s shaking, quivering pussy before you finally let loose, a torrent of hot, thick cum filling the young Taiwanese girl to the brim, your spasming cock nailing her tight young body to the wall as you fill it with semen.

 For long moments there is only pleasure, and it gives you a wonderful reprieve from the drama in your life, and you relish every second of it as you slowly, reluctantly, come down from your high.

 Slowly you let Tzuyu’s weary legs down, and as you do your shaft inadvertently slips from her body - and you both feel a significant stream of warm cum escape from her body, dripping down her flushed, slick thighs. Tzuyu is suddenly small and vulnerable, and you wrap your arms around her as she does the same. It was quick - not more than ten minutes from when she led you out of the club to when you came in her - not that the brevity of your liaison lessened the amount of pleasure that was only now beginning to fade from both of your bodies.

 Eventually she recovers enough to raise her head, and the flushed afterglow of sex made the young woman look so irresistible, so ridiculously hot in that moment that you couldn’t resist kissing those perfect lips of hers, a kiss that starts out lustful but quickly becomes a soft, passionate one.

 When you break the kiss Tzuyu smiles up at you, and the young girl in her returns once more. You feel a small pang of shame at having treated her roughly and with as little regard for her pleasure as you did, but you knew she enjoyed it at least as much as you, if her flushed cheeks and post-sex glow were any indication. You dig into your jeans pockets and retrieve some napkins you had stashed there from the night previous, and Tzuyu sheepishly uses it to wipe away some of the juices flowing down her long, naked thighs.

 When she is done she tosses away the used napkin into a nearby garbage can before pulling down the short hem of her dress. She presses herself once more against you and whispers into your ear. Her short period of vulnerability is over - back is the sultry, utterly lustful creature, and when she speaks every syllable drips with sex.

 “I want to feel some of it inside me when I’m dancing.”

 With one more naughty smile, she turns and re-enters the club, leaving you in the alleyway to catch your breath as you watch her perfect hips sway as she disappears once more into the crowd.

 ---

 “That was quick,” Jihyo says as you emerge from the alleyway to find her sitting on the ledge of a nearby palm tree garden. The smirk on her lips lets you know that she doesn’t disapprove, but she didn’t want you to get away with it without at least some ribbing.

 You have no response, and so all you can do is shrug and give her a sheepish smile.

 Jihyo smiles to herself with a shake of her head.

 “I’ll never understand how you seem to fuck these girls at will,” she begins, “it’s like you have your own little harem of perfect little models that you fuck whenever you want.”

 “I seem to recall you being one of those perfect little models not so long ago, Miss Park. And if I recall correctly, you were the one that initiated things back in the Seoul precinct…”

 Jihyo gives you a sharp jab in the shoulder - and as much as it shamed you to admit, it actually stung a little. Girl knew how to throw a punch, and you suspect it was because she likely had some martial arts training.

 “Anyway, if you’re done having dirty sex with young girls in an alleyway, I was going to head off to meet an old law enforcement contact of mine before Tzuyu and Seolhyun dragged me out here. I think you might be interested in joining.”

 “And why would I want to meet them?”

 “I think…” Jihyo begins, pausing for a little as if to consider her thoughts, “that they could lead us to Irene.”

 ---

 “This place is more like it,” Jihyo says with a sigh of relief as she settles into the chair at the comfortable looking bar she had chosen down the block from the club. You had to admit you were just as relieved as she was to escape the club and its neverending electronic beats and the crowd of overly rowdy, overly intoxicated young men and women that frequented it.

 “I hear you,” you agree as you flag down a waiter and order a pitcher. Jihyo whips out her phone, ostensibly to answer a text.

 “So tell me about this contact of yours,” you begin, “and how exactly they can help us with Irene.”

 Jihyo puts her phone down before looking up at you, her look suddenly eager. Whatever her plan was, she seemed quite excited to share it with you.

 “Irene has always been one step ahead of us, and I think a lot of that is because we’ve been on the defensive, reacting to her moves,” the detective begins, as she accepts the pitcher of beer delivered to your table and begins to pour you both a glass, “I think it’s time we changed that. We need to go on the offensive.”

 “How so?” you ask, intrigued, “Jeongyeon’s gone through the data we recovered, and she tells me there’s nothing there we can use to incriminate Irene. She was pretty thorough in making sure there was nothing that led back to her.”

 “That’s true, and why is that?” Jihyo asks, pausing to let you ponder her question before answering it herself, “It’s because she probably deleted it herself before we could get to it. But all that incriminating evidence must exist somewhere – likely in hard copies, or in secured non-networked drives at SM HQ. If my experience is any indication, people like that never delete anything, in case they can use it later.”

 “So hacking into their system and stealing the data that way isn’t an option. We can’t hack into a filing cabinet.”

 Jihyo giggles before answering, “Nope, we can’t. The only way to get into that hypothetical filing cabinet is the old-fashioned way – by walking into the room, opening it up, and stealing the files.”

 It takes you a moment to piece together exactly what the Korean detective is suggesting, but eventually it clicks. It was audacious, to say the least.

 “Is that what you’re suggesting? That one of us go into SM HQ on some solo sneaking mission and retrieve the data ourselves? This isn’t Metal Gear, Jihyo.”

 Jihyo smiles to herself as she takes her first sip of her pint. “It will probably be just as difficult as Shadow Moses,” she says, referring to one of the Metal Gear games, “SM has top notch security for sure. Metal scanners, closed circuit cameras, regular security checkpoints at all the major chokepoints – all manned by a dedicated, well-funded security force that is probably its own internal division of SM, and not some cheap third-party mall cops.”

 “None of us have the skills or training for that,” you answer, “and even if we did, Irene probably has files on all of us. We’d be made the second we stepped onto their property.”

 “What makes you think one of us will have to do it?”

 Jihyo’s phone beeps, and she picks it up to view the text she has just received. She nods towards the entrance of the bar.

 “Here she is.”

 You turn to follow her gaze, and you are struck, momentarily, with shock at the person striding confidently towards your table.

 “Hello, dear,” the newcomer says as she greets Jihyo with a friendly but not overly close hug. As she sits she gives you an amused look, as though she were fully expecting you to be there. The wickedness of her smile betrays the youthful beauty of her features.

 Jihyo notices the look of shock on your face, and puts two and two together.

 “Do you two know each other?”

 “Quite well,” the new girl says, “we were in love once.”

 You want to answer, want to say something that would set the record straight, but you are still rendered speechless by her presence – she was someone you thought you’d never see again.

 “Well come now, Jihyo, you should formally introduce me to your new friend.”

 Jihyo has a look of concern on her face, as though she were trying to figure out whether this new complication would affect her plans. But eventually she decides to introduce you to her friend by name.

 “…and this is Im Nayeon.”

[alitheamateur]

Springtime Seduction

A lazy Spring morning seems to be just that. Until your boyfriend makes a surprise visit...

WARNINGS: NSFW. Oral sex. Unprotected sex. Language. Mild, mild language of a possessive nature.

CHRIS EVANS X  FEMALE READER

The fresh wind of the Springtime air shook out the darkness of night from the crisp curtains hanging in your bedroom window. You’d left the glass opened last night; the stench of a rainy drizzle always poisoned you with welcomed restful sleep. There was a bird chirping her melodious repetitions, alerting all the world that the warm sun had once more risen. Your eyes twitch with the notion to wake, and your toes curls under the smooth sheet, itching to touch the floor and dart to the coffee machine in the kitchen. But, you had no urgency to climb from the pillows and start your unplanned day yet, so, ‘no hurry’, you smiled to yourself.

You rolled to your back, neck craning to the comfiest curve of your pillow, and inhaled the dew of the grass just before you let yourself doze back into slumber. A chilly, gentle gust burst through the window, so you pulled the plush duvet up a smidge higher on your shoulders, and settled into the crook of your mattress for only another hours rest.

Just as the lids of your eyes began to relax into a lazy sleep, the front door suddenly latched. For the flicker of a second, your senses stood on defensive alert, before you remember certainly you’d locked it before retreating to your bedroom last night. Which only meant one thing…

The stairs ever so noticeably creaked, and you half-grinned as you envisioned him tip-toeing up each one, careful to remain undetected. He had your routine down to a science, and to be fair, you normally wouldn’t be up and stirring for at least another hour, especially on a leisure Saturday.

You turned toward the doorway, contemplating the idea of shutting your eyes and pretending so not to ruin his little surprise, but the every make up of your anatomy longed for a sight of him.

You heard him rustling closer and closer, and when his footsteps quieted on the rug just near to door, a giddy tingle rolled up your spine.

“You always just come barging into peoples houses before 9 a.m., Evans?” You croaked just above a whisper, the usual tenor of your voice not yet awake.

Chris froze as if to be caught in the act, his gentle eyes rounding in fright.

He carried a tray of coffee orders in one hand, another bag tucked under his arm, and the fullness of a bright bouquet of pink tulips in the other. The powder blue of his wrinkled t-shirt ignited the tones of his irises, and your feminine bits trembled at the always appreciated backwards turn of his Red Sox hat.

“Only when I have cold brew.”

You swooned. “God. You perfect, perfect man. The entire population hates me for taking you as my own, I just know it.”

He dropped his head to the floor, that God-forsaken beautiful blush tinting his cheekbones just above where the line of his beard stops. The man is tangible, walking, living, breathing sex, and can’t take a compliment if his life depended on it. You see him smile, the lush flutter of his lashes falling closed.

“But, you better bring me those pastries I smell in that bag before I change my mind about you.”

Chris kicked off his shoes, laying the lush bouquet on the nightstand beside the bed before managing to stuff his black sunglasses into the pocket of his light jacket and padding towards you. You raise the covers, offering him a warm spot to slump in next to you. You paw eagerly at the contents of the warm paper bag stuffed with sugary goodness, but he yanks it swiftly out of your grips.

“I think I may deserve a kiss, or two first.” He states, tilting his head matter-of-factly.

You scooched yourself into his side, pushing the ballcap from his head, lacing your fingers around the back of his neck. Your breath could probably wilt the gorgeous flowers he’d brought to you, but he didn’t seem to mind as he pushed the frizzy strands of hair from your cheeks.

“You may have earned it.” You lilt, moving your lips to his.

He smells divine as the space between the two of you closes. Orange soap with a musky side, and the leftover hint of the flower shop down the street where he made a pit stop. There was coffee grinds and wintergreen lingering on his mouth as a dance of two tongues fell underway.

After the length span of a good-morning kiss, he pinched the exposed cheek of your tail end, barely covered in the innocent shape of your boring pink panties. You hadn’t been expecting him, and your apparel selection from last night gave it away.

“Mmm, it’s still warm. Bova’s or Mike’s?” You asked, greedily awaiting your treat like a dog who’d just obeyed her owners command.

“Close your eyes.” Chris cheekily whispered biting his lip, his hand disappearing into the bag.

You sat up on your hunches beside him, the tight span of your tank top no doubt displaying your bare nipples.

You heard a crinkling of paper, then silence. The hairs on your neck stood on end, as if alerting you of his closeness. His heavy hand softly found your face, cradling your jaw, and before long there was the sensation of a feathery warmth tracing your lips, leaving a trail of creamy goodness in its wake.

No question, the sweet concoction was definitely a Bova’s cannoli.

“Cut it out, or you’ll lose a finger.”

You hummed, you tongue chasing his circle around your mouth, eager to steal a bite. Chris laughed at you for much longer than you felt necessary before giving in and allowing a hearty taste.

“I forget how hungry my girl is in the mornings.”

 With stuffed bellies, and a barely noticeable fog hazing the light outside, the pair of you had fallen lethargic and drowsy despite the caffeine swimming inside your veins. Chris had discarded his shirt after losing the contents of his cannoli down the front, and you’d keyed up the record player on your way back to bed from the bathroom.

“Not a care in the world,” you happily moaned tucked into the easy embrace of his grasp, your nose buried in the curve of his neck to cuddle him like a purring kitten.

Chris twirled a loose tendril of your hair around his index finger, and you could almost hear the murmurs of his love for you in the rhythm of his heart beating inside his chest.

“You’re my only care in the world.”

He rolled you suddenly to your back, hitching your legs up snuggly around his trim waist. When he pushed his pelvis toward the heat of your center, the solid, hard greeting of his arousal was unmistakable.

And huge.

As you suctioned yourself to him, insatiable for the friction of his bulge, Chris tented the sheet over both your heads, chuckling into your neck, and nipping with his smiley mouth. Cocooned in the cover of a freshly washed sheet, the light only barely dimmed, your wandering eyes found his.

Love is a feeling. An emotion of the heart. But, in that moment, entranced in his gazes, you thought you could actually feel in on your skin where his hands blindly traced your curves. Seizing his lips, you closed your eyes, categorizing every sense of the moment.

The heat in his fingertips. The hint of a decadent pastry on his tongue. The smell of your own scent in your soaking panties as his bare chest deliciously chaffed your nipples through the thin cotton tee.

Driven to insanity with unsafe heights of desire, he dismissed your wet kiss only to do the same with your clothes. Along with his own. The temperature of the changing season outside was brisk on your bare body, but only for a moment before his hotness encased you. Chris smashed his suckling, enflamed lips to the peak of your breasts, a languid howl crawling from your throat at the sensation of his nibbling teeth. When he worked his laps and licks upward to your collarbone, the line of your throat, the lobes of your ear, his pulsing length inched closer, and closer to your wetness. Anticipation likely to smother you.

“I… I feel like I’m dreaming right now.” You admitted. Short, gravelly breaths escaping from your lungs. You tried to remain composed, yet you were completely consumed with a delirious haze of ecstasy at the hands of your dearest love.

Bodies sliding in a matched, sweaty cadence, he rolled his hips into you, and momentarily his presence disappeared.

Until, it returned.

As if time had lapsed into slow motion, his lengthy, painfully seductive licks invaded your entrance. His welcomed assaults nearly had you on the verge of tears.

“I’d starve myself if it meant I could eat you every minute, of every day. You’re fucking mine, Y/N. Do you hear me? Mine.” His mouth buzzed over your tight clit. Chris burrowed his face wholly into your slickness, nuzzling to douse himself with the flavor only you could offer up, and you heard him inhale deeply. You tugged at his hair, punishing and praising the sinful mouth that plundered you. Long swipes of his tongue journey up, then downward. Scandalously toying with the puckered entrance of your ass. He glanced up over a hooded stare, the devil himself reflecting in his eyes when he felt you stiffen a bit.

“Relax, angel. Not now. But soon…”  

With a shamefully minuscule flick of his finger, you were soaring the crest of orgasmic explosion like never before. Your mind settled on the conclusion that this man was a true form of magic. Arching into him for one last tingle of your release, the moans of his name dripped from your lips like thick, hot honey. He tuned your body to be the exact music his ears desired.

“Fill me, Chris. Fucking now.” Taken aback by the pitiful whine of your unfamiliar voice, the man bit his way up your body to meet your mouth and share the taste.

The wind gusted through the window, making you now hyperaware of the saturated sheets beneath two mounds of flesh melting together. You couldn’t recall every being so soaked, and your body shudders.

“Open up for me, baby. I wanna watch my cock sink into you.” He massages the bone of your hips, the gentle pinch of fingers near breaking skin.

Your brain was officially reduced to dust.

With a watchful eye, just as he’d said, Chris turned his attention to the meeting of flesh. Your muscles grew taught for a fast second adjusting to the stretch of his size, before your bones liquified in lavish satisfaction at such fullness.

His pupils were blown as he quivered with tormented longing, pushing himself in and out of the gripping lips of your cunt, seeking the perfect duet of bursting thrusts, and unhurried slides. Chris knew how to render you putty in his marvelous hands, squealing and rutting like a lewd animal. With one leg mounted over his shoulder, the other broad and leading him to the road of release, sweat from his brow rained onto your breasts. If you squeezed your eyes closed tight enough, you’d swear it sizzled upon your electric flesh.

Nails gripping into the flesh of his pecs, a familiar twinge of numbness raced down your thighs just as he drove into you with a steady rhythm. There’s sweat pooling in the circle of your belly button, your upper lip stained also with the salty flavor as you concentrate on capturing every fiber of pleasure from him. Your nipples harden tightly when you lock eyes, and he winks down like a wicked slice of sex.

“My pretty girl. Takes it so well, doesn’t she? And so fucking beautiful while doing it.”

“Please. Yes, Chris. I’m about to come. Fuck, I’m going to explode.”

Taking your pleasant plea as an invitation, he licks the pad of his thumb and places it to your most tender spot, and drives his thrusts home like a man on a mission.

He growls moments later, the veins of his neck threatening to break the skin of his neck, and a strained blush falls over his chest. Warm cream empties into your belly just as your toes curl in orgasm. There will likely be bruises come tomorrow to remind you of his fevered clutches, and you revel in the thought of him marking you so crudely.

“Fuck, I love Springtime.” He croons, falling lifelessly to your side with a soft kiss.

TAGS: @sincerelyyourz​ @miidailyinspiration​ @deaflikehawkeye​ @spideypxgirl​ @fanfictionaffair​ @firstangeldragonranch​ @denisemarieangelina​

[moonsidiot]

The Stars Above Us (ch. 4, valentines weekend)

Fatou scratched her forehead lightly as she looked around at the paint on the walls of the courtyard, at the small table and the couch she had pulled out from Nora, Ava, and Zoe’s apartment. Her guitar lay on the couch, waiting for its turn. Fatou was giddy with anxiety, bouncing on her toes and fidgeting with her hands. She wanted to pick up the guitar and play just to do something as she waited, but if Ava heard the music from afar, the surprise would be ruined. Instead, she pulled out her phone and read Kieu My’s last message to her: “i’m sure she’ll love it.”

Kieu My believed in her, oftentimes when she couldn’t herself, and her girlfriend’s confidence gave her just a smidge of her own. Just as she was putting her phone away, she heard footsteps. Ava came out of the small tunnel which led to the open courtyard.

Her passion twists fell over her face and her flawless skin glinted in the lights of the apartments surrounding them. Fatou watched her best friend approach and was overcome with a feeling of coming home.

Ava walked towards her, strolling slowly as she took in the candles, the couch, the food, and her painted name in a bright pink heart. She clutched her cheeks as she saw Fatou kneel. Soon, the guitar was in her hands and she began to play.

A friend proposal, a gesture, a treat, but it was so much more than that. After years of bullying and being told at every corner that she was lesser, that she was annoying and needy, pushy and lame, Fatou, the most loving and true person she knew, was kneeling before her, declaring her apology and declaring her love.

Ava held her breath as Fatou concluded her apology, strumming slightly awkward chords all the way through. When she finished, Ava open her arms, inviting Fatou into her embrace.

Fatou met Ava in the tightest yet most gentle hug she could muster, allowing herself to be immersed in her best friend, in the girl she never wanted to fight with again.

“Thank you, Chibi,” Ava said into her ear as she hugged her. “Only you could be so thoughtful as to do this for me.”

Fatou glowed in the compliment but was also hurt by her friend’s excessive modesty. “I certainly won’t be the last,” she said.

They collapsed on the couch, exhaling as they fell.

Fatou clutched Ava’s warm hand, holding on for dear life, never wanting to let her best friend go. Ava held on with the same volition as she looked up to the almost brown sky. The cool air whipped around them, but in the courtyard, whether from the protection of the surrounding building or the warmth of her best friend, Ava’s cheeks glowed brightly, hot under the euphoria of it all.

Fatou unboxed the cookies she brought and offered them to Ava. For the next four hours, they caught up, cried, apologized, and gorged on the food before them, relishing every word and bite.

On Saturday, Fatou bundled under her covers at home, overheating but also not feeling hot enough. No matter how much she loved her friends, Fatou always cherished her time to recharge. Being alone at home, watching silly Youtube videos, doing some casual research on her favorite aquatic species, and listening to the same song over and over until her ears groaned in fatigue, was one of Fatou’s ideal Saturday plans. She was drained from the week, the diagnosis, reconciling with Ava, and spending time with Kieu My was exhausting, but it was the kind of week that left one wiped in a satisfying fullness, like she had eaten everything she had wanted at the buffet and now only needed time to let her body take it all in. That was what she was doing, and even though some homework probably should have been calling her name, Fatou was unbothered. She had prepared the recipe for Fralentines tomorrow and was hoping to surprise Kieu My in the evening. She didn’t know if flowers would be her style, but she knew that one way or another, she would make her girlfriend smile.

Just as the sun retreated behind the home next to Fatou’s, leaving her room in a shadowy pre-darkness, her doorbell rang. In her sweatpants and ridiculously vibrant rainbow socks, she came down the stairs, feeling more like a content sloth than a girl in the movies on her Prom night.

Yet, when she opened the door, she wished she had been in the mindest of the latter, because Kieu My stood at her door, her face flushed and her hands carrying a cardboard box of something. Even though her hair fell messily over her face, she looked perfect, almost like a part of the windy evening, well, more like the center of it.

Fatou clutched at her ponytail which was in a big purple satin bonnet and suddenly felt self-conscious. Kieu My wore her blocky boots under a long skirt with green flowers and a grey hoodie on top. Fatou hadn’t really seen this kind of contrast in her girlfriend before, the confident badass energy of the boots, the soft femininity in the long skirt, and the comfort and naturalness in the sweatshirt, yet when she looked at it all together, it was the most Kieu My look she could think of.

Kieu My stepped in through the door after several moments of each of them taking the other in. Fatou came to her senses and closed the door behind Kieu My, pushing the cold out and hastily tossing her bonnet to the side, allowing her hair to emerge messily into the open.

Like she had done a few weeks before, Kieu My removed her boots with great care while Fatou watched her nimble fingers. Kieu My caught her gaze and Fatou flushed, feeling the same nervous flirtation that came from a place in her stomach reserved for her girlfriend.

While before Fatou would have turned away, embarrassed, she now spoke. “You look beautiful,” she said.

Kieu My held her gaze confidently. “Thank you,” she said, her voice clear which to anyone else would come off as arrogant, but to Fatou rang true of the vulnerability behind the response. “You look beautiful too.”

Fatou pulled her sweatpants up slightly and looked down. In a moment, her breath drew in as Kieu My grabbed her hand from where it had adjusted her pants at her waste and locked her fingers onto Fatou’s thumb.

Holding her hand tightly, Kieu My stepped into Fatou and met her lips in a full kiss. Fatou let her hand be held but wanted so badly to take Kieu My’s face in her grasp and hold her there, taking all of the care she deserved. But Kieu My held onto Fatou’s hand and kissed her with a certainty and intensity Fatou had not yet experienced. Kieu My craddled Fatou’s face with the purposefulness of her lips, with every intake of breath and slip of the tongue.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, kissing while they held each others hands, and when Fatou pulled back briefly to lick her lips, Kieu My stepped back. Yet, she was not retreating.

“I brought these,” Kieu My said, pointing to the cardboard box which sat on the ledge below the coat rack.

Fatou peered into the box and saw two rows of three cupcakes, each one decorated messily with pink and red icing.

“You made those?”

Kieu My laughed, “trust me, if my mom made them, the icing wouldn’t look like I had done it drunk.”

“They look perfect,” Fatou said.

“I’m sure you would have done better.”

“Obviously,” Fatou retorted, a mischievous grin on her face.

They went into the kitchen and sat where they had just a few weeks before on their study date. Kieu My reached into the cardboard box and picked up one cupcake. Chocolate cake crumbs got on her fingers as she passed the treat to Fatou who accepted it readily.

When Fatou dug into the cupcake, Kieu My gave her the same proud smile. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed. Kieu My still felt the same pang of excitement, but it no longer came alone. It came with the deep understanding they had built of one another, carved from splinter-prone wood through the fights and miscommunication into a beautiful sculpture, the varnish still waiting to be applied with the moments they would continue to share.

Fatou devoured the cupcake and Kieu My too, each of them rolling back in their chairs, slightly full. And yet, Kieu My lifted another one from the box.

“Do you want to split it?”

Fatou smiled and nodded. She got up from the table to get a knife, but Kieu My grabbed Fatou’s hoodie sleeve and tugged her down. Still holding onto Fatou, she took a bite of the cupcake. The pink icing left a mark on her upper lip, and Fatou could no longer resist.

With the cupcake still in Kieu My’s hand, Fatou sat back down and brought her lips to Kieu My’s, tasting the sweetness which was always there but only intensified with the sharpness of the icing.

Fatou moved from her seat into her girlfriend’s lap, and while they kissed, Kieu My had to focus her mind on holding the cupcake to keep from dropping it.

When they stopped, Kieu My brought the cupcake to Fatou’s lips, interrupting her attempt to come in for more. Fatou’s mouth collided clumsily with the cupcake but somehow made it all look graceful when she took a big, greedy bite. Kieu My laughed loudly and then took another bite of the cupcake for herself. In a moment, the crumbs were in both of their laps and the icing was practically painted over both of their lips and tongues, and it was all too sweet.

“So why did you bring the pink and red cupcakes the day before Valentines day?” Fatou asked ten minutes later, crouching on the floor while she picked up crumbs by pressing them into the pad of her forefinger.

Kieu My groaned beside her as she ducked under the table to find more crumbs.

“I didn’t know if Valentines Day was your thing, I thought maybe coming today would be less cringey if you weren’t into it.”

“What do you think I think about Valentines Day?” Fatou asked.

Kieu My brought her eyes from the wood floor to meet Fatou’s. “You’re so open, but in some ways, you’re a mystery, Fatou Jallow.”

Fatou laughed, coming under the table so she was pressed to Kieu My’s side. “What do you think of Valentines Day?” she asked.

Kieu My scrunched up her nose. “I think it’s kinda cheesy.”

“So you rebel by doing everything someone would do on Valentines the day before?”

“Whatever,” Kieu My said, rolling her eyes as she followed.

“Maybe we need to have our own special day,” Fatou said.

“February the 13th?”

“It has a ring to it.”

Kieu My nodded in agreement. “I never thought I would be the one to bring something pink and red to someone’s house.”

Fatou giggled softly. “And I never thought someone would do that for me.”

“Anyone with any brains would do it in an instant.”

“I guess you’re the only one with brains, then.”

Kieu My breathed out. “I don’t know about that. But, I do know I have immaculate taste.”

Fatou squished her lips together as she practically squirmed at the warmth which ran through her. Kieu My smiled broadly, showing her teeth which were slightly pink with icing still.

A moment later, Fatou broke the bubbly silence. “I was gonna come to your house tomorrow evening. Would you hate if we celebrated twice?”

“A chance to see you is infinitely more important than my lame rebellion.”

Fatou leaned in and kissed Kieu My. When Kieu My straightened her back to kiss Fatou’s lips with growing intensity, her head bumped against the table above them.

Fatou laughed as Kieu My groaned, but her hands were soft and slow when they came to Kieu My’s head to soothe the growing bump.

[vannahfanfics]

Riveting Life Experiences

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: One Piece

Characters: Nami, Vivi Nefertari

Additional Tags: Modern AU, High School AU

Hey, everyone! This story was originally going to be for the One Piece School Zine, but unfortunately it could not be completed due to the pandemic. Still, I thought I would post it for everyone to enjoy!

“Thank you! Enjoy the rest of the festival!” Vivi called gleefully as their latest customer departed, snacking animatedly on the creamy chocolate-covered banana they had just purchased from her and Nami’s booth. Their chocolate-covered banana stand nestled in the junction of the east and west halls and overlooked the stairs leading down to the main rotunda. Nami, fundraiser extraordinaire, had snagged the spot to ensure maximum foot traffic. Vivi suspected that some arm-twisting and potentially frightening threats had been involved, but hey, they’d already made tons of money! Vivi wasn’t about to complain. 

Nami snickered devilishly as she leafed through the stack of cash they’d already accumulated in their first two hours of opening. 

“Nami,” Vivi laughed with cinched eyebrows, “you know you can’t keep that money, right? All the proceeds are going toward our oceanography club!” As Vivi playfully chided her best friend, the redhead flashed her a sardonic smirk. 

“Considering I am the president of the Oceanography Club, the money does technically go to me,” she corrected, now fanning herself with the fat stack of bills. “So, I am going to enjoy this, Vivi, dear.” Vivi could not help but chuckle at Nami’s affluent and opulent attitude. 

“All right, Miss President,” Vivi conceded amusedly. The blunette returned her gaze to the front of their booth, where rich chocolate-coated peeled bananas stood in plastic trays that Vivi had adorned in fun stickers to enhance the appeal. Above the colorful flowers and rainbows and a very tasteful unicorn, the candied bananas perched in all their splendor. Some of them simply sported the enamel-like hard chocolate shell, while others flaunted crushed nuts, sprinkles, marshmallow chunks, or swirls of peanut butter. Vivi’s mouth watered as she admired them. 

“Excuse me! I’d like two chocolate bananas, please!” 

Vivi jolted as she was suddenly addressed. It took her a moment to regain her bearings, so her hands fluttered uselessly across the counter while her mouth opened and shut uselessly. The girl before the stand blinked curiously at Vivi’s odd behavior, stroking a swathe of her voluminous wavy black hair. 

“That one, please,” the girl quipped simply with a point of a manicured nail at a peanut butter swirl banana. “Two,” she reminded as Vivi went to pluck one from the display. Cheeks burning, Vivi quickly did as told. 

“That’ll be five hundred Berries, please.” The girl held the two bananas by the sticks between her middle and third fingers while she fished some bills out of her uniform pocket. Vivi’s fingers quivered slightly as she took the money from the girl, who thanked her cheerfully before skipping over to a lanky, tan-skinned, dark-haired man with golden eyes lounging by one of the windows and looking totally unimpressed by the school festival. 

“Law! Law! I got us some chocolate-covered bananas.” 

“Baby 5, I didn’t want— ugh, no, don’t cry— fiiiiine…” 

Vivi continued to stand there with carnation-pink cheeks. I can’t believe I was fantasizing what they’d taste like! she thought ashamedly. Her focus should be on making their booth a great success, not consuming the merchandise. However, even as she chastised herself, Vivi’s eyes drifted back down to the scrumptious-looking treats. 

“So, Vivi,” Nami asked suddenly. Her slightly inquisitive tone jerked Vivi’s eyes away from the candy-coated bananas. Nami still fanned herself nonchalantly with the wad of cash. “What made you choose chocolate-covered bananas, of all things?” 

Vivi’s face immediately alighted with a self-conscious blush again. As she shied away from her friend’s inquisitive stare, Vivi worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She began to swing her body slowly from side to side, eyes flickering from the fruity treats to the redhead’s puzzled expression. Nami’s eyes darted up and down her form, analyzing her body language, but she waited for Vivi to speak instead of prodding her into further fluster. 

“You promise that you won’t laugh?” 

“Why would I laugh? Surely your reason for picking chocolate-covered bananas isn’t a knee-slapper,” Nami frowned with a raised eyebrow. Vivi’s cheeks brightened to a lovely shade of rose pink, prompting her to press her palms against her face. They immediately began to sweat from the sheer amount of heat rolling off her skin. 

“Well, I… Before moving here to Japan, I researched popular trends and events, and happened upon information concerning popular snacks sold at booths like these…” She trailed off as an uncomfortable wave of nervous nausea blossomed in her belly. Nami’s orange eyebrow crept higher and higher up her forehead as she began to stare at Vivi, nonplussed. 

“And…?” 

“One of them was chocolate-covered bananas.” 

Silence settled between them. Vivi squirmed under Nami’s persistent blank stare. She desperately wished that some emotion would show on Nami’s face— confusion, derision, amusement— anything. Instead, her face was a blank slate, her chocolate-brown eyes owlishly wide as the gears turned in her head. 

Finally, a smile cracked the vacantness of Nami’s ogle. 

“Vivi, why would you think I would laugh at that? That’s adorable!” the redhead squealed and lunged forward to wrap her arms loosely around Vivi’s shoulders. Vivi blushed brightly, both at her statement and the sudden half-embrace. 

“R-really?” Vivi squeaked, grabbing Nami’s forearms. Nami flashed her a friendly smile, which caused the little bubbles of anxiety in Vivi’s body to burst one by one. “Thanks… I just thought it was so silly,” she confessed with a light laugh. 

“Aw, Vivi,” Nami smiled sweetly. “I don’t think it’s silly at all. You were excited to come to a new place and learn about all the local cultures. I think that’s really cool, actually.” 

“You really think so?” Vivi asked doubtfully. Nami’s smile widened, and she raised a hand to boop her gently on the tip of her nose. Vivi snickered at the intimate gesture. 

“Yeah! So… Have you ever had a chocolate-covered banana?” Nami asked with a raised eyebrow. When Vivi shook her head, Nami slipped her arms from around Vivi’s to pluck two of the delectable banana treats from the display case. Vivi blushed as Nami presented the fruit on a stick to her. “Go on! Take it!” the redhead insisted, reading Vivi’s unsure expression. “We’ve made plenty of money today; I won’t miss the revenue from a couple of bananas,” she laughed when Vivi’s eyebrows knitted further. 

Reluctantly, Vivi took the chocolate-covered banana. She turned the wooden skewer slightly between her thumb and forefinger to inspect the treat from all angles. It was one of the marshmallow-coated ones; the soft, cylindrical structures protruded from the coat of brown candy as rocks rose from cresting waves. After a moment of considering it, she timidly leaned forward to bite off the end of the banana. She immediately released a satisfied hum. 

The milk chocolate melted as soon as it hit her tongue, spreading the rich, decadent flavor over her taste buds. The mute sweetness of the banana complimented it supremely, and the pillowy sweetness of the marshmallows perfected the harmony of flavors. Vivi couldn’t help immediately diving in for another bite before she’d even swallowed the first, eyes fluttering shut. Her lashes immediately parted again when she heard Nami chuckle. 

“It’s good, huh?” the girl said as she bit into her own banana, one with rainbow sprinkles adorning its chocolate shell. Nami released a similar hum of gratification. “Delicious! I knew I had a stroke of genius for me to ask Sanji to prepare these.” 

“I bet it didn’t take much convincing, either, considering you have him wrapped around your finger,” Vivi teased, sticking out the tip of her tongue with a playful wink. Nami smirked triumphantly. 

“Hehe, well, he is particularly susceptible to my feminine wiles,” Vivi’s counterpart snickered cheekily. As if summoned, Sanji’s voice came floating down the hallway, rising above the din of pleasant conversation and contented laughter. 

“Nami-swaaaaaaan~! Viviiiiiiiiiiii!” 

Both of the girls turned to see the blond charging through the crowd, hearts beating in his eyes and trills flying from his mouth as he zoomed from the other end of the school building. Nami leaned on the counter, resting her cheek on her hand and preparing a demure smile. Vivi rolled her eyes; Nami was preparing to swindle Sanji out of several bananas’ worth of his restaurant wages. 

Nami was the queen of the hustle, after all— but of course, Vivi was her back-up, so she too draped herself over the edge of their booth to seductively chomp on the chocolate-covered banana. She smirked as Sanji nearly fainted on the spot from the two girls smiling so charmingly at him. Though they’d only just begun, Vivi checked a successful school festival off her list of riveting life experiences. Oh, and trying chocolate-covered bananas, too.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[gagmebucky]

my first steve fic... don’t drag me about the characterization please i did my BEST and that’s all the matters, really 😌

[boxer!steve. size kink. doll.] 

His jaw ticks. “It’s not a challenge, doll,” he bites out. “It’s a warning. If I tried to get inside you, I’d split you in half in the process.” His eyes flicker down, and your nipples are pebbles against the thin, easily-rippable fabric—you’re testing him, and he’s failing. “Goddamn it,” he hisses underneath his breath. “That - that shouldn’t turn you on.” Bristling, he drops his hand and pedals backward—he’s on his last thread, and it’s his sole chance to make a clear-headed decision. 

in which steve can’t resist what he feels for you. (includes boxer!steve x coach’s-daughter!reader, steve’s pov, dirty talk, mild choking, size kink, grinding, unprotected sex, creampie kink, overstimulation.)

—

Steve Rogers has impeccable self control. He knows how to control his emotions, to maintain a clear head amid the mist of commotion, to command his body to follow his head and not the violent, primal instincts that prickle underneath his skin. 

And despite the lifelong effort required to uphold this principle, he’s found great fortune in the endeavor. Most don’t realize it, but in his occupation, there’s a certain level of restraint necessary in order to be successful. He has experienced it on both ends so he’s aware of just how important it is. 

Growing up, he hadn’t known better. In the numerous instances where he’d been provoked and pushed, he gave in; consequently, suffering gravelly. Knuckles split, bones broken and face bloodied, his anger got the better of him, and his opponents always got the benefit. 

But that’s where your father came in, and showed him the way to fight back and win every time, to redirect his mania into his fists and funnel them in tactful blows that resulted in trophy after trophy. Once Steve learned how to do that, everything became a breeze. It’s more than a combat style but a way of living. 

Ultimately, he gets what he wants because he can make logic-based decisions and utilize his visceral drive in executing them. And a wallet fat with unmatched winnings, a house for his family and a luxurious apartment of his own, his name on the lips of the masses, it’s a fucking amazing life—for the most part, anyway. 

Except for the one part: you.

The problem with self control, he has come to realize, is that when he truly desires something, he sees the cons of that thing. Usually, if it outweighs the pros, he’ll stop it before it begins. However, in the case of you, that formula isn’t working like it’s supposed to. 

You see, he knows he can’t have you, and he knows why. You are the daughter of his mentor, the only child of the single reason that he’s evolved into the East Coast’s Golden Glove Champion three times in a row, and pursuing you is beyond disrespectful. 

So why the fuck can’t he get you out of his head? 

That’s what he keeps asking himself. Another glorious win, and it won’t stop rattling inside his skull like a hammer on a gong. The crowd is chanting his name but yours is beating a tattoo inside his rib cage. The post-win rush surges through his veins and hits harder than any blows he’s ever received but spotting the proud tilt of your lips amongst the masses is like punch from God themself.

His clean-shaven jaw locks as the referee lifts his right arm and everyone goes wild, losing your face in the fanfare. This is the part where he basks in it, where he loses himself in the victory of sweat and blood slick across his skin; money and recognition, a reminder of the advantages of self-discipline; his reward of what he gets when he uses his brain and not the urges that prickle underneath his skin. 

This time, however, it’s not as gratifying as it’s supposed to be. No, it’s fucking agitating because instead of being the thing that gets him what he wants, it’s the obstacle in his way. 

He can’t pin-point exactly why the desire is striking him this intensely but he suspects it has something to do with the fact that you’ve just returned after a while, and your father is still gone—which means you’ll be upstairs in the gym’s apartment, alone, when he comes to see you (and he will come and see you, what’s the quote about looking and not touching?). 

The tension in his muscles advises his better judgement not to. The wild thump thump thump of his heart to the tune of your name dictates he find some other not-forbidden girl to release the mania coiled inside him before he does; that, it’s not like you’d mind he greet you in the morning—in fact, you’d understand. 

Except, he feels like a live wire right now, and there’s a pull inside him that feels like you’re the only thing that can fray his edges back into stability. 

You’re on the counter when he walks in. Barefoot, you’re kneeling on the flat surface to reach a high shelf in one of the kitchen’s cabinets. One arm stretched above your head, you blindly search for the contents for a cup, palm slapping against wood as you do. After seconds of failure, a cutely disgruntled noise leaves your throat, and you shuffle up to your toes. 

For a moment, he’s entranced by the display. A smile quirks the corner of his lips, running his gaze down the outline of your figure. Adorned in a tank top and ass-hugging jeans, there’s not a flaw in sight; other than his hands not on you, exploring every inch, crushing your body against his. Oh, that and you’re about to fall. 

“Oomph!” expels in a feminine grunt when you flail backwards and collide with the cushion of his embrace. His forearm hooks around your waist like an anchor and packs you against his chest before gently sliding you down his body to the safety of the ground. In doing so, momentarily, he’s caught up in how you feel against him, your back huddled into his front like puzzle pieces.

Everything about him is big, and it occurs to him that everything about you is small. His herculean stature dwarfs yours: six-foot of towering strength versus your soft, shorter frame. You barely require an ounce of strength to be lifted, and his blood rushes to his lower region with what he can do with that knowledge. 

Subconsciously, he tightens his hold until you tilt your head back to blink up at him with those enamoring big eyes. With that, he snaps out of his daze and relinquishes you with a quiet, “Sorry.” Before you can respond, he reaches beyond to grab the item of your desire and hands it over.

Your lashes flutter. “Thanks, killer,” you breathe cheekily as you accept it, the delayed rise and fall of your decolletage slowly regulating. You step out of his space. leaving him cold in your wake, and pad over to the sink with your back to him. “You did good out there, by the way.”

At the praise, his smile restores, and he inches toward you. “Just good?” he echoes after you’ve turned the faucet on and off and crosses his arms in faux offense.

Lips curled around a drink of water, you whirl around and finish a swig. Droplets glisten on your Cupid’s bow, and he swears you’re doing this on purpose when your pink tongue licks the liquid clean. “Do you really need little ‘ole me feeding your ego?” you tease and lean against the counter. 

“You are little,” he agrees with a perfunctory nod. 

You roll your eyes playfully and set the half-full cup down. “No. You - you’re just huge.” You gesture pointedly at his broad, muscle-laden build; dragging your stare down his squared shoulders to his defined abdomen to the tree trunks he has for thighs. An airy quality lingers in your voice, almost high pitched, as you add, “I don’t understand how your competitors don’t go running for the hills when they see you.” 

Taking another stride forth, head cocking, he observes you. There’s something in your expression he can’t quite explain but it pumps confidence into his blood. He glances at himself, white under armor t-shirt and gray sweats, but there’s no downplaying the physical strength he possesses. “You think I’m intimidating?”

You scoff and shake your head vehemently. “To other people, yeah. Me? Not so much.” A devious grin curves into those alluring lips of yours, and you straighten against the counter (not that it helped any with the height difference). “I could take you better than any of those losers you’ve gone against.” 

He laughs, husky and genuine. “Oh? Is that what you think?”

You stand your ground and encroach upon him, stabbing a finger into his chest. “It’s what I said, isn’t it?” 

Alarm bells ring between his ears, but he’s too lost in the beautiful arrogance on your face to listen. “Okay,” he says then backs up to the middle of the room where space is more ample and beckons you over with both hands. “C’mon then.” 

As he expected, you don’t back down. You smooth your hand through your hair and kick off the bottom cupboard. Rolling your shoulder, you enter his orbit; a friendly competitiveness gleams in your dilated pupils, darkening enough for him to notice beneath the kitchen’s warm-toned luminences. 

Your stance is nothing less than perfection (much like the rest of you). Orthodox, you project your right side but spread your weight evenly through both legs; a smidge wider than your shoulders, you bounce on the balls of your feet. Hands in a loose fist, your elbows are drawn together, and your chin tucks, looking up at him through your knitted eyebrows. 

There’s no question about your combative ability but his just more developed—given this is what he does for a living—so while you’re fast and your punches twist like it comes straight out of the textbook, he has the upper hand. 

In a half-hearted demeanor, he humors you. For a moment, the both of you encircle each other, him with a suppressed smile, you with concentrated brows. Like lightning, you advance on him and push through a superlative jab. But as quick as you are, he’s quicker. 

Deftly dodging your knuckles, he catches your dainty wrist. A squeal escapes your throat as he wrenches it behind your lower back. The swift action draws your body against his once again; the dull ridges of your back molds so close to his front that he knows you can feel the hammer of his heart beating an imprint between your shoulder blades. 

You wiggle briefly, and he has to bite down on a groan at the faint jean vibrations against his sweats, but you eventually relax with a long whine of, “No fair!” 

“You said—”

“Not what I meant,” you interject breathlessly, a salacious underlying in the words that he can no longer play oblivious to—dawning on him in a gut-clenching heat. “When I said I could take you, Rogers, I wasn’t talking about in a fight. Though, I won’t mind if we got a little violent. . .”

His breathing hitches. “I knew it.” A truth he long-buried—the strike of realization he avoided confronting in an attempt to hinder his own feelings—hurtles in his rib cage as he unwillingly accepts the reality you want him in the perverse idiosyncrasy he wants you. That beastly part of him roars in ravenous elation while his practiced erudition advises you in a low and pained plead, almost a groan, “You gotta stop.” 

With a breezy laugh, a twinkling song of laughter, you repeat a doubtful, “Stop?” and do the exact opposite. Your body careens into him, specifically your ass grinding encouragement against the hardening bulge in his pants. “Doesn’t feel like you want me to.” 

You’re right. “I don’t.” The reply rumbles through his chest and wrenches out strangled. The grip on your wrist increases before vanishing altogether. “But you’re Coach’s daughter, and out of all the things not to do, you’re number one on that list.” 

Freed, you twirl around and retain the lack of distance. You look up at him with unwavering seduction. “When you’re looking at me like that, does that really matter anymore?” 

Again, you’re right. But that’s not the issue—not the prevailing one, that is. “I’ve thought about you a million different ways but in reality, I’d break you,” he admits in a ragged exhale and licks his bottom lip. Another analytical once-over confirms his deduction; your danity frame clashing with his would be something beastly. “How would your daddy react knowing I ruined his pretty little girl?”

To his pleasure and displeasure, it doesn’t dissuade your attraction. No, it seems to have heightened it instead. “Is that a promise?” you ask, lust scintillating in your eyes like moonlight on the ocean, and he has to recoil away because you’ve got too much power over him with a look like that. “Steve—” 

Your hand grapples his before he can get far, an earnest strength he doesn’t have to bat an eyelash at. But it’s that—another reminder of your size differences and how easily he could bend and fold you to his liking—that has a carnal current torrenting from the depths of his soul, demanding an innate action. 

On impulse, he lurches forward with an inhuman growl and herds you backward until his hips are trapping yours against the counter edge. His hand wraps around the column of your neck, partially spanning your jaw to tilt upwards. 

“In every one of those fantasies, I use you like a rag doll—fast and rough, never gentle. And you wanna know why? ‘Cause you’re fuckin’ small and it’s the only possible way for me to fuck you,” he rasps, strained and serious, imploring you to understand the gravity of his words. “That’s in the case, that I can even fit inside you in the first place. So, you may say you can handle me but the truth is, you wouldn’t be able to take just one of my fingers.”

The speech is to deter you; invoke some common sense in that intelligent brain of yours because all of his is withering by the second. In lieu of his intention, it excites you further. Your pulse races against his palm but the flames in your gaze tell him it isn’t from fear. “You seem so sure about that but. . . but I don’t think so,” you purposely goad that volatile and competitive aspect of him. “Why don’t we try and see who’s right?”

His jaw ticks. “It’s not a challenge, doll,” he bites out. “It’s a warning. If I tried to get inside you, I’d split you in half in the process.” His eyes flicker down, and your nipples are pebbles against the thin, easily-rippable fabric—you’re testing him, and he’s failing. “Goddamn it,” he hisses underneath his breath. “That - that shouldn’t turn you on.” Bristling, he drops his hand and pedals backward—he’s on his last thread, and it’s his sole chance to make a clear-headed decision. 

“No,” you state simply, following after him. “I - I think you’re scared. I think you don’t want to admit that someone as small as me could take you so easily—and I mean easy—where everyone else fell to their knees.” A coy smirk upturns the corner of your lips. “Though I also wouldn’t be opposed to getting on mine right now.” 

That’s it. The last shred of ascetic lessons from the past six years bursts into ash. The fire ignites an unhinged frenzy, tunneling into his veins and coursing through his blood like the water of a previously dammed river now freed of placating obstruction. 

With unrestricted strength, Steve hauls you into his arms, cording underneath your ass and hoisting you high around his abdomen. In a gnashing kiss, he crushes his lips against yours. There’s no delay in your response, returning his passion in a rivaling degree. 

That formerly-leashed, hedonistic entity within him preens from its shackles and livens with unhinged reign. Electricity crackles underneath his skin and tingles violently in feral need. Every filthy imagining he’s conjured of you strobes through his mind, and he feels like a man who hasn’t eaten in years, and you’re the delectable T-bone steak he gets to devour. 

You moan into his mouth, a pretty vibration he swallows, as he laps up your taste. The musical sound, the way you explode on his tongue, it all goes to his head like a hit off a drug and slithers down his spine to the ache in his cock. 

His hips snap forward, and his grasp on you intensifies; clutching your ass, he’s rocking your center into his cotton-clad erection roughly. Shards of pleasure ricochet through him, but it’s not enough—he needs more, needs more of your titillating sounds, more of your body on his, of you coming undone because of him, you making him fall apart. 

As you writhe against him with breathy sounds, he sets you on the counter and goes for your pants. Logic evades him at this point—like the fact it’d be the same amount of time with less effort it’d be if he slipped off—and his hands tear the denim material down the middle. Using little effort, he continues to remove what separates you, doing away with your panties next. All the while, you’re gasping in surprise and possibly outrage but he can’t focus on that right now. 

“You don’t understand,” he speaks laboredly, shoving his sweats to his knees to reveal he’s gone commando. “How bad I’ve wanted you. How hard it was—how hard you make me—to keep from myself taking you in every disgusting way I dreamed about.” 

Slicked with precum, his veined manhood is just as thick as it is long; past lovers have gawked at the formidable steel, shying away immediately after, and he’s always understood that. But you, you look at him starry-eyed, licking your bottom lip like you want him exploding on your tongue. 

And as much as he’d marvel at the sight of your cheeks stuffed like chipmunk with his cock— has thought how hot it’d sound when you’re gagging relentlessly around him—he’s got his attention lasered on that tiny prize between your thighs. 

A teasing triangle of perfection, daring him to completely abuse and batter as he pleases. You’re glistening like diamonds in the sunlight, effectively blinding him in a bind of corporeal desire—there’s no thinking, only action; no right or wrong, just what he wants.

His hands pinch underneath your knees and slide you to the edge. In tandem, he slots himself flat against your weeping heat, squishing the length of his cock between the split of your slit, burrowing himself there as if it’s his new home. 

Mutual moans and shivers expel through you both. It’s better than he’s ever imagined; mentally-created experience has nothing on the raw reality. Soft like silk, the honeyed aperture of your sex is eclipsed by his tanned thickness, barely shrouding a third of him, his tip twitching at your navel, and it’s a snapshot to behold. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he rasps, jaw locking before he reels you tighter and snaps his hips forward, rutting against your throbbing clit. It’s the match that starts the fire, a million sparks prickling all over that has him taking you like a madman. 

“S - Steve!” you cry, music to his ears, as he hooks his elbows under your knees, bending them over his shoulders, and works your divided folds up and down the length of his translucent-white dribbling cock. Your arms shoot around his neck desperately while you bury your face in his neck, mewling into his collarbone; the vibration unmistakably his name. 

“I am going to fuck you, doll,” he promises through gritted teeth, using his hands palming your ass to grind your little pussy into him harshly, at the same time his hips rock into the assault. “I am going to shove every inch of my cock inside you, make it fit if you can’t. But first—first, you’re going to cum on my cock then you’re going cum around it.” 

Your weight is nothing to his hulking strength, bouncing you in undulation like you’re his own personal fuck-toy (somewhere in that darker, aggressive facet of him chides that’s exactly what you are; a wanton toy to use to his desire). 

Every upward thrust is grating over your bundle of nerves, coaxing gush and gush of your essence. Mixed with his own liquid arousal, it further lubricates his slippery anatomy and empowers quicker ministrations—filling the room with your crescendos of whimpers and moans. 

“Y’like it when I make your pretty lil’ pussy grind against my cock? When the tip rubs over your soft clit?” he says, winded, in your ear as you shake like a leaf in the steel cage that is him. “Or d’you like knowing despite how bad I need to be balls-deep inside you I have to wait ‘cause your tiny pussy won’t be able to take it yet?” 

“Oh. God. Steve—” you moan, raking your nails into his flexing back muscles, and he revels in the faint sting. “I - I—it feels good. Fuck, it feels so good.”

Shocks needle down his spine and gnaw in his lower stomach while static nibbles at his limbs; a prelude to a knee-buckling reckoning. “Y’gonna cum for me, beautiful?” He can feel the tautness constricting in your body, the crook of your calves as your toes curl. “Want you to. Wanna know what’s gonna happen when you do?” He doesn’t wait for a response, especially when you’re borderline incoherent. “It’s gonna loosen you up for me. Get your pussy prepared to take all of my big, fat cock. And, you fuckin’ will. Y’hear me?” 

At that point, he’s unsure whether you nodded or not because your head does bob, but so does the rest of you. His neck muffles your cry as you buck wildly against him, and if that isn’t telling enough, he can feel your engorged nub pulsating with euphoria. 

And he can’t resist it. The threat of his violent upcoming orgasm; the fact that he knows your channel is clamping down hallowly; the earlier declaration of being able to handle him easily, it all overwhelms him. 

In a millisecond, before his mind comprehends what his instincts are doing, his hands slip from underneath your bottom to either side of your slit, and his thumbs spread your opening. He heaves you up, and when gravity brings you down, his well-endowed cock drives into your spasming insides. 

With an audible wet slush and slap of skin, he powers through your channel harshly until he’s seated to the hilt. In the throes of your orgasm—before he could stretch you first like he intended—inches that outwardly reached your belly button, width that dwarfed your mound  invades your walls in one blunt movement. 

The orgasm is still flooding you but it’s combined with the convulsions of vanquished hollowness and encompassing fullness. To be perfectly fucking honest, it’s heaven: snug, fervid heaven. And he wastes no time losing himself in you, fucking you through your stimulation while you’re rendered to a babbling mess.

“Oh - oh, my—Steve!” you squeal as your rubber-band-like resistance desperately tries to accommodate the intrusion of his size. “Big—you’re big—I didn’t realize you were so b - big—” 

“But you’re going to take it, aren’t you? Said you could, swore you’d handle me like no other before, right?” he croons and continues to decimate your swollen valley. “I told you you’d cum on my cock and around it, and that’s what you’re gonna do.” The order has your strangling heat fluttering in delight. “Unless you aren’t as big and bad as you claimed to be.” 

You gasp and cling tighter. “I can - I can,” you whimper, and it’s so cute—he can’t wait to fuck you until you pass out. “Just a minute. I can’t cum yet—n - not yet.” 

He laughs huskily because he knows he’s gonna to make you do exactly that. “Yeah, we’ll see about that, doll,” he practically purrs and cinches you closer so with each pass of his hips, your sensitive clit is chafing against his pubic bone; it has the intended effect of forcing your swollen walls to quiver around him.

“Shit,” you choke. “I can’t - I can’t—”

Motivated by your disbelieving insistence, he reaffirms his grip and pistons through your folds quicker. He ebbs deeper and deeper with the combination of his hips ramming in and his hands controlling your body so your channel swallows him all the way. 

Rising sensations pulse within him at an alarming rate, numbness climbing up his toes to cover him completely, encasing his nerves with an escalating bliss. In a minute, he’s going to blow and empty the contents of his balls into your never ending, clamping depths—and he can’t wait to see your reaction when he does, what it’ll look like to have his thick white dribbling out of you. 

That thought spurs him on, and he abruptly props you on the kitchen counter. There’s no break for your used pussy as he slithers a free hand to fist your throat, laying you flat against the cold granite.

“You are gonna cum for me,” he growls, voice unrecognizable with animalistic carnality. The sheening and flushed exertion on your face, the moans vibrating up your esophagus and the wriggle of your body is mesmerizing and provoking. “And you’re going to make me cum while you do it. Your tiny pussy is gonna milk my big cock until I’m flooding you full of me.”

He ruffles your shirt up and out of the way, giving him a glimpse of the single hottest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. As his hips jut back and forth, the indent of his bulbous tip prods visibly from your stomach; he can see himself bulging low in your belly. 

He releases the unholiest of groans as lightning zaps through him, tactfully shocking his pressure points while his blood pumps to his dick, and he swells bigger inside you. The temperature is boiling to the top, and when your warbling voice breaks into his haze, “Steve—Steve—Steve—!” his eyes snap open. 

His gaze drags further down, he’s greeted with the eyeful of your exploited mound: puffy and swollen from his unyielding, punishing onslaught, your clit peaking through faintly as if beckoning for his touch. Of course, he obliges you—he has zero idea how he managed to deny himself of you in the past. 

The second he thumbs at the little nubbin, you’re sobbing his name and squelching around his cock. In a domino effect, the lava blasts from the bottom of his gut to your enveloping convulsions; sheathed to the hilt, a visual ingrained in his memory of his cockhead pushing up inside your stomach, he pours all the mania he’s kept locked away into you. 

Riding out the wave, he watches how you cream around him when he retreats from you. A ring of clear white contrasts against your bruised sex and his tanned length, the mix of your essences oozing down his balls and onto the floor. 

“Fuck,” he says hoarsely. “That’s hot.” 

There’s a periodic twitch of you, and he glances up to see you staring at him, glossy-eyed but undoubtedly satisfied. “You. . . that was. . . God,” is all you manage, and pride blooms in his chest—at the fact that you kept up, and at the fact he did you good. “You’re amazing.” 

“You did good, doll,” he speaks roughly, the hand around your throat tracing your pulse. “I couldn’t have thought of a better way for this to have gone. . .” Despite his recent orgasm, there’s a hunger clawing back to the surface as he observes the way you’re splayed out like an offering, fucked to the point of limpness. “Or, to be going. . .” 

“S - Steve,” you whimper but it isn’t a protest, far from it, he can tell. 

So he continues to trail his hand to your clit, encircling it while you give a half-hearted bleat. He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip and maneuvers his hips until his growing semi is teasing your cum-dripping entrance. “Y’said you could handle me, doll,” he murmurs and promptly glides right back into you, and a wanton cry tears from your lips. “Let’s see how true that is.” 

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