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elysiadjarin · 3 years

Text

Kill the Lights

Previous chapter: https://elysiadjarin.tumblr.com/post/648130867354632192/kill-the-lights

Warnings: spice. Oh gods, the spice. 18+ only, minors dni. Smut, consensual, public sex, foreplay, sub/dom, light bondage, threesome or poly, cum play, unprotected sex (irl wrap it before you tap it please people be safe), breeding kink

4: Kitchen Kiss

“Hey Rose, there’s someone asking for you at the front, says he knows you.” Jay’s head poked around the corner of a spice rack.

I looked up with a blink. “Did he give a name?”

“Uh... something like that one reporter’s name. Brock?” He squinted.

“Oh, Eddie!” I dried off my hands. “Becca, could you take over for me for a minute? My boyfriend is out front.”

Becca raised an eyebrow. “Sure, but you’re telling me why you haven’t told me about having a boyfriend when you get back.”

I gave her a sheepish smile. “Ok ok, be back.” I kept my apron on and went out to see Eddie standing by the kitchen doors dressed in a pair of slacks and a button-down.

“Hey Rosy.” He smiled lopsidedly, his eyes a little tired.

I reached up to give him a hug. “Are you ok? You look tired.”

He hugged me back. “Yeah, I just got done with an interview. I have to go back home and work on typing it up.”

I pursed my lips. “I think there’s a bit of leftover pie in the fridge if you need a pick me up.” He’d moved in with me from his run-down apartment a week ago, and the arrangement worked out well for both of us. Anne and Dan had even helped Eddie move in, Anne ecstatic that we’d gotten together.

He sighed. “You’re incredible.” He gave me a quick kiss.

I patted his chest. “You’ve never visited me at work though, is there something else going on?”

He glanced over my shoulder. “Do you mind if we... step away?”

I blinked, then realized. “Oh! Right, here.” I led him over to the small locker room I had as head chef, closing the door. “Private locker room, perks of being head chef,” I explained. “What’s up?”

Eddie grimaced, then reached out for me. “He’s been-“

As soon as his hand touched me, I realized that it was Venom.

“He’s insisting he wants to be with you for the rest of the day.” Eddie pulled me closer.

“Well, that’s fine with me,” I said, a little confused. I’d bonded with Venom twice before, mostly just for the comfort of it, besides the one time we’d been... in bed.

“I told him you had work,” Eddie tried to apologize.

“It’s ok, really. As long as he stays out of sight I’ll be fine- well, to be honest most of my coworkers know I’m a Mutant anyway so if a slip up happens I suppose it won’t be the end of the world.” I ran my fingers through his hair. “It’s about to be dinner rush hour, and I have two hours left in my shift.”

He nodded. “If you’re sure.”

I smiled. “Why would I not be okay with it?” I laughed. “It’s my boyfriend.”

He chuckled slightly. “I’ll leave you to it, I’m planning to get at least half the report written up before dinner.”

“Sure, do you mind if I bring dinner from here tonight?”

“Nope.” He bent, pressing his mouth to mine.

I clung to his shoulders, feeling Venom start to creep down my neck and face, down my shoulders, worming into my shirt and down my torso. When Eddie let go, I gasped a little.

“You okay?” he murmured.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I breathed. Accustoming myself to the sensation of Venom wrapping himself around my hips, I gave him a distracted smile. I gasped and slapped my side as I felt tendrils slip under my bra. “Ven, I’m at work, stop it,” I hissed.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, shoulda warned you, he’s pretty... horny.”

I shook my head. “I’ll deal with it I guess.” I gave him another kiss. “Alright, I’m on the clock. See you tonight.”

He waved goodbye as I led him to the door, and I turned back to the kitchen.

Hello, Rose.

I closed my eyes briefly at the sound of his deep husk caressing my name. “Hi, love,” I murmured. “Missed you.”

Becca grabbed me. “Wait, whoa, that’s the Edward Brock, or I’m blind. He’s your boyfriend? How?” she demanded.

I smiled nervously. “Um, mutual friends... and he may or may not have saved me from being jumped in an alleyway-“

“Oh. My. Gosh.” She shook my shoulders. “What? Spill the tea, right now.”

I talked while we worked, shaking my head at her love of gossip. Still, I knew she’d keep the information private. Becca may love the tea, but she only ever kept it in the cup.

But even as we moved on to focusing on the customers pouring in, I kept getting distracted. Venom kept being active, taking advantage of my loose clothing and apron to hide how he kept wrapping around my hips. He crawled up my sides, sliding under my bra. His tendrils tightened a little around my breasts, and I had to pause and take a breath.

“Ven,” I hissed under the noise of a popping frying pan.

Been missing you all day, Rose.

I bit my tongue and tried to discreetly lean my elbows against the counter to hold myself up. Venom teased my thighs, barely pushing at my underwear. I’d already learned that needy Venom was... needy. Not that I exactly would complain, but still... I was at work.

Will be good. Just an hour and a half.

I almost snorted, glancing behind me. “We both know you’re not patient, love.”

Are you?

Well frick. An hour and a half of Venom being distracting? Anywhere but work and I would’ve been fine, but it was much harder to explain why I was flushed and weak-kneed to my coworkers. Still... I could try. Even if it would be a bit futile. But what else could I do?

I took a deep breath and walked over to check the desserts. Glancing at the clock, I wondered how slow it would creep tonight. Normally it seemed to go by too fast. Tonight, I wasn’t too sure.

“Rose, this icing isn’t setting right,” one of my pastry chefs groaned.

I poked at the bag. “Ratios all good?”

“Yep, I double checked.”

I sighed. “Try making a new batch? Maybe something in it isn’t good. Might as well be safe.”

She nodded and scrapped it, starting over.

I hurried over to another station as Becca waved me over. Fixing the issue, I’d just turned to tell Becca something when I choked. Venom slipped under my underwear, inching closer to my core.

“You okay, Rose?”

I nodded, covering my mouth. “Sorry,” I coughed, “something in the air I think.”

She handed me water, and I took a hasty sip. “Thanks.”

“Alright, first order’s out,” she said grimly. “We’re on schedule, thankfully.”

“I’d like to be ahead if possible,” I said ruefully. “But we’ll do the best we can.”

You’re wet.

I grabbed onto Jay’s arm as my knees went weak. Venom slipped a single tendril into me, teasingly sliding in and out. My entire body felt hypersensitive, Venom’s fingers teasing my nipples not helping in the least.

“Whoa, Rose, you good?” Jay grabbed me.

I winced. “Sorry, Jay. My knee is...”

“Hey, we’re doing just fine here. Do you need to go sit down for a minute? I know you get stressed sometimes,” he said, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

I nodded. “I’ll be back.”

“Take your time.”

I managed to make it back to my room and lock the door just as my knees buckled. Hand pressed against the floor, I moaned. He’d slid further into me, hands forming around my hips.

Is thirty minutes a record? Venom gloated.

“I’m at work,” I complained, trembling. Everything felt so sensitive. “Did something happen today?”

Venom growled, and he abruptly pushed into me. I gasped, jerking, as he completely filled me in a way that made my stomach swell. His matter inside me felt so different from anything else, so satisfyingly full.

Mine.

“Yes,” I whimpered. “You know I am. But what-“ His thrust, decisive and possessive, cut me off.

Stupid guy saying you only want Eddie for money.

I staggered up and collapsed against my closet, trying to get my apron off. I knew I wasn’t finishing my last hour. Not after what he’d said.

“Ven, we both know I’m the one with money right now-“ My apron fluttered off into the hamper as my fingers clenched in my shirt. I barely managed to get it off, fingers trembling. “And other people are dumb. What- happened?” I managed, pitching against the wall as Venom thrust.

I gasped as he formed in front of me, tongue hanging as he drooled heavily. His hands appeared around my hips, tendrils peeling my pants off for me. His hips bucked against me, and his hands brought me down on him in a way that made my eyes roll up.

Doesn’t matter. Rose is ours. No one can else can do this to you.

I had to privately agree. Not without getting kicked, anyway. I’d probably get the full story out of Eddie. But for the moment, I could only focus on Venom’s thumb sliding down to press on my clit.

I tried to muffle my moan, pleasure sparking through me almost unbearably. Venom knew my body too well. Though he and Eddie felt equally good in different ways, something about Venom always reduced me to putty in his giant hands. As a switch, it was unbelievably satisfying to have Eddie flip my dom side and Venom control my sub self.

At this point Venom had to hold me up completely, pushing into me, pulsing and twisting. His mouth slid across my cheek, my jaw, down to my throat. Everything fuzzed, until all I knew was that he was hissing my name, muttering into my skin, talons wrapped around my hips with a gentle sort of decisiveness that made me completely melt. I gave in so readily under his touch, his claws raking softly across my skin to barely leave a mark.

I let out a shuddering moan, his name spilling from my lips. “Venom- oh, Ven.”

Rose is mine. Love my Rose. He purred.

My body kept teetering closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure steady and somehow increasing. I could barely think, barely do anything but say his name, over and over, beg for him. My fingers scrabbled at his chest, slipping against his matter, sinking into it.

His tongue lolled, drooling sloppily onto my chest and arms until it slid down my stomach only for him to lick it off. The moment his talon scraped across my clit again, I arched.

Venom snarled, low and deep in a way that rattled deep into me. He bucked one more time, and I could feel the familiar heat gush into me. He ground against me a few more times, prolonging my pleasure as I whimpered and fell against his chest.

Eventually he sank back into my skin, leaving me slumped against the wall, panting. I gasped for breath, my body still trembling with aftershocks. Venom, as always, had plugged me, keeping everything inside me. For once I was more grateful than usual, knowing that the mess would be difficult to clean up at work. Not to mention, I’d rather not walk around leaking everywhere.

I finally dragged myself up. I had to go home. Fumbling for my phone, I sent a text to Becca telling her that I had to leave because I wasn’t feeling up to snuff. Once I managed to gather myself enough, I pulled on my clothes and threw on my jacket. Grabbing my stuff, I quietly left the restaurant through the service doors and made my way to my car.

I slumped into the seat, unzipping my coat briefly. My entire body felt so hot, and I bit my lip as I felt Venom sliding around my waist again.

Going home to Eddie?

“You win, Ven,” I half-laughed, starting the car. “You got me.”

Eddie wants kids.

I swallowed. “What do you think of that, Ven?” I asked, driving home. My knuckles whitened around the wheel as I tried to keep my hands from trembling. My entire body still felt hypersensitive, and it wasn’t helping that Venom kept occasionally teasing my clit, edging me further.

The idea of children didn’t exactly scare me. I’d wanted kids of my own, but never thought I’d find the guy to settle down with. Though it broke my heart to think of Eddie or Venom leaving me, the idea of having a little one with both of them to cherish and raise was something I would jump at. Though, I hoped that neither of them would leave either.

Would never leave you, Rose. Venom sounded offended. We love you.

I took in a breath. “I know, Ven. It’s just... I can’t help it. It’s a fear.”

We want a kid with Rose. My kind reproduces asexually, but still need a good parent. Raise kids properly.

I pulled into the parking garage and parked, then pulled out the keys and leaned back, hand on the door. “We should talk to Eddie about it first, though, don’t you think?”

Eddie is afraid you’ll leave. Scared of having kids. Scared he will be a bad parent.

I smiled faintly. “Do you think we could change that?”

I think we can. A hint of lust laced his tone, and I swung out of the car.

“So, we agree on a game plan?” I began to walk toward the elevator, stripping out of my shirt and pants and zipping up my coat to hide my underwear.

He just answered with a chuckle, and I smirked. My switch flipped, and I licked my lips as I exited the elevator. For a brief moment, I was glad I’d decided to wear a pair of matching and relatively lacy underwear. I opened the door and let my clothes and bag slide to the floor.

Venom untied my hair, and I ruffled it with a murmured thanks. Kicking off my shoes, I reached up to untie my scarf as I walked into the office.

Eddie turned, looking surprised to see me. “Rose? I thought you still had a while to-“ His mouth dropped as the coat slid off my shoulders to pool on the floor.

I pulled the scarf off, then walked up to him in the chair. Using the scarf, I wrapped it around his shoulders and sat myself in his lap. Pulling him closer, I pressed a kiss to his neck as he grabbed my waist.

“I think Ven might have been too strong of a corruption for me, Eddie,” I murmured, sliding my arms around his shoulders. I pulled back to give him a pout, burying my fingers into his hair.

He sucked in a breath. “I- uh- I sorta thought he might calm down just being near you... guess I was wrong-?” he chuckled nervously. “Um- Rose, are you- mm.”

I cut him off with a kiss, my hand sliding down to his. “Eddie,” I murmured against his mouth, pulling his hand to my underwear. “I think your girlfriend isn’t quite full enough,” I suggested, making him sink his fingers into me.

He sucked in a sharp breath as Venom’s matter started to spill out of me around his fingers, puddling in his lap. He grunted, and I could feel his pants strain against me.

“Do you mind if I need a little attention?” I breathed, biting my lip as I sat up.

He licked his lips. “I... I do have work...” but it was weak.

I bent to kiss his ear. “But I really, really want you under me,” I whimpered. “Venom and I want to have your hands around my hips, buried inside of me.”

His breath stuttered. “You know I’m yours, Rose,” he said weakly, his voice turning into the submissive whimper I loved so much.

Venom took over me briefly, taking us to the bedroom. He got rid of Eddie’s pants and shirt, then melted up my arms as he settled me over Eddie’s hips. Venom left me to sink into Eddie, wrenching his arms up to latch onto the headboard, securing him to the bed.

I peeled my underwear off, ignoring how they were soaked through with black. It leaked down me, onto Eddie’s straining member as he bucked and grunted.

“Please- Ven- I want to touch her,” Eddie groaned, his eyes fixed on me.

I bent to kiss him, sliding my hands up his chest. “If you be a good boy for Rose and Venom tonight, Eddie, I think you’ll like what we’ve agreed on,” I teased, smiling playfully as I rocked my hips up.

He hissed, then panted. “I’ll be good.” He gulped as I brushed my fingers over his nipples. “I promise, Rose. Please, he’s been in my head all day and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Hmm, I don’t know...” I pursed my lips thoughtfully. “You did dump him on me at work.” I gave him a pout. “Don’t you know what Ven did? How he teased me at work for an hour before making me go to the locker room? How he pushed me against the wall and took care of me, reminding me that you were here at home?”

His hips strained against Venom futilely. “Please, Rose,” he whined. “I need it, please, I need you. We need you.” His dark eyes all but begged for me. “I’m so close already, please.”

I tilted my head and reached down, dragging my fingers across his length. It twitched as he hissed, and I pulled it up to tease it against my entrance. I smiled. “Oh? Do you want Venom to just slide it into me, so slowly? Hmm?”

He groaned. “Yes, please.”

Venom formed his body under Eddie, trapping him between me and himself. He still held Eddie captive, but reached his own hands up to start teasing my breasts. Eddie groaned, tortured at the sight.

“This isn’t fair,” Eddie groaned.

Venom chuckled. I had her at work today, Eddie. She was hot and wet and soft, and perfect. She kept saying my name, wanting me. His tongue flickered.

I squirmed for effect under his hands. “Hn- not my nipples, Ven- you’ve been teasing me this whole time,” I whined. “It’s my turn to play with Eddie. I want him.” I pouted.

His hands slid down to my hips and pulled me down into a kiss. I melted into Eddie’s body, moaning into Venom’s mouth. Eddie whimpered between us, squirming, trying to search for friction, for some sort of satisfaction.

Isn’t our Rose beautiful, Eddie? Venom growled, his tendrils sliding between us to wrap around Eddie’s length. His hands lifted my hips, clearly teasing my lips against Eddie’s throbbing, leaking length. His thumbs parted my lips, and thick, black tendrils crawled down to start teasing my clit.

I moaned, leaning back so Venom could control my hips. “Oh- yes, Ven.” I bit my lip. “Tease me with Eddie, please.”

Eddie moaned. “Ven, Rose, please. I can’t take much more.”

He can’t hold on much longer, Rose. Venom grinned, tongue wrapping around Eddie’s throat.

“But I love it when he begs, Ven. He’s so cute. Please tease a little more?” I fluttered my eyelashes at him.

His tendrils squeezed Eddie’s tip, then slowly rubbed the head against me. Make him cum inside you?

“Yes!” I reached down to lace my fingers in Venom’s, still wrapped around my hips. “Please, make him cum inside me. Like you did.”

Eddie gasped sharply. “W-wait- but I- I don’t have a condom on-“

And she’s not on the pill. Venom agreed, dipping Eddie’s tip into me.

Eddie’s wide eyes met mine. “Wait, if you put me in I- I’ll cum.”

And if Rose is okay with that? Venom asked, his fingers lacing in mine as his hands supported me.

Eddie stared at me.

I supported myself against Venom’s hands, teasing myself against Eddie’s tip as Venom’s tendrils held it up against me. “I want you to cum in me, Eddie.”

We talked, Eddie.

“What?” He sucked in a sharp breath as I slid his tip into me, feeling the stretch. “You-?”

She wants it, Eddie. Wants us.

“You want- you want it, Rose? I mean... you’re okay with-?”

I nodded, biting my lip and whimpering as Venom twitched against my clit. “Yes. I want you and Venom, Eddie. I want to try to have kids with both of you. I love both of you so much. I’ve always wanted a baby.”

Venom let me sink another inch onto Eddie, his fingers tightening around mine as I moaned. Eddie’s breaths were coming short and fast, his eyes rolling. I slid down onto Eddie all the way, until Venom’s tendrils on my clit were resting against Eddie’s pelvis. Eddie let out a broken moan, jerking as he moaned my name, over and over. Venom growled, and I bit my lips in satisfaction as I felt Eddie spill into me.

It wasn’t enough. Venom let me bend down to kiss Eddie, soft and deep. His hands held my hips tightly against him and Eddie, his tendrils wrapping around Eddie’s length still buried inside me.

“Oh- Venom- Rose- wait, it’s too- it’s too sensitive,” he cried, jerking. “No, stop, I can’t-“

I thrust a little, grinding my hips against him. Venom continued to tease Eddie’s tip, over stimulating him as he twisted and moaned. “Wait- please- I’ll come again-“

“It’s okay, Eddie,” I murmured, kissing him gently. “Cum inside me. Let me and Ven feel you cum in me. I want it. I want you.”

He let out a cry, his eyes welling as he bucked and jerked. He spilled into me again, sobbing out our names. Venom finally let him go, though I kept him buried deep inside me.

“Please don’t let it out of me, Ven,” I pleaded softly.

Will take care of you, Rose. Venom reassured, his thumbs rubbing my waist. He continued to tease my clit, keeping me sensitive and relaxed.

Eddie gasped, slowly recovering. “Rose-“

I kissed him. “I love you, Eddie. So much,” I murmured.

Venom let his hands go, and he immediately grabbed onto me. “Marry me,” Eddie blurted, kissing me fiercely. “Marry us, Rose.”

I gaped at him. “Wh-what?”

“Marry us. We want to have kids with you, want to stay with you forever. I love you, so much.” He searched my eyes.

I smiled brightly. “Yes! Yes, I will. I love you so much, Eddie.” I kissed him, then smiled at Venom. “And I love you so much, Venom.”

Venom kissed me, his tongue slipping into my mouth. Then he twitched my hips over Eddie. My turn?

Eddie nodded. Venom built on top of Eddie’s length inside me, making me moan as I stretched even further. All the semen inside me seemed to swirl, making me sigh in satisfaction. Something about Venom’s pure size, how much bigger he was than me, always made me feel so safe and satisfied.

“Are you okay, Rose?” Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed, and he cradled my waist in his hands.

I smiled. “Yes, I’m fine. Ven- Ah!- feels so good.” I bit my lip.

Eddie, want to see Rose cum? See her filled with us? Get her... pregnant?

Eddie’s breath hissed between his teeth. His hands gently slid up, then cupped my breasts. His fingers nudged my nipples a little, his hands calloused but gentle.

“Yes,” he rasped.

I let Venom completely manhandle me, grinding my hips against Eddie’s as he twitched inside me. I whimpered. Eddie gently kissed me, his lips sliding against mine with a tenderness that didn’t match the way Venom rutted their hips into me. Each thrust kept making more semen trickle out of me, yet pushing it further into my womb.

I felt so full and satisfied, heat lighting all of my nerves. I half-sobbed, feeling myself creep closer to the edge again. “Venom, Eddie,” I cried, beginning to tremble.

Love our Rose. Venom purred, his tongue beginning to curl around my shoulder.

“We love you, Rose,” Eddie murmured, kissing my neck.

I felt everything inside of me clench as I came, gasping for breath. But Venom kept thrusting up into me, kept bringing my hips down to meet him. I sobbed around the pleasure, whining Venom’s name as I came. He growled and spilled into me one last time, making everything overflow in a messy puddle.

I sank against Eddie’s chest, feeling Venom retract to leave Eddie inside me. I tried to just breathe, coming down from my high. Eddie pressed kisses down my neck, holding me to him gently. Venom purred lowly, switching so he wrapped around both of us.

I leaned up and kissed Eddie softly, feeling his thumbs rub circles into my waist. Venom cuddled us both, bubbling contentedly over our skin. I giggled slightly as he traced patterns over my stomach.

Rose going to have a little one?

“I hope so, Ven,” I answered softly, running my hand down his matter.

Eddie turned us over onto our sides, curling around me. His hand splayed over my stomach, still buried inside me. “I can’t believe you... you want this,” he said wonderingly.

I smiled, cupping his cheek. “I’ve always wanted kids, I just didn’t know if I’d ever find the right person,” I confessed. “But you and Ven...”

He kissed me gently. “Thank you, Rose. I promise we’ll protect you, take care of you.”

I nuzzled into his neck. “I’m so happy I’ll get to be Rosemary Brock,” I said shyly.

“Sorry, Rose. I didn’t really mean to propose like this. I have a ring and everything, I just...”

I shook my head. “It’s okay, Eddie.” I smiled. “I’m so happy that I’ll get to marry you and Ven. I was a little scared,” I said, looking down at his chest. “I mean, I know that you care for me, but I... I didn’t want to lose either of you.”

“Never,” Eddie promised. “I love you with everything I have. I know I’m not the best man out there, Rose, and you’re... you’re too good for me. But I want to take care of you and have kids with you and Ven.”

“That’s all I want,” I whispered.

Venom nuzzled my shoulder. Ours, Rose. Always together.

“Always, Ven,” I promised back. “I love you. I’m yours, Venom.”

#my writing #x reader #venom x reader #venom #eddie brock x reader #eddie brock #we are venom #marvel #exophilia #alien #alien x reader #lemon #smut #marvel smut #spicy

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moonctzeny · 3 years

Text

pairing: sub! xiaojun x dom! femreader

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 2.4k

warnings: femdom, power play, y/n calls him puppy twice, mirror sex, oral, handjob, cum eating, consensual degradation

a/n: this is so nasty omg I am highkey embarrassed for posting this 😳 also it’s my first femdom fic so please be kind 🥺❤️

“I don’t know, babe. I mean, aren’t I supposed to be the dominant one in the relationship? Aren’t I supposed to lead you?”

Xiaojun loved it when you were like that. Arms and legs intertwined into a bundle of your bodies, his head on your chest and your fingers in his hair. Covered by a thick blanket, you chose to stay in one of his t-shirts and your panties to overcompensate for the warmth. The thump of your heartbeat comforted him, the steady sound soothing him from being his typical nervous, jumpy self. And when faced with your question “Would you ever let me dom you?”, he was calm enough to hide his sudden arousal. Or so he thought.

You rolled your eyes at his answer, expecting him to be sceptical but not ready to give it up yet.

“What? Are we in the 50’s or something? We can play around during sex, you know. It doesn’t make you any less of a man.”

You could almost see the gears turning in his head, his thalamus making up images of you bossing him around, using his body for your pleasure. It makes him grow even harder in his shorts, the twitching obvious and pressing against your thigh.

“I mean, haven’t you ever thought that maybe you’re missing out on this great pleasure? Don’t you want to know what it feels like to really let go?”

He gulps at your words, his jaw twitching in search for the right words to say, yet he finds none. His whole body is vibrating with the weight of your suggestion, of the dirty thoughts you’ve so skillfully slipped into his head. And you can’t take him off your mind either. A picture of him with puffy lips and pretty eyebrows furrowed cutely. What a sight.

You weave your fingers deeper into his locks, tugging on them swiftly so that he has his full attention to you only. He is breathless and panting already, yet you haven’t even touched him. This sort of fragility isn’t good for you, you think. It awakens something in you that is as caring as it can be dangerous.

“I can make you feel so good”

You seal your promise with a kiss, his back arching to desperately reach your lips. Your tongue soon makes its way into his mouth, tasting the desperation of his kisses. This sweetness was what made this make out session so different and so, so much sexier. The anticipation, the hastiness, the hunger for something new.

He looks drunk when you pull away, and you push him off of you and on his back. You place yourself into your rightful throne, right over his lap, and you are ready to begin your reign.

“I- I j-just”, you hear Xiaojun stutter from under you, and you melt at the sound of your boyfriend’s small voice, “I really don’t know what to do”

You pet the front of his hair and you coo as he leans into the touch. The sight of him slowly falling into submission is just beautiful.

“Relax, baby”, you comfort him in a tone almost sickly sweet, “leave it to me, okay? I will lead you”.

He nods, whimpering, and you can feel him squirm from under you, restraining himself from rubbing up against you. What would you say if you noticed the-

“Tell me baby, there is something that’s been pressing against my thigh since we started.”

Xiaojun’s eyes widen in shock, a wash of red landing in clouds over the skin of his face. He thought he was good at concealing it, the mere thought of you knowing just how much this all aroused him making him hide deeper beneath his blanket. “S-sorry it’s my mpmph”

You suck your teeth at his response, reaching behind your lap for the hard member. You find it easily, from the way it’s poking your right ass-cheek to the way it’s peeking out from the leg of his shorts. The tip is wet with precum already, and you smirk at the obviousness of his arousal.

“What is it baby? I didn’t hear you. You shouldn’t mumble around me.”

You squeeze his cheeks with your other hand then, prodding the skin with your fingers until his mouth opens up for you. Slipping two fingers inside, you let the heat of his mouth engulf your digits, and it doesn’t take long for the sucking to begin. He is so good at this, so talented with his mouth but you can’t praise him yet. Not until he learns to speak clearly.

Xiaojun tastes himself along with the saltiness of your fingers. He also tastes the dirty bluntness of the words on the tip of his tongue.

“It’s my… boner”

Your fingers are nice and wet now, wet enough so that your hands can slide effortlessly around his swollen tip. It twitches underneath your touch as you trace his slit with the pad of your index.

“I think it needs something from me”

He nods with closed eyes and sealed lips, eyes dark and glossy when he reopens them. Xiaojun knew what he wanted, and he knew what he had to do to get it.

“Please, please, please”, he whines, voice breaking at the end of every repetition of the sinful word, “will you let me inside you?”

You grab the band of your panties with your thumbs, rolling them down your legs as he’s waiting anxiously for your reply. Lowering your hips in the slightest way you let his head graze against your velvet heat, and Xiaojun’s eyes roll in the back of his head at the feeling.

“Do you think you deserve this?”

You push yourself against him just an inch, allowing his tip to submerge in your pussy. Your panties managed to soak up part of your wetness but he still slides inside you with ease, one exhale away from giving him what he wants so badly.

“Yes, yes, please. I will be such a good boy, I promise”

Smiling at his eagerness, you take in the sight of your boyfriend shaking from under you with just barely a touch. You allow gravity to finally pull you fully down his lap, the feeling of his cock stretching you out making you both moan equally as loudly. He’s expecting you to move your hips, his dick twitching inside you and when you don’t, all he can do is whine.

You see a hand tentatively dipping inside your shirt, fingers gliding from your navel to gently flick your left nipple. It felt really good. Too good.

“Did I tell you to touch me?”

His fingers leave your breast in an instant, as if electricity had hit him, shyly retracting it with a blush on his face.

“N-no. I’m sorry”

You roll your eyes in fake annoyance and take your shirt off to tempt him further. You can see the internal conflict he’s going through, thinking if it’s worth defying you if it means playing with your naked chest. He decides not to and just takes a deep breath to calm himself, hands determinedly pinned on the bed next to your knees.

“Move, pup”

Xiaojun looks confused at your demand, staying still for a second before his needs take the best of him. You hover a little over his lap, his dick still inside you, and he starts humping upwards to engulf himself with your heat.

He looks absolutely adorable humping you like this, the desperation on his face waking up a part of you that wants to please him as much as it wants to make him cry. His thrusts were short at first, working out the mechanics of having to do all the work himself but soon his hips got the hang of it, hitting you deep and filling you completely.

You feel sorry for him a little and decide to lay your body on top of him, and Xiaojun’s immediately satisfied with the shift in positions. Two locks of hair cover his eyes and you carefully pet them away, admiring how handsome your boyfriend is. Your love for him overwhelms you and you dip down to kiss him, your lips moving painfully slowly against his eager ones.

“I’ll do you a favor. You can touch me now”

Xiaojun’s hands hover next to your sides for a good second, his brain unable to handle the sudden freedom he was given. He finally decides to grip the softness of your ass, nimble fingers massaging the skin greedily. You can tell he’s getting close.

“I’m gonna cum”

“Pull out”

He knows you’re on birth control. You’d let him cum in you hundreds of times before, today’s morning sex included. This is just another manifestation of your power play. And it turned him on even more.

“I can’t, it feels too good, let me cum inside you please, please”

You didn’t have time to respond. You could already feel his hips halt with a stagger, his hot come painting your walls, and the feeling’s too good not to moan along with your baby boy. Big brown eyes meet you after he’s done panting, his teeth chewing his bottom lip in abashment.

“I’m sorry”

“You think batting your eyelashes at me is going to get you out of trouble so easy like that? Get up.” You let his softening member slip out of you and he hisses at the sensation, his trembling knees barely holding him up on his feet. A small stream of his slick starts to drip out of you and down your thigh, yet you hold on against the uncomfortable feeling as best as you can. “Now get on your knees. Show me something worthwhile to forgive you by”

Your voice is stern, dominant. It compels him to shuffle on his knees in front of you with no second thought, eyes looking up at you just like you’d imagined at the start of your scene. Xiaojun’s not one to rebel twice and Xiaojun is a pleaser. Xiaojun is a good boy, and he’s gonna prove it to you any way he can.

The first lick of his tongue over your clit has the hairs on your arms stand on edge. You were already stimulated from your previous position, his little sucks on your swollen bud bringing you closer and closer to insanity.

“This is so dirty”, he mumbles against your clit, lips working hard just like you expected from him.

“It’s just a little bit of cum baby boy. If you had listened to me and pulled out you wouldn’t have to lap it up like a little puppy now”

He moans at the derogatory words and you play with his hair again, knowing the act of intimacy relaxed him. A suspicious weight on your feet makes you look at the floor curiously, only to find your boyfriend humping the curve of your ankles.

“As always, Junnie, you’re such a pervert. Hard again?”

“I can’t help myself. This is so hot”

The sight of his face half-covered up with a mixture of your slicks, the skillful circles of his tongue against your sensitivity, the feeling of his hardness rubbing against you. It all proved too much and your knees were soon buckling, with Xiaojun wrapping his hands around your thighs to support you.

He keeps on licking you even after the wash of white over your vision, determined to take everything you have to offer. Your legs are weak and thighs are shaking and you collapse on the floor in front of him, kissing him sweetly as a ‘thank you’, over and over again.

“We don’t have to continue. You deserve to rest”

You shake your head negatively, determination firing up inside you again.

“No, I said I will make you feel good”

You take his hand in yours, briefly kissing the back of his palm, and you lead him to the corner of his room.

There, propped up against the wall stood a full body mirror, fingerprints staining it lightly and reflecting your fleshy nakedness. You pat the space right between your legs, motioning him to sit in front of you, and soon his back is resting against your chest.

Xiaojun is shy to see himself so exposed, it’s easy to tell, his eyes avoiding to meet yours through the reflection. His feet are planted on the wooden floor, legs spread and red cock staring back at him. You wrap your fingers around his shaft after trailing his angry veins with your fingers, then start to fluidly move the ring you’ve formed with your palm.

He has more than enough precum to work with and you move around his length effortlessly, each pump making him moan even louder. He’s overstimulated, his last orgasm too recent for him to be recovered and you let him rest his head back and onto your shoulder.

You plant a kiss on the side of his exposed neck, one that turns into you sucking and biting on the flesh. The sight of him squirming in your arms, cock leaking and chest heaving is divine, and it motivates you to leave a purple mark on the skin under your lips.

“You’ve been trembling for so long now baby. Is it my hands? Or the way I kiss your neck?”

“Everything I-I’m s-so close. Please don’t stop”

You start jerking him off faster, admiring the marks your teeth left behind.

“Will you be a good boy and cum for me? Paint something pretty for me on the mirror?”

His abs flex at your words, cock bulging impossibly in your grasp and the first drops escape him, landing with impressive speed over the glass. You’re absolutely entranced by the blissed out look on his face, watching carefully as the ropes of cum drip down over the mirror, blurring the sight of you two.

“I love you”, you whisper as you continue to kiss his neck, gently and carefully this time. Your arms still safely keep him tugged in your embrace and he isn’t ready to leave you yet either, drunk in the aftermath of pleasure and the overwhelming feeling of your love.

“Forget everything I said”, he chuckles lightly, the vibrations making your chest tingle, “we’re definitely doing this again”

#neosmutcollective #neowritingsnet #xiaojun smut #wayv smut #xiaojun fluff #wayv fluff #xiao dejun #dejun smut #xiaojun imagines #xiaojun scenarios #xiaojun x reader #nct smut #wayv scenarios #wayv imagines

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luxekook · 4 years

Text

THE SEVEN || prologue

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: supernatural au with action, angst, smut, and (trace amounts of) fluff

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader fights to survive, attracts a powerful group of demons, and causes general mayhem in a post-apocalyptic new world

⇥ word count: 1.5k

⇥ warnings: nc17, *this fic has scenes of graphic violence*, demons, bloodshed, anarchy, general apocalyptic things, cursing, eventual poly relationship, a made-up language, hints of desire to own, brief mention of abuse, an attempt at world-building

⇥ beta reader: heathy @shadowsremedy - thank u so much!!! i was holding off on beginning this fic for so long, and you really helped me move forward! uwu<3

Prologue

The world has completely gone to shit, I think to myself as my blade slices right through my opponent’s eye. The responding roar of the crowd reinforces that thought as the lifeless body slumps to the ground.

Removing my bloodied knife from the man at my feet, I stand, exhaustion kicking in after yet another adrenaline-fueled fight. Gazing out at the surrounding crowd of humans and demons, I narrow my sights on tonight’s guests of honor – the seven demons who would decide if my performance was deemed worthy enough of payment.

Raising my chin in defiance, my eyes meet those of the pompous greed demon of the Ahgase Seven. Lim Jaebeom lounges on a provisional throne flanked by his six brothers. Their combined beauty is ethereal but leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

How is it that creatures so prone to evil can be so lovely to look at?

After glancing briefly at each brother, I finally make eye contact with Jackson Wang, the Ahgase’s pride demon. He inclines his head with a satisfied smirk, simultaneously permitting my payment and ordering my swift dismissal.

The callous disregard of my efforts never fails to ignite a familiar burn of fury within me. I fight to the death to earn a week’s worth of food and shelter, and all I get is a fucking nod in response? Complete and utter bullshit if you ask me.

My teeth grind together as I give the slightest and stiffest bow possible in the Ahgase Seven’s general vicinity and stalk out of the Pit. Reminding myself that I actively choose this fate never really helps, given that the alternatives are equally as shit – if not more-so.

Basically, since the planet lost three-fourths of its population in the Reaping, the old capitalistic way of the world is no longer. Now, the main ways to survive deal with what you have to offer as a resource – your body, your skill, your labor, your loyalty. I choose to fight because, for me, it’s the soundest option.

My prior life had been sketchy at best. I had taught Krav Maga, a form of aggressive self-defense and reflexive fighting, to teens and young adults. I also had used Krav Maga (and other more nefarious methods) on abusive parents or guardians, bullies, or romantic partners - the very reasons my students came to my classes.

My resulting ambiguously gray background probably had influenced heaven and hell’s decisions to leave me behind. Still, killing hadn’t come easy for me in the beginning, but now it seems like second nature. In this new era, there are no rules, no moral codes, no winners, no losers. There are only survivors.

And I’ll be damned if I am not one of them.

Last year, the Reaping left us all in chaos and confusion. The supernatural had become natural. Heaven took those deemed worthy and let Hell deal with the rest. But, as it turns out, Hell was just as picky.

For a few days, demons ruthlessly reaped millions of humans and dragged them below the earth. And then the reaping stopped. The humans that remained were left with burned cities, abandoned homes and a complete absence of law. They were a ruthless bunch with questionable backgrounds and ambiguous morals. It honestly made sense that they were left behind – myself included.

The short period after the Reaping brought with it a general mayhem which resulted in looting, fires, and general destruction. The remainder of society was bare-boned, with only the richest areas having luxuries like running water and electricity. I referred to this time period – the lull before the demon Sevens took over – as the pseudo-Hunger Games. I legit had to pull a full Katniss Everdeen in order to stay alive during those two weeks.

Then, finally, the demons rose again.

The demons that rose were power-hungry and desperate to prove themselves worthy to rule over the New Earth. They looked human until you got too close and felt the negative energy that emanated from them. It's almost a built-in warning for those lower on the metaphorical food-chain not to get close to a source of potential harm.

By possessing a demon of each sin category, Sevens were able to bond together and max out their powers. Often, Sevens took on courts and consorts to siphon additional power, but my intel on demons was mostly built on speculation and rumors. The general consensus seemed to be that humans joined demon factions because of the promise of protection, food, and other resources. However, no one usually survived leaving a faction led by a Seven once they had declared fealty.

I vowed to never willingly enter into a Seven’s territory. My freedom and independence were the only things I had left to hold onto. And that was how I ended up in my current situation as a fighter in the Pit, the rough, man-made arena where fighters battle to the death for winnings while the audience bets furiously on their selected victor. No one had bet on me at first, but they learned quickly.

The Pit’s existence sprung out of desperation for distraction. Humans and demons alike needed some form of entertainment away from the monotony and death embedded within everyday life. Located within the Neutral Zone, the Pit provided humans the ability to earn a living and to make a name for themselves. Those that fought in the Pit were only lower on the human totem pole to the Pit Master and to the merchants in the Neutral Zone. Below the fighters were the scavengers, the workers, the peasants, and the lost.

Marching towards the exit gate, I nod to the next competitor to enter the arena – it might be the last I’d see of them. Pit Master Agra greets me as I step through the gate’s threshold and finally out of the public eye.

“Good work,” she forces a smile that only looks like she’s in pain, “But, next time make sure there’s more blood.”

I say nothing.

Agra takes my silence as acceptance and jerks her head at the empty hallway, indicating my second dismissal of the day. “You have one week until your next fight,” she predictably calls as I make my way down the tunnel towards my makeshift room located in the fighters’ dorms.

I wave a hand carelessly behind me in a sign of recognition. Damn, what I wouldn’t give to challenge her in the Pit.

Pausing outside my room, I struggle to unhook my necklace that held my key. The blood on my fingers still has not fully dried, and I grow increasingly frustrated. I just want to bathe, goddamnit.

“Allow me,” a deep voice purrs from behind me. I shudder as two hands suddenly brush my own away from their hold on the necklace. Warm fingers brush the nape of my neck as the sound of a slight inhale meets my ears.

Fuck, I hope this person isn’t smelling me because I am almost certain the combination of sweat and dried blood is extremely unpleasant.

“There,” the voice rasps, “All done.”

My necklace is gone from my neck, and I turn to retrieve it from whoever just assisted me.

“Oh, fuck,” I hiss, taking in the demon before me. His teal hair is wild and reminiscent of a blue flame. His black eyes are large and slanted, fixed on me with a peculiar expression I just cannot place. His clothes are expensive. I peer closer, inspecting the intricate details on his patterned top. Was that Versace?

In this economy?

His arm extends to mine. My necklace dangles from one finger carelessly. “Here, mì shaìà (my pet).”

“My name is (y/n),” I grab the necklace and shudder when our fingers brush for a split second, “Not Mishaeya.”

The demon smiles. It’s large and boxy and completely predatory. “(Y/n). Mì shaìà. It doesn’t make a difference.”

Am I missing something?

“Listen, demon-dude, I just killed someone like five minutes ago. Can you stop being cryptic and just tell me why you’re lurking outside my room?”

“Ah, yes,” he stalks closer to me. My back hits the door to my room. He licks his lips, “I was watching you. You are quite the fighter, little one.”

“Little?” I glance down at my thick and well-muscled self, “Mhm, okay.”

“Are you not scared of me, mì shaìà?” His hand cups my chin, thumb darting out to wipe some blood from the shallow cut across my cheek.

“Should I be?” I front like my heart isn’t beating out of my chest.

“Yes,” he smiles before sucking the droplets of my blood from his thumb. “Surely someone as exquisite as you should need protecting. I’m surprised no one owns you yet, (y/n).”

My back straightens, “No one owns me. No one ever will.”

The demon’s head tilts as he silently studies me for a few moments. He looks like he almost wants to say something before he steps back and bows. “Sleep well, mì shaìà. I will be seeing you again.”

I gape as he walks away from me. A thought strikes me. “Hey!” I call after him, “What’s your name?”

He answers without looking back or breaking his stride, “V.”

a/n: i made up Deìthi, the language that the demons use in this story. i will keep a running list of translations at the bottom of each chapter as well as putting initial translations in parentheses following the first usage of the word.

Deìthi (The Language of Demons) Translation List:

Mì shaìà - My pet

#bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #btsbookclub #180knet #hyunglinenetwork #bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts au

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years

Note

Hi for the smutty prompts can you do number 12 please. I love you're writing by the way 💕

Thank you, trio of anons!! I didn’t do a Halloween party as all my Halloween writing energy went into my 31 Days of Spideychelle. What these prompts did make me think of was Fight Club… so it’s a Fight Club AU!

Queens Club

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle)Rating: E/NSFW - warning: consensual violenceWord count: 3002

12. “Are you going to eye-fuck me all night or are you going to do something about it?”

43. “The things I want to do to you, baby.”

Warped is how it feels to live in a progressive city within a conservative country. MJ marches and rallies and volunteers her time with organizations whose goals she believes in. She looks around at these events and sees a youthful, diverse crowd hungry for equal pay, thirsty for renewable energy initiatives. She smiles, handing donated school supplies to underprivileged kids, donated canned goods to Queens’s homeless, donated fuck-yous from the disgustingly, ceaselessly rich to the people their hoarded wealth keeps poor. MJ wants to do more, so she does it, and things don’t change. Things. Don’t. Change.

She wants to pick a fight.

It’s comin’ on winter―an even bleaker time than the manic-depressive Christmas Joni Mitchell alluded to―and the impact of the latest article MJ’s submitted to an online zine that always takes her pieces feels like it’ll last about as long as the first ashy snowfall. Where’s the passion, she wanted them to ask. Maybe they could grab her by her shoulders and shake until her neck snaps while they’re at it. Disillusionment wasn’t supposed to come this soon for the kid who wore Jeanne d’Arc Ts in high school. The ‘Girl Most Likely’ of teen revolution.

The city’s greyer this year, she’d swear to it. Wishy-washy shadows and sidewalks for sleepwalkers. Getting from work to home? Nightmarish, but in, like, a boring way. The tiny, chilly apartment MJ shares with some woman who seems to keep opposite hours isn’t enough to revive her. At least the drama of scratching ‘DO NOT RESUSCITATE’ into her bedroom door is something to contemplate on the walk. Tomato soup for dinner, just to see the colour orange.

Not everyone she knows falls into the two categories of ‘sparky do-gooder’ and ‘veritable stranger’ like she’d thought. Someone is interesting. Someone has felt her clenched jaw and understood her cravings. MJ flips over the card she found shoved beneath the apartment’s front door, but the back is blank. She peruses the front again, eyes down while she lifts her dinner and gulps the last of the soup directly from the bowl. It sloshes over her upper lip, so she licks it off, feeling… Feeling. That’s enough.

The card says, ‘Fight Club.’ It provides a date and time, a familiar street address.

She’s neutral about slipping inside Midtown Tech after midnight. Whoever did the breaking in left the rear custodial door open―the one that exits into a closet-room of buckets and rolls of rough brown paper towel. There’s no sign, not that MJ had been expecting one. It isn’t parent teacher night or the heavily-postered orientation day she attended when she started college. The lights aren’t on in the hall and when she sniffs hard (adjusting to the dry air), the sound is somehow too close. She has to get out of her own body.

What she’d pictured after the anonymous invite was a gathering in someplace a little grittier than the gym. Newly refloored, by the looks of it. She could rave about the skewed divide of school funds that favours athletics, the physical over the mental, even in a specialized tech school, but she isn’t here to champion the arts.

The things MJ might need tonight could be anything; she’s filled a decrepit duffle with a water bottle, towel, and two-thirds-empty box of band-aids. It sags pathetically and she chucks it against the wall to join the dozen people―mostly men―clumped together near the fold-away bleachers.

“’Sup.” She nods to the closest person.

How long have they been doing this? Is she the only new recruit tonight? When did it begin? Why use the gym at Midtown Tech? Who found her and how? The only thing she doesn’t wonder is what the point is. He doesn’t answer any of the questions in MJ’s head and normally she doesn’t like that―curiouser and skepticaler by nature―but the conviction in his powerful-looking shoulders and grounded posture is something she’s never seen before. The phrase is bullshit, except the air does change when he moves through the circle they’ve become without her noticing. Suddenly, MJ cares about presenting herself like she’s supposed to be here.

There are rules, blah, blah, blah, and his name is Spider-Man.

The spectacle engages her adrenaline; she has to remind herself that neither of the men swinging furious amateur punches is going to come for her. It’s the first match of the night and watching is part of what Figh―is what this is about. The noise of a nose breaking is something MJ knows now. The smear of freshly-escaped blood across both men’s knuckles is surprisingly orange. Briefly, remembering her soup, she feels a nauseated surge in her stomach.

This “Spider-Man” dude is physical. He hasn’t fought yet, but he pushes the fighters, grabs their arms and shoves them together, slaps them on the back and shrieks praise in their ears. He yanks his shirt off and when the fighters collide with him, they leave streaks from superficial wounds on his chest. Never his back, because he’s always facing them. His eyes are passionate. It’s a lot, when they land on MJ.

Two more fights and he looks at her every time he turns his head. He still hasn’t fought, but he’s jostled the crowd and the fighters enough to put a shine on his skin. When he pushes his curly brown hair off his forehead, it clings for a moment before flopping back exactly where it was. She smells him when he brushes by in front of her.

The fighters are not ‘gladiators’ because they fight for themselves, not for the approval of any authority. MJ can’t see how they can ignore the clear authority of the Club’s founder. She doesn’t bring it up.

Number four’s starting up and the guy beside her has an eye swelling shut when the shock of the evening finally numbs in her mind and she begins to get angry. All those tiny godfuckingdamn backpacks for kids who are statistically less likely to reach post-secondary because of their socioeconomic backgrounds. MJ could swear she’s handed out a thousand. And the politicians? And the rich? And the rich? Spider-Man slides by at her back, knocking into her and she whips her head around to stare while he stares right on back, moving away around the ring of Last Resorters.

Across from her―a trio beating the shit out of each other in between (it isn’t exactly the fish tank meet-cute of Romeo + Juliet)―Spider-Man stares, gaze so forceful it’s like he thinks he can yank her over there, make her step into danger like walking into traffic or off the edge of a cliff. He grins.

She shoulders through the others, circling. The action is deliberate and no one gets pissed, no one scoffs or swears or flips her off. The last person standing there between her and her objective MJ bodily propels into the fight. And she’s looking a little lower than level to lock eyes with Spider-Man. He crosses his arms, she grinds her teeth.

“Are you going to eye-fuck me all night,” MJ demands, “or are you going to do something about it?”

When he starts to laugh, voices roaring up around them after a wretched pop that could’ve been a shoulder, a finger, or a cheekbone (she’s still learning the chords for the music of injury), she slaps him hard across the face. He does react, head swinging sideways on her follow-through, but he smiles at her again.

“Never the flat of the hand,” Spider-Man instructs, leaning towards her. “But we’ll train you out of that. See, what you want… what you want is a nice closed fist.”

He makes one around her ponytail, arm shooting out before she has a chance to stop him―if she had any idea how to do that―and drags her by it, sideways into the combat space.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES,” he orders, kicking a guy in the knee who then has to limp to the observers. “You picked the match,” he says to her, winding MJ’s hair around his fist to heighten the tug on her scalp, “so fight me.”

Abruptly, he frees her hair and she hurls her shoulder into his chest.

“You fucking started it, bitch.”

MJ never says that word, not as an endearment for friends (like she has a lot of those) or to reclaim control of a term used to harass women. Holding it in her mouth has always made her sick. Guess she just figuratively barfed on Spider-Man.

He staggers, then pushes her back. MJ’s feet are completely wrong and she falls on her ass.

“Up,” he says, raising his fists in front of his chin, arms flexing.

Her sneaker squeaks―she hopes it leaves a scuff―and somebody’s damp palm is pressing between her shoulder blades to steady her to her feet.

He doesn’t direct her with his words anymore after that, although MJ falls again and again. Looks like she’ll be finding out tomorrow if you can bruise your ass. Instead, he’ll tap her shoulder to make her lower it, grip her elbow to tuck it closer to her ribs. She knows this muscular guy isn’t hitting her full-strength, but it doesn’t offend her. A trip to the hospital isn’t in her plans for the near-future and he probably doesn’t want to whittle down his group. If anything, it’s likely spreading. Hence her invitation.

Blood has run from her lip to her chin by the time they unspokenly end their fight, and her stomach hurts from the multiple times Spider-Man caught MJ straight-on before she figured out she should turn to the side to present a smaller target. For now, he stands next to her and performs fifth-rate doctoring: he wipes the blood away with his thumb.

Watching other fights, MJ hadn’t understood how two people who’d just been attacking each other could then stand together like pals, comparing bruises as they bloomed. But her anger has curled up to rest and Spider-Man’s presence, his strength, makes her press her arm into his. She looks him up and down and though he studies the current fight, she’s sure he’s aware of her gaze. His stance is good considering she kneed him in the nuts.

“Did you get it all out?” he asks without turning to look at her.

MJ rolls her shoulders.

“For now. You?”

Spider-Man snorts a laugh.

“The things that I want to do to you, baby.”

It sort of comes across like a threat of violence, considering all they have just done to each other, but she happens to drop her gaze and see the front of his jeans is looking as swollen as that other poor bastard’s eye. The jeans are slouching on his hips as it is. MJ can see herself taking them off. She can see herself punching his cheek instead of slapping it this time. She can see herself doing several things now that she’s discovered her self is a self that can challenge a man to a fistfight and do damage. It feels suddenly female, drippingly female, to have stared down this shirtless madman with the anarchic, archaic hobby and introduced his groin to her knee. The partial nudity, the sweating, the concentrated eye contact―obviously, the boner. What’s not erotic about this?

“Come and fucking get it then,” she tells him, striding through the circle and nudging a winded woman aside, headed for the girls’ locker room off the gym.

Spider-Man isn’t following her. MJ is leading him.

She bangs the swinging door open and it doesn’t have time to shut before he slips inside behind her. Turning her head quickly, she wonders about kissing and decides against it. She doesn’t want this man in her face―just in her cunt.

His jeans seem to have dropped even lower; she can see the taut white band of his underwear and a couple inches of cotton below the elastic.

“I’m asking,” Spider-Man says with an earnest yet heated gaze. “I don’t out there, but here… I’m asking.”

Only he doesn’t ask anything, not a hint of uptick. Just comes up behind her―with MJ still watching over her shoulder―and scans down the length of her back with his eyes, keeping a foot of air between them. He won’t touch her without permission, is what he’s saying.

“It’s MJ, by the way,” she tells him, gripping his forearm and pulling it towards her to make his hand caress up her hip. “I’ll be coming to more of these things, so you might as well know.”

“Good.”

And they both go for the fastenings of their respective bottoms. She thinks she’ll beat him, only needing to yank the tie on her sweatpants, but Spider-Man’s a quick draw on the button and zipper of his jeans. It can’t be more than a second before they’re staggering to a wall of lockers, with her shoving her underwear down and him reaching into his and stroking his dick gratuitously before jerking down the front of his boxers.

MJ glances back at how he’s taken himself in hand and begins to rub her clit, drawing wetness forward from where their fight a few minutes ago got her going. Her hips jump. Her other hand backhands congealing blood off her lip, then goes to the locker door; she jerks her head to encourage him. She doesn’t quit circling and massaging herself as Spider-Man adjusts her hips for angle. There’s the prod of his dick as he feels out his destination―like somebody ringing a doorbell. But this guy isn’t shy. When he enters her, it’s not rough, but it’s all the way. One stroke. MJ inhales fast.

She settles into him over the first half-dozen thrusts (the paint on the pale blue metal of the locker is chipping, MJ notices through hazy eyes), sticking her ass out for a shallower angle that brings his cock closer to her g-spot. Her breaths are huffed when he finds it and his hands land suddenly and heavily on her waist, sliding down to knead her hips. She works herself faster, dragging her clit side to side under slippery fingertips. Spider-Man must be able to see her arm moving or, if not that, then definitely feel her clutching at him from the inside. He picks up the pace and she can feel how wet she is, how wet they are together.

MJ moans and shivers, frantically manipulating her clit. It’s like her noise gives him another permission―to make sounds of his own. These are gravelly grunts. Not wasteful: one on each of the thrusts he slams into her g-spot. Her arm buckles at the elbow, which is the beginning of the end.

She closes her eyes and rocks her hips backward fiercely, receiving him, receiving him, receiving him. Filling herself up. She will be unbearably full. She will be a nation unto herself. She will be… hitting a pharmacy on the way home to buy Plan B. That’s fine because everything is tingling. Her thighs are quaking and it’s possible that his hands on her hips are what’s keeping distance between her and the speckled floor. She can hear the shuffle of his jeans (around his ankles) against her sweatpants (around hers). MJ pictures her fingers rubbing at light speed. Her teeth clench until a gasp forces them and her eyes open and she’s pounding her hips down onto Spider-Man’s. These are deep, brutal movements, but she and he are fighters.

He climaxes while she still is, so she finds out she can either have orgasms that last for ages or can get off twice if someone’s drilling into her g-spot like he should be living in her nightstand and running on batteries she had to buy separately. Whatever he’s triggered, it’s fantastic and MJ grinds through it for as long as the sensation lasts.

It’s a mess and a loss when he pulls out. In the move that surprises her more than everything else she’s seen tonight put together, MJ feels him touch his forehead between her shoulder blades. Doesn’t stay for more than a few seconds, but she feels weirdly consecrated. When he backs up to hoist his clothes into place, she gives her face a smack. Shit―immediate regret and a wince as the pain in her lip pulses. She gets herself redressed and strides to one of the stalls at the far end of the locker room.

Does she buzz by him because she’s embarrassed? Nope. She stands tall, it’s just that she can only continue to do so for a limited time, until everything he just shot inside her is coating her inner thighs. No thanks.

She pees, grabbing her stomach because those muscles don’t like her tensing to urinate after Spider-Man’s punches. As she’s folding toilet paper in her hand (it’s nicer than the stuff she has at her apartment and she adds that to Midtown’s offenses, beneath the gym floor), she hears quiet speech. It’s him, talking to himself nearby. Memory aid? Post-sex pep talk? MJ is no man’s ego-stroker, but if this guy, who comes across as otherwise supremely confident, needs a little reassurance about his prowess, she can honestly praise him on the experience of tonight’s fuck.

Preparing to be complimentary but not effusive, MJ flushes and begins to swing the stall door open when she spots Spider-Man with his hands braced on one of the sinks, leaning his face close to the mirror. The red mark on his cheek could’ve been a bruise if she knew how to throw a harder punch. He’s continuing to speak softly and she stares at the bunched muscles of his back, his tight upper arms. Would she do it again (with a condom)? Yes.

“Peter, be patient,” he’s coaching himself, loud enough for her to hear now. “There’s a plan. The Club will scale so fucking beautifully once everything’s ready.”

“So your real name’s Peter,” MJ’s about to confirm, when the man, eyes still locked on his reflection, says five more words.

“Ok, Spider-Man. I trust you.”

Fuck.

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stereksecretsanta · 5 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @vanessawolfie!

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Post Season 6 AU, BDSM, Dom!Stiles/sub!Derek, Alpha!Stiles, established relationship

Read on AO3

*****

Green Eyes

Chapter One

It was a mystery to Stiles how they got here. Sometimes it felt like he had blinked and changed overnight from being Scott’s sidekick and extraneous human to an emissary-in-training and general badass. On other days he looked in the mirror and saw how much he had changed in the past six years, going from adolescent to man and now more than able to hold his own. Either way he was grateful because it had brought him more than he would have ever thought he’d get. He had a good job working as a supernatural consultant, his Spark carefully nurtured into maturity as Deaton’s apprentice after they were finally done with Gerard and Kate. Now he was the one being courted by other packs, no longer living in Scott’s shadow even though he was loyal to his pack and his alpha.

He lived in a small house on the edge of the Preserve with enough land to have a well-tended garden and access to the woods behind him. It was close enough that if he wanted to he could stroll out into the trees at night and stare at the stars or run with the huge black wolf that haunts them at night. Once he was done, he went home to lie in the huge bed in the loft that they’d converted to an attic and listened for the distinctive bang of the oversized doggie door that lead into the kitchen at the back of the house. He’d installed it as a joke, almost vibrating with glee when he’d unveiled it to the house’s other occupant only to get a raised eyebrow and a slow grin that had told him that his challenge was most definitely accepted. In fact, Derek used it more than he used any of the other entrances into their home.

Ah yes, Derek. Another little surprise Stiles had had on the way to adulthood (not maturity because it’s still abundantly clear that he doesn’t have much at the best of times. The time honoured way to settle disputes in the Stilinski-Hale household is by thumb war.) but one that he’d been delighted to get. After the Argents were dealt with, there had been a very short lived thing with Lydia, which had pretty much exploded in their faces and the first time they had had sex had left them both confessing that it wasn’t going to be a thing. Two weeks later, Lydia was at MIT and he was at Berkley and their friendship had been cemented. Three years later and they’d both come home and Lydia had moved straight into her grandmother’s lakehouse with a certain deputy/hellhound who’d quietly become a permanent fixture in her life and Stiles was on his own again. Scott and Malia were headed for long term mated bliss with the pack’s first cub on the way, Jackson and Ethan had moved back to the US and were living in San Francisco and the rest of Scott’s pack were paired off so he was on his own again.

Well, him and Derek. It had been only sensible for the two of them to rift towards each other just like they had before, their relationship slowly changing until they had a standing pizza night, standing baseball night, standing dinner with the Sheriff night and a standing avoiding Peter night. The fact that they were spending almost every evening together, frequently falling asleep on each other’s couches and then in each other’s beds, had hit them both by surprise when Noah and Peter had pointed out that they were in fact behaving like they were in a committed relationship. Stiles remembered the night vividly. It had started with he and Derek laughing over ribs and beer about what their respective family members had said and then suddenly they were staring at each other.

‘Shit.’ Stiles had looked at Derek, drawn in by those beautiful iridescent green eyes like he always was. ‘I think I love you.’

‘Fuck.’ Derek had looked equally astonished. ‘I think I love you too.’

The next thing they’d been kissing and that had turned into hands down each other’s pants and tongues in mouths and toppling over onto the sofa. Clothes had gone flying and Stiles had discovered that werewolves did not in fact have knots. They did, however, have a thing for scenting his neck and biting the insides of his thighs so it was still a win. Things had been surprisingly easy after that, he and Derek falling into sleeping with each other and becoming an item like they’d been doing it all along. Which, he supposed they actually had. Now it was two years later and they were mated and happier than Stiles had thought possible, even if Derek shed all over the couch and drank milk straight from the carton and his closet contained no less than seven different leather jackets.

Of course, that didn’t mean he hadn’t been caught off guard by some things. He had known what to expect with Derek in terms of his traumatic past and abandonment issues and the guilt he wore like a second skin. He hadn’t expected the need for boundaries that Derek had gradually trusted him enough to confess to needing. Being a beta wolf in a large pack had made him very aware of where his place was and what was expected of him and their loss, Laura’s death and Derek’s brief stint as an alpha had thrown all his instincts out of wack. Added to that was the loss of not one but two packs and a desperate need to trust and submit but with nobody he could do that with. He and Scott were still suspicious of each other, their less than amicable relationship meaning that Derek was not officially pack, although as a Hale he had land claims that meant that they had to play nice and share Beacon Hills. It didn’t help that Stiles had openly stated that he would not necessarily be taking Deaton’s place as Scott’s emissary.

Because of all this, it was fair to say that when he and Stiles had gotten together, Scott had not been best pleased. It had taken Stiles sitting him down and relating every single way Scott had screwed both him and Derek over in the past four years until Scott had lost his temper and declared that maybe he was being an asshole but that Stiles was being a traitor. Stiles had promptly chucked the rest of his beer in Scott’s face and stalked out of the bar, refusing to even speak to him until three days later when Scott had turned up on his doorstep and declared that the fact that he’d been an asshole was not in dispute and that he was very sorry and he’d appreciate if Stiles would forgive him.

Stiles had met Malia’s gold eyes over Scott’s hunched shoulders and grinned. They had not worked out but he was glad that Scott had someone like her to be blunt enough to get him to pull his head out of his ass. Derek, of course, had wanted to go over and eat Scott’s face off. Stiles had laughingly considered it for all of a second and then bopped him on the nose with a rolled up comic. So now here they were, a Spark and a werewolf who bordered on being an omega playing house and trying to just get through all the shit that the supernatural world threw at them.

The way Stiles had gone to bat for Derek just like he always did had meant that with their new dynamic there had been a subtle shift in the way Derek interacted with him. He had become more tactile, fiercely protective but also in need of reassurance and approval from Stiles in a way that he hadn’t been before. Stiles had been a little bemused by things until one night when he’d been doing his best to fuck Derek into the bed and he’d reached out and playfully pinned Derek’s hands to the bed. He’d never thought anyone could come that hard, but apparently it was a thing because the next time he did it Derek growled loud enough to rattle the windows and bit right through the comforter.

So, Stiles being Stiles, he’d gone into research mode and read all he could on wolf pack dynamics and nearly kicked himself for missing it. Derek being a near omega meant that he had a compulsive need to submit to an alpha and it was getting completely out of control. Stiles laying down the law on his behalf with Scott meant that his wolfy self had taken this as a sign that Stiles was now his alpha and of course wanted to submit to him. There was a hell of a lot of bullshit all twisted up with this so Stiles knew had had to tread carefully and he took the maxim of sane, safe and consensual very very seriously.

What he hadn’t realised was just how much he would enjoy it.

They had started off slow with Stiles gently restraining Derek during sex with his hands (not ropes, never ropes) and scenting him in the way he’d learned Scott did with his pack. That had turned into Stiles issuing instructions and Derek had fallen instantly into giving over control, the relief evident on his face when Stiles took charge. There had been other things, Stiles playing around with his role of stand in alpha. He’d learned to mimic an alpha’s deep growl enough to make Derek whine and bare his throat to him. Through magic, he was able to flash his eyes red and change his scent to the musky richness of an alpha wolf and the results had been spectacular. Now all he had to do was adopt the authoritative tone he used during their scenes and Derek’s pale eyes would go soft and hazy and he’d fall willingly to his knees, sitting at Stiles’ feet with an adoring look on his face.

Stiles wasn’t one to disregard such a gift and in truth, he completely got off on Derek being comfortable enough to trust him with every choice that needed to be made. He’d always wanted to be in control, wanted to be more than he had been and save everyone around him. Now he had a way to make that come true, just the littlest bit. The power he felt was heady and addictive and now they had it down to a fine art. Stiles had learned to read Derek so well that he could tell just when his sourwolf needed to let go and give everything up for a while.

Which was why he was now looking at Derek arguing with Scott about border disputes and knew that he was getting close to shutting down in that way he did when he was overwhelmed. It had taken years for Stiles to realise that the bad attitude, general tendency towards violence and the need to martyr himself was Derek reacting to being given to much to carry. He was so bad at asking for help that he just turned it inward and Stiles knew that he’d be hostile and snappy for hours afterwards if he didn’t do something.

‘Scott.’ Derek’s voice was tight and the tension in his shoulders was more than evident. ‘We can’t just turn up there uninvited. That would be considered a hostile act.’ He wasn’t pack per se but he was still consulted in matters where his knowledge of born wolves and how they worked outstripped any other information than the rest of them had.

‘So we’re just going to wait for them to bring the fight to us?’ Scott had his arms folded. Stiles could not fault his bravery or his wanting to do the right thing, but he still didn’t think things through like he should. ‘This is my territory, Derek. I’m not just handing it over.’

Derek’s eyes flashed once and a muscle in his jaw twitched and Stiles knew that was going to the be the final straw. Scott’s grand declarations of ‘his’ territory didn’t sit well with him at all, but Stiles knew better than to let him get into it right then.

‘If you’re not going to listen, why the hell did you ask my opinion?’ He snapped and Stiles decided enough was enough.

‘Okay, we’re done here.’ He got up from the chair he’d been occupying and walked over to where the two wolves were standing off. ‘I think we all need a time out and it’s after two, Scott. We’ve got to work in the morning.’

‘I agree.’ Lydia yawned where she was on the couch, her head cushioned on Jordan’s shoulder.

‘Yeah, I got to second that.’ He smiled at Lydia like she was his entire world and Stiles was once again grateful that Lydia had found someone who valued her and appreciated her the way she deserved. ‘I think we should call it a night.’

Scott’s face changed and he glanced around the room, seeing for the first time how his betas’ heads were all drooping. Stiles was convinced that Liam had slept through the last hour.

‘We’re not done.’ he said and Stiles sighed.

‘We’re also not making any progress and I’m tired and they’re tired and I want to go home and get into bed with my mate.’ He reached out, hand going to the back of Derek’s neck. He squeezed gently enough that it was barely noticeable, but the effect was immediate and he felt the tension flow right out of Derek’s body.

‘Fine.’ Scott threw up his hands and then looked around. ‘Where’s Malia?’

‘She went up to bed an hour ago.’ Mason was hauling a sleepy Cory off the chair he’d been curled up in.

‘See?’ Stiles grinned. ‘We should follow the pregnant coyote’s example.’ He did not mention that the last thing he planned on doing when he got Derek home was sleeping.

Goodbyes were finally said and everyone got into their respective vehicles and left Scott’s house. Stiles was the last, standing on the porch while Derek lurked by the Jeep.

‘He’s right, you know.’ he said and Scott frowned. ‘You should trust what he says.’

‘He’s not pack.’ he replied. ‘And I think sometimes you’re too close to see that he’s not always right.’

‘Neither are you.’ Stiles countered. ‘And he may not be pack but he’s my mate. That should be enough.’ He patted Scott on the shoulder and walked down to where Derek was waiting. They got in the car and Stiles watched him lean back, breathing out deeply.

‘Hey.’ He kept his voice low and warm. ‘Look at me.’

Derek did, his eyes tinged with blue. Stiles cupped his face in his hand and ran his thumb over Derek’s lower lip.

‘Safeword?’ he said and Derek’s eyes flared.

‘Aconite.’ He growled it out and Stiles smiled.

‘Okay. You’re going to sit there and let me drive you home. Once we get there, I want you to go inside and upstairs. You’re going to get ready and wait for me. Got that?’

Derek nodded, rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ hand.

‘Yes, Stiles.’ He was completely different to the way he’d been inside, all banked power and slowly relaxing into the role he was going to play.

‘Good.’ Stiles started the car. ‘Let’s go home.’

Chapter Two

The drive home was all of twenty-five minutes but it felt like longer. Stiles used the time to tune into his mate, letting his magic show him Derek’s aura. It was its usual blend of deep blue and green shading to almost black, but tonight also shot through with deep red. The anger was slowly dissipating though and Stiles put a hand on Derek’s knee and squeezed. Derek rumbled deep in his chest, part plea and part defiance. He was already on his way though, falling into the headspace he needed to let Stiles take control and his movements were lethargic as he got out the car.

Stiles followed him, checking the Jeep was locked up before heading to the front door. He unlocked it and ushered Derek inside, glancing back once to check for anything out of the ordinary before going inside. He locked up, listening to the heavy thud of Derek’s boots going up the stairs. He placed his left hand flat against the door and the symbols inscribed into the wood lit up sliver as the wards locked down for the night. These ones shrouded the house in silence, blocking out everything and keeping away any would be intruders. Stiles preferred complete privacy for what he and Derek did and this was a guarantee that they would be undisturbed.

He fussed around for a while, getting bottled water and fruit juice out the fridge and some of Derek’s favourite chocolate bars from the cupboard. He could hear the shower going and considered doing the same in the guest bathroom, then decided against it. Derek liked him to smell like himself and the spell that Stiles used to alter his scent wouldn’t be as effective if there was no base to work from. He walked slowly up the stairs, giving Derek plenty of time to get into position and settle himself as well. His own headspace was equally important and Stiles took his role as Dom seriously. Derek’s care was his first and foremost thought.

Their bedroom was at the end of the landing, the door closed. Stiles approached and stopped just before he opened it, invoking the spell that would turn his eyes red and make him smell the way Derek expected him to. Alpha’s gave off a unique cocktail of pheromones that induced obedience in their betas and Stiles sensed the change in more than just his appearance. He felt more dominant like this, as if his natural aggression was ramped up a level. He’d had to work hard on his control, but it had been worth it. He cracked the door and got his first look at what was waiting for him, his breath catching.

Derek was kneeling facing the side of the bed waiting for him. His naked skin had an ethereal glow in the dim light of the nightlight, something Stiles had never quite been able to figure out given that Derek didn’t lie around in the sun regularly. His head was bowed, the beautifully sculpted line of his shoulders contrasted with his inky black hair and the stark curves of the triscele between his shoulder blades. His legs were folded neatly beneath him, the bare soles of his feet oddly vulnerable, and Stiles knew that his hands would be folded in his lap, holding the simple black leather collar they used and waiting for Stiles to put it on.

He took his time, setting out the drinks and snacks on the nightstand and going into their bathroom to undress. He stripped down, shedding his clothes and shoes until he stood naked and taking in his reflection in the mirror. He wasn’t the same skinny teenager he’d once been. Now Stiles was strong and muscular, although he’d never achieve the same level of ripped as Derek. He had abs now and hair that grew in a patch on his chest, thickening down his stomach to his cock. Derek loved it, enjoyed rubbing his face along it and getting his scent all over Stiles. He met his own gaze, the starling crimson of his irises a perfect reproduction of an alpha wolf’s. He’d tried with fangs once as well, but it hadn’t worked so now he just held onto the back of Derek’s neck with his human teeth. They worked just as well.

He left the bathroom, turning off the light and going to the bed. He was already getting hard, heat curdling in his chest as he came to stand in front of Derek. He drew in a deep breath and reached out, fingers brushing Derek’s hair.

‘Derek.’ He kept his voice perfectly measured. ‘Look at me.’

Derek responded beautifully, his green eyes blown and his mouth slightly open as he looked up at Stiles. There was no tension left in him, every line soft and easy in a way Stiles had never seen before they’d started doing this. It made Derek look years younger and Stiles took a moment to feel for the young man he’d once been and whose innocence had been so brutally ripped from him. It brought out all his protectiveness, and he gently cupped Derek’s chin and smiled at him.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You want this?’

‘Yes, Stiles.’ Derek smiled back, completely at ease. He blinked slowly like a cat, thick dark lashes hiding a subtle flicker of blue as he submitted, tipping his head to the side to expose his neck. Stiles rested a hand on the exposed skin, thumb stroking over the jumping pulse in his neck.

‘You’re so beautiful.’ He never got tired of telling Derek that. ‘So obedient. You’re a perfect beta.’

Derek’s pleased rumble filled up the air between them, his eyes dipping in a bashful display so unlike his normal self-assurance. It was flirtatious too, and Stiles could almost feel the electricity between them.

‘Behave.’ He tightened his grip and Derek shuddered under his hand. He was also hard now, uncut cock rising from his lap and gleaming at the tip. Stiles held out his other hand and gestured for the collar. ‘Give it to me.’

Derek offered it up in both hands and Stiles took it, running the supple leather through his fingers before sitting down on the edge of the bed and spreading his legs.

‘Here.’ he ordered and Derek rose up enough to shuffle on his knees between Stiles feet. He waited patiently as Stiles collared him, tightening the buckle securely enough but leaving enough room for Derek to breathe unimpeded. It was plain, the steel fittings the only embellishment. The second it was on, Derek let out a soft breath and he leaned in far enough to rub his cheek against the inside of Stiles knee. His stubble scratched deliciously and Stiles rewarded him by running his fingers through Derek’s hair, getting a handful and tugging softly.

‘You good?’ he asked and Derek smiled at him.

‘Yes, Stiles.’ His eyes were now glowing blue, muted by his emotional state, drifting happily into subspace almost effortlessly.

‘I’m going to make all the decisions.’ Stiles told him. ‘I just want you to be. Can you do that for me?’

‘Yes, I can.’ Derek pushed into the hand in his hair.

‘Good.’ Stiles leaned back on his other hand and gently guided Derek forward. ‘Hands behind your back and open your mouth. You know what I want.’

Derek nuzzled in close, his hot damp breath hitting Stiles cock. He moaned softly and licked up the length of Stiles’ cock, the velvety drag of his tongue knocking all thought out of Stiles’ head. As much as he loved to give Derek his quiet, it was just as effective in silencing his own racing mind, drawing his focus down this single thing. It got even better when Derek slid his mouth over the head of Stiles’ cock, lowering to take him in as far as he could. He was good at this, sucking hard on the lift before easing back down again in a steady rhythm that had Stiles clutching at his hair again and panting. He could come easily from this, but he didn’t want to yet and so he gripped tightly and guided Derek’s head into a slower pace. Derek went with it, swallowing around Stiles and using his tongue just under the head and driving Stiles slowly insane until he finally pulled him off. Derek’s eyes were back to green and glazed over, his mouth swollen and wet. He licked his lips, eyes flicking back down to Stiles’ cock with undisguised desire.

‘No.’ Stiles pushed him back onto his heels. ‘Not yet.’

He leaned back and looked at Derek, taking in the way his chest heaved and his breathing stuttered. He was deep in subspace now and it wouldn’t take much more to put him completely under and send him right off into a deep dreamless sleep.

Stiles got up, moving to the side and pointing at the bed. Derek had pulled back the covers as part of getting ready for their scene.

‘Up.’ He’s still so calm, a side of himself that he found utterly unnerving the first time he’d fallen into his own dom space. ‘Get on your knees and spread your legs for me. Hands on the rails.’

Derek unfolded himself from the floor, getting onto the bed and into position. He gripped the cast iron footboard in both hands. Back perfectly arched as he spread his knees apart and presented

himself to Stiles. There was a gleam between his legs and Stiles smiled. Derek paid close attention to his instructions and knew that Stiles liked him wet.

He got on behind him, admiring the shadowed planes of Derek’s body and rubbing a hand over the dimples just above his ass. Derek growled happily and Stiles decided to push him a little bit.

‘Is this what you wanted?’ His other hand grabbed one muscular thigh and squeezed. ‘You want your alpha to mount you?’

The growl turned into a whine and Stiles gave him an admonishing swat on the ass.

‘Say it.’ he demanded. ‘Ask me for it.’ He ran his hand down, thumb dragging over Derek’s entrance and then pushing in easily. Inside Derek was hot and wet, clenching down around the intrusion.

‘Please.’ It was rough with want. ‘Mount me, Alpha.’

The words went straight to Stiles’ cock and he got in close, guiding himself to rest against’ Derek’s body, precome adding to the slick glide.

‘I want you to howl for me.’ he instructed and then pushed in, bottoming out in one steady thrust.

Derek tipped his head back, fangs bared and claws clinking against the railing in his hands. His snral was harsh, and he pushed back hard onto Stiles’ cock, the muscles in his back and ass flexing in a way that made Stiles’ mouth go dry.

He got a firm grip on Derek’s hips, easing back out and then slamming back in. It jolted Derek forward and he made a sound like an angry dog, dropping his head and arching his back into an exaggerated curve. Stiles laughed and started a punishing rhythm of thrust and pullback, the impact of their bodies loud in his ears and the smell of them both overwhelming to even his nose. Derek was growling continuously, his skin sheened with sweat and the corded muscles of his forearms standing out.

‘That’s it.’ Stiles upped his pace, driving in as hard as he could. There would be bruises on his hims the next day but he was damned if he would stop. ‘I want to see you come. Let it go, baby.’

‘Fuck, Stiles…’ Derek sounded desperate and he took one hand off the railing to stroke his cock, the movement of his hand falling in with the way Stiles was pounding into him. It wasn’t before he was bearing down hard around Stiles’ cock, chasing his orgasm and throwing his head back to howl when it hit. Stiles fell forward, one hand around Derek’s throat and his teeth sinking into the back of Derek’s neck as he followed, the strength of it enough to white out his vision and make him deaf to anything but the rush of blood in his ears.

He fucked his way through it, spilling deep inside Derek until he finally stopped shaking. Beneath him Derek was a writhing mess, whining like a cub and collapsing onto the bed. Unfortunately he took Stiles with him, his own descent nowhere near as grateful. He didn’t pull out though, knowing that Derek’s instincts loved being filled in imitation of mating.

They lay there until their breathing regulated and Stiles lifted enough to gently ease out of him. He smiled at the sight of his come leaking from Derek’s body, his open mouth tracing a wet soothing line down Derek’s sweat-drenched back, salt bursting on his tongue.

‘You good?’ he asked and Derek made a muffled noise of assent into the bed. He was drifting now and Stiles gave him a pat and got off the bed. It was a quick walk to the bathroom for a washcloth to clean them both up and then he manhandled Derek up and back onto the pillows, cracking a bottle of water and feeding it to him, followed by a couple of pieces of clementine and chocolate.

Derek’s smile was beatific, his eyes now perfectly clear. It was such a gorgeous sight, never failing to take Stiles’ breath away and he leaned in and kissed him, soft swipes of his tongue through Derek’s mouth.

‘You sleepy now, baby?’ he asked and Derek made a low noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr, snuggling down into the covers that Stiles pulled over them. He ended up nestled into Stiles side, his mouth against Stiles’ neck.

‘Thank you.’ he mumbled and Stiles kissed the top of his head, absently spitting out a mouthful of hair afterwards.

‘You’re welcome.’ He pulled Derek in closer. ‘But you’re making breakfast tomorrow.’

‘Okay, Alpha.’ Derek’s voice was fuzzy with fatigue and he was asleep before Stiles even had a chance to turn off the light. He muttered a small incantation and it fizzled out, leaving them in the dark and the quiet. He lay back down and closed his eyes, drifting off to Derek’s soft snores and the steady thud of his heartbeat under Stiles’ hand.

Tomorrow would undoubtedly bring more bullshit but for now, Stiles could keep his beta safe.

#vanessawolfie #stereksanta18 #*fic18 #*gifts18

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theliterateape · 3 years

Text

Grappling with Postmodernism in a Post-Trump America

by Don Hall

“...modernism is the assertion that truth can be known definitively. Postmodernism is the assertion that truth can never be known definitively; it can only be guessed at and approximated, at best.” - Mark Manson

Remember, back in the good old days before the country elected the most improbably unelectable bully with the propensity to lie about, well, fucking everything, when Stephen Colbert made the satirical argument about “truthiness”? How we all laughed?

Truthiness is the belief or assertion that a particular statement is true based on the intuition or perceptions of some individual or individuals, without regard to evidence, logic, intellectual examination, or facts.

At the time this was Colbert’s comic take on postmodernism. It is now not quite so funny because those on the fringes of our body politic are full-on postmodernists without the wink of isn’t this kind of ridiculous?

The entire Trump strategy of contesting the election is postmodernist. “We believe there was voter fraud so it must be there.” Never mind a lack of evidence. That predisposed intuition is enough to launch investigations and lawsuits and, whether any evidence is found, the gut assertion will be embedded.

Modernism came around during the Enlightenment. Modernists argued that our understanding of reality could be improved upon through experimentation, observation, and reason. It arose as a response to the superstitions and control of the Church and placed science and quantifiable data as a replacement for faith.

Postmodernism was faith fighting back. Absent of a tether to a god or religious dogma, it simply posited that nothing was really true and that science is merely a tool for subjective focus. Tear down science and collected data and all you have left is faith.

The 75 million plus who voted Blue in this election are socialist.

The 71 million plus who voted Red in this election are racist.

Joe Biden is a Trojan horse for the Extreme Left.

Donald Trump was a dictator.

Zoomers just live in their parents’ basements and loot at any chance.

Boomers are greedy, angry supporters of caging immigrant children.

All white people are racist.

All black people are violent.

All men are fundamentally misogynist.

All women are fundamentally misandrist.

Twitter is an accurate reflection of the vast plurality of opinions.

None of these statements is rooted in fact. All smack of ‘truthiness.’

The #NotAll_____ responses to postmodern hashtags are not an agreement to the contrary but a another way of saying Generalizations are mostly bullshit.

In a recent Literate ApeCast, with guest Peter Kremidas, the question was whether or not politics are fundamentally emotional. Of course, I argued that it should not be but failed to recognize that, in a postmodernist view, politics has to be based upon emotion and lived experience. In a postmodernist worldview, emotion and political activism are irrevocably intertwined.

Donald Trump should’ve been repudiated but he most certainly was not. He lost the election but by a slim margin (four million votes equals a whopping 1.25% of the population which ain’t much no matter how you slice it and definitely not a repudiation). Trumpism is still alive and well and the only aspect of our cultural and political climate equal in postmodern practice to that is the Woke Cult. Both truck in ‘lived experience,’ anecdotal evidence over data, and a belief that their belief is enough to be their truth as opposed to the truth.

Both rely almost entirely in suspension of rationality for the raw emotion so easily fooled.

“Stop the count except for the states I’m ahead in” is only slightly different logic than “White people who deny their racism are too fragile to acknowledge it.”

Sure, social media has exacerbated this postmodern truthiness but we’re mostly grown ass adults and are wholly responsible for our own perspectives.

I remember in the early days of the pandemic (what was that — last week?) when those predisposed to believe the whole thing was a hoax and eagerly lapping up the cat vomit of faux scientists claiming it to be so. When asked why I thought it was real, I always answered exactly the same way: “I listen to the consensus of credible scientists on the matter. That consensus of credible scientists indicates the pandemic is real and will have real consequences should we ignore it.”

I think, after staring in awe at what I used to label mouthbreathing stupidity, I understand the rise of this adherence to postmodern thought: it feels like religion without a deity. One can feel virtuous, understood, and supported by a community of like-minded believers by buying into the self affirmation that one need not listen to expertise but ‘go with your gut’ and let the chips fall.

The postmodernist wants to believe that a Trump voter is racist and sexist. A modernist looks at the data, sees that prior to the 2016 election four million manufacturing jobs were eliminated in Ohio, Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, and Michigan to be replaced by industrial automation. And those voters cast their ballots for the candidate who want to “Make America Great” rather than the one who told them “America is already great.”

A postmodernist boils whole systems and groups into easily digestible categories. A modernist understands how complicated people are and does some research to find context. Context is the garlic to the postmodernist vampire.

I know our education system needs attention and so many of us are reticent to do any sort of homework but in a media landscape where one can type in “Weight Loss Techniques” into a search field and receive hundreds of thousands of conflicting, contradictory ideas, maybe some homework is exactly what is necessary.

A couple of rules of thumb I’ve learned to follow in the past four or five years:

If I read it on social media, best to assume it’s bullshit.

If the belief is not backed up by data, it’s bullshit.

If a politician says it without supporting evidence, it’s bullshit.

If it’s full of ‘buzzwords’ (intersectionality, freedom of religion, freedom of speech, TERF, fragility), it’s bullshit.

Anything boiled down to a hashtag carries sacks of bullshit in it’s wake.

Example: This week Secretary of State Pompeo was asked about the transition from Trump to Biden. His exact words were:

‘There Will Be a Smooth Transition…to a Second Trump Administration’

Of course, the media went apeshit. It was another example of corruption, of evil, of obstruction. So I went and watched the video. He was obviously making a joke. Not a great joke given the circumstances but it’s very apparent his comment was tongue-in-cheek.

I’m a modernist. Why not join me and stop being lead by your emotional need for faith? To grapple with postmodernism one must acknowledge what a crock of bullshit it is and then recognize the signs that you are following that perspective like the lunatic fringe.

Then do some fucking research. Christ, we have the most sophisticated information technology in history, so you have no excuse.

#modern vs postmodern #postmodernist thought is trumpism #culture of postmodern information

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sandpapersnowman · 6 years

Text

[PREACHER SECRET SANTA] i must be dreaming (or we’re onto something)

woo!! posting a little later in the day than expected but it is all in the name of Quality bc my gf has spent the last like 4 hours editing with me and she singlehandedly polished this stone into a Gem :’)

for the lovely @homelygrantaire who asked for ‘con artist cassidy/jesse/tulip’

it’s also on ao3 with proper tagging and links!

explicit, all fun and consensual, ot3!

This is the third hotel room they've been in since the talk happened, and they all came clean about their feelings and they all kissed it out.

But that's the furthest they've gone.

Yet.

"'Con artist' implies, like, betrayal," Cassidy says. "That's what 'con' stands for, y'know? 'Confidence'? Like, you gain someone's confidence, y'know, their trust, and then you fuck them over."

Tulip rolls her eyes.

"Okay, but it doesn't have to mean complicated shit," she replies. "If I tell someone they can trust me and I'll pay them back tomorrow, and then I don't, that's still a con."

"Sure, but what's artistry about that?" Cassidy scoffs. "That's, like, a con trick or something. Or just being a dick. Con art would be an elaborate plan to pay them back, and then paying part of it, but later they let you in their house to make a phone call and you steal a bunch of their shit."

"That's just robbery, Cass."

Cassidy thinks for a moment.

“Yeah, I guess it was,” he mutters, like he’s done that exact thing before. Of course he has. "Okay," he accepts, "what about this?"

He sits up on the motel couch and shuffles his ass to the edge; it's the position that means he's got it, the next thing he says is gonna be genius.

"The shell game," he says. "Or cups, or cards, or whatever. You put a ball under a cup and shuffle the cups around and have someone try to follow it."

"Yeah," Tulip says, "you let them win a couple times and then when you get them to make a bigger bet you swap out the ball without them seeing, or swap the card, or whatever."

"Yes! That's con art."

"Slapping some paper cups around is art but a good lie isn't?"

"I never said that," he says quickly, and points at her. "You know I love your lies.”

She snorts.

"Since when are you the expert on con artistry, anyway?" she asks. "Last I checked the only thing you were an expert of was getting on Jesse's nerves."

He snorts too, and, speak of the Devil, Jesse returns from a convenience store run.

"Jesse!" Cassidy barks. If he reels Jesse into the conversation first, he'll take his side, right? "Help us settle something."

Jesse sets the bags of microwave meals and alcohol on the big desk every motel always seems to have.

"One of these days," Jesse sighs, "you're going to run out of things to argue about, and I'm gonna come home to dead silence and have a stroke."

Cassidy and Tulip both snort, a mimicked, almost-identical sound that's arisen from spending so much time together, perfectly in sync, and Jesse smiles between the two of them.

"What is it now?"

He takes his jacket off and tosses it on the bed before he sits beside Tulip. Only one of her legs is hanging far enough off the end to touch the carpet, sitting with one crossed over the other.

"First of all, it's not an argument." She kisses him 'hello'.

Jesse freezes up against her.

He knows that Cassidy is in on this now, and none of them have any problems with it. It's great; it feels like all of his and Tulip's rough edges have been sanded down just enough for Cassidy to slot himself into their world. It's good.

But he's also more than aware that they've all been dancing around the actual sex part of all three of them being together. The way Tulip has brushed his hair back with her fingers and re-crossed her legs so her ankle catches his is just a bit too much contact for a 'hello'. It’s definitely instigating something.

He can feel Cassidy's eyes on them and that makes him blush more than Tulip's mouth does.

She finally pulls away, casual as can be, and returns to their conversation as though Jesse's not sitting on the edge of the bed with his fists in the sheets, looking halfway toward debauched.

"And second," she continues, voice as level as a gun to his head, "it's not a who's right, who's wrong thing, anyway."

Cassidy is smiling at them both with that big, lazy grin that shows all his teeth and looks dangerous if you can't catch the spark in his eye.

"Okay," Jesse says. "So what is it?"

Neither of them speaks. Glancing from one to the other again, he realizes that now they've both got the same expectant look.

"What?"

Cassidy scoffs. "Do I not get a kiss hello, Jess?"

Oh, the offense in his voice.

Jesse swallows. "Didn't know you wanted one," Jesse says, instead of 'you big dramatic baby' or 'you scheming fuckers' or 'I'll give you a lot more than a kiss if it'll wipe that smirk off your face'.

Cassidy stands smugly (and if anyone can be smug just by standing up, it's Cassidy) and puts himself at the end of the bed, his knees almost touching Jesse's. He isn't straddling him, or crowding between his legs, but the way Cassidy stands over him, waiting, says that he won't be bending down to kiss him until they get more comfortable.

Jesse chooses the less nerve-wracking option and slides his hands over Cassidy's thighs, slowly, and barely curls his fingers as though he'd like to pull him closer.

Cassidy follows the ghost of the motion, brings his knees up on either side of Jesse's hips as though he did go through with it, and Jesse breathes a shaky exhale when Cassidy settles his weight on his thighs.

"You alright?" Tulip asks quietly.

It's obvious now that this is a thing, something Tulip and Cassidy have both conspired about to ease Jesse into the thing without him having to directly address how bad he wants it. They know him and the second either of them pushes too far, they know he'll tell them to stop, but in a hundred years he'd never ask for any of it out of fear or anxiety or something).

"I'm good," Jesse whispers to her, but his eyes haven't left Cassidy's grinning mouth, unfamiliar lips thinner than Tulip's but equally inviting, screaming please, Jesse, kiss me.

Cassidy waits until Jesse's focus flicks back up to his eyes like he's asking permission, and then he closes the distance. Jesse's mouth is every bit as warm as he'd hoped, and after a few hesitant seconds, Cassidy tilts his head more to make it deeper, more involved, and Jesse groans into it.

They've kissed before, drunk or at Tulip's request or just a good morning peck on the cheek while they're both still too tired to overthink it -- but never with such blatant intent.

Cassidy's hands move from staying safely at his own sides to lightly hold onto Jesse's shoulders, and that is the right call because Jesse's hands press, up his thighs and then his hips and finally settle with one hand on his lower back and the other cradling his side. He’s holding him closer than they've ever been as he pulls Cassidy flush against his chest.

"Shit," Cassidy groans into his mouth.

Jesse feels cool fingers at the back of his neck, but they aren't Cassidy's. Tulip's fingers thread into the hair at the base of his skull and tug, not painfully but not gently. He lets her separate them so she can guide Jesse’s mouth back to hers.

He feels Cassidy's fingers next, his knuckles light over Jesse’s collarbone as he starts undoing shirt buttons.

Jesse continues kissing Tulip, but feels his way to Cassidy's front for the hem of his shirt -- nothing buttoned or tucked in like Jesse's, just a gaudy T-shirt he stole from the last laundromat they passed through, and when his hands move under it, Cassidy's hands move to meet his instead to help him get it off.

He had closed his eyes kissing Cassidy, and then Tulip, but he opens them and pulls back so he can take Cassidy in. He's seen him shirtless before, but never with an excuse to really look.

He can't help running his hands over Cassidy's tattoos while he looks at them; some seem much, much older than others, and he briefly wonders which is the oldest. Some are smooth, properly done so they don't leave scar tissue, and others are raised only enough to notice when you're running your fingers down them or rubbing a thumb softly along its edge.

"I like this," Cassidy says, breaking through his haze. "Sweet, speechless Jesse."

Jesse swallows against his dry throat and tries to laugh, but Cassidy is pushing him back so he can undo the rest of his shirt buttons.

He hesitates at the last of them, hands directly above Jesse's belt buckle.

"Do you want me to...?"

Cassidy runs a thumb over the smooth metal on his buckle. Do you want to go the rest of the way with this? Are you comfortable with that?

Jesse sits up on his elbows and looks down at himself, and where Cassidy’s hips meets his. It almost looks ridiculous because they’re both hard and still mostly-dressed, but he wants the image of them seared in his head.

He nods. Cassidy beams.

He opens Jesse’s pants and pushes them under his ass, and they both laugh when Cassidy has to shuffle completely off the bed to get them down over his feet. Cassidy takes his jeans off while he’s up, and God, Jesse can see half the detail of his dick through his thin, beat-up underwear. His face goes a few shades redder, and he covers it for a moment by pulling his undershirt off.

Cassidy is grinning at him when his shirt is discarded and he can see again. His grin redirects itself to Jesse’s left.

“Tulip?” he asks. “You joining us?”

Jesse had almost forgotten she was there, even with the weight dipping the bed in beside him.

“Jesse?” she asks. “Your call.”

“Yeah,” he says without hesitation. “Of course, if you want.”

She slides off the bed and turns her back to Cassidy, both of them now directly in front of Jesse and both looking like they want to eat him alive.

“Unzip me.”

Cassidy obeys easily, like he’s spent his whole life waiting to hear those words.

He ducks his head to kiss her cheek as he pulls her zipper, and something ugly and possessive rips through Jesse’s stomach out of habit, but then Tulip’s smile goes soft at him, and the feeling is forgotten in favor of heat.

“Slower,” Tulip whispers, and Cassidy obeys that, too.

His mouth moves down to her neck, kissing past her jaw and pecking under her ear as he makes his way to her collarbone. His hand stays on her zipper, almost to the end of its length, and the other rubs up her arm. His fingers tuck under one dress strap and help it fall, and his mouth follows that, too, open and wet over her shoulder and back up.

Cassidy’s fingertips distort the fabric at her sides as his hands slide under to help push her dress the rest of the way off.

(Is this the first time Cassidy has seen Tulip topless? Jesse imagines it can’t be, not with the constant close quarters lately, but like this? In this context?)

His hands slide over her ribs, prominent when she stretches back to lean into him. His fingers fit perfectly into the divots they make in her skin, thin and long like he could hold her lungs in place for her if she wanted him to.

The two of them are a vision together, both naked except for a pair of horrible bright green briefs and a pair of (definitely stolen, he remembers Tulip slipping them in her bag at a mall) deep blue lace panties. They have the kind of visual contrast he and Tulip have never had, Jesse always too tan for his hands to stand out so prominently on her skin. Similarly, he thinks the two of them are just differently built enough that Cassidy will look like even more of a noodle against Jesse’s thicker frame, he’ll have to lean down just enough to kiss him when they’re both upright.

Again, his and Tulip’s rough edges, huh?

“His fingers are fuckin’ cold,” she warns, and both the boys laugh. Jesse knows that already, from less intimate situations, but he appreciates the thought.

Cassidy gives her neck one last kiss, with a shaky scrape of his teeth that makes her shiver.

“Stop teasing,” Jesse groans without meaning to.

He doesn’t even know which of them he’s talking to.

“Go on,” Tulip tells Cassidy, over her shoulder, with a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Cassidy’s hands drag and hesitate to leave her skin, but return to Jesse’s like a magnet when he moves himself back up onto Jesse’s lap. There's something strikingly hot about Cassidy being so close that he can taste his breath while his dick is jammed up against his stomach.

"Hey," Cassidy says. The nerves in his voice aren't hidden, but he doesn't look like he’d bothered -- it's a good nervous. The kind of nervous that will fade into security and familiarity, and isn't that the sappiest fucking thing to think of while his hot new boyfriend is rubbing himself down onto his lap?

Jesse smiles. "What's the plan?" he asks, glancing at Tulip. She hasn't returned to the bed yet, and despite the brief moment of I can do this, he's not sure he can handle Cassidy one-on-one yet.

"The plan is relax," she chides. "You trust me. You trust him. Means you trust us."

She crawls forward to his side again and kisses his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and then her small hand is tipping his face up to hers so she can kiss him properly.

"We've got you, Jesse," she whispers.

Cassidy kisses the opposite corner of his mouth, the one Tulip didn't kiss, silently agreeing with her. He takes a shaky breath in, and it's even shakier out.

"Do you want to -- " Cassidy starts to ask, and rolls his hips down in a way that clarifies exactly what he's suggesting. "Y'know, you could -- "

"Not yet," Jesse answers quickly. "Not right now." God, one day. He'll fucking dream of the day he fucks Cassidy, but that isn't today. "Just hands, maybe?"

Cassidy nods and kisses him again. "You want me 'nd Tulip to both do it?"

That's the worst idea Cassidy has ever had, because Jesse holds back a moans at just the thought of them both, each with a hand on his dick and him watching both of them slicked up with lube and precum.

Watching himself spill over two sets of knuckles while they both kiss him stupid, hopefully.

"Jesus," he croaks. "Sure, yeah, if -- yes."

Tulip does something like a giggle beside him, and kisses his cheek again. "Yeah, Jess?" she asks, low and purposefully sultry. "You want both of us to jerk you off?"

His hips twitch into an involuntary grind against Cassidy, and his breath hitches the same as Jesse's.

"Yeah," he says again.

Tulip grins, the same dangerous show of teeth that she perfected when she got her braces off in 4th grade, and looks to Cassidy.

"Scoot."

Cassidy does as she says and slides himself more to Jesse’s right, slipping his knee between Jesse’s thighs to straddle just one.

He opens his legs more so Cassidy can comfortably settle back down, and Tulip mirrors his position over the other side of his lap. He's got the two most beautiful people on the planet in this hotel room, each straddling one of his thighs, and all he can think to say is a mindless, groaned-out "Fucking Christ, shit."

His hand twitches up to rub Cassidy through the single layer of cloth keeping his dick from being actually touching Jesse’s skin.

"Can I -- ?" Jesse starts to ask, but Cassidy is already nodding.

"Yeah."

Cassidy kisses him again as Jesse tentatively cups his hand around him. It’s not mindblowing -- Jesse has to get past the odd angle and all his nerves, first, but it’s something.

“You couldn’t have worn something cuter?” Tulip asks, referring to Cassidy’s God-awful, also-stolen underwear. “We could put CGI over those.”

“Sorry,” Cassidy says sarcastically, “I didn’t realize I needed to be dressed to the nines to sit on Jesse’s dick.”

There’s a split second where Tulip tenses, worried that Cassidy might freak Jesse out, but he gives a bark of laughter instead.

“They’re fine, Cassidy,” he says, and squeezes him through them with more confidence.

Cassidy bites his lip to shut himself up, but it doesn’t stop the flush spreading over his face.

Jesse’s other hand slides up Tulip’s thigh, and he gives her a quick kiss.

"Don't worry about me," Tulip sighs, even as she presses her hips forward.

“Shut up,” Jesse says good-naturedly, as he slides his hand between her legs. His fingertip pull lace back so he can slip his hand into her panties.

She rocks down against his fingers with a grin, and keeps rocking her hips -- he presses up for her, not dipping into her but giving her more pressure, more to use.

His attention starts to wane from Cassidy and focus on her, and she smacks his arm lightly when she notices.

“Jesse,” she scolds, “focus on Cassidy.”

He feels guilty that he can't multitask and actively get them both off, but Tulip's still moving her hips and he can feel how wet she is. As in most things, Tulip can handle herself.

“Fine,” he sighs, sounding exaggeratedly put-upon. His wrist already aches from holding the same tense position for Tulip to grind down on, but he wouldn’t care if it broke his wrist.

He kisses Cassidy again, and slides his hand up to his waistband as well. “Can I?” he asks again.

“Yes.”

Cassidy sits up higher on his knees so he can pull his briefs low enough for Jesse to touch him properly. While he does that, Jesse uses that time to really focus on Tulip.

She’s always been a hair trigger, and at times like this, where Cassidy is waiting on him too, he’s especially glad for it. She’s almost at the edge when Cassidy’s finally got his underwear down properly, and he admires her with Jesse while she shakes. She’ll need more than this, she’s always needed to cum two or three times to feel truly satisfied, but they can work on her again later.

She’s breathing out curses and her hand has moved to push Jesse’s harder against her when Cassidy leans over to help; he kisses her neck and up her jaw, while one of his hands starts roaming over her chest again to help give her just that little bit extra.

Jesse uses both hands, one still rubbing between her legs and the other sliding over her thigh and ass to help her shove forward into his fingers.

Tulip peaks with a strangled moan and Cassidy kisses her through it, scraping teeth over and over like flint against her skin.

Her whole body shakes as she dismounts Jesse’s thigh.

She falls down to his side, still panting. Jesse’s hand follows, sliding between her legs again to feel her, cum-slick and hot as the sun, and knowing that just because she can’t hold herself up anymore, that doesn’t quite mean she’s done.

They both ignore their own wants in favor of watching her, as she squeezes her eyes and legs shut while Jesse keeps stroking her. The new angle is easier on his wrist and allows him to press and push her further than she needs. As sensitive as she is now, moving his fingers too much would only hurt her, so he stills them and just lets her rock into his touch for those last few ruts she needs while her hands grip at the blankets with white knuckles.

Jesse’s hand is still trapped against her, making the pressure even worse, her body squirming like she can’t stand it. She reaches down to force his hand harder against her, still trying to get him closer, harder, more.

After a few more seconds, her hips stutter up one last time, hard enough she arches up off the bed, and she cries out one more overstimulated ”Fuck” before she collapses again.

She spreads her legs enough to push Jesse’s hand out of her underwear. He smiles at her.

“Jesus,” Cassidy groans against his cheek. The twitch in his cock that must be painful answers Jesse’s question of whether Cassidy and Tulip have gone this far yet.

Jesse lovingly squeezes Tulip’s thigh, a promise to finish up with Cassidy so they can join her all fucked up and half passed out. They smear tacky against her skin, but the lazy grin on her face says she doesn’t mind.

He tries to wipe his hand off on the blanket, but Cassidy catches his wrist before he can. He brings Jesse’s fingers to his mouth and licks at them, sucking the taste of Tulip’s wetness off and putting on a show for Jesse, gazing up at him like he wants a lot more than fingers in his mouth.

“Oh, fuck off,” he mutters, a pang of want hitting him at the same moment Cassidy’s mouth closes over a knuckle. Cassidy laughs around his finger and lets go.

“Come on,” he begs, rutting his hips up to push his cock through Jesse’s fingers again. Jesse wraps his fingers around him again, tighter, turning his full attention to him now, and stroking him feels as natural as breathing now that he’s gotten more used to it.

Cassidy pants against his mouth between kisses, but as Jesse keeps going, gets a little rougher, hand sounding a little more lewd as it moves, Cassidy can’t even keep up with that. He buries his face in Jesse’s neck and bites. Not hard enough to draw blood, he’s thankfully got slightly more self-control than that, but enough that it stings. Jesse pulls him closer and thrusts up against him too, because God, he wants Cassidy just as bad as Cassidy wants him right now.

Cassidy’s trying to swear against his skin, but Jesse can only make out the vowels and teeth of it. He catches something that sounds an awful lot like ”God, fuck, don’t stop”, though, and it’s only moments after that that Cassidy goes tense and spills himself over Jesse’s fist.

He keeps fucking up into Jesse’s hand as he cums even as Jesse loosens his grip, unsure of how sensitive he’ll be.

His teeth detach from Jesse’s neck, and he hears a long, satisfied ”God” on his pulse.

Jesse’s hand is gross, cum and sweat clinging to his skin, and that he wipes on the blanket. He’ll have to leave a better tip for housekeeping. Oops.

“We were supposed to be getting you off, Jess,” Cassidy finally says, still trying to catch his breath against Jesse’s neck.

“Sorry,” he sighs, certainly not sorry. He slides his hand around Cassidy’s waist and holds him there, arm slung around him. It’s strange; Cassidy is almost as cold as he usually is. Vampirism will do that, he guesses.

He’s still the hardest he’s ever been in his life, and Tulip has regained enough functioning thought to notice.

“C’mon,” Tulip says to Cassidy.

She’s wobbly as she sits back up, still barely shaking while she arranges herself so she can lean most of her weight on Jesse. Her hand slides over his hip and over his thigh, barely scratching her short nails over his skin. He’s still wearing underwear, and she tugs at the band to start pulling them down.

Cassidy barely moves; he stays on Jesse’s thigh, but lets his weight slide so he’s kneeling at Jesse’s side with a leg thrown over his. His face is still pressed against Jesse’s neck, though now it’s smeared sweaty and lazy over to his shoulder as he’s gotten more comfortable and limp against him.

“Tell us what you want, Jess,” Tulip says.

“Anything,” Jesse blurts out. “Just want you,” he sighs. It’s a general ‘you’, and he makes sure Cassidy knows that by squeezing him with the arm wrapped around his waist.

He feels Cassidy smile against his skin. He tucks his thumb into his waistband too, and they carefully maneuver his ratty white briefs down his thighs.

“Nice,” Cassidy says out loud. Jesse’s been leaking since Cassidy sunk his teeth into him.

“Right?” Tulip says. “At least he’s good for something.”

Jesse tries to laugh, tell her to shut up, maybe, but he’s already too overwhelmed to do much more than huff and put his arms around them both.

Tulip’s fingers wrap around him first, at the base of his cock, and Cassidy’s wrap around him above hers, and it’s… Hot... But awkward.

“Maybe -- “

“No, yeah, let’s -- “

“Yeah.”

Tulip and Cassidy wordlessly come to a solution, and then Jesse feels them thread their fingers over him.

His long-time girlfriend and brand new boyfriend are holding hands around his dick.

“Oh my God,” he moans, half because it’s ridiculous and half because it’s the hottest singular thing that has ever happened to him.

“That feel okay?” Cassidy asks.

“Yes,” he answers.

Their hands move slowly, a surreal kind of pressure that’s nowhere near what Jesse would need if it wasn’t the most incredible feeling, and probably the most emotionally climactic sex he’s had since him and Tulip got together for the first time.

He doesn’t last long at all -- between both of their hands around him and both of them tugging his head back so they can kiss at his neck, he’s amazed that he lasts as long as he does. It’s their hands stuttering against each other that pushes him over the edge, both trying to move faster for him but not managing the right rhythm.

He groans one last time into Cassidy’s hair, arms tight around both of them. He forces himself to watch, as much as he wants to shut his eyes against the feeling of it all washing over him. He doesn’t dribble over their fingers as much as he’d expected, too worked up and tense for it to come any softer than a slow gunshot up against his stomach.

He lays back, dragging them both down with him, and he tries to take deep breaths so he’ll stop seeing stars.

Tulip removes her hand, but Cassidy’s stays for just another moment, just a couple more admiring, overstimulating strokes that squeeze a few more fat drops out of him. His dick looks as spent as he feels.

The room seems too still while he’s dizzy from it all, and he’s just starting to feel like he can think again when Cassidy breaks the silence.

“Who’s getting the cum rag?”

“Gross,” Jesse groans, because that’s the worst thing to call it, even if it’s the most accurate. “Also, Tulip.”

Tulip groans too. “Why am I getting the cum rag?”

“Because you’ve had the most time to recover from sex brain. And the… The sex legs,” Cassidy explains, either agreeing with Jesse’s unspoken logic or just not wanting to be the one that has to get up. Jesse nods regardless.

Tulip groans again, but rises on shaky legs to go get it. Jesse barely hears the water running over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears.

She tosses it at them, her part done, and collapses back against Jesse.

Cassidy, the gentleman, wipes Jesse’s stomach off for him. He even sits up and tries to wipe his own dry jizz from where Jesse had smeared it on the blanket, as much as he can, and then tosses the washcloth back toward the bathroom.

Jesse pulls him down to lay next to him too.

"That's gotta count," Cassidy says, tucking himself under Jesse's arm. "He was confident making him go to the store wasn't a trap."

"But he got something out of it too," Tulip reminds him. "He didn't get ripped off, he got jerked off."

Cassidy and Jesse both snort, Cass with a proud "Good one!" and Jesse with a slightly disgusted but decidedly not-bitter "Gross."

"So a con would have been making him get us off, and then we just, like, didn’t get him off?" Cassidy looks up at Jesse with a snort. “He tried to do that anyway.”

Tulip snorts too.

“Just… Jesse can fuck off,” she says, like they’re not talking over his chest. “If he hadn’t been trying to do that and we’d just left the room or something, that would have been a con. Or something.”

She nuzzles her face down against his chest to get herself comfortable.

“I can’t think straight, who cares?”

Jesse and Cassidy laugh then.

“Is that what the argument was about?” Jesse asks. “What counts as a con?”

“It wasn’t an argument,” Cassidy and Tulip mumble in sync.

Cassidy turns so he’s more on his back, leaning on Jesse’s arm like a pillow and bringing his hand to his own chest to thread their fingers together.

Jesse kisses his temple.

Somehow, all tangled up, they sleep through the night.

#preacher secret santa #homelygrantaire #amc preacher secret santa #unholy trinity #bolded text /#caps /

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Are Mike Trout and Bryce Harper baseball's all-time best superstar duo?

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Are Mike Trout and Bryce Harper baseball's all-time best superstar duo?

Mike Trout is back just in the nick of time. The Angels superstar, who skipped six agonizing months with a torn ligament in his left thumb, returned to action Friday, receiving 5 hits and a stroll during L.A.’s weekend series towards Tampa Bay.

Through Trout’s absence, his bizarrely marginalized place as baseball’s consensus ideal player was compromised even further by the Homeric emergence of New York’s Aaron Decide, and the H-word is capitalized not mainly because it really is referring to long balls but somewhat mainly because Decide appears to be part of an historical Greek ballad. No a person — I consider — is essentially suggesting that Decide has replaced Trout as baseball’s ideal player. But it can be argued that, in the hardball zeitgeist, Decide has garnered much more interest than Trout has in the very last a few months or so. It really is rough to quantify a little something like that.

Trout’s return is timely for the Angels mainly because they are a person of several groups mired in the tepid race for the AL’s wild-card slots. Trout on the field equals much more wins, and a person of the unsung tales from the very first 50 percent of the season is how properly L.A. held up in his absence. But the return is timely for the rest of us mainly because it sets up a exceptional assembly between Trout and the only actual applicant to take his ideal-in-baseball crown: Washington’s Bryce Harper. (Sorry, Mr. Decide — put up a several much more 50 percent-seasons like this a person, and we can revisit the issue.)

Are Trout and Harper rivals? It really is tough to see them that way. They play on opposite coasts in different leagues. They’ve still to meet in a Environment Series. Through their time in the majors, the Angels and Nationals have performed just once — an otherwise forgettable a few-recreation series in April 2014. Neither player homered and Harper went just one-for-eleven.

To identify this, I calculated a park-adjusted model of weighted runs developed (wRC) for each individual hitter of the modern period (considering that 1901). For every single season, I calculated the a few-calendar year wRC totals for every single player — that is, the wRC for the season in dilemma furthermore the two preceding seasons. Then I rated them to discover the prime two in-the-minute hitters of every single marketing campaign. Making use of a few-calendar year totals is a improved way to take into account ideal-in-the-minute things to consider, smoothing out a person-calendar year spikes without longevity turning out to be a lot of a variable.

The list notes the very last calendar year for every single a few-calendar year wRC overall. For case in point, for No. 10 on my list — 1999: Mark McGwire and Jeff Bagwell — 1999 denotes the wRC overall from 1997 to 1999.

For Trout and Harper in 2017, I prorated the numbers for the complete season. Then I designed a person fantastical leap: I assumed Harper’s 2016 numbers were an damage-caused fluke and gave him the average between this year’s rate and his 2015 MVP season. Indeed, wellness is a skill, but if Harper retains executing what he’s executing, it would not be tough to argue that very last season was an outlier.

A number of tandems led their respective leagues in a few-calendar year wRC for much more than a person season. For case in point, Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig experienced 4 different blended a few-calendar year performances in the prime 10 of all time. For the repeaters, I retained only the ideal performance. For Ruth and Gehrig, in scenario you happen to be pondering, that was 1925 to 1927, even nevertheless 1925 for Ruth was form of like 2016 for Harper. I consider I examine that he ate as well several sizzling puppies or a little something. — Bradford Doolittle

However it really is organic to pit them towards every single other. A brief Google search of the terms “who improved trout harper” yields 478,000 effects, several of which are legitimate article content pondering which player is improved, or which player you would take very first in a draft. With out reading of any of all those, let me spoil the summary: It really is Trout.

A several many years back, it may have been otherwise. Harper, 24, was on the address of Athletics Illustrated at age 16. Trout was drafted at No. 25 in 2009. Given that then, Trout, 25, has loved arguably the ideal start out to a vocation by any individual at any time. His 48.5 WAR (for each Baseball-Reference.com) by age 24 is the most at any time, and in 2017 he’s properly on his way to his ideal season still.

That is not to say the comparison is preposterous, and if any individual will supplant Trout’s ongoing reign as baseball’s ideal player, it will be Harper. Two many years back, at age 22, Harper put up 9.9 WAR, second-ideal at any time at that age to a younger Ted Williams, who experienced 10.6 WAR in 1941, the calendar year he hit .406. This season, if Harper maintains his current rate, he will be higher up on that list of ideal-by-age-24 gamers, maybe cracking the prime 20.

The main change between the two to date is consistency. Harper’s OPS+ rated No. 24 in the Countrywide League very last calendar year. Many think the downturn was thanks to actual physical complications that Harper wouldn’t really admit. However, Trout has not experienced a down season, not once he established his supreme amount of play. He is put up a person monster season just after a different. What other player could pass up six months and nevertheless not be ruled out of the MVP race?

Through background, we have experienced wonderful baseball debates like this. Ty Cobb vs. Honus Wagner. Hank Aaron vs. Willie Mays. Ted Williams vs. Joe DiMaggio. Ted Williams vs. Stan Musial. Albert Pujols vs. Miguel Cabrera. Albert Pujols vs. Barry Bonds. And on and on. In this scenario, it really is not still a wonderful discussion. It may not even be the right discussion. Due to the fact what I would like to know is this: Why decide a person when we could decide each?

Harper has put any lingering thoughts about his 2016 season to rest. Trout is a calendar year more mature than Harper, around talking. So when you happen to be comparing the vocation treks of the two, Trout’s edge is dulled if you take into account that. Age-intelligent, you happen to be usually comparing Harper’s current season with Trout’s prior season.

It really is known as the Bonds Procedure — strolling a batter intentionally even in the most outlandish scenarios. Right until now, it has used to only a person guy. This is the scenario for — and towards — introducing the reigning American League MVP to the list.

As a result of that prism, Harper has experienced a improved OPS+ in his age-19 and age-22 seasons. The early-season leap Trout designed this calendar year may appear for Harper up coming calendar year. Trout earns the edge in most accounts in the nonhitting sides of the recreation. While his baserunning is unquestionably much more useful than Harper’s, it really is value noting that Harper has a improved vocation mark in defensive runs saved, albeit when enjoying a usually a lot less demanding defensive posture (RF, when Trout plays CF).

We have noted that Trout is on a ideal-at any time form of rate. What, then, does it indicate if Harper emerges as an equivalent? What if we do not just have Superman, but Batman as well?

Would that indicate we are observing the ideal tandem of hitters we have at any time viewed in the recreation at the same time?

Let’s run by the Best twelve. Why twelve? Due to the fact a Best 10 is standard, but I needed to produce about No. eleven, and No. twelve justifies to be composed about. Anyway, just after we get by this list, we are going to get to my broader position.

Note: The list identifies the very last calendar year for every single a few-calendar year overall of weighted runs developed (wRC). For case in point, for No. eleven on my list — 2004: Barry Bonds and Albert Pujols — 2004 denotes the wRC overall from 2002 to 2004. For even further particulars, see the accompanying inline: How the ideal were established.

twelve. Early thirties: Oscar Charleston and Josh Gibson (mysterious blended 3-calendar year wRC)

The rating listed here isn’t really crucial mainly because we have no data to make the calculations, but the very likely peak interval for the overlapping elements of their respective occupations probably would have fallen in the very first 50 percent of the thirties. There is no question in my brain that this duo, widely regarded the best hitters in Negro Leagues background, would rank higher on the list. Or maybe at the really prime of it.

Barry Bonds’ prime many years coincided with the start out of Albert Pujols’ run of dominance in St. Louis, making the pair a person of the ideal baseball has at any time viewed at the same time. Jed Jacobsohn/Getty Pictures

eleven. 2004: Barry Bonds and Albert Pujols (301.eight blended a few-calendar year wRC)

The end of late-peak Barry and the middle of Pujols’ decade-long peak. It was a great time in the Countrywide League.

10. 1999: Mark McGwire and Jeff Bagwell (311.6)

In this article are a few much more Countrywide League sluggers who typified the period when they were at their ideal.

9. 2002: Jason Giambi and Barry Bonds (317.eight)

One more Bonds overall look. As for Giambi, there was a rationale his departure from Oakland led to each the ebook and film versions of “Moneyball.”

eight. 1941: Ted Williams and Joe DiMaggio (322.two)

As wonderful as this rivalry was, consider of what it would have appeared like if Environment War II experienced hardly ever transpired and Williams hadn’t shed a several many years.

7. 1949: Ted Williams and Stan Musial (323.75)

I have usually loved this interleague rivalry, generally mainly because their occupations spanned around the same expanse of time and mainly because they experienced this kind of wildly different personalities. Are you a Ted or a Stan?

6. 2017: Mike Trout and Bryce Harper (324.two)

Would we be executing this piece if they did not clearly show up on the list? Maintain reading, nevertheless, mainly because this rating is only the jumping off position.

5. 2001: Sammy Sosa and Jason Giambi (324.4)

Indeed, it was an unusual time in baseball, and I’m absolutely sure this pair will elicit a specific response in several.

4. 1920: George Sisler and Babe Ruth (338.two)

And so we start out the Babe Ruth part of the proceedings, beginning with a pairing from the many years right before Gehrig arrived together. What is actually extraordinary is that Ruth went specifically from becoming a star left-handed pitcher to the really ideal hitter in the recreation.

3. 1936: Lou Gehrig and Jimmie Foxx (349.9)

This is the calendar year just after Ruth retired, which exhibits how long Gehrig was an all-time wonderful hitter in his have right.

two. 1921: Rogers Hornsby and Babe Ruth (368.one)

Ruth’s 1921 season is on the limited list of the best at any time, and this a few-calendar year extend from 1919 to 1921 was the interval when he redefined the recreation. He overshadowed everybody, together with Hornsby, who, talking of limited lists, is higher on any list of ideal-at any time right-handed hitters.

one. 1927: Lou Gehrig and Babe Ruth (394.two)

Babe Ruth, right, and Lou Gehrig, left, posted 4 different blended a few-calendar year performances in the prime 10 of all time. Waite Hoty Selection/Getty Pictures

This is the blended output Trout and Harper are capturing for — if not this season, then in the seasons to appear. Only for the complete impact, they would have to sign up for forces in the same lineup. Can you envision?

If we “repair” Harper’s 2016 season and restore Trout’s lacking months, this ability duo will belong on any list of contemporaneous historical tandems. However, I have left out a vital variable: Both continue to be at ages that recommend the ideal may lie ahead

With that in brain, here’s a person much more brief list. These are the youngest blended ages of the seventy three tandems in our group: one. Trout-Harper, 2017 (48.6) two. Williams-DiMaggio, 1941 (49.4) 3. Willie Mays-Mickey Mantle, 1957 (51.9).

Due to the fact of Environment War II, Williams and DiMaggio hardly ever bought a chance to entirely capitalize on that budding rivalry, nevertheless what they ended up with was unquestionably deserving of the annals. However, we are just entering the meat of the Trout-Harper period, which may end up deserving of a several epic poems, as well. It may, in fact, grow to be the most memorable epic still.

In the meantime, whom in the MLB business office can we chat to about tweaking the interleague routine so we can see this matchup much more often?

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