#this guy fucks and is buttery smooth

[memes-in-a-half-shell]

Also! I realize I've never really did a "reference" sheet for my version of Donnie I usually draw with Vee. Sometimes I hide some little details here and there (fun fact; he has a tattoo when with her - when I don't forget about it lol), but it's also personality-wise that there can be some more personal headcanons.

Idk, just putting thoughts down. I like sharing stuff with you guys :) !! Might get a sheet out at some point to explain the little things here and there. ... Whenever I'm not telling myself that everything I do is garbage rehehrerheuHREUheurhEURhe

[ssweetleaf]

well if i MUST

steve loves putting a hand over your mouth when you guys fuck in sneaky situations. he loves hearing your sweet noises, but for the sake of not getting caught, he really has to.

but he gets off on it too, placing his huge hand over your lips, hearing your little muffled cries seep through as you watch him with pleading eyes, and he knows exactly what you're begging for too. sometimes he'll slip his fingers into your mouth, and feeling you suck on them so eagerly almost sends him right over the edge.

and then he leans in, voice all smooth and buttery, "gotta keep quiet baby, those moans are just for me to enjoy."

🧎🏼‍♀️😵‍💫😩 i want his babies. do you understand how feral this makes me??

SMUT under the cut

Fucking with a full house was risky, especially with how loud you’d get, finding it hard to stifle your cries and whimpers, sobbing into the sheets and pulling a pillow over your head— trying so hard to stay quiet, though usually failing once the thickness of Steve’s cock rutted into you, abusing your gummy walls and nudging at that special spot so deep, barely halfway to the hilt and already splitting you in two.

So, with a problem like this, a solution was very much needed— and it just so happened that Stevie had just the thing.

˖ ࣪⭑

His cock was stuffed inside you, tight hole trying hard to accommodate his size, quivering and dripping around him with every inward thrust— your parents were down the hall, only a few doors down, noises seeming extra loud in the dark of the night, and it appeared practically impossible to just stay quiet.

“Come on, honey, none of that—” he clicked his tongue down at you, mocking you, his chest pressed snug against your own, stiff nipples rubbing against the course hair that littered his pecs. “gotta be quiet, sweet girl. Don’t want mommy and daddy finding out how dirty their little girl can be, hm?”

You whimpered, teeth tugging at your bottom lip, holding in a sob. The tears were ebbing over your waterline, glistening from the light of the moon between your blinds and boring into his own.

He throbbed at the sight of those tears. You were so pretty when you cried.

“Can’t help it,” you whined, nails scratching crescents into his shoulder blades. “feels s’good, Stevie.”

“You want me to help you out, honey?” He cooed, copying the pout on your lips and smoothing your hair out of your face, hips still rocking, though a little slower than before.

You nodded, sighing all syrupy and sweet, watching with love hearts in your eyes when he brought a big palm up to your mouth, pressing it over your lips and clamping your needy noises down.

You whimpered desperately underneath his palm, the noise sufficiently muffled and your lashes fluttered up at him while he cooed and praised you.

“Oh, look at that—” he punctuated his speech with a rather deep thrust of his cock, the vibrations of your mewl tickling his palm, “pretty baby’s all quiet f’me now, hm?”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, hands sliding and kneading and touching, trying to ground yourself and stop yourself from floating too far away, and it was hard with the sparkles that clouded your mind and vision.

“Atta girl, just needed a little help, that’s all.”

˖ ࣪⭑

send me smutty steve and eddie blurbs!

[xtrashmammalstefx]

Chaos Monster & Her English Gent (A Callum Turner x Reader Smut)

Warnings: Smut, language, kiddos under 18 do not interact!

Notes: When I said I've become a total slut for this man and his bf Austin I wasn't fucking around. Lemme know if y'all want an Austin smut/sequel because I totes have some ideas I think you'll like.

Looking back I don’t think any of us expected this to happened. I certainly didn’t and I was the one who had the most to lose if things had gone sour rather than go the way they did.

I’m getting ahead of myself though so I’ll just start where this whole mess began: the first time I visited Austin on the Masters of the Air set. I’d sneaked up behind Austin, my best friend for life and possibly longer, as he was talking to a rather handsome man with the most unimaginably contagious smile. I put my finger to my lips once he’d seen me and jumped onto Austin’s back. “’Sup Elvis!”

“PRISCILLA?! FUCK!” Austin turned and scooped me up. “YOU SCARED THE SHIT OUTTA ME BABE!”

I laughed and squeezed him back. “Well that’s what you get for taking for fucking ever to return my texts you ass!”

“Sorry ‘bout that sweetheart but duty called a hell lot more than I thought it would,” he said once I was back on the ground. “Oh,” he turned back to the smiling man. “By the way, Callum this is my best girl, Y/N, Y/N this is my new best friend Callum.”

“Nice to meet you my handsome replacement,” I said.

Callum smiled nearly bringing out a giggle from deep inside me. Fuck, he is good. “Pleasure’s all mine love, and I am definitely not replacing you. You’re more beautiful than I will ever be.”

Struck dumb by his buttery smooth British accent and killer icebreaker I turned to Austin. “He is a hell of a keeper.”

“Yeah I think so too,” Austin laughed. “So how long are you staying?”

“I’ve taken a week off work so I’m gonna be yours until about Sunday,” I said.

“Oh sweet. Can’t wait to show you off to the rest of the boys, they’re gonna love you,” Austin said as we started towards a couple other guys in period attire.

“Only until they get to know me,” I said. “Let’s see how they react once they see the true chaos monster you know and love.”

“Well, this is gonna be a right interesting week,” Callum said walking on the other side of me.

Of course he wasn’t wrong about that. The next few days were filled with me and Austin being a chaotic duo in front of his cast mates who were also quite chaotic themselves. I’m not sure how or when it started happening but whenever Austin was away either in costume or make-up, Callum and I started to talk. Barry would sometimes be there but most of the time it was just us.

“I’m really gonna miss having you around,” Callum said two days before I was due to leave. We were in his trailer. Austin was busy talking with his manager so I figured I’d bug Callum for a bit. He was changing out of his costume and into civilian wear while I hung out in his make up chair.

“You act as if you don’t have my number and social medias,” I said. “I’m heading home, not dying.”

“Well, talking with you on a phone or in DM’s isn’t exactly the same as having you here,” Callum continued.

“What can you possibly say that can’t be said over the phone?”

“It’s not what I wish to say but rather what I wish to do that can’t be done over a phone call,” he said starting towards me wearing nothing but his boxer briefs which left little to nothing to the imagination.

“And what exactly is it that you wish to do good sir?”

He smirked and started leaning down. “This,” his lips connected with mine. His plump lips were soft and warm as he kissed me. It wasn’t enough to send me off the edge and before I knew it I had my arms around him letting him carry me to the small couch. Once there he pulled back and brought his lips down to my neck. As he left what I was sure was gonna be a massive hickey I reached down and started palming him through his underwear. He groaned at the feeling, his body trembling on top of mine.

“I’m a bit overdressed don’t you think?” I breathed. He smiled and sat up. I reached down and lifted my shirt over my head. He took it from me and tossed it to the side before reaching for the zipper and button on my pants. Not even a minute later I was fully bare in front of him.

“God you’re so beautiful,” he whispered pecking me on the mouth. “So. Fucking. Beautiful.” As he started to kiss me again I nudged at his briefs, doing my best to get them off. Callum got the hint though and pulled them off tossing them with my clothes. I think he could see how big my eyes got at the sight of him for he chuckled softly and said, “Like what you see, darling?”

I had no idea how to answer. If I’d though he was big when flaccid it was nothing compared to how endowed he was when he was hard.

I looked from his crotch up to his face as he continued to look at me quizzically with that smile that didn’t seem to go away. “C’mere,” I said moving from the couch to the floor beside it. He laid himself on top of me sending a shiver through me as his dick brushed my folds, ghosting my entrance. He reached down, gave himself a tug and placed himself there.

“Okay, love?” he asked. I nodded and just like that he was inside me. I clung to him as my body got use to the stretch. Callum cussed a rainbow of curse words in my ear as I enveloped him. His thrusting began soon after.

Turns out Callum is a gentleman in every sense of the word. He kept his movements slow at first, not daring to go faster or harder without my say so. Once the stinging subsided I brought my mouth to his, kissing him harder before telling him, “Harder… I need you to go harder.” With that he picked up the pace, almost slamming completely into me. “FUCK!”

“You’re taking me so well darling, fuck!!” He took me into his arms and slowly lifted me up, still thrusting into me. I held onto him moving up and down as he sat back. I rode him like that for a while until he lied completely back, putting me in charge for a bit.

As I moved my body conscious of the fact that I could see a small bump pulsating in my lower stomach, Callum reached down and started rubbing me with his long fingers. I bit back a scream at the feeling but let him keep playing with clit. It made me feel alive in a way I couldn’t put into words and before I knew it I was riding him like my life depended on it.

We continued like that until I began to feel the pressure build up inside me. “Oh fuck I’m gonna cum!”

“It’s alright, darling, just...just let go on my cock,” he said grabbing my ass and slamming me harder on his length. The pressure continued to grow more intense, until finally I was screaming and tightening around him. As I remained clamped down on his length Callum wrapped his arms around me and flipped us back over so that he was on top.

He continued to thrust as I came down from the most mind boggling orgasm of my life. I was still seeing stars when Callum’s thrusts became sloppy. Suddenly the gentle boy I’d been falling for became beastly, almost roaring as he twitched inside me, filling me up until there wasn’t a single drop left in him.

My body was still shaking, my cunt throbbing, as he pulled out and collapsed beside me.

“That was… incredible...magical even…”

“It was the best damn shag of my life,” Callum said breathless making me giggle. I turned my body to face him and cringed at the soreness between my legs. “You alright love?”

“Mentally and emotionally speaking I’m fucking great,” I said. “Physically speaking...fuck… Callum, I love you with every fiber of my being and will gladly do this again and again with you but god damn I think you just about broke me in half.”

He laughed at that and kissed my now swollen lips. “So, you agree then? To be my girlfriend I mean.”

I looked up at him and smiled. “I’m pretty sure I’m more than that. I mean, I did just say I love you, and lord knows those are words I don’t say to just anybody.”

“Just to the lad who shags your brains out?” I slapped him playfully on his chest. “Only joking darling. I love you too, and I don’t say those words to just anybody either.”

“Just to the girl that rode you and milked you for every last drop of cum in your body?”

“Actually, I believe I just said them to the girl I want to marry.”

“Quite the fast one aren’t you?”

“Only when I know deep down in my bloody heart and bones that I don’t want to do this with anyone else,” he said.

“Alright, but there’s something we gotta do first… Something pretty damn risky.” He looked at me questioningly.

“And that is?”

I looked up and smiled nervously. “We gotta tell Austin.”

“OH FUCK!”

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓

summary: the plan was to spend a chill movie night at the castle but when was the last time anything went according to plan in the devildom?

pairing: dragon! barbatos x afab reader (gn/no pronouns used)

warnings: nsfw/ minors dni, dragon! barbatos, dom! barbs , aphrodisiac spit (idc if i made it up, deal with it), double penetration, two cocks, monster + tail fucking, breeding kink, oviposition, cream pie, pool sex, marking, a little bit of possessiveness (as a treat)

a/n: this is part of a low-key collab between @majoliish and me (aka we worked off the same setting and then branched off); i will update this with the link to his fic once he posts dia's part ♡

obey me! masterlist

The golden gates of the Demon Lord’s Castle swung open, revealing the grand hallway leading you inside. Awaiting you was, of course, none other than the royal butler, Barbatos. You couldn’t help the grin spreading on your lips as you skipped up the last steps to meet him, grateful for the warmth radiating against the frigid night air. 

“Good evening,” Barbatos greeted, slightly bowing, despite how often you told him not to. “It is most fortunate you could meet the Young Master and I for our Halloween movie night. As you are aware, the Young Master wished to spend the night before his grand birthday party learning more about human culture, so we appreciate you making the time for us.”

“No need to make it so formal, Barbatos, you know I’ve been looking forward to seeing you guys. You’re always terribly busy after all,” you laughed as he led you inside. The castle was lit entirely with candles tonight, making your shadows flicker as you walked.

“You are no better in that regard, always trying to reign in those brothers. It cannot be easy either.” When you entered what in other houses might be considered the living room, the smell of buttery popcorn, pumpkin spice and baked goods filled your senses.

“Wow, Barbs, speaking of busy, how many hours did you slave away in the kitchen for this?” You breathed in deeply, savouring the delicious aroma. “I can’t wait to ruin all your hard work by eating it. It smells divine.” 

“Oh please, this was nothing. There  would be no better compliment than enjoying yourself.” With practised ease, Barbatos helped you out of your coat, taking in the costume you were pulling at nervously with his malachite eyes studying you. “I must say, you look lovely tonight, as always. Though I’m afraid to say it is not fear my heart is shaking with.” 

“Thanks,” you stammered out, one hand bashfully rubbing your neck. 

You took this opportunity to take in Barbatos’s appearance as well. On first glance, his costume would pass for an ordinary demon form, however, his normally delicate looking horns had been replaced with ones growing backwards, branching out like sleek corals, and his ears had elongated into translucent fins. Different hues of blue and teal draped around him, the silky texture of his clothes shimmering with every motion and reminding you of the ocean.

Patches of scales were visible on his cheeks and collarbones, shimmering different shades of turquoise and aquamarine as he moved. As a nice surprise he had also removed the gloves he’d usually wear, showcasing claws that looked sharp and were probably sharper. Most intriguing of all, however, was the scaled tail swishing under layers of flowy, wave-like fabric. While it resembled his demon form in colour, the texture was completely different and it reached way further than normal.

“Wow, Barbatos, you look amazing,” you said, in awe at his graceful appearance. He was already a fascinating demon under normal circumstances but on this night it was hard to tear your eyes away from him. 

“Your high praise is ever so delightful, I shall remember it.” Again he bowed politely, the gesture smooth and elegant. “The Young Master and I have settled on the theme of dragons, though we both directed our focus on different kinds. As you can see, I have taken on the appearance of an aquatic dragon.”

Speaking of Diavolo, he met up with you shortly after, sporting a red and golden costume that played into his already dragon-like features and made him look even more impressive than usual. But in typical Diavolo fashion he was nothing but sweet as he greeted you, his joyful laughter bouncing off the wall as he gladly shared his excitement with you.

“Oh right, I almost forgot! I brought some snacks too!” You pulled various treats from your bag, some of them procured from the Human Realm with Solomon’s help but also a pack of chocolates Asmo had given you. “I know they don’t compare to Barbatos’s creations but I didn’t want to show up empty handed.”

“No, this is great!” Diavolo grinned, inspecting the candies from your world. “The purpose of this get-together is to learn about your culture after all.”

“Indeed, these provide a most valuable insight.” Quickly transferring them into various bowls, Barbatos set them up on the table in front of the biggest TV you had ever seen, before turning back to the two of you. “Shall we begin our movie night then?”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for tight?” You laughed as you settled on the couch, Diavolo and Barbatos on each side of you. With a flick of his hand, Barbatos dimmed the flicker of the candles to a dim light, creating the kind of spooky atmosphere expected of a Halloween movie night.

It was nice to see some classic films from your world while trying everything laid out in front of you. Obviously Barbatos’s baking tasted even better than it smelled and you could have eaten every last piece of it, but the chocolates you brought were pretty decent as well, your companions agreeing.

All in all, it was just the kind of relaxing night you didn’t get often around here and which you desperately needed.

Half-way through your second film, you’d noticed Barbatos shift rather often, which was unusual for someone as composed as him, to say the least. He’d assured you everything was alright, that it was just the unfamiliar attire that took some getting used to. Still a little sceptical, you turned back to the movie and tried to trust his judgement.

The heat radiating from both sides was getting harder to justify by the two just being demons and your concerns were proven right when Barbatos, of all demons, excused himself and took an awful amount of time just to never come back.

You apologised to the prince as you got up to search for the butler yourself. Something was definitely wrong and if there was someone who was predestined to uncover it, it would be you. The only problem: the castle was huge and Barbatos was more skilled at appearing and disappearing wherever and whenever he liked.

The halls were eerily silent, making your steps echo loudly in your ears despite the plush carpets. Every few metres you looked over your shoulder when the flicker of your own shadow or the branches moving outside the window caught your attention from the corner of your eye. Whenever a particularly strong gust of wind howled and rattled the windows, your steps hastened just a little bit.

When you had already opened just about every door and checked every room you came across, you were about to give up. Clearly, Barbatos didn’t want to be found, so what were the chances that you could?

You pushed open the heavy door to the palace pools, inhaling the distinguishing smell associated with pools and feeling the humidity in the air. The moon was full and high in the sky as it shone its silver light through the round centre of the all-glass window front and the waves broke the light, reflecting a hypnotising pattern onto the walls.

It might have gone unnoticed under the moonlight but a splash in the water alerted you to the presence in the room. There, in the centre of the pool, teal hair floated through the water, the long flowy fabric of Barbatos’s costume moving around him like the iridescent tentacles of a jellyfish.

“Barbatos!” You exclaimed, already at the edge of the pool by the time his name fully left your lips. Of course, his attention was already on you; he never could have missed you entering the room. “There you are! I was so worried, you know. But it’s an odd time to take a dip… not that I’m judging you or anything.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” the demon chuckled, a low and melodic sound that had your heart melting. “Although I assure you I would not be here if it was not strictly necessary to my predicament.”

“Your predicament?” You questioned, squatting down to be closer to him. “What’s going on? Are you ill or something?”

“Your concern warms my heart, truly,” he smiled. From up close you could see the scales that looked so realistic glistening with the water drops that dripped from his hair. In the moonlight they looked like they were made of precious gemstones and you couldn’t help but think how good he looked like this. Extending a courteous hand to you, his stunning eyes found yours. “Why don’t you join me and I'll show you what I mean? I promise there’s nothing dangerous about it.”

Without hesitating you put your hand in his, fully trusting him. Then you realised how detailed his costume was. You hadn’t noticed earlier but the colour of his teal nails extended onto his fingers as well, right about to the second knuckle, contrasting the translucent webbing spanning between his fingers. 

Then he pulled you into the water and steadied you by the waist when you jumped because of the chill. You could feel his claws digging into your hips through the wet clothes sticking to your skin. But you hardly had time to think about it as you were already drifting through the water, securely held in Barbatos’s grip, who was cutting through the water as if it was nothing. Sure, he always looked effortless but it was as if he didn’t even need to move his legs.

That was when you felt it. Amongst the tingling sensation of his silky attire wafting around your legs, something strong and scaly brushed against your calf. You of course saw the tail earlier but it was just a costume, surely it shouldn’t be this functional… or this long.

“You seem rather speechless, what is the matter?” Spinning you around as you came to a stop, his chest pressed against your back, your hand still in his grasp. His voice was low as his lips rested near your ear, the vibrations of his voice travelling down your spine. “Imagine my surprise when I found out I had turned into the very thing I was masquerading as this entire evening.”

“W-What?” You stuttered, trying to wrap your head around this new piece of information as Barbatos’s lips attached themselves to the skin behind your ear. “You turned into a dragon? How?”

“Because of you, my dear. Or rather, because of those chocolates you brought. An accident perhaps,” he muttered as his mouth travelled down the side of your neck and lavished the juncture where your neck met your shoulder with attention. “Or perhaps you knew full-well of the effects it had and it was a deliberate move on your part? No matter what is the case, are you ready to face the consequences of the situation you have put me in?”

“The consequences?” You airily asked, focusing on keeping your thoughts in line as Barbatos leaned over you and started trailing kisses all over your jaw. The hand that was on your waist all this time had moved to hold the other side of your face, angling your head the way he pleased. This dominant side of Barbatos made you thank the stars that your knees couldn’t buckle as you melted into his hold.

“Looking at you, I’m certain you are already aware,” the demon said, though he still pressed his hips into your backside for emphasis. The feeling of the big bulge straining against his clothes had you stifling a moan by biting your bottom lip. “If I may be so bold to read your reaction, you want this too, do you not? If not, you should voice it now as I can feel my self-restraint slipping.”

There was no denying it, you had been dreaming of having Barbatos like this since you had gotten to know him. Something about the butler had captivated you and your interest had only grown the more time you spent around him. And though you would never admit it, the image of his skilled fingers doing other things than preparing tea had filled your mind on more nights than one. Even if he wasn’t completely himself right now, you would not be idiotic enough to pass up this chance.

“Barbatos, please,” you all but whimpered, trying to grind your hips back against him in the water, your fingers grazing over the fin on his ear as you reached back for him. His groan sounded like music to your ears and you could feel the arousal starting to pool below your navel. 

“What are you pleading for, my dear?” Barbatos whispered, his lips almost brushing yours now as he pulled you even closer to him. “What are you thinking of? Tell me, so I can make it become reality.”

“Please touch me, Barbatos,” you begged, aware how needy you sounded when he hadn’t even done anything yet. “I need you to.”

“As you wish,” he approved before slotting his lips against yours. They were slippery from the water but still pillowy-soft and soon you were humming against them. As if to swallow your noises, Barbatos parted his mouth and you felt a split tongue flick against the seam of your lips.

You easily granted him access, allowing him to tangle his tongue with yours but you had underestimated his transformation, which granted him an inhumanly long appendage to map your mouth out with. Occasionally, your tongue would bump into the tip of one of his fangs and it sent a shiver down your spine. When you parted to allow oxygen back into your lungs, rather than water, it was your shared saliva coating his lips and connecting you both by a string.

“So soft and obedient…” Babatos groaned as he nipped at your shoulder, sharp fangs grazing the skin but not breaking it. Turning you to face him, he encouraged you to wrap your legs around his waist as he moved you through the pool again. “No wonder demons fall for humans’ temptations so easily. You make it incredibly difficult to control myself.”

Shortly thereafter, the edge of the pool dug into your back as your demon started working on freeing your body from your costume. Uncharacteristically enough, instead of meticulously peeling you out of it, the loud sound of ripped fabric could be heard over the rippling water. Whatever was left of your clothes was carelessly tossed somewhere onto the floor, Barbatos too busy licking and sucking all over your collarbones and chest to care.

As you were stripped bare piece by piece for his eyes to drink up, you rolled your head back when his tongue literally wrapped around one of your pebbled nipples, making you gasp. Threading your hand into his teal locks, you gave them a harsh tug when his mouth closed fully around your areola, no doubt leaving a red ring of imprints around it. To keep you steady as your back arched into his touch, you felt pinpricks of his claws digging into your hips, the pain making you moan out in lust. 

Seemingly drawn in by the noise and determined to coax more of them from you, Barbatos connected your lips again in an open mouthed kiss that felt filthier than the first one as he crowded you against the edge of the pool, pressing his hips into your swivelling ones. The more he kissed you the foggier your mind became, slick starting to ruin your underwear which was clinging to your folds. It also loosened your inhibitions, having you moan freely and making you beg without shame as long as he touched you.

“You are truly magnificent,” he whispered as if it was something only deemed fit for your ears to hear. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his wandering fingers, claws grazing your skin as light as feathers, the ghost of his touch spreading across your entire body. “The finest works of art do not compare to you. It’s my deepest pleasure to have you all to myself and leave my mark on your beauty.”

“More, please, more,” you whimpered and Barbatos would be a fool not to give you exactly what you wanted when you were giving yourself to him so freely.

“Such a good human, already begging me so sweetly,” he crooned against your temple, water droplets from his hair landing on your feverish skin. With a quick swipe of his claws, the restricting fabric of your bottoms and underwear fell away and you sighed at the cool sensation of the water enveloping your heat. “Anything for you.”

You felt weightless as Barbatos lifted you out of the water to settle you on the edge, then swam closer to take his rightful place between your legs. Even if you wanted to close them out of embarrassment, you couldn’t, not with his strong, webbed hands keeping you spread wide open for him as his nails dimpled the fat of your thighs. To steady yourself and avoid keeling over, your fingers found their way back into his hair, this time grabbing hold of the base of his horn.

The tips of his tongue flicked around the inside of your thighs, gradually wandering closer to where you wanted him most but in your opinion he was needlessly drawing it out. By now, your muscles were twitching in need at his sweet torture and your fingers tightened around his horn. In return, a sharp nip into the inside of your thigh jerked your hips and heat shot through your veins.

“Patience, my dear,” he reprimanded, eyes sharp as he looked up at you. You could see his tail flick behind him, the fin and tapered tip breaking the surface of the water every now and then. “I need to prepare you well for what’s to come or you’ll struggle to take all of me.”

In response, you clenched around nothing, something that didn’t go unnoticed by the dragon in front of you. His eyes attentively tracked the way your slick gathered on his fingers as he carefully ran a digit through your slit, careful not to nick you with his claws. Your entire being seized up when he put pressure on your neglected clit which only started pulsing more intensely under his treatment.

The tongue you had grown to love slipped past his lips and lapped your arousal from his own digits making him sigh. “You already smelled delicious but you taste so much more exquisite. I have to get a proper taste if you offer something so sweet to me.”

Just from watching him, an embarrassing amount of slick had started to soil the tiles you were sitting on and you couldn’t remember ever being this worked up before. So it felt like heaven when Barbatos’s tongue finally came into contact with the sensitive skin around your core. For a moment you thought he’d tease you further but he decided to be merciful and drag the appendage through the length of your slit, the tip pressing down on your clit after the delightful reaction you had shown him earlier.

If you thought the butler was already skilled with his fingers you had severely underestimated his oral capabilities. When he’d drenched your core in his spit to his satisfaction, your folds even more susceptible to his every touch now, he wasted no more time diving into your heat.

“Barbatos!” Your gasp of his name echoed around the otherwise empty pool area and you gripped the tiled edge for dear life. The length of his flexible tongue allowed him to easily map out your body and find every last sensitive spot of your velvety walls. “So good! Don’t stop, please!”

Spurred on by your praise, one hand reached up to circle your clit, the movement fast and precise and you simultaneously pushed your hips forward and his head closer to you. Peering down through your lashes with half-lidded eyes, you saw that his striking eyes were already on your face and the sight of him between your legs, his clothing fanned out around him and his scales shimmering under the surface, was almost enough to push you over the edge.

By now, your entire being was so sensitive, the faintest of movements had you twitching and clamping down on his tongue. You didn’t know what was up with you and you didn’t think about it further, the only thought in your head being how much you wanted to cum. 

“You’re almost there aren’t you?” He gently coaxed and was satisfied by the melody of your broken moans mixed with syllables of his name dripping from your lips like the sweetest of nectars. Barely parting from you to speak, his hot breath fanned your lower lips as the pads of his fingers continued the assault on your clit. “Be a good human and show me how well you can cream all over my tongue. I know you want to, so go ahead and give me all of you.”

As if your body had only waited for his approval, you did as you were told and came with a high-pitched moan of his name. Without realising it, you were white-knuckling both the tiles and Barbatos’s hair as pleasure coursed through your veins and pulled you under the waves of ecstasy. Said demon didn’t seem to mind though, instead just diligently keeping up the sinful caress of his fingers until you were trembling in overstimulation like a leaf on a lake. 

When you pushed him away from you, his hands settled on the curve of your hips and gently lifted you back into the water with him, carrying your entire weight as you rested against his chest, relaxing into the hypnotic sensation of his hands wandering all over you and massaging your tired thighs.

“As much as I’d love to let you rest, I’m afraid we are far from done,” he whispered, lovingly kissing the crown of your head, actions betraying his words. The hands that had lovingly taken care of you, wandered to your butt and kneaded the flesh there, all the while grinding his hard erection against you. “This was just the beginning of the pleasure I can show you, after all.”

Finally discarding his clothing as well, he revealed his flawless skin which shined like silver in the moonlight. You slung your arms around his neck as Barbatos curled his heavy tail around your middle, keeping you flush against him so he could grind his hard cock against your soaked folds and coat himself in your release. And suddenly you understood why his bulge had felt so big against you earlier.

Instead of one, two heads kept bumping into your clit.

“Barbatos, I don’t think I can–”

Before you could finish your sentence, your doubts were silenced by his lips on yours and slowly the fear of pain was replaced by the anticipation of a delicious stretch and the feeling of being fuller than you’ve ever felt. 

“Don’t worry, my love,” Barbatos spoke through the mist clouding your brain as he hiked you higher on his waist and wrapped your legs around him, “I won’t hurt you. I’ll make sure you’ll take all of me and that you’ll beg for it.”

You squeezed his hips between your thighs as you sighed into the crook of his neck. “Who knew that you had such a dirty mouth on you under that prim and proper façade?” 

“It is hardly a façade, merely the proper etiquette expected of me by my position.” The end of his sentence already trailed off into a groan as the mushroom head of his bottom cock breached the tight ring of muscles with ease, the stretch facilitated by how worked up you were. Though, the foreign oversensitivity you were experiencing on this night had you clenching hard around him and enveloping every prominent vein. “Under these circumstances, however, it is natural I’ve been released from my royal duties. So right now I’m just the demon Barbatos.”

“You’re always you to me,” you whimpered through the pressure building in your abdomen. “Never just a position, always yourself.”

“No, if I were myself around you,” he bottomed out slowly as you panted against his collarbones while trying to get used to his girth, “I would have given into my urges and made you mine already; would have had you writhing underneath me far earlier than it would be appropriate.”

At his confession, fiery passion blazed through your nerves as you remembered how often you had fantasised about him on quiet nights. To find out he felt the same way made you crave him more, your hand clawing at his shoulder as you did your best to swivel your hips even if all your muscles seemingly turned to jelly with him filling you so deliciously. 

“And I would have let you,” your own admittance was quiet against the heartbeat pulsing in your ears but Barbatos heard you clearly. The sound he let out was the most animalistic yet, barely human anymore and it shot straight between your legs. “Move and– And you can have me any way you want now…”

“All this time spent in the Devildom and you still don’t know when you’re getting yourself in trouble,” Barbatos’s jaw clenched as he slowly pulled out of you, making you feel every vein and ridge against your walls, until only his tip remained inside of you. Then, without warning, he thrust as deep as he could, pulling you back down simultaneously. “You need to watch what you’re saying to a demon such as myself.”

The slow pace he set at the beginning was quickly abandoned in favour of pounding into you, almost using you like a toy with how easily he moved you up and down on him to meet his thrusts. Nevertheless, he never lost his ability to hit your most pleasurable spots dead on, not that he could really miss them with his girth. 

Vaguely, you registered his tail winding around you but you didn’t realise his intentions until something scaly was catching some of your arousal before poking your other hole, making you gasp out his name. Then, his mouth was on yours again and it became harder to hold on to lucidity the more you swallowed around his tongue, your speech becoming even more incoherently slurred as pure lust swirled in your belly.

“It’ll be alright, you can take it. You just need to relax for me,” Barbatos whispered. At this point you didn’t think you had control over your body anymore, instead having your strings pulled by the demon whose arms you were held in. His tail wriggled in further and further, through the thrusts that hadn’t ceased alone, and the pressure against your walls from both sides wound the knot in your stomach impossibly tighter. “There we go, you’re taking it so well. Almost as if you were made for me.”

Somewhere in your mind, you agreed. With the way he was moulding your insides to the shape of his dick you were positive he was currently ruining you for any other man. As your head rolled to the side, you barred the expanse of your neck to him and Barbatos gladly took the invitation to leave more evidence of this night behind, every kiss and lick searing hot against your already feaverish skin.

Just when you thought the pleasure would finally drive you to insanity, Barbatos angled his hips in a particular way and struck gold by having his second dick apply pressure on your clit, immediately drowning you in another orgasm that left you gasping for air. The day after, there’d be vicious red marks decorating his back but neither of you cared right now as you spasmed in his arms, your muscles no longer listening to you. 

Vision hazy, you barely registered the texture of the tiles underneath your torso until your cheek squished against them. Your legs were still submerged as Barbatos repositioned himself behind you. Spreading your ass with his webbed hands, he watched as your glistening holes twitched against the newfound emptiness before he gave you what you were missing.

“I can’t believe you’re still so tight,” he groaned, cursing under his breath as he lined up both of his cocks and bottomed out until his balls slapped against your clit in one smooth trust. The upper one of his dicks wasn’t quite as girthy but still filled you up deliciously until you couldn’t anymore if the stars you were seeing were the real ones behind the window. 

“You look so beautiful, all splayed out for me. And I’m certain you’ll look even more enchanting carrying my clutch,” Barbatos panted, the strain from fucking your brain out finally getting to him as well. “Such a waste that they won’t take like this. You would’ve liked that, wouldn’t you? To carry my eggs around? Oh dear, I can feel you clamping down on me… We’ll leave that for next time, I suppose.”

Only half of what he was saying was registering in your mind but the low, rich timbre of his voice had your own moans rising in cadence and pitch, creating the most sinful symphony. The rhythm of his hips, however, started to falter as the pulsing of your warm walls coaxed him to the peak as well.

Your breasts rubbed against the cold tiles with every thrust, the difference in texture and temperature adding to the stimulation. Despite not being able to see it, you could hear the splash of his tail behind him followed by stray water drops landing on your back. Snaking his hand between your legs, you guessed he truly tried to drive you mad with pleasure as he leaned over you with stuttering hips.

“Barbatos–,” you downright sobbed in warning, “I’m so close.”

“I’m almost there too, just keep sucking me in like this… That’s a good darling,” he groaned out before his fangs sunk into your shoulder.

If you thought you felt full before, you weren’t prepared for the sensation of the first egg being pushed inside of you. You could feel the bottom shaft swell with the oval shape as your muscles stretched further to accommodate for the size. It reminded you of the first time his tip had spread you open, only ten times as intense.

Just when the first one slipped through your tight opening, you came. Hard. And it wouldn’t stop, prolonged by several more of his eggs nestling inside of you. At the same time, your other hole was stuffed to the brim with hot strings of white, leaving you to feel completely stuffed. 

By the time Barbatos pulled out of you, you were still left gasping for air, dripping cum and slick and trembling against the edge of the pool. After admiring the sight in front of him for a little longer, he gently pulled you back against him, letting himself drift backwards in the water. With your back resting against his chest, it was easy for Barbatos to knead the knots out of your sore thighs, hands wandering to stroke over your belly every now and then. Lovingly, he kissed the top of your head as you clung to lucidity, his tail curling around the length of one of your legs. 

“You did so well for me,” he reassured you, stroking along your arms. “And do not fret about the eggs. Since they won’t take like this, they’ll just come back out. Of course, I’ll be there to help you through it. Though I was quite right, you look positively enthralling carrying my clutch.”

“Well, getting to this point felt amazing as well, though I doubt I’ll be moving a single muscle tomorrow,” you admitted, making a chuckle rumble in his chest. Sighing as you shifted in his hold you added, “Guess I’m not so upset I accidentally fed you some magic chocolate if it gave you two dicks. I’ll still get Asmo for it though.”

“Please do.” You could hear the smile in his voice as his fingers traced your body. “Though I must correct you: It was not the transformation that gave me this anatomy.”

“Wait, you always–”, you gulped.

“Naturally. However else could I have promised you to breed you properly in the future?” The teasing tone hiding behind his polite demeanour and closed-eyed- smile did not go unnoticed by you. “That is, of course, if you are willing to help me understand the human body even better.”

“I- I guess I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” you answered bashfully.

“Splendid. Now then, given the nature of the candies I suppose the effect should wear off when Halloween night ends,” Barbatos cleared your next question before you even posed it. “Judging by how high the moon still stands, it appears we still have plenty of time.

“Perhaps we should test your stamina next while we see how many clutches you can carry?”

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[little-annie]

Something More | Little_Annie

The smuty start to something more

TW homophobic language & threats

He's not gay. He's not.

But he'd be lying if he said his eyes didn't linger in the change rooms or on the court every once in a while.

But he'd be lying if he said there wasn't anything he found intriguing about other men. But it's just appreciation, that's all it is. He can appreciate Billy Hargrove's toned exterior, his tanned skin and piercing blue eyes. He can appreciate 'The Freak's,' slender frame, bouncy curls and deep chocolate gaze. Or Jake's biceps or Ethan's smile or Andrew's laugh. He can appreciate all of it, doesn't mean he's attracted to them. Doesn't mean he's gay. He can't be. He likes women.

He likes women so much he has a new one under his tongue weekly, sometimes even daily. He likes their soft skin, their gentle curves, their buttery moans. The way they wither and whine beneath him. The way they scream his name and claw his back.

But if he's being honest, it hasn't been enough lately. 

Who would've thought 'The King' would have issues getting off, let alone getting it up. He's found himself in that unfortunate scenario more often than he'd like to admit lately. Choosing to eat a girl out not only because he wants to but because he can't get hard enough to fuck her or lord forbid fake an orgasm because he can't get off and his mind is trying to wander to places he really doesn't want it to.

But those times when he does let his mind wander, well, then there's no problem at all. Smooth sailing. It's just that he's maybe imagining corded muscle and strong hands versus the delicate body and dainty touch he's experiencing.

He's not gay. He just needs more.

And well, maybe he has an idea on how to get more.

You see, he's heard rumours, saw the scribings on the bathroom stalls. He knows or at least he thinks he knows who he can go to for… more. Though his past assholery might make that a little difficult.

He wouldn't say he's proud of how he treats people; the geeks, the freaks, the band nerds. But it's not like he's the one doing it, he just doesn't say anything when it's Tommy or another jock being the asshole. As much as people make him out to be the bad guy, he just doesn't like conflict, doesn't want to get in the way, doesn't want to be the nuisance, doesn't want to step in front of it for the chance of a crushing blow to the side of his skull. Lord knows he gets enough of that at home.

So yeah, maybe when Tommy is sneering down at 'The Freak,' snarling slurs and ramming his head into the cold steel of the lockers, he doesn't say anything, only stands off to the side and avoids eye contact because he can't quite bring himself to intervene and can't quite bring himself to contribute to the abuse.

It's an unfortunate thing because he's pretty damn sure 'The Freak' is the only guy he can go to for 'more.' The guy the scribings in the bathroom stalls speak of, the guy the whispers in the halls talk about. The guy said to give the best head of your life if you go to the bleachers after school.

He's not gay. He just needs more.

And that desire for more leads him to the belly of the bleachers, waiting impatiently after the last bell rings to see a leather clad man with appreciable brown eyes and flowing hair. It's only a few minutes that Steve has to wait before he sees him, leather and black, thick silver rings and an air of attitude. The definition of more.

"The fuck are you doing here Rich Boy?"

He can't quite bring himself to respond to the man's teasing tone, doesn't think he's ever actually talked to 'The Freak.' His voice, syrupy and thick, forces a knot to twist behind Steve's navel. He winces at the sensation, watching the other man approach with a daunting stride of confidence. 

Why's his mouth so dry? 

"Hey Pretty Boy, I'm talking to you."

He's closer now and still, Steve can't bring himself to speak.

"Listen, I don't know what the fuck you think this is, but I really don't feel like getting my face beaten in today by some dumb jock. So if you're not here to buy drugs or participate in other nefarious activities that I shall not name in your company, you can kindly fuck off."

Steve swallows around the nerves bubbling in his throat, can't quite pinpoint why he's so nervous. It's just 'The Freak', 'The Drug Dealer' the supposed 'Best Blowjob Giver in All of Hawkins.' Well maybe it's the latter, maybe that point is a little daunting. Or maybe it's that fact that his skin crawls with something akin to need, something that flares hot and heavy in his core when said 'Freak' steps into his space to snarl, "What the fuck do you want?"

"More?" He whispers, it's a quiet shaky thing, nearing on a question he sounds so unsure of his single muttered word.

'The Freak's' brows pinch together, his mask of confidence and aggression slipping for a second before he moves, devilish smirk across his lips, a single ringed finger catching under Steve's chin to turn his gaze up as he whispers, "Don't tell me 'The King of Hawkins High' is a queer, coming to lil' ole me for something his pretty little women can't give him."

Well, that problem he seems to have in the bedroom, yeah, um, it's currently a problem for another reason right now. His jeans are painfully tight. It's damn embarrassing the way this fucking guy is affecting him. The smell of leather, weed and cheap cologne. The cold sting of metal pressed under his chin, holding his head high to meet hauntingly dark eyes. His attitude, the snarl and the grit in his voice.

He can't manage words, only gulps, Adam's Apple bobbing around a non existent sentence. But his face must give something away, if the way 'The Freak' draws an eyebrow up and darkly chuckles is anything to do by.

"No shit, hey? I'd say I'm surprised, but I'm not really. I see the way your eyes wander in the change room or linger just a little too long over Hargrove's ass. I'm not fucking blind Pretty Boy, just didn't think you'd have it in you is all."

"I do," Steve says out of absolutely nowhere. Where did that come from? That whiny, needy, nearly begging tone. 

He's not gay but 'The Freak' is kinda making him weak in the knees. 

God if the man's expression doesn't shift to something predatory at Steve's tone. It makes him needy, anxious, fucking desperate like he's never been before. 

The finger that was once resting under his chin, moves to the back of his head, a large hand skating through his hair until it grips tight and gives a sharp pull forcing a rather embarrassing gasp to slip past his lips.

Dark eyes sear into his own as the other man speaks, "You listen and you listen fucking good. If this is all a ploy for your jock buddies to catch me in the act and beat me half to death for being a 'fucking fag,' know that I won't hesitate to shove a knife into your pretty little side." Punctuating his words with another sharp tug, he continues, "Got it?"

Steve nods, because what else can he do, he's speechless, hot, desperate and painfully horny. This is the definition of more and he's fucking weak for it. The grip in his hair is the only thing keeping him grounded as much as it's the same thing threatening to send him into orbit.

Another sharp tug, "Words."

"Got it," Steve chokes out, words mostly all air and heat.

'The Freak's' eyes search Steve's for a moment, probably looking for sincerity or the hint of a lie, but he must find what he's looking for because no less than a few short seconds later, Steve feels the grip in his hair tighten and a hand tightly clasp his hip,"Good. Now how about you get on your knees Sweetheart."

It's not a question, it's a command and Steve's gut twists with nerves. He wasn't expecting this. Not for him to be on his knees. He opens his mouth to protest but he's cut off with another sharp tug to his hair, encouraging him towards the ground, "Oh Honey, you weren't thinking you'd get off today were you? You've been a right prick to me for the last three years. Gotta make up for that if you want anything from me."

He's not Gay but he's a weak man and he drops to his knees with crushing force, face turned up, waiting for his next command.

"Look at you, being such a Good Boy for me already. Who woulda thought. 'The King' on his knees for 'The Freak." The man combs ringed fingers gently through Steve's hair, "I hate to say it, but you're quite pretty on your knees for me Rich Boy."

Never in his life had Steve Harrington been on his knees for a man. But god dammit if it doesn't get him going. His normally too soft cock is straining against the denim of his jeans, rubbing painfully along the seam. He attempts to swallow the whimper that the sensation shakes out of him.

Needless to say, he's unsuccessful.

'The Freak' smirks, sharp teeth and a dangerous smile, "You've never sucked a dick before have you Pretty Boy?"

Steve shakes his head, fighting the need to bury his nose in the prominent bulge in front of his face. Nerves and need swarm in his core but all he can manage is a desperate stare, no words, just hazel eyes looking up to the man above him. Waiting for instruction.

He looks contemplative for a moment, brown eyes searching Steve's face once again before he says, "Keep your hands to yourself. Behind your back. And do as you're told or we're done. Understand?"

Steve obliges, nodding wordlessly, moving his hands to clasp behind his back. 

The other man leans down, a near terrifying glint in his eye while his grip in Steve's hair tightens, a sharp tug pulling him back to make eye contact while he growls, "I said: Understand?"

He doesn't know what comes over him, a needy whimper leaving his lips as absolutely mortifying words follow, "Yes Sir."

'The Freak' darkly chuckles against Steve's cheek, lightly biting the now rosy flesh before he whispers, "Good Boy."

Oh. 

Oh wow.

Yep. That does something to him.

He's not gay…But having 'The Freak' call him a Good Boy and in that fucking tone…Well…

Steve stifles another groan watching as the man stands upright, moving to unfasten his stupid handcuff belt buckle with practised ease. 

He speaks with a seriousness as he continues his motions, "As much as I fucking hate you, I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to, because frankly that's just disgusting." He stops his motions, belt undone, button unclasped and zipper down, his cock's nearly on display and Steve's mouth waters with the need to feel its weight on his tongue, "You know the Stoplight System?"

Steve whispers a quiet "No."

"Figured," 'The Freak' says with no malice to his tone, "There's Green, Yellow and Red. Just like a Stoplight you follow the same rules. Green means go, yellow means yield or slow down and red means stop. You can communicate colours anytime you need to. But when I ask you questions or for your colour, you respond accordingly. Got it?"

Steve nods

The other man asks, "Colour?"

"Green," Steve answers with a heat rising to his cheeks, his knees already beginning to burn from where they're resting in the rough soil.

And god dammit if that doesn't make 'The Freak' smile, "Good," he says, carding his fingers gently through Steve's hair, "and if your mouth's full Sweetheart. You tap out your colours. One for green, two for yellow and three for red. Okay?"

Steve nods again while the other man wordlessly moves the hand that was in Steve's hair down his cheek so it's resting on his jaw. Fingers holding light, his thumb brushes over Steve's bottom lip gently pressing it into the wet heat of his mouth. Steve hums around the intrusion, instinctively running his tongue over the tip and hollowing his cheeks. 

'The Freak' hums in approval, pressing down with the lightest pressure against Steve's tongue, "Colour?"

Slowly Steve moves his hand to the man's wrist, porcelain skin cool under his warm touch, he taps gently, once, 'Green.'

"Good, now you're ready." 

From there it's pretty straightforward, Steve knows how a blowjob goes, he's gotten many in his lifetime, but still, on the other end of this, it feels kinda foreign. At least with the instruction to keep his hands out of the mix he doesn't have to worry about what to do with those.

He watches as the other man pulls his hearty length from his boxers, thick and leaking and he can't help but feel a swell of pride in his chest knowing he did that. His mouth waters at the sight and wordlessly he drops his jaw and lays his tongue out flat.

"Eager are we?"

Steve hums an affirmative, inching closer on his knees.

He'd be lying if he said the sight before him wasn't doing anything to him. Christ, he hasn't been this hard in months, almost painfully throbbing in his jeans with need. He isn't gay but well… he's something.

The other man takes his own length in hand, ringed fingers wrapping around a thick base, tight curls pressed against the curl of his palm. It's warm and salty when the head of it slaps against Steve's tongue, a taste he'll savour like it's the nectar of the gods.

He's being impatient and he knows it, a needy whine escaping his throat he inches even closer. He doesn't know what's gotten into him but before he knows it he's choking, struggling to breathe as he pushes his head all the way forward, trying to bury his nose in dark curls. 

The man above him chuckles around a gasp, voice almost shakey. Hand clasped tight in Steve's hair he pulls him back, "Don't hurt yourself there Princess. Breathe through your nose and swallow when you feel like you're going to choke."

Steve nods, his motions pulling on the grip on his scalp and he tries again, a hot coil of need blooming in his core as the man above him lets out a sharp gasp. With the little instruction he's managed to take all of the man in, swallowing around the length, thick head pressing down his throat. His nose is buried in the thick thatch of hair and he can't help but nuzzle into it with a greedy inhale. Sweat and musk and something that makes his toes curl wafts through his senses.

Steve hums around 'The Freak's' length in his own appreciation, the vibration travelling through the other man's body in a wave of pleasure. The grip in his hair tightens and Steve can't help but whimper at the sensation and good god he nearly combusts when he opens his eyes to take in the man above him. 

Hair wild, dark and rolling in waves over his shoulders, gathering in the streams of sweat along his neck. Cheeks flushed in a rosy hue of need, a rather beautiful contrast to his pale porcelain skin. His brows are creased, lip bitten and eyes squeezed shut. 

It's obvious he's trying to stay quiet, though he's failing miserably. Steve continues to watch him from below, eyes open and watering as he chokes down every inch. He pulls back and off with a dramatic 'pop', diving right back in to nose his way under the man's cock and take what he can of his testicles in mouth.

It's a weird feeling being on this end of things, generally he has no idea what he's doing but he can't hold in the carnal need to make the man above him crumble. Steve feels nearly desperate, his cock painfully straining against the seam of his jeans for what feels like eternity. Fuck, if this goes on for much longer he might just come in his pants.

And wouldn't that be fucking embarrassing.

Steve continues his ministrations while trying to focus on anything other than the balls in his mouth or the cock hanging heavy above his face. He focuses on the grip in his hair, the bite of gravel against his knees, the throbbing pain between his legs. Nothing works, it's just too fucking good.

He takes the man back in his mouth after licking a thick stripe from root to tip and begins bobbing his head. A sinful wash of sounds pollutes the air, gasps and moans and shaky breaths. Wet squelches and muffled gags. Steve's sure he contributes his own noises as he rocks his hips against the seam in his jeans.

The taste of precome continues to flood over Steve's taste buds, salty and sweet and god dammit if he doesn't become addicted to it. Addicted to the taste of this man's essence on his tongue, the sounds that escape his lips, the way he looks as he approaches the edge.

Above Steve, 'The Freak's' babbling, gasping around moans and hardly formed words, "mmm fuck, ho- how are you so good at this?" He chuckles an unbelieving laugh that's drowned out by a choked back moan as Steve takes him down to the hilt. "Jesus H Christ." He gasps, grip tightening in Steve's hair. 

Every syllable sends Steve careening towards the edge along with the man. He's close, every roll of his own hips, every sharp tug against his scalp, every moan from the man above. 

But god dammit he still needs more.

Steve pulls off, a quick gasp of air and spit and precome hanging between them. 'The Freak' looks down at him with a brow raised and he's beautiful, looks absolutely wrecked, onyx eyes blown wide, face flushed red with his pending release and before he can say anything, Steve asks or more or less begs, "Fuck my face, please."

"Fuck," the man huffs before he checks, "You sure?"

Steve nods, "Please."

"Jesus Christ." He huffs once again before laying his cock over Steve's tongue once again, then he's snaking his other hand into Steve's hair, giving him an experimental pull forward.

Steve's eyes flutter in response, the man's thick length sliding slowly over his tongue and down his throat. He can't help the whine that rattles up his throat.

"You like that or something Sweetheart?"

Steve hums again, moving his hand to the man's wrist to tap once, 'Green' and he chances to leave it there. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want to feel more of this man under his touch.

They continue from there, 'The Freak' pressing his length over Steve's tongue until they're both leaking and shaking with the need of release. 

Gravels digs into his knees and his scalp burns in such a beautiful way, Steve's hanging off the edge by his fingertips and he's only pushed that much further as the man above him gasps, "Wh-Where - fuck - mm- can I come in your mouth Baby?" 

Baby

Baby. Baby. Baby.

Steve fails to hold back a groan at not only the question but also the nickname, it vibrates down the other man's length while he tightens his grip on a pale wrist and taps once, 'Green.' 

For some reason in that moment Steve feels compelled to slide his hand into his own hair, lacing his fingers between thick rings and hard earned calluses, holding his hair tight, together. He's not shrugged off like he thought he would be and for some reason, that's the moment they both topple over the edge.

Salt and heat floods Steve's taste buds at the same time it does his underwear. Warm and slick, exiting his body with force. He groans something needy and desperate, bucking his hips forward as his mouth is pulled closer, nose pressed to pubes. The man above him gasps and bucks his hips forward with force, shuddering while squeezing Steve's fingers between his own.

Steve swallows, or at least tries to -god, now he kinda gets why girls hate that so much- he pulls off with a sharp inhale and presses his head the a denim clad thigh, spitting on the ground between them.

It's oddly tender for what it is, 'The Freak's' hands don't leave his hair, his grip only loosens and gently cards through mousy strands as they catch their breath together. 

Steve's exhausted but satisfied; probably for the first time in months and all he had to do was blow a guy. Nothing even happened to him other than some nicknames that made his stomach flutter and some not so awkward hand holding. 

They stay silent for a long while, Steve feels like he might fall asleep leaning against this man and it's an odd thing that he feels comfortable here, safe even. And that's a fucking wild thought, especially with a dick dripping come not more than a few inches from his face.

Steve can't help but chuckle at the thought.

"What?" The other man laughs quietly, tucking himself back in his jeans, standing upright, trying to help Steve do the same.

Steve shakes his head, burying it in the other man's shoulder. He can feel him tense beneath him and then seconds later slowly there's cautious arms wrapping around his shoulders, slow and soft while he continues to shake in silent laughter.

They stand there in what should be an awkward moment, but it's not and maybe that's the craziest part about this whole moment.

Steve Harrington knows this man from brash gestures and yelled opinions from atop lunch room tables. From the smell of leather and the clatter of chains. He's supposed to be weird and scary, he's supposed to be 'The Freak,' but for some reason Steve sees him as something else. 

He sees him as more.

They're quiet for a moment and in those few short seconds a wild thought passes through Steve's mind. He pulls back, ever so slightly, only enough to meet the other man's eyes. He takes in the man's gaze, dark and speckled with amber, the freckles that dust over his nose and cheeks, the faint scar across his bridge and then he allows his eyes to wander lower.

Pink and perfect and beautiful, lips he wants to kiss with every fibre in his being. Steve sucks in a subtle breath letting his eyes float back up to meet those of the man before and like a silent gesture, he glances at his lips again as he whispers, "Colour?"

He watches sharp teeth bite into a pink bottom lip as he feels the grip around him tighten and then there's a subtle, hardly audible whisper, "Green."

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 5

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 5: Sex with a Ghost

Chapter Summary: You and Dieter indulge yourselves in more ways than one.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.6k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, death, cocaine addiction, grief, PTSD, angst, flashbacks, cannabis use, implied poverty, psychic abilities, communication problems, paranoia, dirty talk, oral sex (v receiving), infertility mention, safe sex discussion, but also unprotected PIV sex, fluff, divorce, bathtub

Notes: Chapter title from "Sex with a Ghost" by Teddy Hyde. This chapter is like... a smut sandwich. You'll see.

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You follow Dieter into his hotel room at The Plaza, jaw dropping as the door closes behind you.  

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you mutter to yourself, reaching out to trail your fingers along the buttery smooth finish of the wainscoting framing off sections of the wall. 

Dieter meanders into the living room- the fucking living room inside a fucking hotel room - and plops down on the dusty baby blue velvet sofa (not a couch, a sofa, that’s how expensive it looks) like it’s nothing spectacular. Just some room. 

“This is your hotel room? And you’ve been staying at my apartment?” 

“Technically it’s a suite, not a room,” he advises, causing you to roll your eyes, and stretches out along the length of the sofa, “I like your apartment. This is so,” he grimaces and gestures around his vicinity, “Uptight.” 

“I think fancy-schmancy is the proper term,” you smirk and raise an eyebrow at him, wandering around the circumference of the room, awestruck at the immaculate Edwardian era décor. Gold picture frames. Bright, cream colored walls that stretch tall up to the high ceiling. Spotless reflective surfaces on the tabletops. Plush, delicately colored velvet upholstery lining the chairs and sofa. A fucking crystal chandelier hanging above the center of the room. 

Then you’re reminded of his cocaine-fueled tirade, about your apartment and Ethan’s otherworldly occupancy of it, and scoff, “Also, you do not like my apartment. You said it was, and I quote, fucking creepy.” 

“It is fucking creepy,” he laughs, a real, deep kind of laugh that stretches his face and wrinkles his eyes. He sinks deeper into the sofa’s embrace, then shrugs, “But I like it.” 

Your eyebrows raise and you give him the stank eye, as if to tell him yeah fucking right, but he doesn’t notice. He’s frowning down at his iPhone, tapping the screen.  

With Dieter distracted, you return your attention to the room around you. Along the wall behind the dining room table, you find velvet curtains, the same shade as the luxurious sofa. You spread the curtains open wide, letting the sunlight bathe the room. Down below in Central Park, people are no longer people, but tiny ants mulling about the trails, peeking out from underneath the deciduous tree canopy. When you lean closer, forehead pressing against the warm window pane, the streets below come into view. The veins of this city, vehicles of all shapes and sizes, its blood cells, flowing back and forth to drop things off and pick things up. Always moving. Keeping the city alive. 

A dizzying rush of vertigo hits you, and you pull away from the window, leaving an oily smudge against the pristine glass. You try in vain to wipe it away with your wrist. 

“Besides, this place is way more haunted than your apartment,” he chuckles to himself. 

This piques your interest. 

You tilt your head towards him and frown, “Oh really?” 

He hums in the affirmative, then diverts his gaze from his phone to your eyes and elaborates, “Like this suite? A rich girl died in the bathtub. Took too many benzos and passed out. Drowned accidentally. And um,” he sits up and tosses his phone on the mirror-top coffee table, then points to the window you were just gazing out of, “Some old geezer jumped out that window. Dapper guy. Kind of a jackass.” 

You take a big step away from the window and cross your arms in front of your chest, furrowing your brow, “How do you know that?” 

“I just kind of,” he screws his face up in contemplation, gesturing to the area around his unkempt chestnut hair, “Know. I guess. Since my overdose. It’s weird.”

You creep closer, keeping your guarded posture in place as you sit down in a goldenrod colored armchair across from him. 

“Like at your apartment, I can see him and feel him. It’s…” he scrunches his face up and drops his eyes to the floor, pondering, then looks back up at you, “Like a palpable sadness. Like he’s sorry. It’s really… heavy.” 

Dieter doesn’t need to tell you who he is, or what he’s sorry for. 

“He’s- he’s sorry? Did he tell you that?” Your voice is quiet and shaky. 

“It’s just a feeling,” he shakes his head and frowns, then after a beat, he raises his eyebrows and starts, “He does -” 

He cuts himself off. His mouth clamps shut and eyes go wide before he averts his gaze. 

“He does what? ” you lean forward and search his face. Watching the way he starts to jitter, fingers thrumming against his thighs. How his leg starts to bounce. 

“Nevermind,” he shakes his head, standing up and grabbing his phone from the table, shoving it in his pocket, still averting his eyes, “Don’t listen to me, it’s probably just brain damage or something, anyway.” 

“No fucking way, Dieter,” you scoff, rising to your feet, narrowing your eyes at him, “Tell me.” 

“Fine ,” he groans and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands, then runs his fingers through his mane, “He tries to talk to you. But you’re closed off. That’s why he couldn’t come through the psychomanteum.” 

Your hair stands on end. 

To be totally honest, you thought he was fucking with you by insinuating he has a sixth sense. But this statement makes your stomach twist in a knot. 

“How did you know I didn’t contact him?” 

You haven’t talked to Dieter about your experience with the psychomanteum yet. There’s no way that he could know you failed to contact Ethan, let alone that you used it at all.

“Like I said, I just know,” he sighs, then paces over to the wet bar (this place has a fucking wet bar, for fuck’s sake) and pours whiskey into two cups as he mutters, “This is why I don’t talk about it. It doesn’t make any fucking sense. I can’t explain it.” 

A pang of guilt radiates across your chest, and your shoulders sag, releasing your arms to your sides, “Sorry.” 

“Don’t sweat it, doll,” he mumbles, then picks up two crystal low ball glasses and hands one to you. He empties the glass into his mouth and sets it back on the countertop. You do the same. The liquid burns the ridges of your throat as it succumbs to gravity, then its heat settles in your belly. 

Both of you lean a hip against the countertop and face each other. There’s only a foot between you. His presence is large, but not in a domineering way. It’s warm and settles all around you, squeezing you tight. 

Like a bear hug. 

“How do I, um…” you frown at the floor, trying to find the right words, “Open up… to him?” 

He raises his eyebrows at you and crosses his arms, “You’re asking me how to open up to your husband?” 

Embarrassment heats your cheeks and spreads down your neck. Laughing at the absurdity of it all, you throw your hands up in the air, “Yeah, I guess.”

“I don’t know if you know this or not,” he chuckles, dropping his elbow against the countertop to lean in closer, whispering conspiratorially, “But I am not the best person to get marriage advice from.” 

You smirk and roll your eyes at him, then meet his gaze. He searches your face and sees you’re waiting for a better answer. 

“I dunno, how did you talk to him about stuff when he was alive?” he shrugs.  

After pondering this question for a moment, you answer, “I, um… I guess I don’t know.” 

You pause. Sigh. Bite the inside of your cheek along the ridge of scar tissue you’ve gnawed into your smooth flesh over time. 

Dieter hums and pours more whiskey into the glasses, then nudges one towards you. 

“Bad influence,” you tease, making him grin, then pick it up and take a big swallow. He sips and watches you expectantly. Your heart starts to thud in your chest as you open your mouth. But you don’t know how to say the words at the tip of your tongue. 

You don’t know how to admit that you used to be so fucking good at opening up to Ethan. 

Even after a lifetime of communicating in 3D chest with your mother. After betrayal you felt when your father, your best friend and confidant, left you alone with her. You boarded yourself off to other people, thinking that if they can’t get close, they can’t hurt you. 

Then you met Ethan. 

At the beginning, when you felt angry, frustrated, or hurt, you’d default to passive aggressiveness. Slam doors. Give him the cold shoulder. Keep it inside. Always burying the feelings you thought would burden him. Because that’s what feelings were: a burden to others and to yourself. 

He used to cup your cheeks and stare into your eyes, gaze piercing and determined. Tell you that he wasn’t going to leave you alone until you told him exactly what the fuck was wrong. That he’s not a goddamn mind reader. That there’s nothing you could possibly tell him that would make him run away. 

“Hit me with the truth, baby,” he used to tell you, “I can take it.” 

Direct and honest communication. Nail by nail, the two of you worked tirelessly to pry those shutters open and let the light in. And you did. It was one of the reasons the two of you worked so well together. 

You don’t know how to tell Dieter that, when Ethan relapsed, it changed completely. 

He became a person you didn’t trust. Frequently, Ethan would stumble in at 7am, talking a million miles a minute, a sharp sniff interrupting his monologue every 10 seconds, hands trembling like your grandma’s when she started showing symptoms of Parkinson’s disease. When you told him you were concerned, that it was becoming a problem, he claimed that his drug use was under control. And you trusted his word as truth, because it had been just that for the whole 5 years you were together up to that point. 

But he started to lie about where he was, who he was with, what they were doing. Your confrontation was no longer met with direct and honest communication. 

Instead, it was met with denial. 

He couldn’t take the truth anymore, because the truth was that, despite several lengthy inpatient rehab stays in his twenties and early thirties, despite the control he was able to exert over his urges for years, he was still an addict. 

Eventually, cocaine poisoned his brain with paranoia. You started to lose business because he wouldn’t take on new clients out of fear that they were undercover cops, and the existing clients grew wary of your coked-out husband interrogating them. His list of friends dwindled. The ones that stuck around would come over to your apartment and they’d lock themselves in that fucking room for hours. 

You hated when this happened, because every goddamn time, accusations would start flying and a fight would break out. Then you had to mediate an argument between a bunch of cokeheads or try to get in the middle of a fist fight. It wore you down. 

But it wasn’t just other people that Ethan started to lose trust in. 

He started asking if you were talking to the cops, or the DEA, or the FBI, or the fucking illuminati. You didn’t have to ask to know that he thought you were an informant. Each interaction with him felt like a puzzle. If you said the wrong thing, or laughed at the wrong thing, or didn’t laugh at the right thing, or asked a certain question, it would set him off. He was impossible to predict. 

You no longer felt safe to open up to him, so you boarded yourself back up. Conversations with your husband were a means to an end. Whatever you could do or say to get his attention off of you. He refused to go to treatment. His parents refused to see that he was out of control. His ex-wife had seen this all before and the only advice she could give you was get out. 

You didn’t listen to her advice. You thought that if you just loved him hard enough, stayed with him and worked through this, he would come back. But he never did. 

All of these things you consider telling Dieter. But if you tell him, he’ll know how miserably you failed Ethan. He’ll know that what happened was your fault. He’ll see you for what you really are: a coward. 

Instead, you meet Dieter’s warm brown eyes and shrug, “I’ll figure it out.” 

He raises one eyebrow and his lip curls as he sighs. Disappointment is written all over his face. You open your mouth again, trying once more to explain. 

“I’m… I- I- I used to be able to open up to him. But he was… sick,” you stammer out. 

It’s now that you realize you’ve never said the words out loud: He was an addict.  

You realize that you, too, were scared to admit the truth about Ethan. Tears start to burn behind your eyes. You clamp your mouth shut as they start to slide down your cheeks. 

“Sick?” Dieter inquires. 

You nod, then turn away and start walking around the room again, trying to hide this embarrassing display of emotions. 

He follows you. 

“Lua,” he starts, grabbing your hand. You lace your fingers with his, but don’t turn around. Just stare at the door and will yourself to stop crying stop crying stop fucking crying . 

“Hey, come on,” he tugs at your hand, but you’re frozen in panic. Your mind is filled with a blinding, debilitating terror. 

Dieter walks around your statuesque body when you don’t respond, bringing his eyes level to your far away stare, cupping your face with his hands. His thumbs wipe away the tears like windshield wipers against your flushed cheeks. 

“Look at me,” he rumbles. You blink and bring him into focus, meeting his gaze. His features fold into concern, “You ok?” 

Without warning, his question squeezes your heart like a sponge, expelling the sorrow you’ve been absorbing for over a year. Even before the accident. The grief that started to accumulate over those long, lonely nights when you wondered where your husband was. If he was safe. If he’d ever come home again. 

If he’d ever come home again. He never really did, did he? 

Your face crumples and you shake your head back and forth, and sob, “No- no, I’m not fucking ok.” 

He deflates, then stands up straight and pulls you into a tight embrace. You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his dirty tank top, chest heaving as you cry against him. His lips press against your hair and he starts to gently rock you. 

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry for crying,” you sniffle between sobs, “I didn’t mean to-“ 

“Louella,” he cuts you off, mumbling against your scalp, “Don’t apologize for crying. I’m here for you, ok?” 

You nod in response, chest heaving as another wave of tears starts to hit you. 

He continues. 

“I know how you feel. You’re not alone, ok? You- you’re safe. With me. I don’t want you to hold back, ok?” he takes you by the shoulders now and pulls back to meet your gaze, holding you steady. His eyes are bloodshot and watery, but hold a deadly seriousness, “Do you understand?” 

You sniffle and nod, wiping tears away with the back of your hand. 

Dieter searches your eyes and grinds out, “Don’t you dare fucking hold back.” 

His intensity rings like a bell, resonating down your center. A shiver ripples goosebumps across your flesh. You nod again, then sniffle and choke out, “Ok.” 

He holds your gaze for a beat longer, then pulls you back into a hug, nose buried in your hair. His body heat wraps around you and squeezes you tight. As you take a deep inhale, you smell the sharp musk of his sweaty tank top, but find it enticing. Your grip tightens, fingertips pressing into his back. He softens at the touch, humming in approval, then mumbles, “You wanna see the rest of the suite?” 

“Are you trying to suggest something?” you chuckle, raising an eyebrow even though he can’t see it. 

“Actually, I wasn’t, but I like the way you think,” he says, and you can feel his cheeks ball up in a grin against you, “I need to take a shower. Change clothes. Make a few phone calls. After that, though,” he pulls back and gives you a smirk, then quirks an eyebrow, “I’ll fuck you in a really fancy-schmancy bed.” 

Your cunt clenches with excitement. You flash him a sheepish grin, “Oh yeah?” 

His tongue rolls across his bottom lip. Your eyes follow the movement. It doesn’t go unnoticed. Fingers dig into your sides and he leans forward, soft patches of his beard rubbing against your cheek as he rumbles, “Is that what you want, sweetheart?” 

Your heart starts to thud heavy in your chest. Head feels light. Joints start to gelatinize. 

“You want me to fuck you?” his breath is hot against your ear. 

You nod and swallow hard.

“Say it, Lua.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you whisper back. 

His throat vibrates with something akin to a growl. You slide your hands up to the nape of his neck, into his hair. Savor his soft curls between your fingers. Your foreheads meet. He cups your cheek with his palm. Thumb grazes your lips. A delightful shiver drips down the middle of you.  

Your eyes flutter closed and you pull him closer, tasting the heat of his ragged breath, drinking in the delicious anticipation of his mouth hovering there, waiting for your signal before he acts. 

“Can I kiss you?” he breathes, trailing both hands behind your head until he’s cradling your skull in his strong hands. 

“Please.”

He pulls your lips against his, hard and wanting. You stumble backwards a step from the impact, but recover your footing and return the kiss with equal force. His lips part with a moan. You take up this newly available space, sliding your tongue against his, committing the taste of his saliva to memory. He drops his hands to your hips and thrusts against you, grinding his hardened cock between your bodies. 

“Are you- gonna- be able to- wait that long?” you ask between frantic kisses, tightening your grip on his hair. 

“Don’t think so, doll,” he mutters and presses hard against your sex, pulling a gasp from your chest as the friction pools hot in your center.

The two of you don’t part lips as you stumble blindly backwards until you’re backed up against the sofa. He nudges your head to the side with the bridge of his nose and rumbles, “Think I’m gonna have to bend you over this couch-“ he grabs the sofa and presses his hips against yours, “and fuck you right here.” 

You whimper and tug at his waistband. Capture his lips in yours. He groans into the kiss and slides his hands under the hem of your dress, then turns you around and yanks your underwear down to your ankles. 

“Wanna fuckin’ taste you first,” he mumbles, dropping to his knees, hiking your dress up to your waist, “Take this off, love.” 

You pull it off over your head and toss it aside. His hands are soft but strong on the backs of your thighs, sliding up the sweat-laced skin, knees nudging your stance wider. 

“That’s it, baby,” he coos, spreading the tender flesh between your legs, “Wanna see that pretty pussy. Fuck yes-”

His tongue parts your lips and drags electric along the middle of you. 

“Oh my fucking god, yes,” you gasp and arch into the delicious sensation. A sharp sting ripples across your ass when he slaps it, and you growl through gritted teeth, “Fuck yes.” 

He starts to roll his tongue over your clit, slow and steady, pleasure growing thick and luscious at your core. Vibrations echo through you as he moans against your cunt. Fingertips dig into the swell of your ass cheeks. 

You whimper and close your eyes, savoring the deep, throbbing pain each digit derives. Relishing the delightful spring of ecstasy his tongue found. Listening to the bass of your heart pounding frantically in your chest. 

His moans grow louder as you bend over and start to writhe against his face. He stills and flattens his tongue, letting you take what you need, grip on your ass loosening so he can feel the heat of your movements against his palms. 

“Do you like that, baby?” you pant, “Like when I ride your fucking face?” 

The thrill of these words leaving your mouth trickles down your spine, collecting molten at your center. You chase this blissful warmth, picking up speed. 

He groans and slaps your bouncing ass in response, prodding you onward. 

“How does that pussy taste, baby, hmm? Like how fucking wet I get for you?” you ask him in a throaty whisper, drunk on power, aching with lust. 

Dieter seamlessly replaces his mouth with his hand, unable to resist the urge to respond, “Tastes so fucking good, sweetheart-”

You reach back and pull his face back between your legs, growling, “Don’t you fucking stop, Dieter-”

He moans and dutifully resumes his position, letting you rub yourself off on his flattened tongue. The muscle feels fucking divine. Slick but firm. Anchored in place exactly where you need him. 

“That’s perfect,” you groan, then swallow hard as static starts to tingle at your core. 

You pick up speed, chasing the sensation, whimpering, “That’s it, baby, just let me fuck that handsome face.“ 

He moans so loud, the vibration shoots through you and makes you gasp with glee, “Fuck yes,” eyes fluttering shut as you concentrate on the pleasure growing wide inside you, hips jerking frantically now, “Wanna hear how much you like it, baby, let me hear-“ 

The sound waves echo deep into your body when he complies. And that feeling, that hot, delicious fucking feeling keeps building inside you. 

“So fucking good, such a good boy,” you croak out, then gasp as the twisting, aching pleasure starts to swell, “I’m gonna cum, baby, just like that, yes- yesyesyes-” 

You come apart in layers, splitting into tiny microscopic pieces before dissolving on his tongue. As you gasp and convulse, lost in your orgasm, he laps away at your cunt frantically, coaxing the sticky, sweet arousal into his mouth. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan, instinctively pulling away from the overwhelming stimulation. His hands hold your hips in place, reeling you back in. He closes his lips around your swollen clit, sucking it mercilessly as your whole body starts to tremble and you let out a choked sob. 

For a moment, all you can hear is your own thudding heartbeat, the deafening pleasure swallowing you whole. 

He moans against you again, tongue breaching your entrance and writhing around. It only makes you want more. You think of his hardened cock against your earlier. How fucking big he was. Desire burns hot at your center. 

“Fuck me, Dee, please-” you whine. 

He starts to fuck you with his tongue and, even though it feels fucking amazing , it’s not what you need. You turn around and look down at him. 

He’s truly a sight to behold. 

On his knees before you, chest heaving, eyes wild and black, face glistening with your cum. He pouts up at you- fucking pouts , this man- and ghosts his hands along your hips, drifting towards your pussy like it has him hypnotized. His cock is tented inside his shorts. A wet spot has darkened a section of fabric to a deep forest green. 

“Fuck, you’re so sexy,” you purr, bringing your thumb to run along his bottom lip. 

“Says you,” he chuckles, then grabs your hand in his, pressing his lips to your wrist, holding them there in reverie. A whine emits from your throat at the contact. His eyes follow yours as you lower yourself to the floor, pushing him back gently until he’s seated and you can climb into his lap. 

You tug at the hem of his tank top, pulling it off over his head, then press your palms against his bare chest. His hands slip around your waist. Eyelids flutter shut. Head rolls back. Recognizing his hunger, you hook your hands at the back of his neck and bring yourself closer, until the heat of his skin is flush against yours. 

Your hips roll against the stiff length of him, making him shudder. 

“Fuck , Lua,” he breathes, hot gaze meeting yours, fingers digging into your flesh, pressing a kiss into your jawline before whispering, “Wanna feel that sweet little pussy wrapped around me.” 

“Then take your goddamn pants off already,” you mumble and run your fingers through his hair. 

“Yes ma’am,” he grins, then grants your request, pulling his shorts and boxers down as he tells you, “You can boss me around any time, doll. I’ll do fucking anything for you, I swear to god, anything you want.” 

His cock escapes its confides with a light smack against your thigh. You look down to see it and your eyes widen, then you grin at him, “I fucking knew it.” 

“What?” he laughs at your pleased expression. His hips thrust against yours ever-so-slightly, just a little, just enough to catch some friction on your skin. 

“I knew you had a big dick,” you giggle, covering your face as it starts to flush with embarrassment. 

“Don’t pretend you didn’t notice, sweetheart,” he rumbles. His lips graze your cheek, breath hot against your skin, “You think that tight little cunt will be able to take it?”

You hum and roll your hips forward, pinning his cock between your bodies, then look between it and his eyes, “Only one way to find out.” 

“Should I get a condom?” he asks, searching your face. 

You ponder this for a moment, then return his question with a question, “Are you clean?” 

He nods, “You?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, then start to blush as you say, “I got tested last week. Plus, I haven’t had unprotected sex since, you know…” 

My husband died. 

He hums in acknowledgment, thankfully not making you say it out loud, “I can get one, no problem-”

“No, no, it’s actually- I’d um, I’d like to… not… if that’s ok,” your whole face is flushed now as you stammer, “I, like, know you, so I feel like it’s… different. I don’t know.” 

Your stomach flutters at the admission. 

He grins wide. His hands settle on your waist and his thumbs smooth circles against your skin as he rumbles, “Are you on birth control?” 

You laugh out loud. He furrows his brow and frowns in question. You shake your head, “Sorry, it’s- it’s not funny, I’m just, um, barren. So, no, I’m not on birth control. But nothing grows inside this hostile environment anyways, so…” 

“Hostile environment? ” he throws his head back in laughter at the phrase, then returns to your grinning face with an amused smile and shrugs, “Ok, no condom then.” 

So the two of you guide yourselves into a ready position, the head of him nudging up against your entrance, dipping into the hot, gooey pool of arousal still dripping from your pussy. Slowly, you lower yourself down, mouth falling open with a gasp as your walls stretch wide to accommodate his girth. 

You press your forehead against his and whimper, “Jesus fucking Christ, Dee.” Your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck and you pull him into a kiss. As you huff and whine against his mouth, he works you open inch by inch. 

When you don’t think you can take any more, you start to roll your hips slowly. Ecstasy ripples through your body in waves. He lets out soft little moans, grip on your waist tightening, and gasps, “Oh my god , baby- fuck, pussy so fucking good.” 

“Mmm so good -” you slur in agreement, capturing his lips in yours, melting against him. You drip down the length of him, pooling onto the floor pristine floor of this fucking suite whose nightly rate is probably one month’s rent for you. 

You’re now abstract. A concept. A ghost, really. Only existing as your five senses. Dieter is consuming all of them. 

The salty bite of his sweat on your tongue. The throbbing ache of pleasure as he splits you open over and over again. The musky, warm scent of his skin filling your lungs. The breathy curses and praises that fall from his lips. Those lust-blown eyes, dark with passion as they bore into yours. 

“You’re taking me so fucking good, baby, holy fucking shit,” he pants against your mouth, “Sweet little pussy getting filled just how you like it?” 

“Just how I like it, baby, yes yes yes,” you whimper, pushing against his thrusts. 

His fingers dig into your sides and he snaps his hips up, growling, “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck yes-”

You release a choked sob as he reaches the end of you. Stars invade your field of vision. He grits his teeth and grunts in time with his thrusts, bruising grip holding your lower half in place. Burying your face against his neck, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, legs around his waist, and hold on for dear life as he fucks up into you mercilessly. 

Then you’re both reduced to your most basic animalistic instincts. Moaning. Grunting. Writhing frantically in a heavy cloud of lust that clings to your skin. Sweat pools between your bodies in the places they meet. 

Pleasure wraps its tendrils around your entire being and burrows inside you. Every single cell in your body is saturated with it, overflowing with it. It pools at your center, churning hot and thick like magma, setting your insides on fire. 

You bite into his shoulder, sinking your teeth into his skin, muffling your wrecked sobs. He moans wantonly. His hands slide up your back. Fingers twist into your hair and tug. 

“Yes yes yes,” you whine, letting your head roll back into his grasp, exposing the column of your neck. He licks up your throat and then lays down a smattering of wet kisses. Your moans project to the ceiling, sound waves echoing through the crystal chandelier, “Fuck me so good, Dee, fucking perfect.” 

Dieter’s pace grows more erratic. His grunts fade to sharp little moans and he pants, “I’m so fucking close, baby.“ 

“Cum inside me, Dee,” you whimper, “Wanna feel you cum inside my pussy-”

He groans, then pulls your lips to his. The kiss is sloppy, just like the rhythm of your hips grinding against his, just like the cadence of his moans melding with yours. 

Gravity slips away as you start to ascend, following the feeling of ecstasy up, up, up, heart pounding, ears ringing from the elevation, body tingling from head to toe. Your stomach flips and you cry out as your orgasm drops you in a freefall. Dieter gasps and groans, hips stuttering as you quiver and clench around him. 

“I’m- I’m-“ his mouth falls open and he shudders beneath you as he cums, fucking his load up into your cunt one, two, three times. 

The fluid motions of your bodies together slow to stop except for your chests as they rise and fall. Even then, the breaths become more shallow, less desperate for oxygen as the exertion fades into normalcy. But the two of you are propped up against each other, tangled in a loose knot, eyes closed, minds numb, muscles still trembling. 

“I can’t feel my legs,” he confesses, mumbling into your neck, “But I don’t wanna move.” 

“I don’t… I don’t think I even can move. We’re stuck here, sorry,” you respond with a content sigh. 

Neither of you protest for another minute or two, until you try to swallow and find your mouth and throat are fucking arid . You cough a little and whine, “Need water. So dry.” 

He groans and squeezes you tighter in protest, then sighs, “Ok. We can do this.” 

You don’t go to move. 

“You gotta go first, though, doll,” he chuckles. 

“Are you sure?” you mumble. 

“Mmm yeah, I’m sure,” he hums, then shifts underneath you, coaxing you into motion. Reluctantly, you sit up and look down at him, meeting his warm gaze. He sits up and presses a kiss against your lips. Soft and sweet. It flutters inside your chest. 

You run your fingers through his hair and deepen the kiss, sinking back down against him. 

A quiet groan rumbles in his throat. His soft cock twitches inside you. Your tongue slides against his, slowly, intimately. An insatiable thirst for him starts to overtake you, but then he breaks the kiss and mutters, “We gotta get off this floor, baby.” 

“Fine,” you groan with exaggeration, then untangle yourself from him and get to your feet. Your body is still trembling and shiny with sweat. The combination of his cum and yours feels slick between your legs as you make your way over to the sink and fill up a glass of water, chug it, fill it up again, and turn around. 

Dieter is sprawled out, spread eagle on the floor, tipping his chin to the ceiling so he can see you. 

“Need help up, old man?” you laugh, tilting your head at him. 

He scoffs, but doesn’t say no, so you set the glass down and walk over his feet, then grab his hands and help him stand upright. 

The two of you drink roughly five million gallons of water, taking turns filling the expensive crystal tumbler with tap water, then guzzling it down like you’ve been stranded in the desert for months. 

“Where was I?” he clears his throat and narrows his eyes around the living room, then a lightbulb goes on over his head and he settles his gaze on you, “Oh yeah, um, do you wanna see the rest of this place?” 

Dieter shows you the two bedrooms and bathrooms of his suite, more tickled by your exasperation at the luxury of it all than the amenities themselves. 

“Look at this fucking bathtub, Dee, oh my god,” you gasp, running a finger along the lip of the white ceramic of the deep soaking tub, eyeing the gilded fixtures, “Can… can I take a bath in it or is that weird?” 

You look up at him, face stretched out in what he thinks is a wince. He frowns, “You can do whatever the fuck you want here, doll.” 

“Sorry, I know you wanted to just be in and out, but this is literally the nicest place I’ve ever been in,” you chuckle and turn away, unsuccessfully trying to hide the way your cheeks deepen a shade. 

Dieter reaches out, capturing your hand in his. You spin towards him and search his face as your fingers intertwine. He asks, “Do you wanna stay in the fancy-schmancy hotel tonight?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek and glance around the immaculate bathroom, “I don’t know. I have to get some orders out tomorrow morning.” 

“We can take a bath and rent movies. Order room service. This place comes with a butler, you know,” he coaxes, reeling you in closer, bringing his hands to your sides, meeting your eyes to show you that he wants you to stay, “I’ll see if he can bring bubbles for the bath.”

Your lips bloom into a big, beautiful smile and you concede, “Ok, ok, if you insist.” 

God, it makes his heart ache with adoration. You are fucking breathtaking. He doesn’t give a fuck whether the two of you stay here, or at your place, or on the fucking street. Just as long as he gets to be with you. 

Which reminds him.

“I gotta make a few calls quick, do you need anything right now?”

You frown and shake your head, “I’m cool as a cucumber.” 

Dieter secludes himself in the smaller of the suite’s two bedrooms. He digs his phone out of his pocket and makes call number one, to his booking agent, Mark. 

Mark is a no-nonsense workaholic who does not understand the concept of “leisure” or “vacations” or “I’m going out of town for a few days to visit a friend so don’t expect me to be available to do work.” Which, most of the time, actually meshes well with Dieter’s frivolity. Mark’s micromanagement and hyper vigilance keeps Dieter on task. 

But this week, Mark has been hammering out the details of an upcoming movie production, cc’ing him on hundreds of emails back and forth about contracts, accommodations, schedules, blah blah blah. Instead of wasting precious time reading through these email chains, Dieter dials Mark’s number and waits for him to pick up. 

“How’s New York?” Mark greets him. There’s no background noise, and Dieter guesses he’s in his office with the door closed. 

“Great,” Dieter responds, pacing slowly back and forth at the foot of the bed. He chuckles to himself when he remembers that the last 4 days were definitely not fucking great, but somehow today has completely overshadowed that fact. 

“Not getting into trouble, right?” 

“Depends on your definition of trouble.” 

This is Dieter’s way of answering him without lying and without saying yes. A conversational loophole. Dieter’s publicized drug use and philandering has had a significant impact on his marketability as an actor. Mark has been working tirelessly to keep work coming in, and would probably fly off the handle if Dieter’s most recent coke binge somehow made tabloid headlines. 

“Seriously, though, are you staying clean out there?” 

So much for the conversational loophole. 

“I, uhh-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dieter!” Mark’s groan sizzles in the speaker before Dieter can say more. He winces and moves the phone away from his ear. 

“Listen, I don’t think anyone knew who I was. Just went to some shitty bar and met some randos. Went back to their place and did some coke. No big deal,” Dieter paces faster now, running his fingers through his hair, “But then I went back to my, um-“ 

He falters here. The words “my girl” were right on the tip of his tongue before he caught himself. Dieter clears his throat and resumes. 

“My friend’s house and slept it off for a few days. That’s it, though, she’s been keeping me outta trouble otherwise.” 

“Alright, but I swear to god, if that shit gets out I’m gonna kick your fucking ass, Bravo, you hear me?” 

“Yes sir,” Dieter grins, relieved to move on to the next part of the conversation. Moving on from the part where Mark could ask who “she” is. Not that Mark really gives a shit about Dieter’s private life, as long as it doesn’t interfere with his job as an agent. But sometimes guys like Mark come out of left field with sentimentality like that. 

And right now Dieter has no fucking clue how he would react if he were pressed on the topic of you. 

Gun to his head, if someone asked him “What is Louella to you?” He’d end up fucking dead. 

Hell, no��gun to his head, if just someone- anyone, really- asked him “What is Louella to you?” There’s a distinct non-zero chance that Dieter would still end up fucking dead somehow. Panicking and jumping out the window seems like a very real possibility in that scenario. 

Thankfully, Mark is not the kind of guy who cares about shit like that. 

So Dieter happily listens to him blather on about next month’s jam-packed schedule, and auditions, and scripts, and flights, and movie production, and fuck, this is so goddamn boring. There’s no way he’s going to remember any of this anyway. It’s a complete waste of time. 

Precious time that he could be spending between your legs, on your lips, even just fucking staring at you. Each minute that drags on makes his skin crawl. 

“Does that all sound good to you?” 

Dieter stops pacing and squints up at the ceiling, then answers, “Yeah. Wanna just send my schedule stuff to Lincoln so he can update my calendar?” 

“Will do.”

The phone call ends and Dieter punches the air in success. One task down. 

He taps around on his phone, pulling up an email from his lawyer, Gene. He opens the document and e-signs all the necessary sections, then sends it as an attachment in response. He calls Gene and leaves him a voicemail, notifying him of the email. 

Then, finally, phone call number three. The phone line trills a few times. He’s not surprised when her voicemail picks up, and instead of her endearing Bulgarian accent, it’s a generic pre-recorded robot message. 

“Please leave a voice message after the beep.”

BEEP  

“Hey, Annie, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know I sent the paperwork to Gene so we can, uhh… wrap this thing up. I, um, I also just wanted to tell you that I wish you nothing but the best. I know I wasn’t always the easiest to deal with and um… I don’t know. I appreciate everything you did for me. For us. Thank you for everything. I guess that’s it. Bye.” 

“This is… by far… the best fucking idea I’ve ever had in my life,” you declare, carefully passing the joint the short distance to Dieter’s dry hand. 

The bath water is hot and saturated with lavender infused epsom salt. Steam curls off the surface between tall stacks of iridescent bubbles. 

He plucks it from your fingertips and closes it between his lips. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, settling deeper into the water, deeper into the stoned haze, deeper into Dieter’s soft, naked body. 

The vibration from his hum of agreement rumbles against your back. 

“I fucking love baths,” you roll your head back, nestling into the crook of his neck. He pokes your belly for attention and you crack an eye open to see the joint held in front of your face. You pinch it from his fingertips and take a hit, exhaling a thick, skunky plume of smoke as you ramble, “There’s that um… Silvia Plath quote from The Bell Jar about baths. Fuck, I wish I could remember it. So good.” 

“There must be quite a few things a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them. Whenever I'm sad I'm going to die, or so nervous I can't sleep, or in love with somebody I won't be seeing for a week, I slump down just so far and then I say: I'll go take a hot bath,” Dieter recites, then takes the joint from your grip and takes a hit. 

The steaming hot water sloshes as you look up at him, mouth gaping open in disbelief, “You just have that whole quote memorized and on the ready?” 

His face lights up in a smile as he laughs, eyes folding into crescents, “That’s half of my job description. Plus, I like that book.” 

The bright smile is contagious and it spreads to you, heating your chest even more than the bath water does. You sit up and try to turn around so you can kiss him, but the tenuous underwater gravity situation teams up with your dope-fogged brain and throws you off balance. With a squeal, you tip over into the water and completely submerge yourself. 

He starts cackling at you when you resurface, completely soaked and covered in bubbles, and you can’t help but join him in laughter. His wet hand reaches out and you take it, letting him pull you in. Your legs curl around his body, hands meeting at his neck. He holds you there with his wet hand on the small of your back, keeping you from floating away in the deep water of the soaking tub. 

When he hands you the joint, you pout, “I don’t have a dry hand for the joint anymore.” 

“Mmm, here, lemme try something-” he plugs it between his plush lips and inhales, the joint’s cherry glowing bright. His wet hand comes up to your chin and guides your face closer, until your mouth is open and hovering directly in front of his. As he breathes out, you breathe in, taking in his exhaust. 

The THC drags you up higher. The slick heat of his body against you elevates you even higher. 

You exhale a cloud and meet his eyes. They’re hot on yours. He glances at the dwindling joint and dips it into the bath water, then tosses it onto the mosaic tile floor. 

In all honesty, the ashes creeping along the surface of this otherwise amazing bath, and the soggy roach bleeding out soot onto the tile would normally make you feel uneasy. 

But, in all honesty, you find yourself not giving a single fuck about those things. 

Instead, you’re focused on him. He pulls you into a kiss that ignites your soul. Both his hands find your waist underwater and settle there. 

A feeling surfaces. It’s saturated in melancholy and romance and hesitancy. It tugs at your insides and aches to be known. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” you whisper, grinning coyly. 

“Give it to me, baby,” he wraps his slippery arms around your back and pulls you closer. 

Your body settles against his, laying your head against his shoulder, watching his Adam’s apple bob when you admit, “I’m kind of sad you’re leaving tomorrow.” 

“Oh yeah?” he smiles, squeezing you tight, “You gonna miss me, sweet cheeks?”

“Oh my god don’t ever call me that again,” you cackle. Your head jostles around on his shoulder as he laughs, too. Then a silence settles. Your fingers ghost along his chest underwater, and you mutter, “Yeah, I think I’m gonna miss you.” 

“I’m gonna miss you, too.”

[ Next Chapter ]

A/N: Out of curiosity, what do you think our lovers would dress up as for Halloween? May or may not be gathering ideas for an upcoming chapter lol.

[turbobyakuren]

@cerastes this is putting me on the spot here because there’s so many i love so i’ll rank them by combining the two factors together (there are gunplas that i love solely because they look good and others i love solely for the build experience ndfsqfdsq)

3. HG Qubeley Revive. Unorthodox, weird, strange. Comes with so many runners and overall surprisingly amazing build experience and AMAZING shelf presence. I loved it so much that i kept it on my desk for weeks before putting it with the others. It Qubeley’s design is simply amazing and i love how the build reflects the uniqueness of it. I love that they went the extra miles to make the details color separated and not stickers (the only stickers iirc are the ones on the bottom of the shoulder pads). I bought it before i watched Zeta Gundam because it was the last one of the store and after i finished Zeta Gundam i threw myself into it and it is an amazing experience. I would recommend it to anyone who wants a change of pace because i just lOVE unique designs in gunplas

2. HG Darilbalde. I would easily put every Witch From Mercury line kits there because they are fucking INSANE, all of them. Aerial is insane, Michaelis is a real beauty, demi barding is quite literally incredible and while i love Calibarn and Schwarzette’s designs, i have yet to build them so i cannot tell you fully. And while i’m not too big on Zowort’s design, it is the most buttery-smooth gunpla i ever built (and i would recommend it to anyone who wants to get into gunpla with a kit that is not difficult to build). Darilbalde gets the top spot of the list because it’s really THE gunpla ever. It has great build experience with interesting engineering and easy-to-apply decals, iIt has sick colors, you can do SO MUCH with its gimmicks (especially the flying hands and shields), it comes with a melee weapon THAT SPLITS IN HALF and has overall amazing shelf presence. I thnik it’s a must-have and easily one of the most iconic mobile suits out there. He is at the center of my WFM display (which isn’t intentional) and ihe very much deserves being there.

1. RG Nu Gundam. I had a beef with RG because i literally got the worst possible RG. This reconciled me with it. RG inner frames have gotten crazy ever since Tallgeese, but this takes the cake. This takes SO MUCH the cake. Fun fact, after i finished building it, i kept playing with the articulations and made him do poses for a little while because it was THAT good. Absolutely unhinged. Building experience was great, design is absolutely GORGEOUS and the sheer size of it compared to most gunpla + the finn funnels gives it amazing shelf presence. The only downside is that i haven’t figured out a way to make the fin funnels fly. i’d love to know how to do it without resorting to buying a specific kit. Anyways, I love this guy so much.

TURN A GUNDAM. Turn A Gundam.

[discodeviant]

Forgive Me, Father...

Billy/Jason | Mature | <1k words Religious Themes

Listen. Listen. This ship was a joke. Was. Is no longer, I'm afraid. I laughed so hard when I thought of this because it seemed so fucking absurd, and the idea was initially much more shy-innocent-Jason-esque, but that's not Jason, so... enjoy :))

Made for @billyhargrovebingo!

Billy was unimpressed.

He looked like it, anyway, when he followed Jason into the old restaurant he and the basketball team had reclaimed since its abandonment. It was embarrassing, the mess they could make in less than a week, and Jason suddenly wished he'd cleaned up a little.

"So this is where you juniors hang out, huh?" Billy stretched into his back, walking through scattered tables and dusty chairs, to a mini fridge in the corner where he found a can of beer. Jason watched, still close to the door in case he had to run away, but he knew he wouldn't. Not when this chance was right in front of him; not when it may never happen again. "You sure we won't have any surprise guests?"

"Yeah. We only meet on Tuesdays," Jason said, and Billy nodded. "Besides, no one else has the key."

"Ah... team captain privileges, right?" The beer can popped open and made Jason flinch, which Billy snickered at before sitting on the mattress that lay on the floor. Jason sat on the chair in front of the little TV stand, right where Billy could see him, and waited.

For anything.

This was wrong, and he knew it was. He surprised himself earlier by accepting the proposition, and he only did because Billy had eyes like a hawk. He'd seen Jason watching him from the bleachers with the kind of face that only meant one thing, and only a guy like Billy would have seen it. Jason didn't know he was making it, eyes wide and following the curve of Billy's side into his leg, mouth dropped open just enough to pretend he was anticipating the basket. How many days, weeks, months Jason had been giving himself away, he didn't know; Billy must have.

Billy must have known everything.

Sure, they were only a year apart, but something came with being a senior that was more than a boost of authority in the halls. It was electric. It was unnerving. It was the sense of expectancy that made Jason sweat even while he sat perfectly still, staring at the black screen ahead of him, hands in the pockets of his Hawkins High Tigers jacket, too intimidated to look over and see Billy leering at him. Maybe all of those things were just Billy; Jason wasn't afraid of other seniors.

Nor was he really afraid of Billy, even after hearing that he beat some kids up once upon a time, because Billy never hurt him. Billy hardly looked his way at all, and Jason had been wishing he would for longer than he was able to admit. So he wasn't afraid of Billy, but he was afraid of the tickle in his gut every time he thought, maybe, Billy had looked at him instead of past him. He was afraid of what his parents would think if they knew of the dreams he had and who was in them. He was afraid of the afterlife, suddenly, because he surely wouldn't see Heaven if Billy Hargrove had anything to do with it.

"You seem tense, Jason." His voice was buttery-smooth like the sunset over an untouched shore. "We don't have to do this... think it'd be kind of a shame, though. You were so eager."

"No." Jason clenched his jaw. "I want to." Finally, he looked Billy in the eye, and every wall, every guard, every piece of armor was gone.

"Need me to hold your hand? Tell you how to do it?" Billy asked, and Jason scowled, swallowed hard, but didn't have an answer that would make him sound stronger than he felt. The low chuckle gave him goosebumps. "I gotta be honest, man, the jacket's a turn off."

It was on the floor a few seconds later, and Billy sipped at his beer. "What about you?" Jason asked him.

"What about me?"

"Aren't you gonna take yours off?"

Billy chuckled. "You're cute, Carver." Pointing with his chin: "Shoes."

Shirt.

Pants.

Wristwatch.

Billy still looked unimpressed, and Jason's face hadn't changed from the embarrassed look of anger that tightened his lips and turned down his eyebrows. Sitting in his briefs in front of a senior, a guy, Billy-fucking-Hargrove, who lay back on one elbow with the most cynical smirk Jason had ever seen. Billy beckoned him forward with an index finger, so he stood from the chair and walked the few feet to the mattress. "Sit down, come on. I don't bite."

And no, Billy didn't bite, but Jason's adrenaline prepared him for it anyway in case he changed his mind. Cold, Jason leaned into soft leather that found its way over his shoulders and pulled him into warmth. An even colder hand from the beer touched his knee and stayed in place when Billy asked if he believed in God.

Yes, Jason tried to tell him, but nothing came out, and maybe that was for the best. Maybe he didn't. Not anymore. Not when the epitome of man was next to and draped around him, whispering to him, touching him, letting him touch, letting him exist without the threat of divine judgement. His eyes fluttered closed and back open over and over, Billy's hand and lips and teeth making him shiver everywhere. He couldn't sit still. He couldn't be quiet.

He couldn't help looking into Billy's eyes and whispering, "God, forgive me, oh, God, oh, fuck, ohGodohGodohGo--"

Those eyes knew everything. They saw everything, from the center of the universe to Jason's deep-seated yearning; and, oh, did he revere them. Crystalline blue even in the dim sunset through boarded windows, pupils blown out from the sight of a man turned putty in Billy's hands. A man who feared God once, and then loved Him, and now didn't know one from the other: right from wrong, Heaven from Hell, God Himself from Billy Hargrove.

Billy's hand from his mouth.

It was over just as quickly as it began, in a flash of blinding white that burned in tandem with the pleasure tearing through Jason’s body. Was this the end, he wondered, or was it only the beginning?

[adultswim2021]

Delocated #5: “The Soother” | March 16, 2009 - 12:15AM | S01E05

Kim goes off on a yoga retreat, but leaves behind a plaster mold of her own hand. Jon becomes unusually dependent on it, and the episode features at least one loving montage of him being romantic with the hand. There might’ve been two montages, I fell asleep before I could write this up and I’m relying on my notes. I hope there was two montages, because we all deserve that. 

Jon also becomes a professional “soother” after a chance encounter proves that his buttery smooth/electronically modified voice is just what a colicky baby needs to drift off to beddy-bye. This results in a successful launch of a CD of Jon lulling your little angel to sleep. This gets under Yvgeny’s skin, whose comedy CD is not only selling poorly, but was also disrespected by his father, currently doing hard time being a prison guy. It should be noted, Jon records this CD and see it's release within the space of a week.

Kim comes home and is disturbed by Jon’s obsession with the fake hand, which is destroyed during a botched mob hit. The episode ends with an emotional ceremony of Jon spreading the ashes, or possibly just ground-up remnants of the hand. 

Season one of Delocated is perfectly respectable and funny, but the more memorable episodes are still to come. This one is a fine collection of funny bits, like the running gag where Mike gets emotionally distraught when people reject his Halal French toast and has to call his mother. Also I liked when Jon likened Kim’s plaster hand to if he made a plaster mold of his penis were the shoe on the other foot. Or, glove on the other hand, if you will. 

Hey, I couldn’t figure out how to work this into the write-up proper, so I’m adding it here. Also, I’m not sure how funny it actually is on paper, so please imagine me doing this on stage, and I’m making a very funny face while saying it, and everyone cheers when I get done saying it. Thanks: 

“I’ve heard of a feet guys before, but hand guys????” 

Let’s give me a hand, guys.

MAIL BAG

You didnt ask me but I have a dog and definately have gone through the doggy door before. unfortunately i got stuck last time I tried and was in there for quite a bit until my stepbrother showed up and plowed my fat white girl ass. toodles

I hope he got you pregnant and that your child grows up to read my blog and be my biggest fan :D I am a star!

For a class about the Comedies of Ancient Greece and Rome, i did a 10 min presentation comparing Xavier Renegade Angel to Socrates from the play The Clouds. I chose a student at random to read aloud my transcription of the Free Range Mannibalism cold open (“these byways of Ameri-can’t are coated con carnage…”). No one knew what the fuck i was talking about. I got an A-, i think.

People really despise this television show. It's hardly surprising, but, gosh, I wish the entire world agreed with me.

i wonder if Free Range Mannibalisn is less confusing to people who remember Mad Cow disease. Although even by the time of that episode airing, that was already barely a thing anymore

Brings to mind this one joke from Duckman where they make a Mad Cow Disease reference and then the screen pauses and a subtitle pops up explaining that the joke was written back when it was relevant. Duckman, still funny. I forget what your question was. If you are a trustee of the Everett Peck estate or current holder of the Duckman IP please reboot Duckman and let me and my friends write it.

[ateezfanficthingies]

In Too Deep - Jung Wooyoung (Vampire AU)

Word count: ????

Genre: I don't fucking know genres but I think angst??

Warning: Blood, swearing, poor writing.

Y/N is gender-neutral in this story. (The nickname princess is used once but isn't specifically because of gender.)

Y/N is a journalist and amateur detective who's been following this suspicious guy but ends up going down far more dangerous path than imagined.

This has not been proofread and I'm tired.

I DON'T OWN THIS IMAGE/THESE IMAGES. I EITHER GOT THEM FROM TUMBLR OR GOOGLE.

THIS IS MEANT PURELY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES AND IS NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT NOR SLANDER ATEEZ NOR IT'S MEMBERS IN ANY WAY.

I knew that this would get dangerous but I didn't expect any of this.

I've been following this guy for a few weeks now. Never got any info on his workplace, friends, family, connections- heck! I never even got his name!

I would always see him slinking around this bar and so I came here often and observed how he interacted with people. He usually only stepped in to talk to one person and after that, he'd leave. After seeing this kind of interaction for the fourth time I tried following him outside, but he had completely vanished. And this was the case every single time. He just seemingly vanished even when it seemed impossible.

But I finally got him this time. This time he didn't just disappear. I managed to follow him. Out the bar to the alley on the right, down the stairs to the underground train station and through a back entrance I guess he had the keys to. I managed to slip in before the gate closed again locking automatically.

I kept following him, but had absolutely no idea where he was going. I just followed him through an endless maze. Passages of nothingness. The walls were carelessly placed not ever making a room, just a strange section of this underground area. The lights were barely doing their jobs. They were spaced so far apart and a deep red glow eminated from them, bathing the whole area in a dark crimson. It didn't take me very long to realise I was horrendously lost.

And I think that's exactly what he wanted.

I turned the exact same corner he did but he pulled that exact same vanish act. I looked frantically around the room, frozen in place, but he wasn't in this section.

"Why did you follow me down here, young one..?" his buttery voice echoed through the room and sank into my bones. I looked around even more frantically but my attention was very quickly drawn back to the centre of the room where he should have been. Gusts of wind and smoke spun around the appearing figure of the man I had been chasing.

"Run."

My body reacted before my mind could catch up and immediately I was sprinting in the opposite direction. I couldn't retrace my steps if I tried so I just focused on creating distance and prayed that the exit would reveal itself eventually.

"Y/N did you really think I didn't see you very obviously following me?"

How the fuck does he know my name?!

"W-WHO ARE YOU!?" I yelled out.

"Well maybe it was just obvious for me. Humans are pathetic when it comes to observing their surroundings." he lamented to himself.

Why is he referring to "humans" as if he is not one? I ducked into another section and had to catch my breath. Y/N you fucking dumbass! I realised something. What human materializes out of thin fucking air!? Of course he's not human!

"Why were you chasing after me, young one?" his voiced sounded as if it was right behind me even though I had my back against the wall. Regardless, I immediately began running again.

I refused to speak anymore, my only goals being creating distance between us and finding the/an exit.

"Answer my question..."

His voice was deep and gravelly yet smooth when he spoke. It was bone chilling and whenever he spoke it bounced off of the dark red walls, somehow making it sound like he was everywhere.

"My patience is running low. Don't make me just kill you..."

As I ran I managed to see a wall in front of me that led to what seemed like the opening to a room without a door. Without a second thought I ran into it. Although my legs were killing me so I had to pause again. The air was cold in my throat and lungs and I unfortunately couldn't breath quietly at all.

I received the biggest fucking fright of my entire life when a bat sped past my face. I magically didn't scream, I just watched this thing bounce around the room.

Well... I thought I recieved the biggest fucking fright of my entire life until a man dropped in from the ceiling and caught the bat in his mouth with a solid crunch as he landed. This time I did scream though.

He spat out the bat, stumbled back a bit and wiped off a bit of the blood on his mouth.

"Are you fucking nuts!?" he spat at me. When he looked back at the dead bat on the ground his face contorted into a mixture of disgust and disappointment. Like he was hoping it was something else.

His head shot up. "He's close. Come on princess!" he grabbed my wrist and we ran. His grip was (incredibly) strong and his speed was inhumanely fast, I struggled to keep up.

"What the fuck are you doing here!?" he sounded more so concerned than angry.

"I-I... I was investigating." my voice was quiet and shaky. It was also just really hard to talk when I was out of breath and trying to keep up with this speed demon.

He had managed to lead us to the entrance. He knew where the entrance was! We were okay!

"Investigating what!?" he almost yelled as we came to a screeching halt at the gate. The locked gate... He rattled the bars a little.

"Fuck..." he mumbled under his breathe before stepping back a tad to obliterate the lock with a single kick. Parts of the gate went flying and what stayed behind was bent, molded to the power of his kick.

He turned around and looked behind us to try and see something. Anything. He looked me dead in the eyes, towering over me, and giving me an opportunity to admire his... handsome face. "What were you investigating?" his tone was quieter and less aggressive and attacking.

"I-I was trying to investigate the recent mafia incident... I-I'm a journalist so I was looking for anyone suspicious who may be the leader and he was beyond suspicious and so I just... followed him." I tried to avoid eye contact, but he kept his eyes on me and huffed.

"Look, you don't know what you've gotten yourself into, ...?" he paused.

"Y-Y/N.".

"Wooyoung." I smiled at the name.

"You don't understand. I mean yeah; well done! You found the mafia leader, but you don't understand what this town's mafia is!" he softly took hold of my wrist again and led me away from the gate as he continued to keep a watchful eye on the darkness behind it.

"The mafia here is not just filled with any old criminals." He warned.

"What is it filled with then?"

"It's filled with-." something suddenly sent Wooyoung flying into the wall. As his back hit the wall the wall fractured into a nice marvel-movie worthy crater and he slid down covered in dust and into the pile of rocks that had fallen down along with him. I immediately stepped back almost falling as the mafia leader was now right in front of me, breathing heavily.

I frantically looked at him and then at Wooyoung, who was now climbing out of the rubble. He grabbed hold of the cement at his sides to pull himself up to a squat. He hissed at the man near me. I saw his eyes burn red and saw his extremely white teeth with some rather exceptional canines.

In response the leader simply growled lowly as his eyes also changed a bright red and his fangs were now visible as he grinned.

"...vampires." I finished Wooyoung's sentence.

The leader's eyes alone snapped to look at me and instantaneously Wooyoung flew from where was and tackled the man to the ground.

It was like watching two cats fight but on a much bigger scale. Wooyoung threw him into a vending machine, Wooyoung got thrown into a railing, they both threw themselves onto the train tracks. While Wooyoung was actually punching, the leader kept clawing at him.

When the leader had spun it around so Wooyoung was beneath him, Wooyoung managed to somehow kick him back into the floor next to the tracks, his spine undoubtedly smacking into the edge of the tiled floor. He was about to move but Wooyoung immediately flung himself forward and sank his teeth into his shoulder. As the leader hissed and screamed in response, Wooyoung kept sucking his blood, draining his energy. He pulled out a stake from fucking somewhere and drove it into the drained vampire that faught against him, pulling back to watch the last bit of life leave his eyes. He closed his eyes and sighed in relief.

He hopped up and sped towards me looking worried.

"Are you okay?" he had a lot of energy.

"Y-yeah I'm f-fine... Just rattled." I chuckled nervously and he laughed lightly at my reaction. His expression darkened once more though.

"Look... You really shouldn't have gotten involved in this. Just following him alone, has probably put you on their watchlist or something."

"They?"

"The mafia."

He looked me dead in the eyes.

"You're probably in a fuck load of danger, Y/N..." his words were slowly setting in but neither my mind nor my body knew how to respond.

"...But I'll protect you." my eyes widened and I only realised I had been avoiding eye contact when I looked up into his eyes and found he was smiling warmly at me.

"I mean you're in too deep now... Most likely- anyways... It's not safe for you, but I doubt you know any other vampires who can help you." I shook my head and he smiled once more.

"Well then you, got me!" he bounced lightly.

"I mean, how else are you gonna write that story without someone keeping you safe enough to write it?" he joked and I chuckled, letting out a breath I didn't realise I was holding. Our little chuckle-fest quickly died down and he looked at me with a reassuring smile.

"You're gonna be okay..."

[racingtoaredlight]

It's Hard to Talk About Classical Guitars

It's really hard to describe what these instruments sound like when you can't hear them in person.

Really, they all sound the same. They all look pretty much the same. When you record them, send them through an interface, digitally upload them and listen to them on a laptop or phone...how in the fuck can you get an idea of what these things sound like? Let alone feel like?

It's a box with strings. That's pretty much it. Luthiers over generations have eschewed moving outside this box, or really making any meaningful alterations to it...and what this has done has obscured the work of the greatest instrument makers in the guitar world.

Last month, I talked about my experience playing an Antionio Marin Montero guitar that cost $12,500. He's a 93 year old guy who's been making guitars for over SEVENTY YEARS. There was magic in this instrument that I can describe, but it does nothing to give you a sense of what it was like in person.

Lets break the EQ into 3 groups. The basses were fucking intense, robust, humongous...yet crystal clear without a hint of flubbiness. The mids were powerful, the projection akin to holding a 50 cal Desert Eagle after shooting a 9mm all morning. The trebles were silky smooth, buttery even, but they were never lost or lacked authority. The balance between each EQ class was perfection. Nothing overwhelmed another. I could go from whisper quiet to full-throated roar in an instant simply by thinking about it.

It was the Platonic ideal of what a guitar should be, made by a guy who apprenticed amongst luthier royalty over his septagenarian career. It was so Spanish, you could smell the paella.

I played a Matthias Damman double top. This is a double top.

As loud as the Montero was? This thing was preposterous to the point of being unnecessary (of course, I'm not a concert guitarist trying to fill a huge hall with no mic). You have mm-thin top, a honeycomb layer made out of this stuff called Nomex, and another mm-thin layer underneath.

Let me show you a picture of just how thin these luthiers can get this wood...keep in mind, this is not the most obvious impactful example I could've chosed...it was one that was kinda just normal.

These tops are carved so preposterously thin, that if you put a light behind it, you can see through both tops and the Nomex layer. And this isn't just "carving wood thin"...these tops are the lifeblood of the entire instrument. They're tuned to specific pitches to accentuate harmonics and overtones. Those thin tops need to be robust enough to handle the highest tension strings manfuacturers make without buckling or compromising it's integrity.

You can't see any of this.

If you were in person, you could hear it unamplified down the street.

You can't see the bracing...

At the top, you have an example of Robert Bouchet's bracing. Below is Daniel Friederich fan bracing (he experimented voluminously). The third pic is an Antonio Marin Montero. Below that is a Gregory Smallman lattice bracing. The last pic is an example of a variety of famous lutheirs' preferred styles.

Bouchet's two most prized pupils were Daniel Friederich and Antonio Marin Montero. You can see that, despite their mentorship, there's still differences in how these guys choose to brace their guitars.

What the brace does is impact how the top vibrates, and if the top is the guitar's lifeblood, then the bracing is it's DNA.

Lattice bracing allows luthiers to carve their tops even thinner (without going the double-top route), and project preposterously well. There are infinite ways to do this. Spainish style guitars typically have super-thin tops with heavier bracing. But that's not the only way...

Take the Germans.

I've talked a lot about how the Spanish-influenced guys carve tops super thin. The Germans, specifically Hermann Hauser I, took the opposite approach. Notice how thick the bracing is on the examples above...

It's the opposite on this Hauser top. Hausers (and Germans) typically favor tops about 1mm thicker than their typical spanish counterparts...and that width is typically in the middle of the soundboard. But the big difference is they typically use much, much lighter, thinner bracing.

The thin bracing allows the top to vibrate more like a thinner top, while altering the EQ. While Spanish guitars are known for their incredible bass and chime-like trebles with rich overtones, German guitars are known for being perfectly balanced and extremely responsive to technical adjustments.

The genius of all these differences is, at the end of the day whether you have a Spanish, French or German guitar, if it was made by one of these luthiers (or their apprentices), it'll get the job fucking DONE.

It's just really hard to tell the difference unless you're there in person.

I really like Spanish guitars. I really like German guitars. I really like French guitars. They're all aesthetically different, have their own characteristics, and sonically versatile...and all this comes down to preference.

When I played the Montero, it beat the living shit out of every other guitar I tested...German, French, English or otherwise. His nephew's guitar...a guy in his 70's who has 50+ years of experience next to his uncle...was phenomenal, but I put the $11,500 guitar in the discard pile anyways.

The German and French models I played felt cold. They didn't vibrate against my body like the Montero, they didn't raise the hair on my arms and neck. Maybe they needed more breaking in, but the Montero certainly didn't.

I played a $16,500 used model from one of the world's great luthiers who's based in Canada. This woman really tries to push the envelope into modernity, makes incredible instruments, and her guitar came with a $2,000 carbon fiber flight case. Discard pile compared to the 90-year old Spainard's.

At the end of the day, it really doesn't matter where your guitar was built, it matters who built it and where they learned from. Spanish guitar god Andres Segovia played a ton of Spanish music on a Hauser to the point that guitar is a permanent exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

But what does matter is that these guys have been making guitars with a lineage that traces back centuries, with skills honed by decades of apprenticeship, and an acute eye for what the purpose of these things is. You're in good hands no matter if you're playing a Montero, a Hauser, a Friederich...or the modern masters that learned from them personally, or by tearing their guitars apart.

The point is, these guys make some incredible shit. And it's a bummer that they all look pretty much the same, they all sound the same thru shitty digital vehicles, and unless you're in the room, you don't realize just how crazy their shit is.

[gerogerigaogaigar]

Ice Cube - AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted

After leaving NWA Ice Cube only got angrier about systemic injustice. He's more specific in calling out institutional racism and takes a strong stance against assimilationist attitudes in the black community. It's not all dour though, A Gangsta's Fairytale is pure camp and It's A Man's World get guest rapper Yo-Yo to trade sexist barbs back and forth. Ok that one might not actually age that well, but I do love when rappers get a guest on their album just so they can roast each other. The beats are similar to NWA fare but funkier and faster. There are moments where a bit of drum and bass influence peeks through. They are overall more intense and they are the perfect match to Cube's intense stacatto. Overall AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted is a little less focused than his 92 masterpiece The Predator, but is still an essential piece of hip hop.

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Blood Sugar Sex Magik

What a tragic joke of a band. You have an incredibly talented group of musicians who just suck ass at actually writing songs. I think that if John Frusciante and Flea made and instrumental funk album that was not produced Rick fucking Rubin that would kick ass. As it stands Blood Sugar Sex Magic's positives are buried under garbage songwriting and garbage production. The end result is just the soundtrack to a montage of frat house sexual assaults.

The Rolling Stones - Beggar's Banquet

After the complete shit show that was Their Satanic Majesties Request the Stones ditched the halfhearted psychedelic thing and returned to their roots. Beggar's Banquet is an album that is so rooted in an authentic country and blues sound that it would be impossible to tell that these guys are from London if you didn't already know. They hit a campy country twang, a raging blue rock, and a soulful gospel with apparent ease. It's a strong contender for best Stones album.

Cyndi Lauper - She's So Unusual

Check out this quirked up white girl. C'mon that's the vibe she's trying to project right? And she's fucking good at it. From the bubbly feminism of Girl Just Want To Have Fun to the classic masturbation anthem She Bop Lauper maintains a fun quirky atmosphere that is only broken up by the one well placed ballad, Time After Time.

D'Angelo - Brown Sugar

A bit of funk, a lot of soul, and a sprinkling of hip hop and D'Angelo managed to innovate a new sound on his debut album. The entire neo soul movement basically spawns from this album and it's easy to see why it had imitators. Literally everything about this album is buttery smooth, it easy to listen to and the vocals are superb. It's a bit samey though. Most songs are interchangeable love ballads that are individually great, but don't make for very dynamic listening when all put end to end. Thankfully the album doesn't go on forever like a lot of its imitators would so it doesn't tire you out, but it doesn't hold on to you either. Still it is very beloved and I'll admit that this just isn't my genre. For what it's worth I think D'Angelo gets better with ever album leading to the true masterpiece that is Black Messiah, which I've already reviewed here.

[tryingtokeepgoing]

On a real note, I need to be put down or something. I’m dating the most amazing guy. And he’s gone for a little bit and I’m going through stuff and I start to feel lonely. I cheated. I don’t even know why. I still don’t know why. But I’m still talking to the other guy. And I’m probably the worst person for two reasons: 1. I still very much intend to stay with my boyfriend. I love him and I’m attracted to him and he hasn’t done anything wrong in the entirety of our relationship. 2.I’m starting to believe that this other guy might be in love with me. He might’ve been for a while now. The whole time I thought we were buddies (we weren’t even that close). And I can sort of tell that I’m about to hurt him by going back to my relationship, but I can’t help myself. I absolutely love his kiss; it’s soft, smooth, and gentle, and he tastes just a little bit like a cigarette. And he feels so comfortable, and he’s kind of an asshole but super soft hearted at the same time (everyone agrees, the more he likes you as a person, the more he’ll fuck around and say outlandish insults. If he hates you, he won’t say anything at all). I don’t want to hurt him. I think he likes me bc he finds comfort in me, and I find it in him. But I think for the first time I actually want to keep something casual. Platonic in a way. Kind of be a safe haven in our own little bubble for a while. And then things would go back to normal. But that also seems unlikely.

I do not see myself in a relationship with this other guy. My boyfriend is everything I ever wanted. Im just filling a void. And I know I’m selfish for that. I don’t deserve either of them. I mean the the other guy knows I’m in a relationship. I wish we could stay friends. I hope we can stay friends. We could probably become best friends. But idk if that would be conducive to any relationships that we have outside of our bubble. Bc his kisses are buttery and he’s just the right temperature. And he smells like cigarettes just enough to make me nostalgic but not to much where he stinks. And I don’t think there’ll be any universe or dimension where we wouldn’t be pulled together. It’s just he’s been here the whole time, and I never really saw him that way. He’s been around me for years, in the distance. He’s like my family, and I don’t know how I feel abt having crossed that line with him. But it feels so good, I don’t want to stop. He seems so wrong for me though, it would be such a bad idea to let this thing I have with him ruin what I have with my current boyfriend. I don’t know. Talking to him makes my heart warm and fluttery, at least for now, and that feeling is hard to come by.

[theboysfromaustin]

April 28, 2005

Ian gently sipped his coffee, staring across the garish paint and chrome of Denny's at I-35, the rain pouring down. He'd just gotten out of court, and was now waiting, looking very out of place in his fancy maroon suit. He could barely see outside, lightning flickering across the Austin skyline.

"Excuse me..."

A familiar voice spoke to him, but he knew the game. Kazuo smiled, decked out in all-black leather, chains everywhere, with a spiked collar and belt. Ian smiled, "Hello, young man. Can I help you?" "Yes," Kazuo's voice was buttery smooth, and he leaned down, one elbow on the table, "I couldn't help but notice what a handsome man you are." "Mmm, flattery. But aren't you a bit young for me?" "I'll take age over youth any day - especially for someone like you, Mr...?"

"Gabriel. Ian Gabriel."

"Rolls off the tongue nicely. I'm Kazuo Mitsuwa, bartender." "Attorney." "Smart and handsome? Beautiful." Ian blushed, "Would you like to sit down?" "I would." He slid into the red booth, leaning on the table, Kazuo gently touching Ian's hand. "So bold." "Do you like bold?" "I love bold." "What else do you love?"

At that point, Anders, who had gone to court with Ian for 'Take your child to work day', returned from the bathroom, "Hey, dad, hey, dork." "I'll give you five bucks to find another table," Kazuo hissed. "Oh, you guys are playing that weird game. In that case..." He plopped down into the booth, and forced Kazuo against the wall. "Ow, ow! CHILD!" "What are you supposed to be dressed as, a gay garbage bag?" "Your dad thinks I'm handsome."

"Doubtful." Ian slipped his coffee, watching the struggle, "Let him up, lad." "Fiiiine," he scooted over, letting Kazuo sit up, taking a sip of his drink. "Turkey baster baby," Kazuo hissed. "Hairball." "Subhuman." "I fucked your dad." It was at that point where Ian snorted coffee across the table, "Kazuo!" "What? I speak the truth." "Good job, you almost choked him." "Just like last ni-" "DAD, NO."

Luckily, a waiter arrived as Ian kicked Kazuo in the shin under the table. "Welcome to Denny's what can I get y'all?" "Belgian waffle slam." "Double cheeseburger, and a new dad." "Chocolate shake, country-fried steak," Kazuo said, elbowing Anders in the kidney, Anders responding by pulling his shirt over his head.

Ian watched them, a bemused smile on his face, At least we're not the weirdest people in the Denny's. He slipped his coffee again, glancing back out the window. A large truck was on fire on the interstate.

"Huh."

"What?" "Oh, that's...at least it's interesting..." "Well, that's gonna fuck shit up." "Yup." "Wonder if it'll explode." "Really ruining everyone's commute, there." "Least we're not bound to I-35." "Thank Christ." "Good day at work, Kaz." "I dropped a keg on my foot." "Awww, I'll kiss it better." "Thank you, baby." "Oh, this is gross." "Someday you'll have someone to be horrible and disgusting with, child." "God, I hope I'm not like this." "You will be," Kazuo leaned into his ear to whisper. "DAD." "Don't scare the boy, Kazuo." "Too late."

There was a sudden explosion, and they all jumped. "Huh." "Never seen that before." "That's actually surprising. I feel like explosions would follow you everywhere." "Smartass." "Princess." "Be nice, I love you both." "Fine." "Truce, child?"

"Truce, weirdo."

[ivory-woods]

is anybody else desperately curious about how the initial coupling in S4 played out? why was watching it not a gem scene before we entered the villa? honestly, fusebox, it’s like you don’t want our money.

anyway since fb has once again decided we can’t have nice things, I’ve headcanoned the fuck out of this. I’ve decided this one worked like the show, with the girls lining up and the boys choosing.

James was the first guy to make his entrance. I think the producers were probably iffy about how big of an impression he would make and putting him first softens the blow because that can totally be chalked up to the girls being nervous. a correct assumption on the producers part because none of the girls took a fancy to James. he took it in stride, though, and buttery smooth Najuma came to his rescue with a slick “you’re just out of our leagues” and cheeky wink. he may have read into the wink a bit much, though, since he took it as a sign to choose her.

next up was Will, and at this point the girls have gotten over their “nerves” that the producers were so worried about in the first round. Lexi immediately stepped forward with a dazzling smile on her face and manipulation in her heart. Thabi stepped forward at the same time, but let’s be real, she didn’t make eye contact and Will didn’t acknowledge her presence. Najuma gave James a consoling pat on the arm before stepping forward with a sly little grin, and Will ate that power move all the way up. poor James was sent to the sub bench.

at this point, I like to imagine Lexi was fuming because Najuma had been chosen twice. lucky for her, Kobi walked out next - an impressive feat for an invertebrate, if I’m honest. unwilling to let Najuma be picked a third time, Lexi pirouetted forward and serenaded Kobi into her grips. that’s not how it happened, but I headcanon she had every intention of quickly expressing interest in whoever walked out next and not taking no for an answer. lucky Kobi, I guess?

if LITG had a host, this is where they would have asked Angie what exactly it is she’s waiting for, and you know she would have an ex-perience about three different guys who reminded her of James, Will, and Kobi. however due to budget constraints, we don’t have a host, so Angie just continued to study her nails and ignore all male presence, including Hazeem. yes, you read correctly. Angie stepped forward for nobody and we love that for her. these men are not worth her time or energy, a single step forward included. Thabi was less eager to be the last girl picked, and Hazeem would have given her some charmingly goofy line that I am neither charming nor goofy enough to come up with before choosing her.

we return to the sub bench and James couples up with Angie by default. Angie does not feign interest because she is a fucking queen.

[rayofsunas]

s/o has freshly shaved legs. [2]

A/n: requested by anon, teehee. thank you!! also, not genshin related, but I just saw levi in the new season and whew, he could STILL get it if he asked :) also, to my readers out there, when I bring up “shoulder rides”, I know some some people may not feel comfortable with that (which is okay!), I didn’t type that to not include everyone, that’s why I wrote “he’s going to give you shoulder rides if you feel comfortable.” key word is comfortable, you guys can imagine this scene or not, it’s intended to not exclude anyone, despite size, etc. I only bring this up because I know a lot of readers may feel left out, but by insinuating comfortable, you’re free to imagine this or not! I hope I made sense/wasn’t rude <3 ;-; happy reading!!

Summary: s/o has freshly shaved legs.

Parings: Diluc/Reader, Xiao/Reader, Childe/Reader (all fem reader)

Warnings: swearing, nsfw themes implied, fluff?, crack

Word count: 1.5k

Diluc

Diluc is a pure GENTLEMAN, so he feels very guilty ogling at your legs

he’s drawn in because of how smooth and buttery (probably some lotion or oil he assumed) they look

eventually, after becoming embarrassed for staring, he’ll find the will to stop

after all, he’s a GENTLEMAN

but that doesn’t mean the thought of your legs leaves his mind, you’re dead fucking wrong

he can’t stop thinking about how soft they looked

if only he could reach out and touch you, just once, just for a second

goodness, he hates the way he feels and surprisingly, when Kaeya stops by the winery for his daily drink, diluc may or may not confide in his friend, brother, 

poor diluc, he’s too respectable and truly thinks it’s WRONG

“why can’t I stop staring at her legs?” he will mutter more to himself. “I feel disgusting.”

“well, she’s hot for one-”

poor Diluc, Kaeya is NO help, he only wants to flirt with you

Kaeya will continue to apologize and make cocky comments, but in the end he reassures it’s natural for lovers to feel this way

poor Diluc part 2

let's just say when he returns late in the dead of the night he refuses to even look at you

he’s so disturbed, poor boy, you’re probably his first s/o and he feels dirty for thinking lewdly about you from just seeing your thighs

he dips to your room so fast, he just wants to sleep it off

You were shocked, to say the least when he didn’t give you his usual hug and kiss on your cheek. Maybe he had a long day? That’s usually always the reason. But even then, before he retired for bed, he made sure to show some kind of affection. 

“Diluc, sweetheart, where are you going?” You called after him, ignoring how the servants kept trying to grab his jacket and hang it on one of the coat racks; he was having none of it.

“Bed.”

“Oh okay, wait, we can walk up together-” He was gone from sight. You sighed in annoyance, you disliked when he became distant. Nonetheless, you dismissed the three servants for the night and began traveling to your room.

Eventually, you arrived in your bedroom to find Diluc laying on the bed, clothes from today still on, as well as his boots. You clicked your tongue. Did he have to wear his boots in your bed? 

“Not even your boots are off?” You had said, shuffling around the bed to tug your lover's shoes off. He heard you grunt, seemingly having trouble with the simple task. 

In the meantime, he had taken notice of how you had shrugged off your robe and it was somewhere else in the room, leaving you only in a simple cotton nightgown. It wasn’t revealing at all, simple and classy how he liked it, but god damn it your legs were exposed.

A simple nightgown, that’s all it was, but why couldn’t it reach your ankles? No-he should not have such standards for you, especially when you’re comfortable. Why did he have to be so lewd...

“Was today a hard day? I didn’t see you after you left the winery earlier... Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He huffed, you mocked him, sitting next to him on the bed, eyeing him carefully. You shifted and although it wasn’t meant to reveal any more skin, the movement had... 

“I’m not a very good mind reader, so you’re going to have to tell me if somethings wrong-”

“Please don’t sit like that...”

“Like what? This is a normal sitting position.”

“Yes but...” He’d huffed again. You knew Diluc well enough to know that he wouldn’t say anything else, it seemed he was already having trouble enough.

“Are you being a horndog?” 

“A what- I’m sorry who are you?” He teased, though utterly confused. “You’ve been hanging out with Aether too much.”

“It’s okay, I saw you staring earlier. I don’t mind.”

poor Diluc

Diluc.exe has stopped working

he can’t believe he was stupid enough to stare AND get caught doing so

you’ll simply just respond by saying, “It’s okay, Diluc. I don’t mind, it makes me feel attractive. At least I’m doing something right.”

lol, it doesn’t matter though, he’s a blushing mess 

all he can think is that he’s better than kaeya, he has standards for himself, staring at a woman's thighs is NOT respectable

even if you’re his fiancee

Xiao

says he doesn’t care when you show him how smooth your legs are

ARGUES and SASSES you when you say you know he’s entranced 

he continues to say no

well guess what, he’s a stone-cold liar

he’ll probably stare once or twice, but otherwise won’t let you distract him

instead, he’ll touch your legs in private (as long as it’s okay with you)

he claims he doesn’t care, but he enjoys how soft they are

like wow

never in his life did he think someone could be so soft

all he wants to do is touch your legs, but sadly he has his duties

I think he’d be the type to touch your calves when in bed (just laying, pls no sexy times)

like when you’re both getting ready for bed, he’ll guide your leg to lay over his waist so it’s sorta hooked around him, and he’ll just rub your calves pls

he likes giving you a massage, it's his way of showing physical affection

and although it does lull you to sleep, the gesture is also comforting for him too

he loves your soft legs

pls don’t ever stop shaving as long as you’re comfortable (he loves you with shaved legs or not)

he may or may not become a little baby if he can’t touch your soft legs

like he’s not gonna shed tears

but, he’s gonna be BITTER AF

SALTY, is the right word

You just wanted to get up to use the bathroom, hell you were gonna pee your pants. But Xiao would not let go. Unfortunately, he’s a light sleeper, so he felt you shifting in the bed when you went to get up. 

“Don’t leave.” He whispered. 

“I have to pee, Xiao.” You said, guiding his prying hands away from your leg. 

“Your legs, soft. Please sleep,” He muttered incoherently, smoothing a calloused palm over your thigh. 

You frowned at the black and teal haired man. “I’m legit going to pee myself if you don’t let go.”

He didn’t answer. In conclusion, he’d fallen back asleep.

Childe

you knew better than to wear skirts, dresses; anything that revealed your legs

or else you’d be the subject of your boyfriend’s comments and staring

this was your own doing, childe thought, your fault

when he’s caught staring by you or anyone, he doesn’t care

as long as you’re comfortable, he doesn’t care that he stares at your legs

some of the elders around Liyue Harbor will scold him for his rudeness, calling him inappropriate

they dislike him so much, not all, but a good handful

but he DOES NOT CARE 

as long as you’re comfortable, he’ll continue to stare as long as he’d like

yes, even if he’s a perverted horndog, he’s still a respectable perverted horndog, he’s going to make sure you’re okay with everything he does/says

pls, he’s going to give you shoulder rides if you feel comfortable, just to nuzzle his cheeks into your inner thighs

and he’ll run his hands over smooth knees

he LIVES for your smooth legs, also just wanna say he doesn’t mind if you haven’t shaved your legs either, you’re gorgeous either way 

he’s the ultimate horndog and does not try to hide it, like Diluc and Xiao

he’s like Kaeya, but let’s be real he’s not going to try and fit every flirtatious comment into EVERY sentence like him

he’s more of a physical guy ;)

he’s going to leave lingering touches on your legs, pinch them teasingly, do whatever as long as he gets to touch them

just gonna say this, but kisses on smooth thighs? muah, he does this and has zero shame

not even during sexy times, he’ll do it if he’s laying his head on your legs and they happen to be exposed

he does not care, he can do whatever he wants, this is his way of showing his affection towards you

“You’re going to suffocate! Get your head out from between my thighs,” You scolded the orange-haired man. He chuckled, giving you very nonchalant vibes.

It was getting harder and harder to ignore the passersby’s stares, why did they have to be so nosy? Well... this wasn’t necessarily something everyone wanted to see, even if it was entirely innocent, it did look highly inappropriate. 

“Plus we’re in public, Childe!” You noted. 

“Please, who cares!” He taunted, nuzzling his head even further. Your face flushed hot. 

“Your legs are soft.”

“Yes, but do you have to do it like that? This looks wrong-”

As I said, he does not care!!

2.4.21, rayofsunas