#keith in skirts

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith comes over for Lance’s fifteenth birthday. Hunk is still in Hawaii, but he Skypes, and the three of them talk for two hours. It’s nice.

After Hunk hangs up, Lance decides he wants to make his own birthday cake. Keith decides he wants to help. Neither of them have ever baked by themselves before, but they figure it can’t be too bad.

And it isn’t – they make their way to Wal-Mart, buying six boxes of Betty Crocker’s yellow cake mix, because they don’t know if the box is telling the truth and it really does make a whole cake, so they figure a few extra boxes won’t hurt. They also buy eleven cans of icing, along with a bunch of blue food dye and sprinkles.

The next thing they do is try to put everything together. (They do, at this point, realise they have way too much shit. They only end up using two boxes for the cake, and one to eat the batter. And Lance will take no criticism on that – cake batter is fucking delicious.) That goes pretty well, too – they measure the ingredients and mix ‘em together. Easy. They even remember to grease the pan.

The… troubles, so to speak, come when they pop the cake in the oven and set a timer. Lance hoists himself up to sit on the counter while Keith does the dishes, because Lance is the Birthday Boy™ and is thus exempt from chores.

“In what world does being alive on a certain day mean you don’t have to do dishes,” Keith grumbles. Lance sticks out his tongue.

“In this world, where I am currently Queen of the Day, and you are subservient to me. Scrub the dishes in silence, mullet.”

Lance watches as the challenge visibly sparks up Keith’s spine. He straightens immediately, hands stilling. The sounds of scrubbing cease. Keith turns slightly to him, eyes dark and narrowed.

Lance gulps. He’ll deny it until his dying breath, but something stirs in his gut.

“What was that?” Keith asks carefully.

Lance has never been one to back down, even when he’s knee-deep in a pile of trouble. Especially not to Keith’s bitch ass, as objectively attractive as it may be.

“I said chop chop, get to work.”

Keith moves so fast he’s practically a blur. Water splashes everywhere, but Lance hardly notices. He’s too busy shrieking at the top of his lungs and vaulting over the counter. He sprints up the stairs, on all fours like an animal.

“Someone’s never seen a horror movie,” Keith growls, voice closer than Lance thought he was, and Lance chants in his head that it is not hot, it’s not, it’s lame and stupid and horrible and Keith is the worst. He is.

Lance finally makes it up the stairs and tears down the hallway, swinging into Veronica and Rachel’s bathroom and slamming the door shut milliseconds before Keith can follow him in. He turns the lock, panting heavily as the adrenaline hammers through his veins. The doorknob jiggles for a few seconds, as Keith turns the handle, but then stops abruptly. Footsteps fade as Keith walks away. Lance narrows his eyes. Since when does Keith give up so easily? (Once, Lance lied and said that he’s never once posted an embarrassing picture online and he has been carefully curating his online image his whole life. Keith pulled an all-nighter tracking down his old Tumblr account from when he was 11, and he didn’t even have his name on that thing. To this day Lance has no fucking clue how Keith found it, and lives with the constant shame that Keith has seen a picture of him posing in his room at like 3 in the morning, in front of his old Naruto poster, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue with the caption ‘im SO random XO RAWR XP’. If he thinks about the situation too much he feels like crawling into the nearest ditch and letting nature take him, so he shoves it quickly out of his mind, because it is his Birthday and he refuses to feel shame on his birthday.)

Suddenly the footsteps return, rapidly this time, and the handle jiggles again. A mounting horror washes through Lance as he remembers, abruptly, that the locks in his house are weird and every single one of them can be opened from the outside with a coin. Lance barely has time to even squeak before the door slams open and Keith comes barrelling through, colliding with him and sending them both tumbling to the floor. By the time Lance orients himself again, Keith is straddling him, pinning his shoulders to the ground and smirking at him.

“Who’s queen now, huh?” he taunts.

Lance swallows.

He swallows again.

He desperately prays his cheeks aren't as red as they feel, but he doubts God loves him that much.

“What’s the matter?” Keith asks, leaning closer. “Cat got your tongue?”

Lance isn’t even sure his brain is still working, let alone his fucking tongue. All he can feel is the length of Keith’s body pressed against his, the tensing of his muscles as he pins him down, the borderline fucking smoulder in Keith’s expression, two inches from his face –

A shrill beeping noise makes them both jump. They look around, then look at each other. What the hell is –

“Is that the smoke detectors?” Keith asks, and then they look at each other in horror.

“The cake!” they yell at the same time, and quickly untangle from each other and sprint back downstairs to the kitchen. The stove is billowing grey smoke, and a lot of it. Lance grabs a dishtowel and starts waving it back and forth, hoping to dispel some of it.

“Open the windows!” he shouts, and Keith rushes to comply. While he does that, Lance holds the towel in front of his face, slipping on an oven mitt with his other hand, and carefully opens the oven door. More smoke blows in his face, and he coughs, eyes burning. He blinks to clear them, and sighs in relief when he doesn’t see any flames. He carefully grabs the glass baking dish.

“Can you open the back door?” he asks. “I’m gonna set this outside, see if that clears the smoke a bit.”

Keith nods, and Lance rushes over to set the pan down on the concrete stairs. Luckily, the glass doesn’t crack. They go back inside, closing the screen door behind them, and take a moment to stare in hopeless silence at the hazy kitchen in front of them.

“So much for that cake,” Keith says.

“Mamá is going to kill me,” Lance breathes. “I am going to die at fifteen.”

Keith grimaces. “Maybe we can scrape off the burnt parts?”

Lance thinks back to the block of char currently sitting in the backyard, and imagines him and Keith with a butterknife each, desperately scraping off the black in a vain attempt to find even a sliver of edible cake before Mamá gets back from work, and the image is so ridiculous he bursts out laughing. Keith was already cracking up a little at his own damn suggestion, and loses it when Lance doubles over. That’s how Mamá finds them, in a smoke-filled kitchen, leaning on each other, struggling to breathe from both their laughter and all the fucking smoke.

“Lance, must you make a mess every time you have a friend over,” she sighs, and Keith and Lance just laugh harder.

“You and Keith are cleaning this kitchen from top to bottom. No exceptions. I don’t care if it’s your birthday, or that Keith’s a guest. He’s here enough that that’s hardly true, anyway. Dios.”

She walks away muttering, and Lance doesn’t even correct her about his and Keith’s friendship status. He finds that he truly doesn’t want to.

To be fair, Keith is about to spend the next couple hours helping him scrub the kitchen after they basically set it on fire. That’s something friends do, he’s sure.

[klance-dreams]

“If I ever catch you following my boyfriend around again,” The stranger hissed, and Lance felt warmth blooming in his body from his head to his toes—

“I will cut you open. I can’t stand hateful douchebags like you. If It was up to me, you’d all be wiped out.” 

‘…The man, even in his compromised state, sneered “You and what army, dick?” 

The stranger seemed to glint with a soft fire, a rising heat. “They call me the Red Lion. Maybe you’ve heard of what I’m capable of?” 
The man paled, and the stranger- Red Lance decided to call him- tossed the man to the ground. The man scrambled backwards and stared at them. Both men’s eyes slid over to where Lance was still leaning against the wall. 

And because Lance is a bitch, he made a shooing motion with his hands and said. “Shoo.” 

Red turned to look back at Lance with an amused tilt to his stern mouth. 

The men left and then the stranger-Red- came and leaned against the wall next to Lance. They sat in companionable silence together for a moment.  “That happen to you alot?” Red finally said, his eyes, black in this light, boring into Lance’s blue ones…’

— Touch Me Like You Know Me by artimess_chimes / @x-soapbox-x / @kickis-conan-king based on this song 🩵

[kickis-conan-king]

@autisticlancemcclain I hope you know what you’ve done to me.

[grimreapersnuisance]

Another Keith Kogane as a KPop idol post.

His album cover for his hit album Red Lion 😖❤️

[nekomortiz]

Boys being boys (ft. the instigator)

[badsongpetey]

It was inevitable, given he only had the one outfit, but Keith needs new clothes. The Earth Store at the space mall only has women's wear...

I think Keith would be v chill about this outfit. I feel like in cannon he has a very genderless kind of style, whereas Lance wears very "dude" clothes. This could of course only result in a complete bi meltdown for Lance.

Need a break from my angsty klance fic and my mega angsty TH fic -- so much ANGST.

[a-secretkey]

jacquiealexander

[vee-is-a-clown]

Keith: "Omg my jacket is making me so hot."

Lance: "Yeah. You do look so hot with it on."

Keith, hitting Lance with his jacket: "That feels good."

Lance: "Owwwwww!"

Keith: "Violence isn't the answer. It's a question and the answer."

[avis-writeshq]

hello 😘 aaron hotchner drabble request!

anything with jealousy and possessiveness but in a natural normal way not a joe goldberg way haha

and also - aaron sees you wearing his hoodie/shirt drabble!

thank you and your work is amazing!

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!fem!reader genre: established relationship, aaron is a little (a lot) upset warnings: misogynistic moron >:( reader wears a skirt, if you get the reference ily a/n: i wrote it and the more i wrote the more i realised that it... really isn't the same at all :( if you want me to redo it, please send me an ask !! thank you lovely <3 wc: 631

“You would think that he would know by now,” Emily hums, her tone disapproving and mostly disappointed as she watches from a distance as Captain Pembroke attempts to chat you up. 

“He’s a captain?” Spencer asks in genuine amazement. 

“For NYPD’s major crime unit,” JJ confirms, her arms crossed over her chest. “He tried to hit on Emily a couple days ago, and on Amy from the fourth floor. I wouldn’t be surprised it he has some sort of sealed file on him.”

Emily scoffs a little, rolling her eyes. “Sounds like a charmer.”

“The bigger question is, does Hotch know?” Derek pipes up as he glances in your direction.

“Well…” JJ lets out a nervous laugh. “I kind of hope he doesn’t.”

You offer a curt smile in Pembroke’s direction, doing everything in your power to subtly signal that you really should be leaving. Fiddling with the loose threads of your shirt, averting eye contact, taking tiny steps away in hopes that he’ll somehow get the message. It isn’t surprising that he doesn’t. 

“I beat my PR yesterday, you know,” he brags, flexing his muscles. You think you’re about to throw up as he continues, “129. Impressive, right, hun?”

“The average amount of pounds an untrained man can lift is 135,” you respond dismissively in an attempt to lean into Spencer’s way of getting people to leave him alone, but Pembroke doesn’t seem to hear you. 

“You know, sweets, I don’t think you should even be in this job. You’re far too foxy,” he says with a wink, “You’d be better in a different job. I mean, women aren’t fit for these types of roles. They get too emotional.”

You refrain from punching his face as it will only prove his point. “Listen, Ken–”

“It’s Keith–”

“Kyle,” you amend with a sickly smile. “I do need to get these files to Agent Rossi, so if you’ll excuse me…”

“Aw, come on, it was only a joke,” Pembroke says with a laugh. “It’ll be fine–”

“There you are.”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt more relieved in your life. Aaron’s hand rests flat against your back, dangerously close to the waistband of your skirt and he stands behind you. Aaron is a good couple of inches taller than Pembroke, especially when he stands at his full height, his dark eyed narrowed and his jaw clenched. 

“Did you need something from my agent, Captain?” He asks lowly. 

“Just pleasant conversation,” Pembroke responds dismissively.

Aaron raises an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from your uncomfortable frown to the captain’s smug face. “We have three missing women and you are disturbing an investigation by disrupting my agents. I suggest you get your act together before I report you to your superiors for harassment.”

He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, guiding you by the small of your back towards his makeshift office in the New York Police Office. He doesn’t say a word until the door is firmly closed and the blinds are drawn. 

“Are you alright?” He asks softly, taking a step towards you and curling his fingers by your cheekbone. “I heard what he said. Do you want me to report it?”

“I’ve dealt with worse.” You don’t mean to sound so honest when you say it and his frown deepens.

“That’s not okay, honey.” Aaron presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll report it. You know how it is with cases like these; someone just has to put the first step forward.”

You smile at that, poking at his cheeks. “I thought you were going to hit him.”

“I thought you would’ve beat me to it,” he admits through a quiet laugh, giving you a proper kiss. “We shouldn’t make this into a habit.”

“Tell that to Kimberly.”

“That isn’t even close.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

events page

[formlab]

Keith Haring painting a skirt for Grace Jones' music video "I'm Not Perfect (But I'm Perfect for You)", 1986.

[nyc-looks]

Emma, 25

”I’m 25 and wearing a blazer from The Series, I thrifted the top, skirt, and bag, my tights are Nodress, and the shoes are Charles & Keith.”

Sep 13, 2023 ∙ East Village

[shares-a-vest]

@steddiemas Day 17: Accidental Kink Discovery (Smutty Sunday)

Rated: T for suggestive language/flirtatious banter (y'know me, more silly than spice!)

“I hate it!” Eddie spits through gritted teeth.

He shakes his fists to the heavens, which jingle-jangles the bells on the green hat, collar and shirt hem of his costume.

Steve chuckles from his vantage point on the edge of the bed, impossibly charmed by what is a faint tinkling to his own ears as Eddie grumbles at his reflection in the full-length mirror.

He rakes his eyes down the back of his boyfriend’s seething and tense frame. He stops at Eddie’s legs, looking positively gangly in a pair of green tights. Long, too, as they disappear up under a tiny pair of green shorts with a red felt trim and –

Oh, no.

Steve gulps.

“What?” Eddie snaps, whipping around.

He scrunches his nose like he could hiss.

“Nothing!” Steve splutters, folding his arms tight and shrugging as he tries not to think about Eddie in a complementary pair of festive underpants – 

Oh, no.

He puffs out a breath, looking anywhere but at Eddie and his scowl.

“I should have never let Joyce talk me into applying for a job at Melvad’s,” Eddie rambles, half-muttering his words, “Why couldn’t you have charmed Keith into giving me some shifts at Family Video? At least I wouldn’t have to dress as a goddamn elf.”

Jingle-jangle.

Steve looks up just as Eddie stomps his foot.

His shoes jingle-jangle too.

“Gah! Fuck!” Eddie curses and freezes on the spot, arms tight by his sides.

“I can’t help it if my work vest is already green,” Steve teases, shrugging innocently, “Besides, Keith currently has you banned for ‘distracting staff’.”

His air quotations only make Eddie bristle. He lifts his right hand, likely to worry with a lock of his hair. But his fingers snag his jester-like collar.

Jingle-jangle.

Eddie splutters away with what Steve can only assume is a series of incoherent expletives as he begins to hop on the spot to wrestle one shoe off and hurl it across the room.

At least that’s what Steve assumes Eddie’s full-body throw is intended to do. But the lightweight shoe only makes it about a foot before it softly falls to the ground.

Eddie shrieks and then dips his head to dry sob into his hands.

“I look so stupid,” he laments, “I don’t want to be an elf.”

He looks up all doe-eyed and Steve can’t help but think how nice his hair looks under the elf hat, his locks sitting in place to perfectly frame his face. Even if Eddie doesn’t want to be an elf, he looks cute as hell as one.

Fuck it. What happens in the bedroom, stays in the bedroom, right?

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, lowering from the bed to the floor, “It’s only for a few days, right?”

“What the hell are you doing!” Eddie recoils, glistening eyes going wide as saucers as Steve begins to crawl on his knees towards him.

Jingle-jangle.

He stops in front of his boyfriend and takes his hand, planting it on his shoulder before he dips down for the remaining shoe.

“Helping you take this off...” he explains, voice light as he wraps his hand delicately around Eddie’s ankle.

“Okay…” Eddie hums, raising a sceptical brow even if he shifts his weight onto Steve’s shoulder to steady himself.

Steve bites his bottom lip, trying not to so much as chuckle as every movement Eddie makes sounds off a series of tinny bell sounds. He removes the green felt shoe and tosses it over his shoulder, still holding Eddie’s ankle before carefully lowering it back to the ground.

He looks up, a smile turning to a smirk as Eddie gulps, his eyes flitting down to where Steve still has his hand wrapped around his ankle, soothing it now from the embarrassment and green.

“Stevie…” Eddie frowns.

Steve runs his hand up his green stockinged leg slowly, pausing only when his fingertips skirt the bottom hem of his tantalising green shorts.

“Oh my god!” Eddie exclaims, clawing at his shoulder, “You like this costume, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve smiles, running his free hand through his hair.

“Not possible,” Eddie insists, shaking his head and chopping a hand through the air before placing it right back on his shoulder.

Jingle-jangle.

“I do,” Steve insists, flicking a bell on the hem of his shirt now.

“Don’t jingle it,” Eddie spits, jaw clenched.

“What if I jingle you…” he begins, tilting his head to the side as he looks him over, “All the way…”

“Gross!” Eddie shrieks, “That is the worst line you have ever…”

He trails off, a visible blush creeping up his neck as Steve allows his hand to breach the hem of those shorts.

“But,” Steve bites, pressing his fingers into Eddie’s skin, “You have to be a good elf, okay?”

He watches as a myriad of emotions run through Eddie’s eyes before he lands on a similar ‘fuck it’ attitude and goes along with it.

“Sure thing, Santa,” Eddie soon coos, dimples dotting his cheeks as he offers a cherubic smile and a two-finger salute.

Jingle-jangle.

“You have been the naughtiest elf in my workshop,” Steve teases, popping the ‘p’ as he reaches around to grab at Eddie’s ass.

Eddie lurches forward, Steve’s face now flush with his scratchy polyester shirt front.

Jingle-jangle.

[twixnmix]

Keith Haring painting a skirt for Grace Jones' music video "I'm Not Perfect (But I'm Perfect for You)" in 1986.

Photos by Vladimir Sichov

[toxophilitis]

A Flash of Mom’s Flesh

CHAPTER ONE

After getting the money from the instant teller machine, Sarah felt an irresistible impulse to lift her dress.

It was night, but the front of the bank was well lit, and the parking area of the shopping center was filled with cars. She looked around, a flush on her face, a flush of embarrassment and excitement.

Why she had this sudden urge to lift her dress and expose herself, she didn't know. She had never wanted to do that before. Her hands shook as she stuffed her money into her purse. She stood a moment, facing the machine, eyes closed as she breathed deeply. Her hands trembled on her hips and thighs, and her fingers began to inch her dress upward. She was afraid to turn around, afraid she would be face to face with someone watching her. Yet she continued to lift her skirt, slowly. When it was an inch or two above her knees, she felt a burning wetness inside her panties. The lips of her cunt seemed very swollen suddenly, and her clit had become very hard and sensitive.

Without turning from the instant teller machine, Sarah inched her dress higher. She was hardly breathing, not understanding why she couldn't resist doing this wicked thing. Her dress was halfway to her hips now, and she was still raising it, slowly. The cheeks of her ass bunched as a fiery quiver swept through her cunt. The sensations were very much like an orgasm, only she didn't come.

"Oh, God!" she whimpered softly, feeling the cool night air on the backs of her thigh, then her pantied ass. She stood holding her skirt about her waist, her skimpy panties displayed. She took in a deep breath, a shudder of wild, strange excitement coursing through her.

She turned.

Her dress was high in front and back, the frilly panties exposed, her cunt making a mouth-watering bulge in the tight crotch.

That was when she saw Jimmy, her son in the car, with Keith his cousin, at his side.

And they were staring at her, eyes wide and mouths open.

The flush on Sarah's face deepened, and she felt as if she wanted to cry with embarrassment, yet she held her dress around her hips, and started walking toward the car. Still holding her dress with one hand, she opened the door and slid under the wheel, with her son and nephew staring through the other window at her. She sat with her dress around her waist, her long, sleek thighs gleaming in the harsh light, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she stared straight ahead, her face on fire with embarrassment.

"Get in!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

The two boys climbed in, with Jimmy sitting in the front, his cousin taking the back seat. Sarah knew her son was fighting to keep from looking at her legs, the crotch of her exposed panties, and she knew, too, that he couldn't stop looking. She didn't blame her son, or her nephew. Any woman that would lift her skirt in public like this deserved to be looked at, wanted to be looked at. Otherwise why had she pulled her dress up that way?

Sarah didn't know why she had, only that she had done so and felt she had to do it, a compulsion she had been unable to resist.

She drove jerkily to Keith's home, about a block from her own, and let him out. But Keith paused at the driver's window, looking in at her boldly, a grin on his face. Then he turned and walked up the walkway to his house.

Sarah drove off slowly and gripping the steering wheel, her son gazing at her creamy legs and frilly panties. She parked in the driveway, and sat there in the car as her son got out, using his key to open the door. He flicked on the outside light, standing there looking at her, waiting.

"Oh God!" Sarah sobbed, leaning her head on the steering wheel for a moment. Her cunt was bubbling with wet heat, soaking into the crotch of her bikini panties. She felt as if she was about to come any second, yet her pussy seemed to lose the feeling just as it seemed about to explode.

She opened the car door and shoved one foot out. She kept her eyes averted from her son's gazing face, knowing he was staring up her long legs, right at her crotch. A shudder went through her as she finally stepped out of the car, slamming the door. She was halfway to her son when she realized she was still holding her dress up. With sob, she ran past her son and into the house, through the living room and down the hall. Her son watched, seeing her pantied ass sway in arousing motion, his cock pushing out against his pants with burning hardness.

Sarah closed her bedroom door and flung herself across her bed, burying her face into her arms, wondering what had made her do such a wicked thing. She had heard stories of people having such urges. But she didn't believe in any of that stuff. What was stranger yet, Sarah had never been a woman with a big sexual appetite. She had never really enjoyed fucking, fucking only when her ex-husband demanded it. She had not gotten much enjoyment from it.

And now...

She pushed her cunt hard into the mattress, feeling a responding pressure on her cunt. She wiggled and pushed, her cunt tingling with strange pleasure. She had seldom enjoyed an orgasm, and then they had been very weak. They had been just enough to make her know that somehow an orgasm could be very strong... under the right circumstances. She had played with her cunt before, trying hard to experience the wild explosion she had heard about, but failed every time.

Grinding into her mattress, she felt the sensation fading, and rolled onto her back, one arm over her wet eyes. Her other hand moved down her flat, stomach to her panties. She felt the wetness of her panties, and touched her clit through them, but there was no response. She dragged her fingertip up and down the slit of her cunt outside the panties, and still there was nothing. Sliding her hand into her panties and through the silky hair of her pussy, she agitated her clit trying to bring back that delicious sensation, but couldn't.

Pulling her hand from her panties, she sat up, soft cries of frustration coming from her. Sarah was confused, puzzled by what she was feeling, and not feeling. Within a very short time she wanted to fuck. For the first time in her life, she wanted a hard cock in her cunt, ramming and pounding and fucking her.

Sarah was thirty-three years old, lovely, tall and slender with beautiful, shimmering dark hair and bright blue eyes. As a girl in school, the boys had chased her, but she had nothing to do with them. She had no interest in sex at all. She had been a virgin when she married her husband, and it had hurt her badly that first time. Since then, she had not wanted his cock but gave in because she had felt it her duty.

Her husband found himself a more compatible woman, and left her with Jimmy five years earlier. Sarah had not missed him, and neither had her son, apparently. She never saw him, didn't want to see him, and Jimmy seemed content to it without a father.

And now, Sarah thought her cunt was on fire, melting between her long legs with slippery wetness. She had never felt it before, but now it was there, driving her out of her mind.

She stood up, and almost ripped her dress from her body. Her flesh itched, but no amount of rubbing soothed it. The itch was between her legs, on the swollen lips of her hairy cunt, her clit, but her fingers and hands failed to soothe it. It was becoming worse, and she clawed at her cunt with both hands, sobbing with frustration. She squatted in the middle of her bedroom floor, plunging four fingers up her cunt wildly, the fingers of her other hand agitating the stiffness of her clit. Her panties clung to her hips in shreds, and the juicy sounds her fingers made only increased her frustrated heat.

Pulling her drenched fingers out of her cunt, she stood up again, tearing her bra away and squeezing at her firm, high tits until a sharp pain made her release them. Her nipples pushed out long and hard, a tan brown color, tingling and burning the way her cunt was. She grabbed a hair brush from her dresser, spreading her legs and bending her knees, and rammed the wooden handle up her cunt, fucking herself with it, sobbing with tears streaming down her smooth cheeks. The hairbrush failed her, and she pulled it out of her cunt and threw it across the room. She sat on her bed, burying her face in her hands and cried with misery.

"Mom?" Jimmy's voice came through the door. "Are you okay?"

She tried to still her sobs.

"I'm fine. Please, leave me alone for a while, honey."

"I heard something hit the wall, Mom," he said. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm okay," she sobbed, then, "No, I'm not okay! Jimmy..." She lifted her tear-stained face and looked at the door. "Jimmy... please, honey! Oh, God, baby!"

She was on her fret and running to the door. She flung it open, grabbing her son's hand and pulling him into the room and to her bed.

Jimmy was startled to see his mother naked, her panties hanging in shreds on her hips, her high tits firm, the bushy triangle of her cunt showing, the wetness on her thighs, her face. He didn't know what to say or do, unable to stop looking at his naked mother.

Sarah sobbed then feverishly began opening her son's pants, pushing them down, then his shorts. His cock jerked upward, slapping against her chin. She pulled back, eyes wide, staring at his cock a few inches before her face. With a wild, hot gasp, she grabbed her son's cock and jerked it back and forth swiftly, watching the head bulge, beads of juice oozing from his piss-hole.

"Mom..." Jimmy groaned, frozen as he watched her pumping his cock, his body shaking as badly as hers.

"Jimmy!" she moaned, her other hand cupping his small, but full balls. "Oh, Jimmy!"

She rubbed the head of his cock about her face, her cheeks and chin, feeling his wetness on her flesh. Her eyes closed, and she drew in a deep, shuddering breath, turning him loose. She stood a moment before him, then grabbed his shoulders and fell across her bed on her back, legs spread wide as her son fell on top of her.

"Fuck me!" she screamed. "Jimmy, fuck me!"

Clutching her startled son's hips with both hands, Sarah twisted her ass about, her cunt searching for his cock. She felt it throbbing along her inner thigh, and with a hot cry, one hand darted behind her uplifted ass, pushing at his cock, getting the swollen head on the puffy wetness of her slit. She lunged her ass up and Jimmy's cock stabbed into her cunt.

"Ohhhh, Jimmy!" she cried out, clutching his ass again, her fingers digging into the flesh, squirming her cunt at the base of her son's cock.

"Ahhhh, baby, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!"

Sarah hardly knew what she was doing. Her passion was so intense, her need so great, it didn't matter that it was her son's cock in her cunt. All that mattered was a hard cock was there, throbbing powerfully, filling and stretching her with mind-shattering ecstasy. She did not know that her son lay stiffly, unmoving, still shaken by what had happened. She clamped her palms and fingers tightly on his ass, and humped up and down, fucking on his cock. Purrs and gasps came from her. She wrapped her long legs about his, locking her ankles across the backs of his thighs, and pounded frantically up and down, whipping her ass sideways, crushing her inflamed cunt and swollen pussy-lips brutally against the base of his cock.

Jimmy's chest smashed her firm tits, his hands above his mother's head. His eyes were closed, lips gaping, and he grunted as her cunt rammed up and down on his cock. His balls became tight, and the silky wet heat seemed to sear the flesh of his bulging prick, consuming him.

Sarah cried and sobbed, grinding her hips furiously, making soft wet slapping sounds as she raced her cunt up the length of her son's cock and down again. Her body was tingling with insane heat, her mind reeling with the most rapture she had ever felt in her entire life. Her cunt felt as if it was on fire, yet so wet it was unbelievable. She could feel her pussy throb and squeeze in delicious waving motions on the shaft of her son's cock, and her cunt was so tight, so hard, she was going out of her mind.

She unlocked her ankles and placed her heels on the edge of her bed, knees bent and flung wide. With this leverage, she banged up onto her son's cock almost violently, lifting his body. The outrageous need between her legs drove her, carried her into the realm of screaming ecstasy.

"Fuck me!" she cried over and over. "Fuck me... fuck me... fuck me!"

Her hands moved off his ass and up his back to his shoulders, then his head. She clung to his hair, pulling it without knowing, her hips gyrating with wild, frenzied action. She lifted her head and bit into her son's shoulder, trying to stifle the screams in her throat. The wetness of her cunt increased until the insides of her smooth thighs were slippery, the cheeks of her rounded ass glistening. Her cunt was pulling at Jimmy's cock as it plunged up and down, clasping and releasing, tightening and loosening. Her clit was larger than it ever had been, throbbing and ready to burst like a ripe gape. Her tits were hard, very hard, her nipples pushing up stiffly against his chest.

"Jimmy! Oh, my God, Jimmy!" she wailed. "I'm about to... ohhh, ram your cock up my cunt hard! My cunt is... mother's cunt is... ooooohhhhh!"

The orgasm almost tore Sarah apart.

Her cunt contracted with almost painful spasms, yet it was so sweet, so beautiful, she felt no pain. Her clit throbbed in the way his cock did, the juicy tightness of her cunt caressing his cock with little ripples as it convulsed and quivered and sucked.

Sarah strained her pussy as hard as she could on her son's cock, squealing as the rapture intensified. Her hands were once again clutching her son's ass, pulling him down tight, trying to take his hard cock deeper yet. Her orgasm burned from her belly button, radiating out from her cunt and along her thighs to her knees, the cheeks of her ass melting and her asshole puckering as her cunt did.

The orgasm was losing strength, and she began to slowly relax, moaning as the steamy glow flowed through her.

And then Jimmy came.

She felt his cock lurching a couple of times inside her cunt, but didn't know he was coming. Her eyes opened then bulged. Jimmy was spewing hot, thick come-juice into her cunt, rapidly, jerk after jerk.

"Jimmy!" she screeched, her cunt gripping his gushing cock as another orgasm burst hotly inside her. "Jimmy... ohhh, Jimmy!"

Her hands dug hard into the crack of her son's ass, pulling him down tightly as he spewed into her pussy, her cunt drawing on the shaft of his cock like a hot, greedy mouth.

Slowly, very slowly, Sarah came down. Her ass slumped to the bed, her heels sliding from the edge and thumping to the floor. Her arms weakened and she dropped them to her sides, breathing hard, her son's weight smashing down on her body as he panted, his face buried into her neck.

After a long time, Jimmy lifted from his mother, his cock pulling out of her cunt with a little sucking sound. He stood up, turning sideways shyly and pulling his pants up. Sarah lay in her sprawled, exposed position, too weak to move. Her eyes were slitted, and she could see nothing but a hazy outline of her son as he left her, closing her bedroom door softly behind him.

Sarah felt the tears in her eyes. She wasn't sure if she was crying from shame, or because she had felt something she had only heard about, something that was so tremendous, so good she could hardly believe she had actually felt it.

Sarah was like a stranger around her son. Both were shy and bashful, avoiding looking at each other directly. Sarah could not understand what had come over her, but she had loved it. She wanted to fuck her son again, but he was so bashful, avoiding her even while they were in the same room. He was in and out of the house, running around with his cousin, Keith.

She was surprised that her nephew allowed her son to be with him all the time. Keith was a few years older than Jimmy. Yet Keith was like an older brother to Jimmy, and they were inseparable.

Karen, her sister, was a few years older than Sarah, but seemed so worldly to Sarah. Karen was outgoing, outspoken, and with a sunny disposition that drew others to her. Like Sarah, Karen was tall and beautiful, but they didn't look like sisters at all. Where Sarah was dark-haired, Karen was a lovely honey blonde, and where Sarah had blue eyes, Karen's were brown. They had never been close as teenagers, and had only become friends in the past five years or so. Now they shopped together, gossiped together, and Karen made feeble attempts at matchmaking her younger sister.

Their closeness started when Sarah was divorced, and had become even closer over the past five years. The one thing Sarah wished her sister wouldn't do was talk about her own husband so badly. She was sure her brother-in-law was not as bad as Karen said. He was a good provider, even if he did travel often in his business. When he was home, he continued to work, and according to Karen, had little patience with his son or her.

Sarah wondered if Karen had ever felt the urge to do what she had done at the instant teller machine, and giggled as she tried to imagine Karen lifting her dress as she had done. One thing she was sure of, Karen had not fucked Keith as she had fucked Jimmy. Karen wouldn't do anything so shameful, she was sure. Besides, Karen could not be as frustrated, even if her husband did travel often. Karen probably had no problem with sex, and enjoyed orgasms frequently. Sarah felt she was the only woman in the world that found little satisfaction in getting fucked. That is, until she practically raped her son.

Fucking Jimmy had shown her what it was supposed to be like, what a real orgasm actually was. During the next week, Sarah attempted to recreate that wonderful, intense feeling by using her fingers and hands, but nothing seemed to feel right. She could stretch her cunt by ramming all her fingers into it, but the sensations weren't the same, and it failed to make her come, even weakly. She would start to tingle, then it would go away, leaving her in worse shape than ever. She longed to grab her son and stuff his cock into her cunt, climb on top of him bounce away, rape him again. But she was ashamed of her earlier actions, and could see the way her son would look at her accusingly then shift his gaze quickly.

The day before, she had been on the couch, her dress wrapped about her narrow waist, her panties pulled to one side, vigorously fucking herself with all four fingers, trying hard to bring about release again, when her son came in and saw her.

For a moment he stared, then turned and left her quickly.

Sarah, her fingers buried far up her pussy, had frozen when her son walked in, her breath caught in her chest. She had pulled her drenched fingers from her cunt and sat there, feeling guilty, thinking this was all wrong. It should have been her catching her son playing with his cock, not him finding her vigorously finger-fucking.

[badsongpetey]

An immortal, fire elemental warrior finds himself drawn to a beautiful fisherman who fights with uncanny skill and savvy against an evil that threatens his small village. A bunch of things happened in quick succession: saw an art w/ a character with flames for hair; saw some samurai art; listened to Moby’s “God Moving Over the Face of the Waters” I have this whole Oscar-winning animated short that plays in my head when I hear that song. It involves a small Japanese fishing village, a mighty storm, sea monsters, and a plucky young person. And it all looks like Katsushika Hokusai's "The Great Wave". Anyway it amounted to this AU and fulfilling a requirement for Keith in skirts. Lance is the fisherman, in case that wasn't clear lol.

In my ongoing attempts to get better at the art, I wanted to try some more fire/glow effects. Also, try, maybe not succeed, but try to get better at fabric. sigh...

[ker0senebunny]

walking on a string✫*ﾟ･ﾟ

steve harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader

part two -- after much anticipation, PART TWO IS HERE!

summary: steve leads on cheerleader!reader, thinking that her affection is insincere. after all, he’s a loser now. what could she possibly want from him? (angst, fluff)

warnings: language, angst, fluff, no use of y/n, afab!reader, fem!reader, un-beta'd, all characters are 18+

word count: 2,787

notes: ahh my first fic!! this is inspired by the song walking on a string :)) also steve is a lil insecure n angsty because the duffer brothers apparently won't let him express his insecurities or trauma!! so i did that. he deserves a hug and i hope our cheerleader!reader can give that to him. i have a part 2 lined up so lmk if u would wanna see that!! enjoy xox

p.s. i may or may not have finished editing this while dyeing my hair

i think about you walking on a string.

it always brings me back here.

you had been to family video every day that week (so far), and for steve harrington, that was weird. mega weird.

steve had always noticed you at parties, even if you weren't directly looking at him. you would come in with a troupe of cheerleaders, the hairspray practically sliding off of them in waves. you emerged from the cloud of crunchy hair and denim jackets with a softness that only you could possess. you looked as if you were made of gossamer - silken and perfect.

but that was when he was king steve: someone more worthy of you. someone who meant something. now, he’s just steve who works at family video and parents six children in his spare time.

so yeah. all your light touches and eyes skating across his lips was definitely all in his head.

that week, you'd come into family video at least five times. and every time, you asked to see steve. even if he was in the back, you would wait for him in front of the counter, drumming your manicured nails on the smudgy surface, looking around with wide, innocent eyes. today, you'd come to actually return a tape. you left him notes whenever you returned a tape, always signed with your name and a cloud of hearts. he swore he could smell your perfume on the paper.

it all started after the mall burned down. when you walked in to that miserable family video store, steve didn’t even notice you. “welcome to family video, how can i-” he droned, flipping through a magazine. he’d been working there for barely two weeks and he was already sick of it. at least he got free ice cream at scoops. all he had here was...keith. what made it even worse was the fact that robin was sick on this particular day. something about a "totally rancid stomach bug." steve shuddered just thinking about it. so now, he had nobody to banter with to pass the time. “steve?” you said, surprise evident in your open smile. his head snapped up immediately and was met with your gentle eyes.

“hi,” he breathed out.

“hi,” you gave in a giggly reply.

it was silent for a little bit. you were holding pretty in pink in your manicured hand. before he could ask you if that’s all you wanted, your hand that wasn't holding the tape was over his, squeezing it with every ounce of comfort you could transfer to him. “i heard about the fire at the mall. i’m so, so sorry that happened to you. it must’ve been so scary!”

he couldn’t tell if you were fucking with him. after all, you were still socially relevant in this dismal little town. he was the horror story told to incoming freshmen, a story of failure.

his gaze skirted around your pretty face; he saw part of the cheer squad waiting in a car outside. they were looking inside the store not so conspicuously and giggling. his eyes narrowed. yeah, he knew he was right; why would you be talking to him?

“yeah, well, at least i still have a job,” he quipped sarcastically. the scent emanating from your soft skin and your cardigan was making him dizzy. he found himself in a rush to get you away from him as soon as possible. he wanted to avoid whatever humiliation could be coming next. “will that be all?” he gestured to the tape. you seemed startled as you removed your hand from his. he already craved the warmth you gave him. “oh, yeah! i’m sorry to bring that up, by the way. i just wanted to make sure that you’re doing alright.” he hummed and registered the rental in the system, trying to ignore your presence less than a foot away from him. “just return it next friday,” he said, already turning back to his magazine. he felt a little bad, sure, because out of the corner of his eye, he could see you deflate. you became a little more subdued because of him. his dad was right - nobody wanted to be around him.

he hadn’t even realized that he’d zoned out until your fingers brushed against his once again.

you seemed to notice the shift in him, though, and the tender smile returned to your face as you took the tape from his hands. “it was really nice seeing you, steve. i’ve missed you,” you said before giving him a kiss on the cheek and slipping out the door. he was left mid page-turn, plump lips agape.

and of course robin wasn’t there to see it.

you were the current co-head cheerleader at hawkins. you were chrissy cunningham’s best friend. you were the top of the pyramid, all tiny crop tops and skirts that showed the cusp of your ass. you smelled like jasmine and citrus and god, were you pretty. supple skin, graceful eyelashes, a lush mouth. steve knew that you most definitely tasted like sweet almond cookies, soft on his tongue. he knew that you rented pretty in pink almost every friday, when he thought you would be partying. he knew that you were too good for him. so why the hell did you keep coming in to talk to him?

for weeks after that, you returned every friday to rent pretty in pink. you always stayed to talk with steve, and he felt his hard exterior start to slip away. you laughed at all his dumb jokes, even staying past closing to keep him company as he reorganized the incoming tapes. you brought him lunch with lovey-dovey notes that he definitely didn’t store in his wallet. he invited you over for movie nights — a weekly occurrence for the two of you. he’d even introduced you to his gaggle of freshmen. but in the back of his mind, he knew that you were just pulling him along on a frail string — and it was surely about to snap.

but even through all of that, coming in five times in one week was a lot.

the bell at the door jingled, taking steve out of his reverie. it was getting colder in hawkins — the last of the nice weather before the bitter chill of winter set in.

he took a breath and slid himself behind the counter as he saw you walk in. he could’ve sworn that you perked up, chin rising and hair shifting to show off your kissable neck as you fluttered over. stop it, he commanded himself in his head.

you smiled as you approached him, a sheen to your cheeks and the slope of your nose. “hi, steve,” you said, a little breathless. the light bent around you in a way that gave you a natural glow. steve could swear that he heard a choir singing somewhere. he shook himself into the present. “hey sweetheart, what’s up?” he said, reminding himself to play it cool. be neutral. you looked down, hands flattening your white skirt. you suddenly felt your cheeks warm. “i was just wondering if you’re going to be at the pep rally next week?” you looked so hopeful, standing on your tippytoes to lean over the counter. steve could see the tops of your tits as they threatened to spill out of your pink scoop-neck top.

he was shocked that he, steve harrington, new resident nothing of hawkins, was being asked out by the prettiest girl in his deadbeat town. this had to be some sort of sick joke that nicole and amanda put you up to. he smirked at you, plan in motion. if you wanted to play it that way with all the tiny tops and touching and the way you smell like apricot scrub…well, he’s getting off topic. the point is, steve harrington needed to play you right back.

“yeah, of course i’ll be there.”

he winced behind his smile. you beamed up at him.

into the garden, by the hand.

you’ve always had me,

walking on a string.

you were co-head cheerleader, that was true. but you also had a hopelessly huge crush on steve harrington, something your friends teased you over a lot. especially chelsea. the only person who ever defended you was chrissy, your best friend. chrissy always placed your hand in hers as a motion of comfort, a crinkle in between her brows as she told the cheer squad to, “back off! it’s not like bradley dunkirk is any better.” the other girls tittered in laughter as chelsea hid her flaming cheeks in her pompoms. you shook your head at chelsea and chrissy’s repartee as your eyes searched the bleachers. it was the day of the pep rally — the positively perfect time to show off your cheering prowess. your skirt was hiked up a little extra; your top was your smaller one from sophomore year that made your boobs perk up and almost overflow through the v-cut.

your pompoms wilted in your clammy hands as you scanned the gym, searching for that swoon-worthy warm grin and floppy hair. you eventually spotted him mouthing something to robin. they laughed through their own secret language and you felt a sinking pressure descend on your chest.

but then robin said something, gesturing toward you with a nod of her head. he looked up and over, eyes alert and looking for someone. his gaze rested on you, a pensive neutrality washed over his face. you rustled your pompoms playfully at him as you smiled, skirt swinging and exposing more of your thighs. steve swallowed as he saw the fabric rise, but then he just gave you a polite, closed-lip smile and looked back at robin, who was gesturing wildly at him.

your pompoms drooped and you frowned. he’d been weird the entire week, avoiding you, brushing off your coy smiles and flirty touches. you were overjoyed that he came and were looking forward to seeing his cute little dimples, but he didn’t seem to want anything to do with you. you sagged in your tennis shoes until chrissy tapped your shoulder and signaled that it was time to start.

your routine went perfectly. but as you stood on your teammates' shoulders and smiled at the roaring crowd, your mind was elsewhere. steve was clapping for you, but his eyes didn’t hold the usual mirth that they did. you thought that the two of you were building up to something. he couldn’t be that dense, you thought to yourself. surely all the love notes and smiles and jokes made him realize that you liked him. a lot. a LOT a lot. at the very least, you thought you were friends.

you’d liked steve since freshman year. you were barely a teenager, a fresh-faced fourteen year old who sucked her braces when she was nervous. you saw him in the parking lot, all boyish smiles and strong hands. you immediately liked the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. they crinkled, but they stayed open — so that he could still take in the face of whoever he was speaking with. you liked that he was considerate, that he held the library door open for you even as his date rolled his eyes for “helping a stupid little frosh.” you disappeared into the background for that first year, as you watched his life collapse in on itself.

but then sophomore year came and you blossomed. chrissy cunningham was in your english class. you two were partnered up to read a scene from macbeth and couldn’t do it without laughing. you knew that day, that she was going to be your best friend. then, the two of you were suddenly trying out for cheer. you got your braces taken off. your hair and a new healthy shine to it. people looked your way as you walked arm in arm with chrissy, ponytails bouncing in unison.

you’d always been afraid to speak to steve. sure, he was nicer than most popular kids (to you, at least) — but he was just so cute. and that made it all the more impossible to approach him. you remember how you felt your heart clench after you heard he and nancy broke up. he seemed to really love her, but a selfish part of you itched at the chance to have your shot.

that summer, when he was working at the mall, you barely had the courage to step inside scoops ahoy, even though amanda and bridget begged you to go with them. you knew robin from your history class. she was funny and sweet and a welcome surprise as you stepped into the ice cream shop. you walked up to the counter with a sway in your hips that ensured that people looked at your ass in those tiny denim cutoffs. you, robin, and your friends joked for a bit about your upcoming senior year. they were discussing something about a new culture club song when you looked to your right.

steve was laying on the charm while serving two girls from your school. you felt your stomach twist in jealousy. you looked at your sweet red converse and didn’t even notice robin asking for your order. you blinked at her and smiled, asking for strawberry in a cone. you and your friends moved toward where steve was. he gave you a small smile and looked you up and down, before going right back to flirting.

you liked him from afar; that was the extent of your relationship with steve. up until now, you’d only made small talk with him at parties. but you liked him because of how you saw him interact with others, especially that dustin kid.

you were heartbroken to think that the past few months of work visits and move nights (during which his arm would venture around your shoulder) didn’t mean anything to him. you saw him talking to robin off in a corner, and putting on a brave face, bounced over to the two of them.

“hi robs!” you chirped. she smiled at you and yelled your name as you approached from across the gym, miming pompoms in her hands. “nice cheering,” she said with a wink. you giggled in embarrassment and looked down at your frilly socks. “nice…playing?” you said. she laughed, but steve stood silently. robin looked between the two of you before muttering something about a girl named vickie.

you stood in front of steve now. he couldn’t help but think about how cute you looked in your uniform, glowing after a successful pep rally.

“hi stevie,” you said. he flushed at your nickname, something that you’d given him a few weeks ago after noticing a similar flush appear when you used it in passing.

“hey sweetheart,” he said, not looking you in the eye. you transferred your pompoms to one hand and reached the other out to gently grasp at his fingers. he let you.

“what’s going on? are you okay?” you asked sweetly. the dark part of steve, the part that convinced him that you were just leading him on, told him that you were faking it. that you were just here to make fun of him in front of his ex-classmates who already did the same behind his back. but here you were, face to face, looking at him with worry and your jasmine scent and pretty lips. he sighed out your name; you could detect the disappointment.

“i know what you’re doing.”

you looked at him in confusion, still holding his hand. you stepped closer to him and could smell his lemongrass shampoo. “stevie,” you said softly, “what do you mean?”

“i know your friends put you up to this,” he said harshly. something akin to hurt flickered across your face, but you replaced it immediately with your usual gentle disposition. “put me up to what?” you prompted softly. he rolled his eyes and huffed, pulling his hand away from you. this time, you let the hurt show on your face.

“i know that you and your friends wanted to fuck with me by pretending that you liked me,” he said finally, crossing his arms and furrowing his brows. you looked utterly crestfallen. your heart ached at the possibility that steve could think that your affection was anything but sincere. “no, stevie, please-“ you started, but he cut you off. “i know that i’m just this has-been cool kid who’s good for nothing, but i’m still a person. and i won’t be dragged around on your little string anymore. i’m done.”

if you looked crestfallen before, you looked absolutely crushed right now.

steve desperately wished that he could suck his words from the air around you and never let them see the light of day. but from the look on your face, he knew there was no going back now.

your eyes tickled and burned as wetness blurred your vision. it hurt you more than anything to know that steve thought so little of you. the boy you’d do anything for, go anywhere for, thought that this was all a game to you. you tried to swallow around the lump in your throat, your next words coming out cracked: “steve, i promise it’s not like that.” he scoffed.

“then tell me why your friends sit outside of the video store and watch us and fucking laugh at me?”

your heart stopped then. it broke you, knowing that steve thought so little of himself and you. “steve, they’re laughing at me! because i never stop talking about you because-“ you stopped, not knowing whether you should even bother to tell him now. with a shaky breath, you continued: “because i like you so goddamn much.”

he looked at you strangely then, watching the tears finally begin their path along your cheeks. “save it. i’m done.” the gym was empty now; everyone had left during your conversation. he looked at you, all dolled up in a green little cheerleading costume, a yellow ribbon threaded through the back of your ponytail. he tried to ignore the wetness on your face and the pitiful tremble of your bottom lip. he tried to memorize the color of your lipgloss and how it sparkled under the dimming sun and fluorescent lights. he looked at you and tried his best to keep himself from falling for you. he turned to walk out of the gym doors. as his reeboks squeaked across the lacquered hardwood, steve thought about running back to you and kissing you until he heard his favorite laugh bubble up out of your chest. he heard a sob rip its way out of your throat and in a moment of weakness, he turned around to see you drop your cute little pompoms and raise your hands to your face to hide your tears.

© ker0senebunny. all rights reserved. all original posts of writing are my own words, with the exceptions of quotations from songs, movies, and other media. my work is NOT to be crossposted to another platform, copied by anyone, or translated without my express and explicit permission.

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