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azsazz · 5 months

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The Magic Number

Kinktober Day 28: Hockey Player!Azriel, Rhysand, & Cassian x Reader [Overstimulation]

Summary: Req from godsend @vellichor01 : For the hockey idea, I love the idea of Azris or poly!batboys using you 😏😏 as their good luck charm the night before the championship game

Warnings: Smut, oral (both f and m receiving), use of toys (vibrator), fingering, anal, double penetration, foursome.

Word Count: 5,258

Notes: I'm having one of those moments...

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“C’mon, you know how this goes,” Cassian drawls, stroking a thumb across your cheek. His words are soft, kind, but the heat swallowing the color of his eyes is anything but. It makes your cunt pulse. “Been our lucky charm all this season, can’t break the streak now, can we, baby?”

You hum, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. Excitement stirs your gut as you stare up at the three, large hockey players taking up the expanse of your tiny living room. Azriel leans against the door they’d just come through, his hazel gaze pinned on you. Rhys is perched on the edge of your desk, arms crossed over his chest, looking every bit as serious as the captain of the hockey team should be. And Cass stands before you, his stature demanding and hot. They make you ache to your very core. “What’s in it for me?” You tease, batting your lashes.

“I can promise you at least three earth-shattering orgasms,” Cassian responds, pointing from Rhys to Azriel, then to himself.

Your face contorts, nose scrunching at his words. “Only three?”

Cassian’s eyes glitter. “Think you can handle more?”

You tilt your chin up in defiance. You know you can handle more. Have spent weekends locked away with them, ripping orgasm after orgasm from you until you’d lost count, had been nothing but a sobbing, shaking, wet mess beneath their lips and fingertips.

“I just don’t know if that’s enough anymore, boys,” you sigh dramatically, pulling your chin from his grasp. “You get all of this luck and I get to be sore for days? How is that fair?” You’re lying, and they know you’re lying. You’re not just terrible at it, but you love being sore for days, feeling where their cocks have abused your cunt with each step you take. You love the marks that their needy, manhandling hands leave on your skin, the bruises from their teeth and lips. You bite your own, shoving that thought from your mind.

“What do you want then, darling?” Rhys purrs, pushing himself from the desk to make his way closer. Azriel follows on an unspoken command, until they flank Cassian’s sides. They loom over you like Gods, and you have to crane your neck back to peer up at them from your spot on the couch. Fuck, they look absolutely stunning. How you’ve managed to bag the three star players of the hockey team, you’ll never know. Rhys’ voice takes on a huskeir note, violet eyes simmering with molten desire as he continues, “Want to tie us up and take what’s yours? Want to watch us fuck each other? All we need from you is one orgasm each, darling, and we’ll win the championship game tomorrow, I know it.”

His words make you shiver. Is that what you want? To be in charge for the night? You’d been doing this with them for the entire season, but the thought had never crossed your mind. You’re usually too cock drunk to form a coherent thought.

But the way that they tower over you, looking down at you as if you’ve changed their entire world, makes your stomach flip. They’ve always taken care of you, all three of them, and it’s more than nice, being guided into positions that put your pleasure first. They know you better than you know yourself. Sexually, they know you inside and out. They are the epitome of men right now, burly and large and oh so fucking irresistible. It makes you want to open your mouth and part your legs, let them have your way with you.

You just might.

You look from Rhysand to Cassian, Cassian to Azriel. They’re fresh from practice, hair damp from showers at the rink, tight shirts stretched across broad shoulders with the exception of Cassian, he would never wear a piece of clothing again if he had the choice, and comfortable gray sweats hang low around their waists like they know what it does to you.

Godsdamn what it does to you.

“Come on, baby,” Cassian all but whines when you don’t respond. “What can we do to convince you this is for the good of the team?”

Nothing. They don’t have to do a damn thing to convince you of this, because you know. Somehow, the three hockey players you’ve found yourself fucking this season decided that you were their lucky charm, having won each and every game after they’d shared you. It’s something of a pre-game tradition now.

But it’s still fun to tease.

“I don’t know,” you coo, leaning back in your seat. You slip your toes between Cassian’s wide stance and prop your feet on the coffee table behind him. “I think that Tarquin on the Sea Lion's is pretty goo—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Azriel growls, eyes so dark it makes your thighs quiver.

“What if, this time,” Rhysand leans down, planting his hands on either side of the couch, trapping you. His sultry voice awakens goosebumps on your skin, his breath hot in his ear as he leans down, lips brushing the shell. “We stuff you with our cum, then shove a little plug up that tight little cunt of yours to secure our luck. You’d like that darling, wouldn’t you? To be stuffed with us until after the game? Keeping you nice and full?”

You nearly bite through your lip holding in a moan. Your head threatens to teeter back on your neck, eyes rolling back into your skull as a full shiver wracks your body in the best way. Holy fuck do you love it when they talk dirty to you, planting new ideas in your head, things beyond your wildest dreams.

Cassian’s adding, watching you struggle with a smirk. “When we win, I’ll eat it out of you.”

“Isn't showing up to the game enough?” you ask innocently, thighs pressed so tightly together they’re shaking with effort. But you’re being strong. There’s still room to play with them.

“No,” they all answer in unison.

It’s Azriel who takes a gentler approach. It’s a little surprising. He’s normally the quietest of the three, saving soft spoken endearments for when it’s just the both of you or when the other two have fallen into post-orgasm cat naps.

He kneels before you, hands brushing up your bare legs in what is supposed to be a soothing manner, but the motion only makes you hotter. Wetter. He’s looking at you with sincerity, like he might actually believe that you’re going to refuse them.

As if that would ever happen.

“What do you want, love?” he asks, so gently it nearly makes your heart crack. The strokes of his thumbs on your skin match his tone, tender.

“I want you to kiss me, Az.”

He can do that. He spreads your legs to slip between, using his grip on the meat of your thighs to pull you closer. You’re the same height as him, sitting on the couch as he is kneeling, and you don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his neck, fingers burying deep into those dark locks. His touch wanders to your face, caressing your jaw before pulling you into a slow, sensual kiss.

Your body bursts with pleasure. His tongue strokes softly against your own as he parts your lips. It’s a tentative motion, but becomes more sure when you whimper softly into his mouth. Azriel’s fingers grip loosely to the nape of your neck, pulling you even closer to him. So close, that you can feel the erratic pounding of his beating heart pressed against your own.

You can feel Cassian and Rhysand’s heated gazes on the both of you. It feels all too good, having their attention like this. Knowing that with the slightest of moves on your part, they’ll all be harder than stone. It eggs you on, kiss going from slow and steady, an exploration of each other’s mouths, to something hotter, rougher. Azriel sucks on your tongue and nips at your lips. Your fingers tug at his hair as your spine lengthens, pressing yourself closer to his chest.

Kissing Azriel is like being shrouded in shadow. He consumes you, body and soul. It’s the best kind of kiss, one that calms you when you’re anxious, a strong and steady presence. You can lose yourself for days in the taste of his lips, the feeling of his sure posture against yours.

Cassian takes hold of you quickly, inserting himself into the kiss you and Azriel find yourselves lost in. You make a noise of surprise. Having both of them licking into your mouth is no easy feat, but somehow, the men seem to know exactly what to do, as if they’re as in-synch now as they are on the ice.

Slowly, Azriel edges himself away from the kiss. He pries your fingertips from himself, no matter how much he loves the way you cling to him. He places them on Cassian’s shoulders, where you curl them harshly into his tanned skin and force him closer.

Kissing Cassian ignites a fire in your soul. It’s passionate, brash, and full of love. There is no doubt in your mind that this man was made for you, to walk through that fire for you, to reach your innermost self. He’s a warrior on and off the ice, in love and in life. He will fight for you no matter what, and you love him for it.

It’s always fun having Cassian like this, all needy and hot. His cock is swollen against the loose fabric of his sweatpants, and you can tell he’s not wearing underwear when you grind your hips against his, drawing a guttural moan from his lips. You drink it down greedily, keening in response. You’re getting just as desperate now, needing to feel their cocks in your cunt, filling you up with their cum until you’re so full you could burst.

But Rhysand is untangling you from Cassian with a look that leaves no room to argue. You’re panting, staring up at Cassian with a wildness that says this isn’t over. He grins, the sharps of his canines glinting in the lamp light.

“Go, get ready,” Rhys orders the other two, and you cling to him as he lifts you into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as he strides towards the door.

Instead of walking through it, he’s pressing you into the wall next to it, dipping down to devour your mouth in one fell swoop.

Kissing Rhys makes you feel like a Queen. He’s demanding, showing you exactly what he wants. It makes you want to submit, fall to your knees and please him as he sees fit. It’s reassurance and confidence and pleasure in its finest form. He makes you feel like you’re on top of the world, like your soul belongs to something more. You would bow for him, and he for you.

He hooks his knee up, settling your weight onto it as his fingers find the hem of your shirt. His mouth is a distraction for his hands, gliding the fabric up and over your head, breaking the kiss for only a fleeting moment before he’s grabbing you again and plastering your front to his chest as he strides towards your room.

You’re lost in the way his tongue dances with yours. You love to hear his words, silky and playful, skilled with years of business classes, his backup if hockey doesn’t work out someday.

Rhys places you on the bed, breaking the kiss, but before you can even whimper your displeasure, Cassian’s boxing you in, fitting himself between your legs as you slide backwards. He follows like a hungry lion, devouring you with his gaze.

“Enjoyed that, didn’t you, darling?” Rhys grins, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes are wide, but you can’t remove them from Cassian’s wolfish grin as he prowls towards you, backing you into the headboard. “But look what Cassian’s got for you.”

“First, you’ll cum on my toy, then on Az’s fingers, and then on Rhys’ tongue,” Cassian presses his words into your mouth, rolling his hips against yours. It makes you cling to him desperately, and he smirks against your lips. You lick over his straight teeth, tasting his tease. He parts himself from you, sucking at the sensitive skin between your jaw and ear. His tone is low, filled with desire and gravel that scratches the right parts of you when he continues. “And then, when you’re crying and begging, maybe we’ll give you our cocks. If you think you can handle it.”

Your body wracks with a shiver so violent Cassian’s façade falters. If it weren’t for your reassuring hand clawing across his bare shoulders, he would’ve asked you if you were alright.

So the charade continues. You want to fight back, want to push them to the edge like they are you, because if they’re going to insist on fucking you for the good of their game, no matter how badly you want it, you’re going to make them work for it. You don’t hand out this kind of luck without some effort.

“Maybe I won’t give you my cunt at all,” you pant, chest rising and falling against Cassian’s. It feels like he’s crushing you, body pressed firmly to your own. You can hear Rhysand digging around in your drawer, looking for the pastel colored vibrator you have stuffed away. Azriel watches you with a heated gaze that sharpens at your words, pinning you to the bed just as effortless as Cassian is. “Maybe the sex after a loss is better than after a win.”

Azriel all but growls, taking the chance to climb up on the bed with you and Cassian. You remove one of the hands you have buried in Cassian’s thick locks, reaching out to touch Azriel. You want them all, love when all of their attention is on you like this. Your thighs try to clench but Cassian’s hips pin them wide and he gently rocks into you, nipping at the skin around your bra strap before taking it between his teeth and pulling it from your shoulder.

You rest your palm against Azriel’s cheek when he’s near enough, and though his serious gaze doesn’t soften, he leans into your touch, pressing kisses to your palm. “Baby, I think we both know that isn’t true.”

Gods, does he make you melt. They all do, stripping down and baring themselves to you. Each one of them is tall, tan, and muscular. They are Gods kneeling before you, worshiping you in every way.

You want that to start now.

As if reading your mind, Rhys places the pastel wand into Cassian’s awaiting grip. His grin turns into something feral as he rips your panties from your legs, fingers curling between you and the mattress to unhook your bra.

Azriel takes over, hands palming at your breasts as he moves the clothing. Cassian clicks the vibrator on and your legs want to close in response. You’re so fucking wet you know that you’re glistening for them, and with the speed at which Cassian sets your little toy, you won’t last very long, especially when the other two crowd around you and all three men stare down at you like you’re something worth devouring.

“Is it true?” Cass asks, but he doesn’t wait for your answer, pressing the buzzing toy to your already throbbing clit when you begin to speak. Your words sizzle into a moan, your body arching into the vibrations, hips wriggling as you chase the feeling it’s stirring in your gut. Az and Rhys hold you down, and they all watch in pleasure as Cassian plays with you. “You think losing sex is better?”

Normally, he’s all fun and games, built for edging you until you take control and sit yourself on his cock, but today, with the taunts in the air and the looming game at the back of their minds, he’s more eager to draw as many orgasms from you as he can. He needs to stuff you so full of his cum, right down until the minute he dares step foot on the ice for the championship game. He needs to see you in the crowd, hardly able to sit because your cunt is that sore, cheering them on with their cum still leaking out of you.

“N—No,” you manage to get out, but you hardly know what you’re babbling about. You cling to Rhys and Az, who mouth at your breasts as you writhe, pinning your arms to the bed. Your back arches as Cass finds that spot, the vibrator stimulating your clit with such an intensity, heat rushes to your core like a dam breaking. “Cass, ah—please baby, yeah, yeah, right there!”

“Right here?” He asks, and dread fills your body. You know that voice, and you chase the orgasm as fast as you can before he— “Or down here?” You cry out in frustration as he moves the wand lower, a buzz dulling as he slicks it against your opening.

“Az,” you whine, because you need more than just the toy. They’ve fucked you relentless, ruined everything for you, and now it’s no longer enough, not even when they’re away from you. “Need your fingers. Please!” You cry out when Cassian returns the vibrator to your clit, holding you still as you writhe.

He doesn’t hesitate, cock straining away from his body. He’d been ready for you since he awoke this morning, but practice had taken precedence before he could find his way to your apartment to fuck the bones from your body. He’s the most superstitious of the three, and not even your teasing he takes lightly.

But he’s conditioned to need you, more than he needs his shooting hand before game days. He doesn’t know how or when this started, but he’s not complaining. He loves it, in fact, thinking about you all wet like this when he’s in the thick of the game, when he’s thinking about starting a fight or stuck in the penalty box. He’s also the most worried about it all, taking many nights pulling you aside to talk about the arrangement. To make sure you feel loved instead of used. To show you how much you mean to him.

So, he doesn’t play around when he puts those skilled hands to work, plunging one into your cunt, then two because the first slides in easily. You cry out when he curls them, the shadow of a smile curving his lips in the most beautiful way.

“Hey,” Cassian pouts, “It doesn’t count as three if you and I are both doing it.”

Azriel doesn’t look away from you, watching as you come undone from the incessant buzzing and him stroking the bundle of nerves inside of you. He wants you to break his skin with your nails, burst his eardrums with your screams, drown him in your cum. “Then make it two.”

Cassian’s hazel eyes glint and he’s turning the setting higher.

“Rhys, down on the bed,” Azriel demands after your second, earth-shattering orgasm. The captain of the hockey team does just that. You shiver at Azriel’s words. He’s usually quiet, but when he takes over in the bedroom not one of you strays from his commands, his low voice making those words even sexier. He kisses you softly, helping mauver your body so you’re straddling Rhysand’s face. “Cass, head of the bed, legs open.” He turns back to you, hazel gaze pinning you in place as Rhysnad’s rough hands begging trailing patterns across your thighs. Your cunt nearly drools on him, and your muscles tremble with the effort to keep yourself from sinking down onto that tongue of his. “Baby, I want to see you suck Cassian off while you ride Rhys’ face. You can do that for me, can’t you, pretty girl?”

You keen, falling into his touch around your throat. You need to kiss him, need to sink yourself down and feel the ridges of Rhys’ tongue, his nose digging into your clit. You need to taste the precum beading at Cassian’s ruddy tip, taunting you. You need to feel Azriel’s mouth on yours first, though.

He allows you one kiss. It’s slow and sensual on his side, desperate on your part. He doesn’t allow you to turn up the heat, keeping you pinned in place as Rhys guides your hips down. You squeak against Azriel’s lips at the first touch of Rhysand’s tongue, already grinding your hips against his eager mouth.

Azriel’s fingers slide from your throat, gathering the hair at the base of your skull. Slowly, he guides you down to Cassian’s cock. It’s wet, leaking against his tight abs as he pins his hands behind his head, watching you with fire in his eyes.

You steady yourself with hands on his thick thighs. Your body is already convulsing with pleasure, three orgasms and a handful more to go is what you’d been promised, but as Rhysand grazes his teeth across your sensitive clit, you cry out, hot breath fanning across Cassian’s cock. It twitches as he flexes.

“You’re okay, baby,” Azriel coos, fisting Cassian’s cock, helping you steady yourself so you can take it into your mouth. Rhys’ pace is unhurried, but it still makes pleasure blind your gaze, eyes prickling with sensitivity. “C’mon, be a good girl and take his cock.”

You feel nearly boneless already, hardly able to hold yourself up as Azriel escorts Cassian’s throbbing cock into your mouth. You lick his slit and he hisses, head banging against the headboard as you suckle at his tip. His musk bursts across your tongue, heady and strong and utterly Cassian. You can’t help but moan, licking around the head, dragging down the silken skin as Azriel presses you onto it. All the way until he’s hitting the back of your throat.

“Relax, baby,” Azriel whispers, planting soothing kisses to your shoulders. It’s almost overwhelming how all three of them can be so gentle right now, when they’re finally getting what they need. Your need for them is overwhelming. You can see it now how well they work as a team, impeccable both on and off the ice.

You love it.

Your jaw falls slack at his soft words, and he’s pushing your head down, Cassian’s cock stretching your throat. Both men groan at the sight, and Cassian’s fingers find your cheek, caressing your face.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that,” Cassian praises, and you whimper in pleasure. Rhysand swirls his tongue and nips at your clit and you’re seeing stars, body wracking hot with the onslaught of an orgasm.

Cassian bucks and you choke, but you love it. They make you feel so full, even though your cunt aches with the need. You know you’ll get it soon enough.

Azriel leaves you in Cassian’s care while he settles himself behind you. You can no longer see him, but he dips down, spreading your cheeks to lap at your hole. You startle and moan languidly at the sensation, melting into the three of them further.

You can hear him spit, and then his finger is breaching your ass.

“Relax,” he murmurs again, curling his body around your own. The heat of his chest to your back is comforting, and you try your best to uncurl your muscles. “That’s it, just like that baby. Gooood girl.” His finger drags against your walls and you shiver, rocking back against the sting until he’s three fingers in and you’re moaning wanton around Cassian’s cock.

You cry when Azriel removes his fingers, but he’s pressing up to his knees and slicking his cock between your sopping wet cunt and Rhysand’s tongue. Oh, that feels fucking incredible, your sensitive clit burns at the heat of his cock, cunt quivering from the three orgasms already.

“I don’t know if I can,” you whimper sliding off of Cassian’s cock with a cry. Tears stream down your face and Cassian’s brushing them away softly, swiping his thumb across your lips to clear the string of saliva away. Azriel’s teasing your entrance, holding your hips steady as Rhysand shuffles up the bed, his own leaking cock brushing against your cunt. You’d collapse on top of him if it weren’t for Azriel holding you up.

Rhys takes your face in hand, kissing you firmly, proudly, sharing the taste of you with him. He’s showing you how wet you are for them, how good you’re being, but you still make a noise when the tip of his cock brushes against your throbbing clit. “You can do it, baby,” he reassures, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “Want to fill our darling girl with our cum. You want that, too, don’t you?”

Fuck, you do. You really, truly do. You want to taste it, feel it, bathe in it until there’s no question in their minds that you aren’t theirs. Some day, this lucky streak might end, but until then, you want to be stuffed with them, feel their heat inside of you, filling every part of you to the brim. You want to swim in them, and them in you. You need it like ice needs the cold, like the Velaris Bats need a championship.

“Yes,” you find yourself clawing at his muscles, drawing Cassian nearer by his cock as Azriel’s head slips into your ass. You groan, body sucking him in as you stare into the depths of Rhysand’s violet eyes.

The three of them consume you, and you, them. Once Azriel works himself in with a grunt, hips settled against yours, Rhys is nudging his cock into your dripping cunt. Your breathing goes a little ragged, but his lips are on your neck and you use that and Cassian’s cock as a distraction from the stretch.

They give you as long as you need to adjust, hands all over your body you can hardly focus on one thing. Why do that when there are so many delicious things happening at once? Your hand wrapped around Cassian’s girth, jerking him up and down while you suck and spit on the head of his cock. He groans in approval. You begin rocking back on both Rhysand and Azriel, letting them know with your loud noises that you’re more than ready for their cocks. Rhys’ mouth is attached to your breasts while Azriel’s sticks his fingers around your torso to flick at your clit.

Rhys and Azriel go from moving in synch to fucking into you, opposite in pace. Rhys pulls out while Azriel pushes in, one of them always filling you. It’s great, both of their cocks hot and heavy inside of your tight, wet holes. You shiver when their heads bump into each other through your walls, moaning around Cassian’s cock.

“Fuck, baby,” Azriel says, brushing the hair back from your shoulder. His movements are quickening, and heat rushes through you once again, your body bucking between theirs, following that feeling off of the edge. “Just like that.”

They fuck you through it, until you can hear the wet slaps of their hips against yours again, until your blackened vision clears, your movements lazy and slow as you grip Cassian’s cock like it’s the only thing holding you to this existence.

“I’m almost there,” Rhys hisses, and he and Azriel are moving in time again, both of them pressing into you so deeply you can’t even breathe. They’re filling you up, hitting all of the right spots, and you can’t help the stream of tears and cries that fall from your lips. You might cum again, you think, as Cassian slides down to comfort you with his soft lips against your skin.

“I’m cumming baby, f-fuck, yeah, I’m cumming pretty girl,” Azriel groans, pistoning his hips faster. The grip he has on your cheeks is biting, spreading them wide for his viewing pleasure as his strokes turn jerky. “Godsdamn, baby, I’m a lucky man.”

You body clenches and Rhysand chokes, following his friend. He holds you tightly, eyes squeezed shut in bliss as he fucks him cum deep into your womb. “Holy fuck, darling. Fucking made for us,” he grunts. The erratic pressing of their cocks filling your holes has you cumming again, milking you of another orgasm.

“Fuuuuck,” Cassian mutters in awe as you blink through tears to look up at him. His hand caresses your jaw and he looks utterly destroyed by you and he hasn’t even gotten his chance yet. “Four orgasms? What a good girl, giving us all that.”

You whimper, nuzzling into his touch as Azriel pulls slowly out of your ass. You cry out, grip going firm where you clutch to Rhysand’s shoulders, missing the loss of him already. But Az is kissing up your spine, scooping the cum already leaking from your hole only to stuff it back inside of you, swirling his fingers through the thick, white cum.

“One more baby,” Rhysand coos, pressing kisses to your wet cheeks. You don’t think you can move even, you can hardly even keep your eyes open right now or your breathing controlled, allowing the three of them to manhandle you onto Cassian’s broad chest.

You collapse against him, cum leaking from both your cunt and your ass, getting his hips and thighs all messy with it. But he loves it, loves holding you to his chest like this, looking down at you as you snuggle into him like you could fall asleep in bliss in a matter of breaths.

“Let me give you my cum,” he whispers into your hair and your body trembles with his words. You’re utterly spent, but your body needs his cum mixing with the others just as badly as they need the win.

You nod against his chest, stroking a lazy hand down his torso. “Be gentle with me.”

He is. Cassian holds you close, rocking his hips in a steady, soft motion while you cling to him. He seems to be in no rush, but your cunt aches with every drag of his large cock, and you start writhing against him, a little uncomfortable but not yet willing to force him to stop.

The others’ cum helps slick the way, and Cassian’s soothing words kissed to your forehead keep you somewhat calm. He lets you dig your fingers into his skin as hard as you need to, especially when his grip spans across your hips, pinning you to him so he can fuck into you as he chases his orgasm.

“Doing so well for me, baby. Gonna fill you up and get you all cleaned up with the others,” he murmurs, and it’s then you notice he’s silently asked Rhys and Az to leave. The shower is going in the attached bathroom. You can hear the cap of the body wash opening. “We’re going to take such good care of you, baby, for all those orgasms you gave us.”

You sigh in response, much too tired to muster words. You tilt Cassian’s head down for a soft kiss instead, and then he’s panting against your mouth and fucking into you as he cums, swallowing your tender whimpers and moans.

“There we go, baby,” he coos, keeping his cock shoved in that pretty cunt because he knows you like that. He strokes your hair, letting you loll with the rhythm of his chest. “Helping us win the championship. Our little lucky charm.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Kinktober Taglist:@bunnymallowo@jeannineee@icey–stars@hannzoaks@harrystylesfan2686@azriels-shadowsinger @alysena2 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @impossibelle @glitterypirateduck @reading-moongirl

#polybatboys #poly!batboys x reader #hockey!bat boys #acotar modern au #hockey au #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel x cassian x rhysand x reader #azsazz kinktober 2023

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munson-blurbs · 8 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

Summary: Your weekend getaway to Indianapolis comes with a boyfriend who's trying to quit smoking, a five-year-old who has difficulty acclimating to new routines, and your own insecurities about your mothering abilities. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: angst, insecurities about motherhood, lost child, Eddie gets mad at us, discussion of menstrual period/PMS

WC: 7.7k A/N: There is a moment where someone refers to us as Harris's mom; however, she doesn't see us. There is no indication that we resemble Harris in any way.

Chapter 16/20

Divider credit to @saradika Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsonsmum

The morning dew still kisses the grass when you arrive at the Munson apartment, hauling your duffel bag up to their half-packed car. Eddie’s leaning into the backseat, only his jean-clad legs visible from your vantage point. Harris stands behind him, watching his dad’s every move earnestly and intently. If you had a camera on you, you’d take a photo of this Kodak moment.

“Hi, boys!” you chirp as enthusiastically, tucking your lips into your mouth to stop yourself from laughing when Eddie bangs his head on the roof of the car. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah, ‘m good,” he mutters, rubbing at his scalp with one hand, expression somewhere between a grimace and a smile.”Morning, Sweetheart. You sleep well?”

You nod, opening your arms as Harris races towards you for a hug. “What about you guys? Or were you too excited about our super-fun weekend?”

“Daddy snored!” Harris reports with a grin, overjoyed to share what he perceives to be a juicy morsel of gossip.

Eddie gasps in mock-offense, reaching out to take your bag and arranging it amongst his and Harris’s in the trunk. “I did not!”

“Did too!” Harris retorts, turning back to you and adding, “like, so loud!”

You crouch down, and hold a pinky out in front of him. “We’re gonna have to stick together this weekend if we’re going to survive,” returning his smile when he wraps his little finger around yours in a promise.

“Can’t believe my girlfriend is conspiring against me with my own flesh and blood,” Eddie grumbles, eyes widening when he realizes what he’s said; rather, in front of whom he’s said it. His panicked gaze meets yours, and you both anticipate some reaction from Harris, but he’s fortunately unfazed and too fixated on the utter silliness of his dad’s snoring. Eddie clears his throat, determined to change the subject before his son catches on. “I think we’re ready to ship out,” he offers, slamming the trunk shut and pressing down to double-check that it’s closed.

“Snacks?” you ask, running through a mental checklist of necessities.

Eddie holds up a family-size bag of pretzels. “Got ‘em.”

“Water?”

“Backseat,” he points to the floor to the left of Harris’s booster seat–a recent upgrade from his carseat. “Harris will be in charge of that, right, Har?”

“Right!” Harris confirms with a thumbs-up.

“Sounds good. Put him to work,” you tease. Eddie’s heart skips a beat at the playful relationship that you and his son have, swapping smiles and making each other laugh. “Music?”

Eddie juts his chin towards the center console, filled to the brim with cassettes. “Always.”

You cock your eyebrow knowingly before posing your next question, preparing yourself for some visceral response. “Nicotine gum?”

Eddie groans, patting the pack of Nicorette in his pocket. “Unfortunately, yes.” About a week and a half ago, Harris had come home from school crying after the school had put on an assembly about the dangers of smoking. Eddie had been meaning to quit for a long time, but his son worrying over real problems, using words like cancer and heart attack, was what finally pushed him to chuck every pack of cigarettes he owned into the trash.

“Okay,” you smile and clap your hands together, “I think we’re good to go!” You help Harris buckle his seatbelt before climbing into the passenger seat.

The sedan rumbles to life, catching on the second key turn and disrupting the otherwise still morning. “Gentlemen, start your engines!” Eddie roars in an exaggeratedly deep voice, and Harris giggles from the backseat. With Eddie’s hand on the gearshift, you seize the opportunity to squeeze it, light pink tickling his cheeks at your touch.

It’s only thirty minutes into the drive before it starts.

“Daddy, I gotta pee!”

You can practically feel the patience leaving Eddie’s body, fingers tightly gripping the wheel until his knuckles flush white.

“Har Bear, we just hit the road,” he tries, knowing his efforts are fruitless. “Can you hold it?”

“No, it’s a ‘mergency!”

“Fuck,” Eddie swears under his breath. The likelihood of it actually being an emergency is slim to none, but he’s in no mood to risk it. “All right, I’ll pull over at the next rest stop, ‘kay?��

Eddie takes the next exit, parking at a truck stop and nearly falling out of the car in his scramble to get Harris to the bathroom. “C’mon, c’mon,” he mutters, walking so quickly that Harris nearly trips over his own feet. You quicken your own pace just to keep up with them.

The scent of coffee grabs your attention as soon as you walk in the door, and you make a beeline for the tiny Dunkin Donuts tucked in the corner. The cashier looks as though they could use a shot or two of espresso, eyelids closing under their visor as you give your order. When the boys get back from the bathroom, you present Eddie with a large coffee with far more milk and sugar than your own, and hand a chocolate donut to Harris.

Eddie's eyes shift back and forth from the donut to you before he speaks. “It’s, like, 9 am,” he points out. “He’s gonna be bouncing off the walls if he eats that now.”

Oh. Obviously. What were you thinking, giving an already-hyperactive child pure sugar in the morning? All of the times you’d cringed when parents had sent their kids into school with Cocoa Puffs or some equally sugary cereal, and you’d given his son a chocolate donut for breakfast. “I’m sorry,” you sputter, shaking your head in frustration. “I should’ve asked you first, or saved it for later.”

“‘S fine,” he mutters, heaving an exasperated sigh as Harris takes a giant bite of donut. “At least there’s two of us to chase after him,” he adds with a weak smile.

Harris has devoured nearly the entire donut by the time Eddie’s buckling him back in, chocolate crumbs tucked into the crevices of his mouth. He’s oblivious to your faux pas, and you’d like to keep it that way.

“I really am sorry,” you say again, guilt gnawing in your stomach. “I should’ve known better; I guess I just got excited about our little vacation together.”

Eddie’s grin is more genuine this time. “Me, too, baby.” He sneaks a quick kiss to your cheek when Harris is focused on what remains of his snack. “The whole no-smoking thing has me extra bitter, y’know?”

You know. You definitely know, but you’re not about to point out all of the ways he’s been short-tempered lately. Instead, you relax into your seat and try to brush off your mistake as Eddie turns on the radio and guitar riffs replace the silence.

Eddie rolls down the window as the springtime sun warms the air, and you stretch as the rush of wind cools your body. His curls whip around the base of his neck, dancing in the breeze, and you can’t help but push them out of his face haphazardly.

Your stomach growls, and you’re grateful for the blaring music masking the embarrassingly loud noise. You’d forgotten to grab something for breakfast in your rush to leave your apartment, and coffee is a poor substitute for the most important meal of the day.

You reach down to the bag of pretzels nestled against your feet. “Y’want?” you ask Eddie, who nods and opens his mouth for you to feed it to him while he concentrates on the road. Laughter bubbles up from within you as he takes one from your hand by pinching it between his teeth.

Harris giggles, too. “Daddy, you look like a goat from the zoo!”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie slides the snack into his mouth and bites down with a crunch, “and what sounds do goats make?”

“Hmm,” Harris ponders this for a moment before bleating a resounding, “maaaah!”

You swivel in your seat to give him a high-five. There’s donut residue on your hand when you pull back. “Smarty pants! I bet you know every animal sound there is.”

You and Eddie rattle off different species as you feed him more pretzels. Harris manages perfect impressions of each, until you call out, “sloth!” and effectively stump him.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” he cackles maniacally, partially because of his sugar rush, you’re sure, “that is so silly!”

“Y’just gotta do everything suuuuper slooooow.” You drag out the last two words to emphasize your point. “Like this: Haaaaarrisssss…caaaaan…youuuuu…haaaaand…meeeeee…aaaaa…waaaaterrrr?” This brings on a fresh round of giggles from the backseat; even extra-bitter Eddie manages a hint of a smile.

Harris grabs a bottle at a snail’s–no, a sloth’s–pace. “Heeere…youuuuu…goooooo!” His pace is far from hurried, and you feel the gentle tap of the plastic cap against your shoulder blade a full thirty seconds later.

“Thaaaaank…youuuuu!” You crack open the bottle of water and take a swig, quenching a thirst only made worse by the salty snack. “Wanna play again? See how many other animal sounds you can do?” you ask, grateful to have found a way to keep him occupied. Before you can close the bottle, Eddie reaches over and snags it, lifting it to his lips.

“Daddy, no!” Harris screeches from the backseat, little hand shooting out in protest, causing Eddie to slam on the brake. Water sloshes over the top of the bottle and onto his pants.

“Shit—what, Har?” he snaps, shoving the now half-empty bottle into the cupholder. He swipes haphazardly at the wet patch on his thigh, darkening the denim as it spreads along the fabric. He gives up with a mumbled, “whatever,” when he realizes he’s only rubbing it in more.

“You’re gonna get her germs,” Harris points out matter-of-factly.

Eddie huffs out a terse chuckle, slightly amused but still irritated. “Yeah, yeah, right,” he mutters, and you take that as a sign to reach back and get him his own bottle.

The remainder of the drive is uneventful, though Eddie has to dip into his Nicorette stash when a maroon Toyota Corolla weaves in and out of lanes at lightning speed and cuts him off. He instinctively reaches for the pack of cigarettes he’d always kept in the console, groaning when he remembers that it’s long gone.

“Good job, baby,” you murmur softly, giving his knee a quick squeeze in approval as he pops a piece of gum into his mouth. “‘M proud of you.”

You pull up to the hotel just after 10 AM, the morning chill has dissipated as the sun’s rays warm the air. The fair weather made the trip smoother, a small miracle if you’d ever seen one. Truthfully, you don’t think Eddie’s frayed nerves can handle a rainy day.

Eddie takes Harris’s hand as you all walk through the parking lot and up to the front desk. A middle-aged concierge greets you, the customer service smile plastered across his face faltering when he clocks Eddie’s ripped jeans and disheveled wind-blown hair.

“Reservation’s under ‘Munson,’” Eddie says to him, not making eye contact; your heart is a sinking stone when you realize that he also noticed the man’s shifting expression. “I called ahead and they said we could check in early.”

The concierge nods. You catch a glimpse of his shiny silver name tag, proudly proclaiming “STU, ASSISTANT MANAGER” gleaming in the overhead fluorescent lighting. “Room 325,” he grunts, handing you and Eddie keys dangling from matching logo-branded chains. Elation is a sunflower blooming in your chest; your first vacation has officially begun. Maybe it’s a little getaway only ninety minutes from home, but it’s a new adventure that you’re taking together.

Eddie flings his and Harris’s shared bag, then yours, onto one of the queen beds with a groan. “We made it!” he announces, flinging an arm over your shoulder. The pads of his fingers brush your upper arm, a tissue-paper light touch that has you soaring.

“Daddy? I gotta pee again,” Harris’s urgency breaks the moment. He’s hopping from one foot to the other, a potty dance if you’ve ever seen one.

“Go for it,” Eddie says, pointing towards the bathroom. He shakes his head when his son sprints the short distance.

Once the door closes, Eddie’s hands are on your hips, tugging you so close that your stomachs touch, your breasts pressed to his chest. His mouth immediately swoops down to your neck, nipping gently at the flesh along your collarbone.

“Hello there,” you manage to speak through a laugh. You’re unable to say more, as he’s pressing his lips to yours in a hungry kiss so fervently that your teeth nearly click together.

“Hi,” he breathes once he’s pulled back, brushing the tip of his nose against your own. “Sorry, y’just look really pretty.”

You wrinkle your nose in confusion. “I’m wearing sweatpants. I don’t even have makeup on.” Truthfully, you’d meant to at least swipe on some mascara, but you were preoccupied making sure that you’d packed everything you needed for the weekend.

“Don’t care,” Eddie mumbles, leaning in for another kiss, “still s’fuckin’ pretty. Don’t know how I’m gonna keep my hands off of you.”

The solution to that problem comes in the form of a flushing toilet and Harris calling out, “I’m done! Gonna wash my hands!”

Eddie throws his head back in frustration before burying his pink-tinged face in his hands. “This, uh, was not exactly how I imagined our first time in a hotel together,” he admits.

“At least he’s washing his hands,” you joke, trying to ward off the throbbing need building in your core. It fails miserably. You want him, need him, to relieve the ache in the way that only he can. You yearn for the way his fingertips dance across your skin, eagerly reaching under your shirt or dipping below your waistband, desperate to make his girl feel good.

The two of you break apart as the bathroom door swings open. You fly across the room and pretend like you’re rifling through your duffel bag while Eddie flops onto the bed. His shirt rides up slightly as he lays down, and you have to fight the urge to bite the exposed sliver of tummy.

“When are we going to the market?” Harris asks, catapulting himself onto the bed and landing next to his dad.

Eddie rolls over and checks the digital alarm clock between the two queen beds. “Doesn’t start for another few hours,” he says. “I was gonna try and take a quick nap before we—”

“I’m not tired!” Harris whines, and you can see in Eddie’s deflated, tense physicality that his already thin patience is wearing down further. “I wanna go now!”

“Hey, Har Bear,” you try, hoping you’re not inserting yourself into the dynamic too forcefully, “why don’t we go on an adventure while Daddy sleeps? We can wake him up when we get back.”

Harris hops down onto the floor and readily slips his hand into yours. “Bye, Daddy!” he calls out, dragging you towards the door. “Me an’ Ms. Sweetheart are having a ‘venture!”

Eddie gives you a weary but grateful smile as he scoots upwards to rest his head on the overstuffed pillow. “Godspeed,” he mumbles into the sheets, already beginning to doze off as he speaks.

The elevator dings and you shuffle into the small space, reaching for the “L” button to bring you down to the lobby.

“I wanna push the button!” Harris laments, and his sudden shriek has you instinctively pulling your hand back before regaining your composure.

Do you correct him? Let him press the button despite raising his voice? Deciding a consequence comes naturally to you in the classroom, but the anxiety of making the wrong choice serves as a massive roadblock. “You have to ask nicely if you want to push the button,” you offer, sending up a silent prayer that this staves off an impending tantrum.

He pouts for a moment before relenting. “Can I push the button?” It’s more grumble than request, but you accept it anyway.

His hand remains tucked safely into yours when you leave the hotel, basking in warm weather. You breathe in for three, breathe out for three. Okay. You can do this. Your job revolves around children; you can survive an afternoon taking care of just one.

Except that one happens to be your boyfriend’s son, and if you mess this up, it could ruin both Munsons’ perceptions of you.

“Where’re we going?” Harris asks, and you realize that you have no earthly idea; to be honest, you’re surprised that he so readily agreed.

”We can go for a walk?” you suggest, pasting on a smile in feigned confidence. “Maybe we can find a playground or something?”

“Okay!” he chirps. He’s fast for someone with little legs, and you have to remind him multiple times to use his walking feet. Yeah, this kid needs to burn off some energy, stat.

To your relief, there’s a playground just a few blocks away, fully equipped with a swing set and a jungle gym. Harris races across the grassy field onto the wood chip-covered area, assessing the space to figure out what he wants to conquer first.

You sit on the bench next to a woman who simultaneously reads a James Patterson novel and keeps an eye on the jungle gym, where a little girl is dangling from the monkey bars, putting one hand in front of the other.

She looks over with a sympathetic smile when you breathe out a long sigh, sinking into the wooden back like a weight has been removed from your shoulders.

“I hear that,” she says with a kind chuckle. “Mine will be tired for about…hmm, five minutes? Just long enough to get her home, and then she’ll be hopping around like the Energizer Bunny.” She shakes her head. “Is yours the same way?”

Yours. The term is peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth, and it takes a beat too long for you to respond. “Y-Yeah, I’m pretty sure he would sleep run if he could.” The stranger laughs at your joke, and you relax a bit. “Sorry, he’s really my boyfriend’s son, and it’s kind of…new to think of him as being mine, too.”

You expect her to pick up and move to a different bench, away from the weird woman who’s baring her soul on the playground, but she just closes her book and turns to you. “Carly is technically my stepdaughter,” she explains in a hushed tone, “but her mom’s not in the picture so, for all intents and purposes, she’s my daughter. No ‘step’ necessary.”

“Is…is it hard?” you ask, the question spilling from your lips in a desperate plea for answers. “Being a stepmom?”

She nods. “Oh, absolutely.” She brushes a strand of hair from her eyes, and you can see a sparkle behind them. “But, trust me, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Her words, spoken freely of judgment and purely with empathy, alleviate the nervousness burning through you. “Thank you,” you murmur, gratitude forming a lump in your throat that you struggle to swallow.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris shouts from the top of the jungle gym. “Look what I can do!” He hesitates for a moment before reaching out his arms and grabbing onto the metal pole. You stand up to call out a preemptive warning, to get to him before he can fall, but before you can, his chubby hands grip the pole. He hooks his legs around it and slides down expertly, not letting go until his sneakers are firmly planted on the wood chips scattered across the ground.

Pride warms your heart when his eyes lock with yours, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he awaits your approval. Anticipation reverberates within his little body, and before you can get in a word edgewise, he’s jumping up and down with an excited, “didja see me?”

“You’re amazing!” Your praise floats through the air and envelops him like a long-awaited embrace. “Super brave, too. I don’t think I could do that.”

He furrows his brows before a knowing smile forms on his lips. “Yes, you can! I’ll show you.”

Kind of walked right into that one, you lightly chastise yourself, but you dutifully shuffle towards where he’s already darting up the steps on all fours, hands splayed out for balance.

“C’mon, Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris cheers, waving his fists in the air in earnest, and you simply cannot let the boy down. He easily glides down once more, big brown eyes looking up at you from the ground. “Just like that, see?”

“Right, got it.” You give him a thumbs-up and emulate his movements, holding on tightly to the metal pole and sliding down. You grimace as it squeaks under your grasp, nails on a chalkboard, but your feet reach the ground soon enough.

Harris flings his arms around you, chin digging into your thigh as he gazes up in adoration. “I told you you could do it! Y’just had to try!” His admiration is fleeting; he soon spots another child leap from the swingset to play elsewhere. “Can you push me on the swings?” he pleads, already leading you to the equipment. “I just need a little help getting started, but then ‘m good.”

You hold the chain links dangling from the top of the structure, allowing Harris to maneuver himself onto the rubber seat. He scoots back so his bottom is fully supported and announces, “‘m ready!”

“Hold on tight,” you remind him, more out of routine than necessity, as you pull back the rust-covered chains. You move as far back as you can, double-checking that he hasn’t let go, and release the swing. His squealing giggles are music to your ears, and you push him a few more times before he’s able to take over independently.

His mop of curls defies gravity as he sails back and forth, pumping his legs to gain height. “Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Do you love my daddy?”

You ponder the thought for a moment. You know exactly how you feel about Eddie; he simultaneously kicks up the butterflies in your stomach and calms every buzzing nerve in your body with just a smile, but you’re unsure how much he wants to tell Harris. You settle on the truth, direct and simple: “yeah, I do love him.”

Harris wastes no time asking a follow-up question. “A lot or a little?”

“A lot,” you answer quickly, realizing the magnitude of your enamoration as you say it aloud. The way Eddie’s kisses wrap you in an armor of safety; you hope your kisses have the same effect on him. “Definitely a lot.”

He hums his acknowledgement. “Grampa Wayne says Daddy loves you a lot, too, but I can’t ask you to be my mommy yet.”

You freeze in place so suddenly that the swing’s momentum nearly knocks you down; you step out of the way just before his sneaker-clad feet can make contact with your torso. “You want me to be your mommy?” you repeat dumbly, still half-convinced that you heard him incorrectly.

“Mhm,” Harris confirms, “but Grampa says that being a mommy is a big ‘sponsibility, and I gotta be patient. That means I gotta wait until Daddy says it’s okay to ask you,” he elaborates matter-of-factly.

This is clearly something they’ve talked about, extensively enough that Harris knows that he shouldn’t say anything about it. You’re temporarily rendered speechless, words failing you as you search for an appropriate response. Do you thank him? Act like you hadn’t heard him? Hope that a sinkhole opens up in the middle of the playground and swallows you whole?

“Th-That’s great, Har,” you manage, shoulders suddenly heavy with the weight of his statement. He goes back to focusing on pumping his legs, leaving you to tend to the anxiety gnawing at your insides.

Motherhood–the term stepmother seems arbitrary, given that Harris’s biological mother has all but dropped off of the face of the Earth–is a terrifying prospect. Any time you try to explain your fears, people just shrug them off, claiming that you’d be a ‘natural,’ that your years of teaching would ultimately ‘pay off’ when you had children of your own. As if teaching and parenting were remotely the same.

To you, the differences are as clear as day. When you’re a parent, there’s no ‘clocking out.’ Your obligations don’t begin at 9 AM and end at 2 PM; they’re twenty-four hours, seven days a week. It’s not the same thing. Not even close.

Before you became a teacher, you had to go to school and take education courses. Read your textbooks cover to cover. Had to do an internship for a semester. You’d had ample opportunities to determine whether or not it was the right job for you. Motherhood doesn’t offer that luxury: you don’t know if you’ll be a good mom until you’ve already chosen to become one.

“Ms. Sweetheart?” You jump out of your skin when you realize that Harris is slowing himself down, scuffed Reeboks scraping against the ground as he comes to a stop. “Can I get ice cream?”

You bite back a laugh. “You just had a donut, silly boy,” you remind him with a gentle ruffle to his curls, trying to keep your tone breezy, “but we can grab some sandwiches. Maybe even get one for Daddy, too?”

His lower lip quivers, making your heart lurch. “B-But–”

“And,” you interject, “we can go out for ice cream after the market. With Daddy.” You hope it’s a promise you can keep.

It was too good to be true. Deep down, you knew it, despite the fleeting victory of getting Harris to eat an actual lunch. His hands were sticky with peanut butter and jelly–you were making a mental note to reassure Eddie that, yes, some had gotten in his mouth–when you’d done the unthinkable. The unimaginable.

You hadn’t let him press the elevator button.

He howls and sinks down to the floor, knees slamming into the linoleum tile and making him scream even louder.

“Buddy, you’ve got peanut–”

“I wanted to press…the…BUTTON!” he shrieks, every minor inconvenience he’s encountered today culminating in what you can only dub the Tantrum of the Decade. The crash from the sugar rush, not going to the market when he wanted to, the lack of ice cream are represented in every fat tear rolling down his reddening cheeks, in every flail of his legs as you try to scoop him up and bring him into the elevator, in every heaving breath. He’s overtired, overwhelmed, and out of his normal routine.

Your own eyes get misty as the metal door slides shut, enclosing you in a small space that seems to shrink with each wail. The kid has the lung capacity of an Olympic swimmer, while you’re drowning in your own pity.

He’s still sobbing when you reach the third floor, and Eddie’s flying out of the room as soon as he hears the sound of his son crying. Curls disheveled from his nap, crust still at the corners of his eyes. I woke him up, you realize. Another nail in the coffin.

“Wh-What happened?” His voice is raised, not in accusation, but just to be heard over Harris yelling. “Did he get hurt?” He takes Harris from your arms, clutching him to his chest in sheer panic. Reflexively, he inspects his boy’s head, arms, and legs for bruising and blood.

You shake your head, afraid that any attempt to speak will have your voice fracturing into pieces, no better than the little boy’s meltdown.

Fortunately, Harris has no problem filling his dad in. “I–wanted–to push–the button–and–she–said–NO!!!” Each word is punctuated with a hitched breath and is angrier than the last.

Eddie looks at you, more puzzled than worried now that he knows his son is unharmed, and a visit to the emergency room is unnecessary.

“His hands were sticky from his sandwich,” you mutter, unable to make eye contact with either Munson. “Oh, um, this is yours,” you add robotically, handing him the bag containing his hoagie, now a darker shade of brown from the grease it’s soaked up. You wince at how stilted you sound, simply going through the motions, not at all like the enthusiastic presentation you’d planned on the walk back to the hotel.

“Thanks.” Not unappreciative, but far from enthusiastic, and you can’t blame him. “Let’s just, uh, let’s just get him in the room.”

The sleepiness consumes Harris after a few more arduous minutes in his dad’s embrace. Eddie rubs circles on his back to calm him down, tiny shh sounds passing through his teeth. Harris begins to catch his breath; hiccups like aftershocks ricochet in his chest, gradually subsiding into soft snores.

“Jesus,” Eddie whispers as he gingerly places him onto the unmade bed, still warm from where he was lying just moments earlier, “that was one hell of a wake-up call.”

You speak at the same volume as him, though you don’t even have to try. Shame buries your voice deep in your diaphragm. “I’m so sorry.” Your right incisor digs into your lower lip as emotion ravishes you. The absence of Harris’s tantruming creates a loud silence that neither of you have the energy to fill.

“I could say the same to you,” Eddie says with a soft chuckle, taking your hand and squeezing it tight as he sits down on your bed. “His meltdowns are no joke.”

“I should’ve just let him press the damn button.” You’re only half-serious, but your stomach sinks when Eddie says nothing; instead, he carefully unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite. A glob of mustard lands on the parchment paper with a soft plop.

He doesn’t disagree. You made a mistake—two mistakes, if you’re counting the donut fiasco—and Eddie saw it. Saw that you’d failed.

“Did you get enough rest?” It’s a feeble attempt to change the subject, and you both know it, but you go for it anyway.

He lets his knee knock into yours. “Never enough, Sweetheart,” he says with a smile, wiping his lips with the flimsy deli napkin. “But, yeah, I got some sleep.” He leans in and murmurs in your ear, “Would’ve been better with you next to me, though.”

You turn so that your nose brushes his. “If I was laying next to you, you wouldn’t be able to sleep,” you quip, stifling your laughter when he takes your cheeks in his hands and smacks a kiss to your lips.

“I would be a perfect gentleman.” He stretches and exposes the happy trail below his navel. “My eyes are up here,” he teases, catching you checking him out. “And you were worried about me.”

The dynamic shifts back to playful and lighthearted, his joke chipping away at the tension that’s been weighing you down.

“Shut up and eat your sandwich, Munson.”

“Yes, dear.”

You’ve showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes, jeans replacing the ratty sweatpants you’d donned earlier. You’d tried to wash the day’s stress down the drain along with the eucalyptus-scented soap suds, and though you don’t feel completely recharged, you’re ready enough to tackle the market.

Still, you can’t stop yourself from murmuring to Eddie, “d’you want me to stay here with Harris? Just in case it’s too much for him?”

He considers it for a moment before shaking his head, shrugging on his denim jacket. “Nah, he got his nap. Should be fine.”

The little boy in question slips one hand into yours and looks up at you with a grin. Eddie had talked to him earlier, reminded him about expressing himself in ways that didn’t hurt people–or their ears–and Harris apologized tearily. All is forgiven; at least between you and him. You still feel an uneasiness with Eddie, though it may be one-sided, as he’d quietly lamented that you two couldn’t shower together.

“We’re goin’ to the market! We’re goin’ to the market!” Harris chants, shuffling on the balls of his feet in a little dance. “Ms. Sweetheart, guess what?”

“What?”

“WE’RE GOIN’ TO THE MARKET!”

“Shocking,” Eddie mutters under his breath, a wry smile on his lips, and you use your free hand to swat at his stomach. “Okay,” he pats the wallet in the side pocket of his jeans, “got the company card, keys, handsome son, beautiful girlfriend…” He glances around the room; this time, he’s either unaware of his slip-up or is unbothered by Harris knowing your relationship status. “Looks like we’re good to go!”

The car ride isn’t too long; it’s only about a ten minute drive before you reach the market. And since you’d remembered to let Harris press the elevator button, it didn’t feel endless.

“Now, Harris,” Eddie says as his son climbs out of the car, hopping onto the parking lot pavement, “the market’s gonna be busy–”

“I know!”

“--so you have to hold my hand, or Ms. Sweetheart’s hand–”

“I know!”

“--the whole time. Got it?”

“Yes!” He’s far too exasperated for a five-year-old, and you have to bite your cheek to keep from laughing. “Can we go in now?”

Eddie obliges and takes Harris’s right hand; you take his left, the three of you walking towards the gigantic building together.

You’d figured it would be crowded, but you’re unprepared for just how overstimulated your senses become upon entering. Vendors shout advertisements for their booths, beckoning potential customers to check out their wares. Snippets of different conversations infiltrate your ears, and you swallow hard to clear your head, though the grainy muzak pumping through the overhead speakers doesn't help.

Immediately, you spot a booth selling secondhand books, and you look at Eddie with a hopeful gaze.

“Go,” he motions with a smile, laughing when you all but skip off to the stack of novels. You don’t want to take too long, as neither Munson has the patience to wait while you peruse your options. A weathered paperback copy of The Grapes of Wrath catches your eye, some pages dog-eared and smelling faintly of stale smoke, and you fish out two quarters from the bottom of your bag and place them in the vendor’s hand.

“Okay,” you breathe when you get back to Eddie and Harris, overwhelmed just by the short walk. You grip Harris’s hand even tighter, all-too protective of him in such a crowded space. “Let’s go get some records!”

Eddie finds a variety of vinyls that he knows will sell at Rock Records—from older classics like Louis Armstrong, Etta James, and Buddy Holly, to more recent gems from Van Halen, Queen, and Michael Jackson.

“Babe, check this out!” he announces gleefully, showing off a copy of Metallica’s Ride the Lightning. “I must’ve listened to this a hundred times when it was released in ‘84.” His enthusiasm is palpable, and you have to wonder if this purchase is for the store or for himself.

To his credit, Harris lasts a full twenty-five minutes before he starts asking for ice cream again. “You promised, renember?”

Eddie grins at him, then at you. “A promise, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “Can’t break that.”

“I think I saw a booth down there that’s sellIng some.” It’s a local shop, and you know one cone will probably cost more than a half-gallon at the grocery store, but you’ll risk the upcharge if it means avoiding a second meltdown today.

“I’ll be right there,” Eddie tells you, eyes flitting back towards a row of booths you’d passed by earlier. “Just get me something with chocolate?”

“What’s the magic word?” Harris interjects.

“Please.” He lays it on thick, throwing you a wink before turning around.

You grab a $5 bill from your back pocket, change from when you’d bought the sandwiches earlier, and approach the ice cream stand.

“Can I please get one cherry chip cone, one chocolate fudge cone, and…what do you want, Har?”

“That!” He points to a giant display of model cars displayed in front of a toy vendor’s booth. “I want the orange one!”

“We can look after,” you reassure him. “First, you have to pick the ice cream flavor you want.”

“Hmm,” he presses on tiptoes to peruse his options before pressing his forefinger to the glass, pointing to cookies ‘n cream, declaring, “that one!”

The vendor hands him his cone, then turns to you and confirms, “just the three cones?”

“Mhm.”

She punches some numbers into the register, expression far too serious for the gig. “That'll be $6.”

Exhaling, you hand her the bill in your palm. There’s no way the stodgy woman is going to cut you a break for the extra dollar. “Give me a sec; I should have a single in my wallet.” You let go of Harris’s hand, fumbling around in your bag until you pull out what you’ve been searching for.

The vendor takes your money and hands you the remaining two cones, already starting to melt with all of the body heat surrounding you.

“Thank you,” you say with a polite smile. “Okay, Har, let’s—” Your blood runs cold when you realize he’s nowhere to be found. “Harris!” you call out, voice shaking on the last syllable, unable to hide how frantic you feel. “Harris!”

Eddie, already on his way from his earlier errand, runs over to you. “Where’s—”

“He was just here!” You push your way through the crowd, accidentally brushing your scoop of cherry chip along someone’s jacket, but there’s no time to apologize.

You and Eddie take turns yelling out his name, bile rising in your throats with each unanswered shout, until you hear somebody ask, “is that your mommy and daddy calling for you?”

Both your and Eddie’s heads swivel towards the conversation, breathing identical sighs of relief when you see the familiar mop of curls in front of the toy car display.

“Oh, thank God.” It comes out in one breath, your chest deflating as you and Eddie rush towards him.

“Harris, what are you doing?” Eddie admonishes him, heart still racing as the surge of adrenaline tapers off. He picks him up, fingers digging into the shirt fabric as he holds him as close as possible, and presses a kiss to his scalp. There will be some sort of consequence later–revoking TV time and a lecture on stranger danger–but for now, there’s only the comfort of knowing he’s safe.

“I just wanted to see the cars,” Harris protests, trying and failing to wriggle from Eddie’s grip. “Can I get the orange one?”

Eddie huffs out an incredulous laugh, astounded that Harris doesn’t understand the seriousness of his actions. “No, you can’t!” he yells, attracting unwanted attention from other shoppers, “and you can’t wander off like that! I told you that you have to stay with one of us the whole time!” He flexes his palm before clenching it into a frustrated fist. “What were you thinking?”

Harris’s eyes fill with tears. “I j-just wanted to s-see them,” he tries again, taken aback by the anger in his dad’s voice. “An’ Ms. Sweetheart was right there!”

The mention of your nickname reminds Eddie of the other adult involved. “You were supposed to be watching him,” he spits, gritting his teeth to keep from raising his voice at you.

You wince at his tone, filled with venom for the first time since his comment about Grandma forgetting you all those months ago. The difference is that, now, you deserve it. Letting go of his hand was careless; at the very least, you should have reminded him to stay put. The early morning donut, the elevator button were menial indiscretions compared to this mistake. There’s no denying that you’d royally messed up.

“I’m so sorry.” Sorry for not keeping a closer eye on Harris. Sorry for waking him up from his nap via a screaming child. Sorry for waltzing into their lives and thinking you had a snowball’s chance in Hell of being a decent parent. The ice cream drips down the cones and onto your hands, pooling in the crevices between your fingers. You dump them in the nearest trash can, neither of you hungry anymore.

You can’t return to the hotel soon enough, and as soon as Eddie puts an episode of Rugrats on TV for Harris, you begin inconspicuously packing your collecting your toiletries from the bathroom to back in your luggage.

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asks from the doorway. He’s got his arms folded across his chest, perplexion wrinkling his brows.

“Going home.”

He presses his forefinger and thumb to his eyelids and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like–”

“No,” you interrupt him, choking down your frustration, “you were right. You trusted me to watch him, and I didn’t.”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie steps forward and puts out a hand to stop you from grabbing your toothbrush, “it was an accident. Things happen in a split second, yeah?” He thinks back to the way Harris had tumbled off of the bed months ago. “We found him, and that’s what matters.”

He’s trying to comfort you, which somehow makes you feel worse. You lost his kid, but he’s focusing on making you feel better.

The next words out of your mouth shatter his heart into pieces: “I think it would be better for everyone if I leave.”

A small puff of air escapes his nostrils, unsurprised but hurt nonetheless. “‘S too much for you, isn’t it?” he mumbles, not even daring to glance in your direction as he says it.

He knows. He knows that you aren’t cut out for this, that you’ll never be the mom Harris needs or deserves. In his own words, he knows it’s too much for you.

You say nothing in return, and your silence is louder than the cartoon squabble just a few feet away.

“Fine, just…just go, then.” He slams one palm on the bathroom sink, the other raking through his hair so forcefully that a few strands come loose. “God, I need a fucking cigarette!” he mutters, jaw clenched.

“I’m so sorry.” It’s all you can think to say. You’ll repeat it over and over again if it rectifies the situation.

“Yeah, whatever.” He starts to leave the room, not even turning back around to say, “I’ll tell Harris you’re not feeling well.” He wants to ask you to call the hotel room when you get home but bites back the request. That’s something one partner asks of another, and you aren’t partners anymore, he realizes bitterly, and it’s his fault. He’d put the responsibility of parenthood on you far too quickly.

He could have insisted that Harris stay and nap with him rather than letting him go to the park. He could have kept Harris by his side while you got the ice cream, or the three of you could have gone together. Instead, he’d just assumed that this was a role you had no qualms about taking on. In his eagerness to build this little family, he’d squandered the foundation before it had even set.

Eddie watches as you walk away, the words wait and don’t go and we can figure this out lurking behind his molars, but he remains silent.

When the door slams behind you, he bites on his thumb. Go after her, some part of him—his conscience, maybe—nags, but he pushes the thought away. He can’t ask you to stick around and be a mom to his son if it isn't truly what you want to do.

He removes his finger from between his teeth and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, temporarily confused when he’s met with some resistance. The tiny brown paper bag crinkles as his fingers make contact with it, and he pulls it out dejectedly.

He’d spotted the necklace while scavenging for record vendors and made a mental note to return to it when you weren’t there to see. A tiny metal heart on a chain that he’d planned to give to you at the end of the trip. It was the reason he’d left you alone with Harris; he’d wanted it to be a surprise.

“Well, that was a fuckin’ waste,” Eddie says to no one in particular, shoving it back in the confines of his pocket. He sits next to Harris, hoping Tommy Pickles’ shenanigans will melt his brain for just a few moments.

The next bus to Hawkins pulled up thirty minutes after your cab arrived at the station. It was the only way to get home, and an embarrassingly large part of you hoped that Eddie and Harris would swing by, enveloping you in a tight hug and promising you that you’re doing a great job. That you’re enough.

That moment remains a daydream, one that replays over and over as you lean your head against the window. It’s all highway from here to your small town, close to three hours on the road because of the intermediate stops, but you’re in no hurry to return. If it hurts now, you can’t imagine the pain when the loneliness sets in.

Of course Eddie wasn’t coming to rescue you; you’d let him down right when he’d needed you. It was all so superficial on your end, thinking that you could be a mother just because you’d taught Harris how to read and have dinner with him and his dad once a week.

Wallowing in pity is too indulgent, too pathetic, but you can’t keep from berating yourself. You’re a preschool teacher; how hard is it to remember to hold a kid’s hand?

Tears slip down your cheeks involuntarily and you swipe at them before your seat partner can notice. The last thing you need is to strike up an emotional conversation with a complete stranger.

And what is it with you and crying today? Getting choked up when Eddie had pointed out the donut mistake, feeling like you were going to have a meltdown alongside Harris, and now this? It’s like you have an endless supply of tears.

The most likely culprit is your run-of-the-mill PMS; you can always count on being overly sensitive on those select few days. You open your bag and take out the pocket calendar where you keep track of important appointments and dates, including your periods.

Today’s April 26. You flip back to March, rifling through the pages until you see that the first day of your last period was the twentieth.

You’re almost a full week late.

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waitimcomingtoo · 2 years

Text

A Sweet Boy Like Me

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: when Peter gets hit with a truth serum on a mission, he tells you more then he means to

Masterlist

GIF by imtoohot-hotbam-blog

“FRIDAY, what’s the status on the jet?” You asked out loud as you ate your cereal. A minor cold had benched you while the rest of the Avengers went on a mission in the Amazon. You’d been by yourself for nearly a week now and were needing some company.

“The jet should be touching down on the landing pad any minute.” FRIDAY answered you.

“Thank you.” You called back. You finished the rest of your breakfast and by the time you put your bowl in the sink with the rest of your dirty dishes, you heard footsteps in the main entrance. You tried to hide your excitement as you went out to greet the team. You saw all the Avengers standing in the middle of the room looking utterly exhausted except for Peter, who had a huge smile on his face.

“Hey guys. How was the mission?”

“Great rack. Truly immaculate rack.” Peter said and gave you a double thumbs up.

“Oh. What?” You smiled awkwardly and looked at Tony for an explanation. The team looked at each other, no one wanting to be the person that told you what happened. You frowned and folded your arms, looking at each of them until they caved.

“Okay, fine. I’ll tell her.” Tony sighed. “Long story short, Peter got drugged.”

“What?” You gasped and looked at Peter again.

“I have a stinky in my brown hole.” He told you.

“He’s got a what in his what?” You asked the team.

“He has to shit. It’s all he’s been talking about for the 4 hour plane ride back here.” Sam groaned and went to take a seat on the couch.

“Oh my god. Ew. Brown hole?” You looked at Peter in disgust.

“Yessir.” Peter smiled and gave you another double thumbs up.

“Why is it brown? And wait, hold on, why is he on drugs?” You asked again.

“He got hit with a tranquilizer. In the neck.” Steve told you.

“See?” Peter smiled proudly and turned his head to the side. On his neck, you could see a massive red bump that looked like it was about to explode.

“JESUS FUCKING-“ You screamed but everyone on the team quickly motioned for you to stop.

“I mean, it doesn’t look that bad.” You quickly lied.

“Thank you. That’s what I said.” Peter laughed and touched his neck bump. It jiggled under his finger and you turned to the side to gag a little.

“My neck grew a boob.” Peter laughed and poked it again. You covered your mouth with your hand and looked to Tony for answers.

“How did he get drugged exactly?” You asked.

“Well long story short-“

“No. Enough with the long story short. I need to know how this happened. Give me the long story long.”

“I’ll give you the long.” Peter said and looked directly at you. You gave him a strange look as he attempted to wink at you. He ended up using both eyes and just gave you a slow blink.

“Oh my God.” You grimaced and looked away from him.

“Yeah, about that. When he wasn’t talking about having to poop, he spent the last four hours telling me he wanted to put you in 70 positions for 7 minutes.” Shang Chi told you.

“What? Do you mean 7 positions for 70 minutes?” You laughed and eyed Peter curiously.

“No. 70 positions in 7 minutes.” Peter clarified.

“But that’s like…10 positions every minute. That’s not even possible.” You said to Peter.

“Everything is possible when you’re a sweet boy like me.” Peter smiled and did a little spin.

“I’m sorry, what?” You asked the team as you pointed to Peter.

“Friendly reminder that I still have to poop. Just hoping we can circle back to that soon.” Peter announced and moved his hand in a circular motion.

“Go poop. I need to talk to Mr. Stark.” You told him.

“Okay baby.” Peter smiled sweetly at you.

“Don’t call me baby.”

“Okay honey.”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Okay princess butter buns.”

“Oh my God. That one was just…I don’t even know how to describe that one. Just stop talking and go poop.” You sighed and covered your face with your hands.

“Okay!” Peter clapped his hands before running to the bathroom.

“So what happened?” You asked the team once Peter was gone.

“Long story short-“ Tony began.

“Don’t.” You pointed at him.

“Right. Sorry. Basically, the mission was going super well and we were almost done but then Peter decided he needed to fart while we were in this metal kind of room and it smelled horrible so naturally we both start coughing and gagging, meanwhile the sound of the fart is still echoing off the walls of the metal room. They guards caught him and I about to pass out from his truly lethal fart so we started to run away but they shot him in the neck with a tranquilizer dart. Now he’s cracked out and probably leaving skid marks in one of my toilets.” Tony told you. You were stunned to silence as you mentally pictured everything Tony had just described. You looked behind you at the bathroom that Peter was in before looking back at the team.

“I kinda wish I just left it at the short version.” You admitted.

“As do I.” Tony sighed.

“So wait, what was he talking about on the jet? Other than having to shit, at least. He wants to do what with me?”

“Well it’s no secret that the boy wonder has romantical feelings for you. I think whatever was in the tranquilizer dart loosened him up and now he’s saying everything on his mind. No filter.” Tony explained.

“So basically…” You trailed off as you put it together.

“He wants to fuck.” Tony said, unamused. “I had to listen to him tell me he wanted to fuck you for four hours. In row. My only break from that being when he told me he was about to shit his pants.”

“This is my fault. I saw him drinking regular milk this morning and didn’t stop him. He said he’s be fine.” You chewed your bottom lip and looked at the bathroom that Peter was in.

“Clearly he wasn’t. Because whatever came out of his ass back there on that mission smelled like the inside of a mongoose.” Tony sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“That was a really specific animal to say.” You frowned.

“Mongoose are opportunistic feeders. They eat everything from plants to small birds. Therefore, I imagine their insides smell really bad.” Tony shrugged as he explained his choices.

“How do you know so much about mongooses?�� You asked him. “I don’t even know what they look like.”

“That’s so true. What the fuck is a mongoose?” Sam asked the team.

“They’re in the weasel family.” Bruce explained.

“So is Bucky.” Sam snorted.

“Can anybody tell me what a mongoose actually is?” You groaned.

“It’s a goose that’s mon.” Shang chi shrugged.

“But what’s mon?” Natasha asked.

“It’s the abbreviation of Monday.” Bucky said and everyone nodded in agreement.

“So mongeese are just regular geese but on Mondays?” You asked and everyone stopped to think about this.

“Wait, is it mongooses or mongeese?” Natasha wondered.

“I thinks it’s mongooses’s.” Sam answered.

“No. That doesn’t sound right.” Steve shook his head. Everyone started to talk over each other as they debated the correct plural use of the word “mongoose” while others debated what kind of animal a mongoose even was.

“Oh my God. Does it fucking matter?” Tony asked loudly, making everyone go silent.

“Jesus Christ. That was the single most infuriating conversation I’ve ever been apart of. It can be mongooses or mongeese. But it doesn’t matter. Because none of you are ever gonna need to use the plural of mongoose in a sentence. So everybody just shut up!” Tony continued. Everyone looked down in shame and Tony let out a little groan.

“You guys drive me to drink.” He said and rubbed his face again.

“I’m done!” Peter called from the bathroom suddenly.

“Congratulations! Do you want someone to come in there and wipe your ass?” Sam shouted back to humor Peter.

“That would be nice!”

“Okay. Bucky will be right there.” Sam shouted again and pushed Bucky towards the bathroom.

“I’m gonna kill your parents.” Bucky wiped around and pointed a small knife at Sam’s throat.

“Damn.” Sam backed up. “Why does every reaction from you have to be so hostile? You did the same thing when I stepped on the back of your shoe the other day.”

“You gave me a flat tire. I had to stop walking and fix my shoe. I hate doing that!” Bucky said through gritted teeth.

“Y’all, who fed Bucky after midnight?” Sam asked in annoyance. “You know he gets crabby when his blood sugar is too high.”

“I swear if I spend one more second with you people, I’m gonna do a swan dive off the top of this tower.” Tony interrupted their conversation.

“You should do a flip.” Sam said seriously, making Tony stare at him for a long time.

“Or a backflip.” Bucky added after a beat of silence.

“Is anyone coming to help me?” Peter called from the bathroom before Tony could retaliate.

“Jesus Christ. I’m gonna go check on him.” You groaned and went over to the bathroom. You knocked on the door a few times and Peter opened it up, still wearing his suit.

“Hey pretty lady.” He said slyly and leaned against the doorframe.

“Hey. How’s it going in there?”

“Pretty good. Do you ever look at the shit you just took and think that that’s the biggest size dick you could take? Like, up your butt?” Peter asked you in a genuine manner. You shut your eyes and slowly sat down on the ground in complete silence. Peter watched you curiously as you buried your face in your hands.

“What’s wrong?” Peter wondered. You stayed silent and kept your head down in your hands, refusing to look at him.

“Was it something I said?” Peter asked again.

“Yes. It was. Never say anything that you just said again.”

“Okay.” Peter shrugged and sat down next to you. He looked at you for a minute before taking your face in his hands and pressing your foreheads together. He scrunched his nose while letting out a strained groan as if he was trying to push something out of his body.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to read your mind to see if you like me back.” Peter said and strained himself again.

“I really hope you washed your hands.” You grimaced but let him hold your face for another minute.

“I did. Wanna smell?” Peter didn’t wait for an answer and held his fingers up to your nose.

“Okay. Sea Island Cotten. At least they’re clean.”

“They don’t have to be.” Peter said and slowly winked at you.

“Don’t do that. Why did you wink like that? Don’t ever do that again.”

“Okay.” He said with an ever slower wink.

“Wait, did you put your suit back on after going to the bathroom? Why would you do that?” You asked when he noticed what he was wearing.

“Oh. I don’t know.” Peter shrugged and looked down at his suit. He stood up and pressed the button in the center of his suit, allowing it to slip off and look around his ankles. He stepped out of it and folded it, leaving him in just his boxers. You stared at him with a dropped jaw for a moment, always taken aback when you were reminded what kind of body Peter had under his clothes. Peter noticed you staring at him and looked down at his body.

"What’s wrong? Are you stunned to silence over my sexy body?” Peter asked with genuine concern.

“Honestly, yeah. That’s exactly what’s happening here.” You admitted.

“One time you twisted in your chair to crack your back and your shirt rode up a little and I said your bare right hip and the upper part of your side and I think about that all the time.” Peter told you.

“Oh?”

“Another time you were bent over and I didn’t see you and you stood up when I was right behind you and your butt touched my penial area and I had to go lay down.”

“Penial area?” You whispered to yourself.

“Sometimes I think that I’m in love with you.” Peter continued. Your eyes flew open and you couldn’t help the smile that broke out on your face. You quickly wiped the smile off and stood up.

“Okay. Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” You asked and started to bring Peter towards his bedroom.

“Can you lay with me?” Peter whined and buried his head in your neck.

“Yeah. Just for a little while. You need someone to take care of you.” You smiled shyly at his action.

“I do. I also need someone to hold my hand and kiss me and sleep in my bed and hold me and play with my hair-“

“Okay-“ You tried to interrupt.

“-and tell me when my breath smells and send me good mornings texts and tell me they love me and-“

“Okay. I get it. You want a girlfriend.” You finally cut him off.

“I do! You’re so smart. You should be my girlfriend.” Peter insisted as you went into his bedroom together. He took you by both of your hands and led you towards his bed.

“Do you know what you’re saying right now?” You asked through a nervous laugh. You wanted to believe he was beige serious, but you knew it was probably just the drugs talking.

“Of course I do. I’m saying that I have feelings for you and I want you to be my girlfriend.” Peter said as if it were the most simple thing in the world.

“Oh.” You gulped and felt your heart skip a beat. Peter went over to his pajama drawer and pulled on some flurry pink Hello Kitty okays but stayed shirtless.

“I’m also saying that I’m comfortable pining after you and continuing our friendship but if you ever wanted more then I want that too.” Peter told you as he stepped into his pants.

“I feel the same way.” You admitted before you realized what you were saying. You just got so excited that he had perfectly described your feelings that you didn’t think about the consequences.

“You do?” Peter asked hopefully.

“Yeah. I do.”

“Can you tell me that again when I’m not coked out on tranquilizer?” Peter asked as he climbed into his bed. You bent down beside his bed and brushed his hair off his forehead.

“I don’t know. Maybe. If I’m feeling brave.” You said as you continued you play with his hair in the way you knew he liked.

“I hope you feel brave.” Peter sighed happily and rested his head down on his pillow. You stroked his hair until his eyes slowly fluttered shut and his breathing slowed. Once you thought he was asleep, you stood up and went to leave. Peter sat up suddenly and caught your wrist.

“Please kiss me.” He said in the softest tone you’d ever heard from him. You smiled at the request but shook your head.

“I can’t. You’re high.”

“And you’re hello. Now kiss me.” He smiled and tugged you closer.

“That’s not what I meant.” You chuckled and knelt down beside him again.

“What did you mean?”

“I mean you don’t actually want me to kiss you. You’re just high and confused.” You reminded him.

“Yeah. But I’m high and confused and in need of a kiss from a pretty girl.” He pointed and cupped your chin between his fingers.

“You think I’m pretty?” You asked as a smile tugged at your lips.

“You don’t?” Peter scoffed, making your smile grow. When he saw that he was winning you over, he got the courage to go on. He sat up a little more in his bed and tilted your face towards his.

“I think I could stare at you for 7 minutes and find 70 things I love about your face.” He said softly as he stared at your lips.

“That’s like 10 things every minute.” You replied, eyes on his lips as well.

“Just 10? Then nah, I could find way more.” He insisted.

“Were you just surprised that 70 divided by 7 is 10?” You laughed softly.

“No but every time I remember 8 times 7 is 59 I get a stabbing pain in my side.” Peter replied seriously.

“8 times 7 is 56. Not 59.”

“Gross. That’s way worse.” Peter scrunched his nose. You laughed at him before looking at him skeptically.

“Do you actually like me or are you just on drugs?”

“I can be both on drugs and like you at the same time. The two can coexist.” Peter said simply.

“So how come you never told me before now?”

“Being in love with your best friend is not the easiest thing in the world to talk about.” Peter said a little sadly.

“Yeah. I know the feeling.” You smiled softly. Peter studied your face for a moment before pressing his forehead against yours again.

“You’re my best friend. You’re the number one person I want to talk to about having a crush. But you are my crush. So I kept it inside. Until some guys shot my neck with a tranquilizer dart and all my inside thoughts splooshed out.”

“Well I’m happy they splooshed out. I’m glad I know now.”

“You are?”

“I am. Because I like you too.”

“You do? Even with my fat neck?”

“Even with your fat neck.” You chuckled.

“So kiss me.” He whined.

“I can’t.” You whined back. “Not until you’re sober.”

“Why?” He groaned and flopped back down on his pillow.

“Because want to be sober enough to remember our first kiss, don’t you?”

“Yeah. You’re right. As always.” He sighed and pulled his covers up to his chin. You smiled softly before leaving down to kiss his forehead.

“Maybe tomorrow.” You whispered against his skin.

“Really? Tomorrow you think?” He asked in excitement.

“I said maybe.” You said pointedly. “Only if I’m feeling brave.”

“Okay. Then I hope you feel brave tomorrow.” Peter smiled in satisfaction and snuggled into his covers. You went to leave again but Peter took your hand.

“Stay with me?” He asked in a way that made it impossible to say no. You playfully rolled your eyes but got into the bed. Peter smiled in satisfaction and wrapped your arms around himself so that you were spooning him. You gave into his desire and held him tightly as you made sure to avoid the swollen lump on his neck.

You soon fell asleep and ending up sleeping through the night. When you woke up the next morning, you and Peter were still tangled together. You sat up and stretched, accidentally waking Peter up as well. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, his hair sticking up in every direction. You laughed a little at the sight of his bed head before noticing the swelling on his neck had gone down and all he had was a bruise.

“Hey, your neck is skinny again.” You said and gently touched his neck.

“Thank God.” He sighed.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I was inside a mongoose.” Peter groaned and rubbed his face.

“How does every body know what a fucking mongoose is- you know what? Never mind. I don’t care anymore. And I know the feeling. I feel that way every time I listen to Somebody Else by the 1975.”

“So true. Fuck that, get money.”

“Fuck that, get money.” You nodded in agreement. Peter remembered the conversation you had before he fell asleep and looked at you, wondering if you remembered it too.

“What about you? How do you feel?” Peter asked coyly. You looked into his eyes and knew exactly what he was thinking about.

“Brave.”

“Brave? What the hell does that mean?” Peter asked you. Peter watched your face fall and immediately felt bad for the joke.

“I’m totally kidding. I remember. Kiss me.” He laughed and slipped a hand behind your head to pull you into a kiss. You leaned in and kissed Peter back, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his messy bed hair. Peter pulled you into his lap so that he could deepen the kiss. You made out on his bed for a minute until you were interrupted by Tony opening the door.

“Hey guys, did you want -stop screaming it’s just me- did you want pancakes?”

Tony asked. “Because I made way too many again. The entire kitchen is covered in stacks. Literally every surface in the kitchen has a comically large stack of pancakes on it.”

“Ugh. Why do you keep doing that?” You asked him for the millionth time.

“Because it makes me feel like fancy little rich bitch to use an entire cartoon of eggs on a single making of pancakes, okay? Happy now?” Tony snapped back.

“Yes. We’ll be down in a minute.” You mumbled in embarrassment.

“Cool. Try not to swallow each other.” Tony snorted before closing the door. You and Peter sat in awkward silence for a minute before looking at each other. You broke the tension by holding out your hand for him to take. Peter smile and slipped his fingers between yours before kissing the back of your hand.

“What do you say? Do you want to go get some pancakes?” You asked him.

“Does a mongoose have an immunity to snake venom?” Peter asked like it was obvious.

“I have no fucking idea.”

Peter laughed and leaned in to kiss you one last time before getting off the bed.

“Yes, they do. Now come on. Let’s go get some pancakes.”

Tag List 🏷️

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfic #peter parker x avengers!reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker x you #peter parker x Y/n #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland x y/n

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saleeba · 6 months

Text

fool ; jude bellingham

summary ♡ betting on the phenomenon of unrequited feelings, you and jude have never dared to make the first move with the other until a reunion forces new questions to be answered.

pairing ♡ jude bellingham x fem!reader

content ♡ 18+, smut, friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, cursing, kissing, both jude & reader are pining idiots, fingering, p in v sex, marking, missionary, unprotected sex (jude pulls out but still pls practise safe sex!!)

a/n ♡ she's baaaack :D but first☝🏽alexa play fool by nct 127 !!!! the lyric "you’re a goddess but i’m a fool, what should i do?" was written for this fic in particular i just know it was :] anyway hehe this fic is based off this request so tysmm to anon for sending such an exciting prompt !! i hope yous enjoy 🫶🏽💗 WAIT P.S this isn’t proofread bc i lowkey am not rocking with it so i didn’t wanna put myself thru having to read it again & again … im sorry for any mistakes :’)

you had just gotten off work to a stream of relentless texts from your best friends’ groupchat — phone pinging off the rails whilst you were on shift, muffled buzzes from your bag making you wonder what on earth was worth blowing up in that whatsapp group on a random friday afternoon.

on the train back home, you tap open the green app, anticipating yourself easily spending the entire journey catching up on the three hundred-plus texts from your closest mates. you decide to start right from the beginning of the influx, thumb scrolling nonstop and eyes blurring from the rapid movement until they focus back on the screen where you stop, finally having reached the destination of the first text that set it all off.

it was from none other than jude bellingham, and you were nearly embarrassed by the way your face instantly lit up upon reading his message. the groupchat’s golden boy had popped up after weeks of minimal contact, asking if he could take everyone for a night out tomorrow to make up for it, stating that he finally has some small gaps of free time between hectic pre-season schedules to allow him to do so.

it honestly warmed your heart that the first thing he wants away from football is to see you all. you’d been a band of good friends since the first year of secondary school, contact not necessarily strained as you all had a lot of love for each other but rather unspokenly reduced after leaving school two years ago and falling into busy university or career ventures.

instead of scrolling through to read and react to the plethora of follow-up texts after his, you ignore them and jump straight to typing your reply to his invitation, casting aside that nagging voice asking you: doesn’t that seem too desperate?

no, right? i’m just accepting his invitation, getting straight to the point, the convo ended half an hour ago anyway. you’re arguing with yourself now, feeling the need to give unnecessary excuses to nonexistent accusations. if you were to be honest with yourself, you were always self-conscious of the way you behaved around jude, even now debating on whether to add your signature heart emoji or if it’d come across as you trying too hard given your feelings for him; albeit them being feelings that no one knows about, not even him. you made sure for it to be that way.

with a mental note to get over yourself, you send an affirmative ‘i’m up for it!’, signature heart included, and quickly shut off your phone. heart beating so rapidly, you scolded yourself for getting so worked up over a mere reply and for definitely not getting over yourself. god knows how you’re going to handle seeing him in person.

a sudden double buzz from your device does nothing to calm you down, instead dampening your hands with sweat when you grab it and see a pair of messages from him.

jude 🌟: heyy i’m so glad you can make it tomorrow :)

jude 🌟: can’t wait to see you!! ❤❤

he had messaged you separately for some reason and he had included two hearts… the overthinking starts for you again, without even beginning to think about what to reply this time, and you question why he couldn’t have just replied to you in the groupchat or why he couldn’t have just left the end of the messages with a ‘x’ like he usually does or why he would even say what he said in the last message. mind frantic and unable to clear itself, you thank yourself for having your read receipts turned off so you can have your mini meltdown without worrying about jude knowing you’d seen his messages multiple minutes ago. god, you were down so bad.

you force yourself to open the messages app and send the most casual reply you can type.

you: can’t wait to see you too! ❤

you try to keep it short, sweet and nonchalant even if your fingers are itching to type more – more about how much you had missed him, more about what he was planning to wear tomorrow night so that maybe you could match your own outfit with him, more about your true, unfiltered feelings for him. it’s pathetic really; you hadn’t seen him in two years and the first thing you wanted to do was throw yourself at him, spilling all the secrets you’d been holding close for so many years. you leave it at that, put your phone on do not disturb mode and head on home, waiting for the long hours of friday evening to pass and saturday night to arrive.

***

and so saturday night rolls around and you just about finish touching up your makeup and smoothing out your dark blue dress before the doorbell rings, and you’re whisked away to the club by a couple of your girlfriends.

as soon as you step your high heels into the building, you’re met with the sight of flowing booze and the noise of noughties r&b beats bouncing around the brightly lit walls. dragged by the hands of your friends, you find yourself standing next to a booth at the back of the club, the rest of the group now welcoming you latecomers with a loud cheer.

“finally, girls. you took your time!” one of your male friends remarks, ushering you all to sit down.

“oh god, what have we missed?” you beam, trying to scan the group amongst the strobing lights to catch a glimpse of the person you were really there for.

“nah, you’re just in time because… first round’s on mister madrid!”

the callout breaks your friend group into a raucous holler as your gaze fixes onto the six foot-one footballer who stands up with an amused grin and a sigh of feigned defeat. your heart quickens and your smile turns into a state of near disbelief over how good jude looks right now – graphic white t-shirt hugging his biceps in all the right places and hanging over a pair of smart-casual black trousers.

“yeah, yeah, anything for my groupies,” he winks at no one in particular but your brain almost convinces you that he was looking at you while doing it. you send a shy smile his way just in case but what he says next has your mouth running dry. “help us out, will ya, y/n?”

you hesitate for a second too long for your liking, stumbling over your words while your friends peer at you. “uh… uh-huh, yeah, of course.” you answer as quick as you can, standing up on your feet slowly as to not trip over your now-shaking legs and send yourself flying into jude, and to avoid embarrassing yourself more than you think you already have.

he responds with a grateful smile and you follow him to the bar where he places an order for a round of drinks and some shots to be delivered to the group by the two of you. there’s an odd unfamiliarity to the silence between you both and you realise that you aren’t normally this quiet around jude, and neither is he around you; you would always joke that he’d be eligible to talk for england if he wasn’t already playing football for them. he’d retort with a comment about how his ears could almost fall off with the amount of chatting you do, and you’d dryly reply with a ‘well, they’re too big for your head anyway. look at the size of them!’ the pair of you were always as thick as thieves in the eyes of everyone else. which is why you didn’t expect it to be like this, especially after two years of not seeing each other – there was so much you wanted to catch up on from his world and so much you wanted to share from yours. you decidedly gain some courage and take the initiative to spark some conversation, get something going at least.

“soo, how have you been, then?” you’re both facing the bar, your head barely tilting in jude’s direction to indicate that yes, it is him that you’re talking to and not some random like he assumes you are with the way you’re positioned away from him, eyes just about turning to steal a glance of his figure but not to hold eye contact. “how’s la vida española?”

jude finds amusement in your sudden flaunt of the spanish language, a smile breaking out on his face, unseen to you since he’s still facing the same direction that you are, preoccupying his eyes with the myriad of bottles on the shelves while his mind searches for an apt reply.

“yeah, it’s been great, i think i wanna stay there forever,” jude laughs, his fingers tapping on the black surface of the bar. you can’t help the selfish feeling of your heart dropping at his confession. “i miss you, though, y’know… a lot.”

this one confession forces your whole body to turn itself towards him, eyes now chasing after his to seek some form of sincerity, to see if he was just messing about or if he really meant what he just said. he shifts his head to face you now, a bashful look painted onto his features. the expectant silence says it all really; of course i mean it.

you gulp and decide to break the quietness with a sarcastic, jesting “ugh…”, jude’s face dropping at what he thinks is genuine disgust from you. you realise your attempt to denounce the awkwardness has backfired.

“oh my god, you dickhead, i’m joking,” how is it that mere moments ago you were shaking at the sheer real-life presence of him but now you’d transformed into having this confident playfulness? and all of it without a drop of alcohol in your system as well – you’re quietly proud of yourself. “i missed you too, jude… a lot.” you coyly repeat his words.

upon your turn of the confession, the bartender sets down your drink orders and the two of you wordlessly carry the trays over to where your friends are situated, the silence way more comfortable now that you’re both basking in assurance, unbeknown to the other that your hearts were racing at a hundred miles per hour.

***

not even two hours and an innumerable amount of shots later, you’re all a drunken mess; definitely not a surprise to a single one of you. what is a surprise is the way you’re strewn across jude, right leg wrapped around his left, head on his chest, swirling and sipping from what’s clearly an empty glass to any sober, sane person. you grumble and mutter a complaint about the lack of liquor in the booth, taking it upon yourself to head to the bar and order another round for everyone.

“i’ll come with you,” jude announces over the pounding of the music, standing up so quickly that his next five steps are staggered and he has to cling onto your arm to steady himself. “i’m fine, i’m okay.” he assures nobody that asked.

the two of you stumble your way into the path of the bar, determined to drink until the sun comes up and forget every strand of stress until the hangovers come knocking. jude’s soft grip on your arm has you being led in the opposite direction all of a sudden, though.

“uhm, where are we going?” you question, head still turned to where the bar is located, about to ask him if he was so hammered he couldn’t walk in a simple straight line to get to where you’d planned to go. “jude?”

he’s silent, save for humming his way to his desired destination, and you question if he even knows where he’s leading you. before you make the choice of going along with him or leaving his clearly confused self to go cop your next cocktail, you find yourself in the disabled toilets, pushed up against the sink with the door not even shut properly, gasping at how rough jude is handling your body compared to his soft touches from before, and how close his face is to yours, warm breath fanning the skin of your lips. you weren’t strictly against it all but how the hell have you ended up like this? The alcohol and the questions come at you fast, dizzying your brain but you can’t help but feel so keenly anticipative.

“i’m sorry, i just…” he pulls away from you, eyes fluttering closed so he can re-evaluate his actions, exhaling through his nose as if he was letting go of all doubts before continuing. “am i okay to do this?” he places his hands on your waist, pushing himself back into your space, his full lips more or less about to take yours. you have to refrain from letting the effects of alcohol take over your tongue and uttering back with a breathy ‘you can do whatever you want to me’.

instead, you answer with an earnest, eager nod, inviting his lips to finally do that one thing you had been dreaming of for so long, to kiss yours so silly that they’re left with the imprint of him. and jude does just that.

his mouth takes in yours so determinedly, shyness and hesitation now long-dissolved feelings for you both as your hands find home around the back of his neck, pushing his head further onto you, feeling the need to taste him more and more until you’re both consumed by each other.

it’s a messy makeout, noses bumping and teeth clashing, but it’s oh so hot, the way he gasps into your mouth from breathlessness and pleasure, running and gripping his large hands over the material adorning your waist and hips as the need to rip it off you nearly overtakes him. to you, he’s so utterly intoxicating that a gallon of alcohol would pale in comparison to how dizzy his skin on yours makes you feel.

you release a moan at the meagre thought of jude all over your body, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue over yours, filthy noises of wetness and carnality from the both of you reaching high pitch as jude somehow simultaneously pushes you against the sink and pulls you against his chest, his manhandling of you getting you even more hot and bothered before you’re both interrupted by the hub of people passing by and huddling right outside the bathroom, their self-occupied shouts and cheers dragging you out of the bubble that the two of you had wrapped yourselves in, almost sobering you up on the spot.

you push jude out of your way, gentle but abrupt, and give him a look of apologetic regret. “i-i’m sorry,” you say, jitterily walking past him and exiting the room without a second glance or word, heading straight to the booth where your friends are hollering and hurraying, occupied with shot-drinking contests.

your girlfriends offer to go home with you when you lie and tell them you’re not feeling very well, but you decline them, instead telling them to have fun on your behalf and letting them know that you’ll try to text them once you get home safely. you can tell they’re confused by your shaken state and the absence of jude but you grab your bag and make your exit before the interrogation can even begin to brew.

you manage to grab a taxi back home, surprised by how competent you are despite the alcohol in your bloodstream and confusion in your brain. on the way there, you can’t stop the bouncing of your knee nor the racing of your psyche, asking yourself how and why whatever went down with jude went down like that. you curse at yourself for being so impulsive in starting and finishing the whole ordeal with him in the way that you did – you don’t know if it’s the empty, depressive drunk thoughts or just clarity from the whole jude thing that makes you feel like there’s no coming back from this at all. you feel like crawling into your bed and never coming out from it ever again.

the taxi driver has to call for your attention multiple times until you reach earth again and pay him the journey’s fee. you go skulking all the way up to your front door, only letting out a breath that you feel like you’ve been holding since the beginning of the night once the door shuts behind you.

the rest of the night is quiet and orderly for you, telling yourself to not invite any more chaos into your brain and to simply drink some water and to go to sleep. waking up tomorrow morning is going to be painful in more ways than one.

***

you spend the rest of the weekend nursing a ferocious hangover and a frazzled heart, only contacting your friends to tell them that you got home fine and to joke that you probably need a century or two for this hangover to be gone. you thank the high heavens that they don't bring up the topic of you and jude

you try not to think too much about jude, you really do, but sunday night has a couple of taps landing you on the instagram app and you learn that he’s already back in spain, pictures of him in training sliding across your phone screen on his story along with selfies with his teammates. usually, you tap that small red heart at the bottom and hope that he sees it amongst his millions and millions of notifications, a tiny ritual of yours that now has you feeling so pathetic that you don’t dare to do it anymore.

running a hand over your weary face, you set your phone down and opt to nap the night away, finding comfort in the non-intrusion from your friends and the no contact from jude, hoping to keep yourself busy and distracted with whatever the work week brings.

a ring from the doorbell rips through your flat just as you’re organising your pillows, forcing you to stop what you’re doing and ponder who could be at the door on a sunday while the clock ticks some minutes past one o’clock. you don’t recollect ordering any food nor are you expecting a delivery, especially not this late.

trudging your way to the front door, you open it to find jude bellingham standing there and you feel an instant pang of regret, wishing you had peeked through the window to see who it could be, wishing you had pretended to not be in, wishing the ground would open up right now and swallow you whole – anything to escape the confrontation that you’re now having to face. your face heats up with embarrassment and nerves but you manage to rupture the silence before your mouth can turn dry.

“j-jude, hi,” you try and keep your greeting as polite and cordial as you can, even when all you really want to do is to chase him off your doorstep. “what are you doing here?”

your query has jude visibly gulping, hands fiddling with each other as he attempts to hold eye contact with you, his vision a bit blurry from exhaustion. “y/n… sorry, can i come in?”

you oblige, holding the door open wide before you guide him to the living room and invite him to sit down on the plushness of your sofa, settling yourself on the opposite end of it. you silently prompt him to say what he came here to say with a nod of your head.

“uhm, i’m sorry for turning up unannounced, and so late…” ever the courteous. “i had to sneak away from the lads and catch the last flight to here so it was all a bit down to the wire.” he lets out a small, uneasy laugh.

you cut off his rambling with a curt “what do you want, jude?” you don’t mean for it to sound so rude but you still hold the attitude of wanting to get this over and done with, already feeling annoyance at yourself for even letting him into your home.

“right, yeah, i actually wanted to talk about what happened on saturday,” he goes back to fiddling with this thumbs, eyebrows furrowed but he avoids looking at you this time. not that you can blame him because your own vision shifts to anywhere but his direction. “i’m so sorry for making you uncomfortable a-and please tell me if this is inappropriate, but i haven’t stopped thinking about last night, i haven't stopped thinking about you, i-i’m sorry, i know this is all so silly and you probably don’t even feel the same bu-”

you stop him right there, this time with good reason as you can’t bear holding back your real emotions, not when he’s practically given you the green light to spill the contents of your heart.

“no, jude, i didn’t feel uncomfortable at all,” you assure him, gaze now on the footballer in front of you and you almost can’t believe the words leaving your mouth right now. “i wanted it to happen, i’m glad it happened, you know, i think i’ve had dreams about it happening,” you try and offset any tension with a timid chuckle before turning quite pensive. “i really like you, jude, i have for a long time… god, sorry, this is so embarrassing.” you return to making light of the situation you’ve put yourself in, the timidness sinking back in as quick as the relief lifts you up.

jude moves closer to your now-cowering body, knees touching as your heartbeat surges with worry and self-consciousness all wrapped up into a tight, miserable ball. he puts his sweat-dampened hands into yours and squeezes in silent assurance before raising them up to his lips and laying a chaste kiss on the heated skin.

he can’t help but break out into a sweet smile, eyes threatening to crinkle at the edges. your face is still sketched with tension and now confusion has joined the mix.

“i can’t tell you how long i’ve waited to hear that from you, how much i needed to hear it,�� your eyes meet his, widening in surprise a little. “i’m a fool for not telling you sooner… i like you, y/n, i really like you.” he repeats your own words back at you, leaning in with a smattering of amusement dancing in his vision.

“can i kiss you?” the question leaves your lips faster than you can even process it in your brain.

jude wastes no time in replying with a firm pressing of his mouth on yours, deepening it within seconds, the need to cement his feelings for you being told through the way he cradles your head in his hand, leaning you back onto the arm of the sofa to further intensify the kiss. your lips move along with his, the soft weight of his body pressed against yours making you whine into his mouth in ecstasy.

he lifts off of you with a puckering of his swollen lips, the both of you taking the chance to draw in some air and attempt to regulate your breathing pattern.

“please take me to the bedroom,” you beg, breathless from the sheer sight of his dark eyes and pretty pout. there’s no fight nor denial from jude as he picks you up and prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, quickening his pace once you point in the direction of your room.

he lays you down on the bed so gently, lips latching onto yours once again before they travel down your jaw and over the warm skin of your neck. the light touch of his fluttering eyelashes married with the pressure of his soft lips has your head spinning, hands tentatively laid on top of your sheets since you don’t trust yourself to not grab his head and bring it back to your lips. his fingers tinker with the waistband of your pyjama trousers, stretching it off your skin before he asks permission to peel them down your legs.

once they’re cast away in some corner of your bedroom, jude divides your legs by the underside of your knees, tucking himself into the now available space between them, turning onto his side and resting on his left forearm. he leaves a small kiss over your covered cunt and you try your best to not just clamp his head in between your thighs and smother him with your growing wetness here and now.

“need to get you ready, baby,” the sudden mention of the petname has you throbbing, squirming even more when he traces a line from your clit down to where there’s a small damp spot forming on the dark material of your underwear.

“jude, please,” you whine out, lifting your hips in a desperate bid to get the boy to strip your lower half completely.

he shushes you in his own charming way, making sure to comply with your demand by getting up onto his knees and discarding your soaked panties in a matter of seconds, the cold air generated by his large hands whipping them off you hits your exposed pussy, making you hiss through gritted teeth.

jude returns to the gap between your spread legs, sitting back but still on his knees, his higher position causing you to shift onto resting your body weight on the palms of your hands in order to peer at his actions – which start with him re-tracing that same teasing line from your aching clit to your hole with his thumb, the feeling now so intense on your unclothed skin. he hums in what sounds to be satisfaction when you throw your head back in pleasure, taking it in his favour to slip his index finger into the tightness of your pussy.

you release a guttural groan at the feeling of finally having some part of him inside you; you of course don’t want this to be the only part but you’re still so very grateful, so fucking grateful he’s now rubbing at your clit in delicious rounds, thumb tracing circle after circle while his fingers form a pair, pistoning in and out of you so easily due to the way your cunt douses itself with every move of jude’s.

“fuck, baby,” jude moans at the sight of his soaked digits every time they barely pull out of that pretty pussy, his thumb torturing your sensitive bud increasingly so, the cries and whimpers spilling from your lips an incentive for him. “feel so good and tight around my fingers, can’t imagine how you’ll feel around my dick.”

his words have you absolutely reeling, writhing against his hand to try and chase that moment of release.

“please, jude, i’m so close,” you’re warning and demanding at the same time, almost begging him to not stop or even think about moving his fingers out of you. “god, please, i need it,”

jude suddenly retracts both of his hands, leaving you bare and empty. “no way, baby, need to have you cumming on my cock or not cumming at all,” he comments with a shake of his head, denying you the opportunity of leaking your cum over his hand. upon seeing your bewildered face, he makes up for it by putting on a show of licking your juices clean off his fingers, the digits popped inside his mouth and dragged right back out with a low moan, him praising the way you taste.

“move up the bed for me, angel,” he orders, watching you while he stands up and unclothes himself as quick as he can. you scoot backwards, legs still spread open like they’ve been locked in that position, before pulling your oversized t-shirt off of you, chest void of a restricting bra . “good girl,” he praises, crawling up to hover his body over your laying one, cock in hand as your legs come to wrap around him. “are you still okay with this? we can stop at any point, okay?”

the sincerity of his voice has you melting. some would remark that the bar is in hell for you but the truth is that you hadn’t been with anyone like this for more months than you could count on your hands. you've been touch-starved and lacking words of affirmation for so long, and you needed something to be only about you for once.

“i’m more than okay with this,” you smile up at him, nodding to make your approval fully known. “and yes, i know i can stop you if i need to.”

jude reciprocates the same smile before leaning in and smothering your lips with his, pushing his cock into your tight wetness, so tight that your pussy almost pushes him back out, not used to being penetrated by something so thick.

“oh my god!” the feeling of tightness/fullness has you both gasping out the same thing at the same time, erupting into quiet giggles when the two of you realise your matching reactions.

jude’s mouth finds its way back home in the embrace of your lips and you swear this is heaven, the way his cock slides in and out of your sopping cunt, set at such a perfect pace, the slight friction causing you to grow even wetter – the filth of it all contrasts so well with the sweetness of his muffled moans and tender kisses on your neck, moving down onto your collarbones and tits.

a particularly harsh thrust of his cock has your back arching, chest pushed up to his heated face, and he takes this golden opportunity to wrap his lips around your erect nipple, spending a good while sucking and tugging on the skin around it. you’re amazed at how his cock doesn’t relent inside you, the speed still so quick and consistent even when he’s so occupied in painting splotches on your tits with his mouth.

“there,” he pants out, pulling his head back and marvelling at his own creation. “now, there’s no doubt that you’re really mine.” the smile he gives you is a killer.

you whine at his declaration of you belonging to him, scratching at his shoulders and calling out his name to indicate that it’s all too much for you, that you’re so, so close to cumming on his cock and really giving him what he wants rather than pleasing yourself. you figure that’s you gone now; you’re more willing to put the boy above your own needs because you’re down that fucking bad for him.

“fuck, jude, i’m gonna cum!” you sob, your moans becoming more frequent and higher pitched, legs starting to shake from the intoxicating mix of exhaustion and delight. you’re frantically chanting “please, please, please” into his mouth which parts to swallow your whimpering, wet lips kissing your trembling ones.

“go on, baby, cum for me, cum all over this cock,” he groans out, eyes squeezing shut when the feeling of your pussy clamping down tightly on his thickness proves too much to handle, face finding refuge in the crook of your neck. he knows you don’t need his permission, he would’ve let you orgasm as many times as you wanted to, would’ve let you use him like your own personal sex toy, but the words were only there to keep you going when his hips felt like faltering – he needed you cumming on his cock like he promised before, and he wasn’t about to fuck it up himself.

a final scream rips from your throat as you cum hard around jude, pussy clenching and pulsating around his cock so sporadically you thought you were having two orgasms at once. jude can’t handle it anymore, pulling out with a myriad of moans as he pumps his shaft with a hand, decorating the expanse of your lower abdomen with warm, white liquid. you’re still squirming, slowly trying to wheeze out the remaining whimpers from your lungs which you’re finding hard to do with the way jude pants and moans above you, the boy so spent he can’t help but breathe like he hasn’t had access to air for the past hour.

he flops down by your side, arms and legs sprawled like a starfish, chest rising and falling as he attempts to recuperate from the mindblowing sex you two just had. the image is so unserious that you can’t stifle your giggles but you decide to take another step of courage to lay on your side resting your head on his shoulder, fingers stroking his abs and playing with the curly hairs of his happy trail.

the room is quiet now with the scent of sex wafting through your nostrils on occasion but it’s the most comfortable silence you’ve experienced with jude, the feeling of his hot skin on yours so soothing to you.

after a period of panting, jude clears his throat and your ears prick up at the presence of sound. he turns his head towards you and you lift yourself up and off him out of instinct – you want full attention on him.

“i don’t want this to be a one-time kinda thing, y’know,” he proclaims, biting his lip from saying too much in one go.

“what, is this your way of saying you want round two already?” you joke, nose crinkling at the way he rolls his eyes playfully.

“shut up,” he delivers a poke to your side. “i mean, well, i don’t want either one of us to see this as a spur-of-the-moment thing, i just…” you look at him expectantly, silently telling him to continue. “i want you to be my girlfriend, y/n.”

you’re nearly knocked back by his words, wondering if they’re real or if you’re simply just hearing things. you thought dialogue like that, coming from him, was only reserved for your imagination, kept secret and only spoken to you in late-night mental scenarios that would comfort you on your way to slumberland.

you let out a laugh that’s an odd mix of relief and disbelief, quickly replying “yes, yes, of course” to his awaiting face, which releases a look of relief itself before jude captures your lips with such passion you’re both knocked back onto the plush pillows, giggling into each other’s mouths until your hands find themselves running down the defined muscles of his abdomen and over his hardening cock.

#girlies i’ve never had alcohol in my life so i hope the way i wrote reader & jude being drunk was ok !!! 🫶🏽#then again i’ve never had sex in my life and i write extensively about it so u know . 😭😭😭#guys imagine if before every smut fic i wrote a disclaimer like ‘guys i-i’ve never had sex before but i hope i did okay with this 🥺🥺' LMAO #ALSO omg im sorry abt the inconsistencies in tone + tempo i legit wrote this over a 5 month period + came back to it at times when i didnt #feel like writing + i was just tryna get to the good bit iykwim ( ͡ ° ͜ʖ ͡ °)#˗ˏˋ 📝 ˎˊ˗#˗ˏˋ 💬 ˎˊ˗#jude bellingham #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x fem!reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x y/n #football imagine #footballer smut #footballer imagine

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icallhimjoey · 8 months

Note

you wanna try to get back into writing? Say no more! The other day I saw a insta reel (it was in Spanish) but it was about a couple and the guy had asked his gf to shave his beard for him and that was the cutest thing ever. The delicacy of it all. So I was thinking, possibly write something like that but with joe? He needs to shave for an upcoming movie role and he asks if reader wants to do it, and it’s the most intimate thing ever!

girl... just, fuck all the way off, jesus christ Wordcount: 2.9K

---

Love You A Twelve

"So, good news and bad news,"

"Uh oh," you'd only just gotten in and toed off your shoes by the front door as Joe appeared in the hallway to welcome you home.

You narrowed your eyes to gather how serious Joe was being.

Sometimes, the bad news was hardly bad news, but just some stupid silly shit like, "You've got to hang out with me all night." and you'd pretend to be so disappointed for a second.

Other times, it was the good news that was hardly good and didn't make up for the bad news at all.

Unfortunately, going by Joe's apologetic eyes, it was probably the latter.

"Bad first," you winced as you said it.

"They need me clean-shaven tomorrow,"

Your stomach dropped.

"What? But– noo," you whined, eyebrows immediately knitting, mouth pulling into a pout.

Joe copied your face and revealed he was holding a trimmer.

"Yea, sorry... it's got to go,"

"Is the good news that you're joking?"

Out of your coat, with your shoes neatly placed to the side, you didn't waste time to get your hands on his scruff.

"No, the good news is, I thought it'd be nice to let you do it," Joe said, sticking out his chin a little as your fingers curled to scratch him underneath.

You gasped a little gasp, eyes immediately twinkling.

"Yea?" Joe asked for confirmation on your sudden excitement.

"I mean, no," you let your eyes roam his jawline. "But, yes."

You loved your boyfriend either way, but there was something about Joe with a little facial hair. Made him look extra relaxed. Extra soft. And it helped that you got to see his hands more when he had a little scruff going. Joe was a fidgeter, and when there was a little bit of beard to touch, that's just what he would do.

Smooth bare-cheeked Joe was cute.

But ungroomed bristle-cheeked Joe was just... better.

Joe moved the trimmer he was holding until it hovered right in front of your face. You used your forehead to push against it, scrunching up your nose as you did. Made Joe laugh.

"Later, let me... I want to enjoy this for a bit first," you let your fingers comb through the hair underneath his chin, backcombing it and then smoothing it back down again.

"Will have to be before dinner, though," Joe said, struggling to get the words out because your thumbs were pushing his top lip down as you stroked his little moustache.

So shiny.

The light caught it just right.

"Why?"

"You'll have wine,"

That made you huff out a laugh.

Yea, all right. You understood wanting to avoid putting a double edge safety razor into your hands when there was alcohol in your system.

You suggested sitting down to watch a new episode of the show you were watching together, then shave Joe after, and then have dinner together. That would give you at least forty minutes to touch his face.

"It's just hair," Joe said, pretending for a second that he didn't like how dramatic you were about it. "Grows back."

"If they want you clean-shaven, they're not just going to want it for tomorrow, are they?" you reasoned, plopping down onto the sofa, reaching for him with grabby hands until he sat down next to you.

"You're judging me for loving you," you cradled his full head in your arms.

"Not judging," Joe mumbled, unable to hide his grin. "But on a scale of one to ten of loving me, right now? Ten."

"Always a ten," you argued, using both hands to scratch at his cheeks, careful to not hurt him with your nails.

"No," Joe laughed, turning his head a little to look at you. "Without this?" he pointed at his own face, looked up at the ceiling to think for a second, and then concluded, "Like a six, maybe."

You gasped through a shocked laugh and bumped your shoulder into his. "Piss off, it's always a ten, you idiot,"

Joe scrunched his nose up at you through a smile and used the remote to find the right show and right episode to turn on.

You took a moment to look at him a second.

"Maybe right now it's just a little more. Like, a twelve," you leant over to press a kiss to his cheek that Joe accepted easily. "Just a little extra."

"You love me a twelve?" Joe pretended like the extra numbers added made his heart explode in his chest as the TV launched itself into a short recap from last week's episode.

"So healthy," you mused, "For us to measure love in numbers."

It prompted Joe to whisper numbers at you all throughout the forty minutes of jaw touches and chin scratches as you stared at the TV.

"Seventeen,"

"Twenty-one,"

"Twenty-eight,"

You had your full attention with what was happening on the screen, but then Joe breathed, "Ooh, fifty-four," and you looked to see him with his eyes closed, relishing under your touch. You'd just started circling a fingertip in the little area underneath his ear, sort of on the edge of his hair growth.

"That's a big jump,"

"Mhmm," Joe hummed, leaning into you a little more. When you moved fingers to rake through the hair just below his jaw, where it was longest and thickest, Joe protested, said, "No, fifty-three," and used his own hand to place yours back where he wanted it. "Fifty-four."

It was so stupidly cute, it made you break into a slow smile because you just adored him so fucking much. Made you snuggle up a little more, thinking Joe's a dork and you just wanted to eat him up.

Just when Joe started considering not shaving at all, and letting hair and make-up deal with it tomorrow morning, the episode ended and you smacked his leg as you got up.

"Okay, let's do this,"

You weren't the biggest fan of Joe's bare face, not compared to what you were looking at right now, but you were the biggest fan of getting to groom him.

You loved it when Joe let you scrunch mouse into his curls. Or when you'd get to cut a weird eyebrow hair that stuck out. The big task of shaving the beard off had you excited. Nervous, but excited.

Stood in front of the mirror, Joe got all the things out that you needed and you squealed as you gripped tightly onto the trimmer you were holding. You made eye-contact with Joe in the mirror, and your wild eyes made Joe pause a second.

"Your nerves are making me nervous,"

You gasped dramatically. "You don't trust me?"

Joe carried on, found the shaving cream to place down next to the sink.

"No, I trust you. I don't trust that you trust you,"

Okay, fair. Maybe you didn't need to look at Joe's trimmer like it was a weapon of mass destruction, and maybe you didn't need to hold it like it was one either.

You placed it down next to the tub of moisturizer that Joe placed down as the last thing that was needed.

"All right," Joe turned, ready to give instructions. You directed all your attention towards him, back straight, expression open, ready to convince Joe you were an excellent student. Valedictorian top of the class sort of thing. Joe put his hands on your shoulders and smiled through a shaky exhale which told you you were overdoing it.

You softened your face and turned actual serious for a moment. You saw how it immediately relaxed Joe a little more.

"So," Joe pointed, turning your attention to the counter. "Trimmer first. We're going to get it as short as possible before we go in with the real scary stuff," his fingers moved from the trimmer to the razor.

You nodded. Sounded easy enough.

You looked up and saw Joe looking at you in the mirror, finger still pointing at the razor, and fuck, you loved this man with a beard. Just the look of him made you scrunch your features and reach for his face to hold for one last time.

"You're so cute, are you scared?"

"I'm not scared if you're not scared," Joe cooed.

You let your eyes twinkle, fingers curling to scratch, "Can I play?"

Joe's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Play?!"

You shrugged through a smile, petting his beard then, soft touches.

"Yea, cut you all up, slit your throat,"

Joe grabbed onto your wrists in a faux panic, making you laugh.

"No, like, give you a stupid moustache first, like, full Hulk Hogan, and like– no, what if... so, no moustache, get rid of that, and then leave a stupid thin line along your jaw," as you said it, you let your fingers draw a line from his chin up to his ears.

Joe pursed his lips into a smile and slow blinked at you.

"Fifty-five."

Sap.

You made Joe sit on the edge of the bath and stood between his legs, trimmer in hand. You turned it on, the buzz of it strong in your palm, and were about to move it over when you suddenly pulled your hand back, like you'd forgotten something.

"Sorry, sorry, bye, bye babes," you leant in and kissed Joe on each cheek a couple of times, quick little pecks. "So sorry, you've got to go or he won't make any money and we won't be able to go out to nice restaurants again,"

"Stop," Joe laughed, squeezing your sides.

"Do you need to take your T-shirt off?"

"Oh, you want it off, do you?" Joe wiggled his eyebrows, nearly making you roll your eyes.

"Because we'll get hair everywhere, won't we?"

Before you'd even been able to finish the sentence, Joe'd already pulled his T-shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor right next to you.

Clicking the trimmer back on, you got to work.

Your tactic was, clean him up first. Get the neckbeard gone and get the stray hairs up higher on his cheeks. You were concentrated on your task, brow furrowed and bottom lip bitten into your mouth, and Joe loved that he just got to look at you up close for a little while. You had him stand up to be able to get underneath his chin easier, and then sat him back down when you needed to get his sideburns. Careful fingers placed his head in the position you needed it for the easiest access.

Joe thought of flinching and scream ow really loudly to scare you, but how could he? You looked fucking precious all focussed, so close to his face. Made him think of higher numbers as his scalp tingled with the attention.

When you thought you'd cleaned Joe up enough, made him look as symmetrical as you could, you stepped back and smiled.

"Look," you said, stepping back to make room for him to stand up and see himself in the mirror. "This is what you'd look like if you put effort in," it was a half-joke, commenting on Joe's laziness in beard upkeep.

Joe smiled, turned his head to view it from all angles and then asked, "Do you think it looks better like this? Or like before?"

"Before, this is awful, sit back down," you pushed him back as Joe laughed loudly, holding onto you for leverage as he got sat back down onto the bath ledge.

Time to get most of it off.

With a little less precision, you got back to work and with a little more confidence now, you trimmed all that needed trimming and let Joe hold you by the hips.

You stopped when there were just two really long weird sideburns left, the rest all gone. You clicked the trimmer off and kissed the tips of your fingers, exclaimed, "I'm an artist," pronouncing artist the French way.

Joe touched his cheeks and grimaced. "I don't even want to see this,"

"Can I take a picture?"

"Absolutely not,"

"I'm going to take a picture," you reached for your phone in your pocket.

"No you're fucking not, give me that," a little wrestle broke out where Joe grabbed onto your arm before trying to take your phone from you. It had you shouting, "The artist's canvas isn't meant to talk back!" and "It looks so good, babe!" which was so obviously a lie, you weren't able to say that without giggling.

In the end, you didn't take a picture. Instead trimmed the sideburns down too, and then it was time to get your hands dirty.

Whilst shaking the loose hair from his body, Joe instructed you on how to apply shaving cream, gave you tips on how to hold the razor, which direction to go, how hard to press down...

"You're talking to me like I've never shaved before,"

You'd argue that you'd put far more time into shaving various body parts than he had.

"Not around an Adam's apple, no, so be careful,"

"Listen," you started, slapping shaving cream to Joe's face, slightly offended now because trimming his beard had been so easy. "This isn't a vicious attack, this is a loving shave. If I can shave around my own ankle bones and– my vagina, my literal vagina, my labia, my–"

"All right, all right, all right," Joe held onto both your wrists because you were getting shaving cream a little too close to his eyes. "Just, be careful, is all I'm asking."

He straightened his back and got a quick kiss in before you could move back, getting the white foam onto your face as well.

All right.

Time to get serious now. You wiped your own face down, made sure you had all of Joe's beard covered, left some water in the sink so you could rinse the razor in between strokes and got into the right position.

Joe wrapped his arms around you this time and you felt his thighs squeeze together on either side of your legs.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

You honestly didn't understand what Joe seemed so nervous for. You had this. Joe helped by moving his mouth to the side and sticking his chin out to pull the skin tight, and it was easy. So easy. You didn't like how scratchy all of it sounded, and how Joe's arms tensed around you when you moved around his throat, but the double edge razor worked like a charm.

You were definitely going to use it on your legs in the shower later.

You spent way longer than you needed to on him. The fact that the hair wasn't very dark and a little difficult to see in some areas was a good excuse, but you didn't need it. Joe just let you work until you declared it finished and enjoyed the time it granted him to stare at your features. At everything that made you you.

He'd be unaware how he'd slowly move his face to look at you, and you had to move it back to face the side several times. He tried to hide his smile every time you did that, but it was pointless. You witnessed every single little muscle twitch in his face and loved him more for every single one of them.

"There," you finally said, patting his face with a towel and admiring your work as you moved around him to see him from all angles. "Done."

Joe smiled into the towel and before going in to touch it himself, or getting up to look at the results in the mirror, he cupped your face with both his hands and pulled you into a kiss.

"Does it look good?" Joe asked in between kisses.

"Looks amazing," you answered. "I did a great job." Joe saw how you eyed the bare skin.

"Yea? Not a six, but a ten like you said?"

You grinned and leant back down for another kiss.

"Not a ten." you whispered, fingers now sliding down the new smooth softness of his face. Not as satisfying as freshly shaved dolphin legs, but still nice. "A twelve still."

Joe was expecting you to tease and give him a stupid number, like a negative four, or whatever. Going up more made his stomach flutter. Made him pull you into him even more. Made him kiss you stupid, which was extra enjoyable, because Joe was all soft and smelled all fresh now.

"Love you a twelve too."

"Just a twelve? Was a fifty-five before..."

Joe tilted his head, squeezed an eye shut as he looked up at you and he just felt drunk with love, it was a little ridiculous.

"Fifty-six, then."

"No, I think twelve is the highest number you're allowed to love someone."

Joe let out a frustrated sigh, clearly joking. A what-the-fuck-do-you-want sort of thing that made you laugh loudly.

"All right, a twelve then." Joe stood up, kissed you once more before taking a look at himself in the mirror.

He looked normal.

Like he'd just shaved himself.

Except when he shaved himself, he didn't have a beaming girlfriend stood next to him, giddily awaiting his reaction and approval of her work.

"Looks amazing,"

"Yea?"

"Absolutely." Joe curled an arm around your shoulder to hook your neck and pull you in to kiss you on the cheek as you each looked at each other in the mirror.

"Twelve out of ten."

---

The Taglisted

@a-time-for-wolvess, @adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddie-joe-munson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frogers, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @ohmeg, @paola-carter, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thefemininemystiquee, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @yelyahcardella

taglist currently full, sorry

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #rpf #icallhimjoey #love you a twelve

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lets-just-daydream · 1 month

Note

Astarion x reader soulmate AU or vampire mates PLS IM BEGGING

I HOPE YOU LIKE! I did have fun writing this 🥹

Warnings: mentions of torture, nothing graphic

Astarion was sure of few things in the tragedy that was his life. But the things he was sure of were the things that killed his spirit. Things that quashed his will to live.

After two hundred years, he was sure he would die here, under Cazador's thumb. He wasn't sure when or how, but that would happen.

After two hundred years, he was sure that there were no gods out there who would ever answer him. He stopped praying to them long ago, for they clearly didn't care about creatures like him. Creatures of the night.

After two hundred years, he was sure that he had no soulmate. No partner that was out there waiting for him. Perhaps it was wishful thinking and in fact he hoped he had no soulmate out there, that maybe they were long dead by this point if they were lucky.

He thought it cruel, the way soulmates worked and deigned a guess that Loviatar must have had something to do with the cruel design. A person can feel their soulmate’s pain. How awful. And how truly awful for any person bound to himself or his siblings.

He hadn't felt any phantom pain himself in all his years under Cazador so he remained hopeful that they were already dead. Gods know his soulmate didn't deserve it.

One day, Astarion sat in his dilapidated bunk with the heavy curtains pulled shut and a threadbare blanket over his shoulders as he worked diligently with his needle, repairing his beloved shirt for… well he'd lost count how many times he'd repaired this shirt. That's just the way it was.

As he pulled the white thread through the thinning fabric, he let out a yelp and a strained “fuck!” as he dropped the needle and his hand flew to his foot. His small toe ached as if he'd just dropped something on it or stubbed it. He frowned and looked down at it. It looked fine but gods, the pain was awful.

Any other person would know, would get that feeling that their soulmate had just hurt themselves but the possibility was so far removed from Astarion's mind. He brushed it off with an annoyed huff and picked his needle up again to continue his repairs, the pain eventually fading.

It happened again, a few weeks later. An inexplicable pain that changed the course of his sad existence. It was late, he was out. At the Elfsong Tavern, chatting up some stranger to bring back to Cazador. He wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying, but he feigned interest, nodding where appropriate and throwing in the occasional affirmation as he sipped the goblet of wine paid for by stolen coin he'd lifted from an unsuspecting drunkard.

Astarion shuffled closer to her, wanting to speed this along. His hand came up and pulled her hair back from her ear and whispered.

“What do you say we get out of here and somewhere more quiet…” His voice silken and honey smooth.

Mere words whispered and she was a red, blushing mess. He heard her heartbeat pick up and she nodded, her excitement obvious only to him. He stood from his seat and extended his hand to her and as she reached out to him, an intense pain marred his knee. Astarion doubled over and grasped at his knee, letting out a curse as he pulled his pant leg up to examine whatever injury he'd just sustained.

There was nothing there, his knee smooth and pale, slightly bruised but that wasn't out of the ordinary. He felt like he should be bleeding with a sizeable wound. He whipped his head around to see if anyone had attacked him but no one paid him any mind except his “date.”

Astarion was annoyed and confused. He lowered his pant leg again with a huff and the woman who he didn't bother to learn the name of let out a laugh. “Seems like your soulmate is out there getting into trouble.”

If Astarion had warm blood coursing through his veins, it would have gone cold.

“What?”

The woman stood, grabbing her belongings. “Your soulmate. Obviously hurt their knee since you're in pain but seem fine. Happens to all of us. I'm almost certain my soulmate got their arm chopped off last week based on the pain I felt for days and days.”

She shuddered and grimaced, rubbing her left arm. “You see anyone with a fucked up arm, come find me. Goodnight.”

And then she left. She left him in a stupor and a predicament. Firstly, it was too late to try and seek anyone else out to bring to Cazador tonight. By Astarion's estimations the sun should be rising soon and he needed to get back to the palace. The thought of arriving empty handed caused a familiar panic to rise in him at whatever torture he was certainly due for this day.

But secondly, and possibly worse if he let himself think about it too much… whatever pain he was about to go through would be inflicted onto you. His unsuspecting soulmate. If what that woman said was to be believed, anyway.

Astarion wandered back to the palace in a haze. He ping ponged between self-preservation and not letting himself get worked up over the fact that you were about to be tortured, put through some of the worst pain you could ever endure. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to be weak but he couldn't help the guilt. Even if he did manage to find you, even if you were out there, you could never want him after what you were both about to go through tonight.

Hours later, after Cazador had finished taking his wrath out on Astarion for failing to bring him a victim, he wept. He often wished for death, never prayed but he did this day, with each flog, flay torture, he wept in excess for you.

Your whole body ached. You'd been saved from falling to your demise at the very least as the nautiloid ship crashed but gods you’d still had some momentum when you hit the ground.

Pain was… quite normal for you these days and you lived most of your life in fear for when the next bout of pain was going to knock you out for several days. Whoever your soulmate was, whatever life they lead, you felt awful for them. You couldn't help but also feel a little resentment for all the torturous pain you'd been through and when you finally did meet them, you were going to demand some fucking answers. Not only did they seemingly get beaten up everyday, but the constant hunger pains you felt never went away despite how much you ate. Were they starving themselves?

For now though, you stood and took in your surroundings, dusting your clothes off and squinting as the bright sun beat down on you. You stepped through scraps of metal towards some rocky cliffs and to what looked like a path. You made it through and saw someone, a tall, pale elf standing by the cliffside, examining the damage made by the crash. His hand staked through his hair and he looked around warily until he finally laid eyes on you.

“You there!” He called out. He sounded posh and you internally rolled your eyes. “Can you help me? I have one of those… brain things cornered.”

You walked over to him and peered into the bush where he was pointing and you jumped slightly when a boar ran out from the underbrush. You let out a laugh and sigh of relief and turned back to him but before you knew what was what, a cool knife was pressed against your neck and you fell to the ground, a grunt of pain escaping yours and the elf’s lips.

His arm came around your shoulder and he held you in place as you struggled, looking up at him. “What are you doing?” You cried.

He pressed the dagger against your neck and you felt a nick of pain as he drew blood. You cried out in pain and to your surprise, so did he. You paused, confused. The stranger also paused, his body stiffening and his eyes zeroed in on your neck where his dagger met your skin.

You took this moment to your advantage and rolled out of his arms, making sure to elbow his face in the process. But as the crack of your elbow made contact with his nose, you cried out in pain and grasped at your nose, standing and looking at him in accusation.

He also stood, holding onto his nose and his neck.

He couldn't be.

Neither of you dared say a word as you clutched your faces in pain, staring. Waiting. For what, you weren't sure but the pieces started to fall into place and you slowly stepped towards him. He stiffened and leaned away from you but you grabbed his arm and pinched it, grimacing softly when, yes. You felt the same phantom pain in your own arm on the same spot. You said nothing and only stared into the stranger's red eyes.

He in turn, grabbed your arm and squeezed, stopping when it began to hurt.

This was it. This was him. This was your soulmate.

“No way,” you whispered.

The stranger turned soulmate seemed to be in a similar state of disbelief. “You're… real,” he murmured.

Whether he was pleased or upset, you weren't sure. He kept his feelings quashed. But you felt no desire to do such a thing. You'd often thought about what you would say when you finally met your soulmate and now that you were here, seeing his pale skin, his eyes with accompanying bags to match and his expression that he tried to keep impassive but you could see the fear etched onto his face your rehearsed words failed you.

Instead, you stepped forward and placed your hand on his arm comfortingly. He stiffened at the contact.

“I'm sorry,” is all you managed to whisper, your eyes wide and apologetic.

You didn't need to elaborate, he knew and you knew that he'd been put through shit, you along with him. You didn't resent him like he thought you would, you didn't accuse him or yell at him for what he'd put you through. No. You apologised to him.

He shuddered out a sigh of relief and stared at you, a small smile on his face.

“My name's Astarion.”

#red writes #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion fic

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mrwavellswaps · 1 year

Text

A Gift that keeps Giving

Oh this part never gets old. Watching a man grunt and groan while his body starts to change. In this case getting to watch as his muscles bulge and enlarge while fat just melts away. Seeing his arms grow into powerful cannons while his pecs go from being non-existent to thick slabs of meat. All while he moaned “Yes! Yes! It’s actually happening!” As was the reaction of most clients.

He continued to bounce on my dick with glee while it glowed bright with the power I’d been blessed with causing his body to continue growing bigger. Legs bulking up, ass swelling, hands and feet increasing a few sizes. Pretty much everything about him growing bigger, as was his desire. Growing heavier with pure muscle upon every bounce while effortlessly taking every inch of my cock.

When his body finally stopped growing, I watched the transformation shift in a hairier direction. He’d only had a few hairs here and there previously but now his body was sprouting new hair everywhere! Hairy arms! Hairy legs! But most noticeably he soon sported a manly pelt of chest hair of which he couldn’t have dreamed of growing before meeting me. At which point I couldn’t help reaching up and rubbing my hands through it. Admiring both the hair and my client’s new muscle tits at the same time. He didn’t seem to mind however as he tossed his head back in glee, groaning about how he could feel his beard growing in at last. Something I also had a front row seat view for.

The last of his changes settled in as I watched his dick grow slightly longer and fatter with every bounce while his balls inflated slightly. Now all there was left to do was lock it in. I was about to begin thrusting but before I could he began to double down on riding me. Slamming his ass down onto my dick with twice the enthusiasm along with his new strength. Even going as far as to hold my arms down while begging me to cum with that gravely new voice of his. Well luckily for him I don’t think I could’ve lasted much longer anyway with how much my dick was glowing inside of him.

Before either of us knew it, I was filling his hole with my load. And not a split second later he let out one final groan of ecstasy while his own enlarged cock shot ropes of his thick new cum all over my chest and stomach while a dumb grin formed on that hot bearded face of his. Unloading perfectly in sync with me just like they all did.

A couple minutes passed with the two of us panting in a sweaty mess before he finally pushed his heavy new body off me, my dick finally dislodging from his hole. The very first thing he did was run to the large mirror across my bedroom in excitement, his face lighting up the moment he set eyes on his new reflection. I couldn’t help but smile seeing another satisfied customer eagerly running his hands across every inch of his body like he was exploring it all for the first time. That was the whole reason I kept a full body mirror in this room honestly.

“How much do I owe you again? £500?” He asked once he was finally able to pull himself away from the mirror. I confirmed his assumption. My charge was £1000 per transformation. Half the money up front, the other half after the session. The man picked up his jacket and dug through the pockets until he pulled out a small wad of 20’s and handed it to me. I counted through it all to confirm everything was there before giving him the thumbs up to get dressed and go on his merry way.

I couldn’t help but chuckle a little as he struggled to pull on his clothes. He’d even brought some brand new, bigger clothes with him in preparation but even they were a tad too small. The larger pair of joggers he bought barely fit and let me just say they left nothing to the imagination. Before anything else though he couldn’t help sitting down beside handing over an extra £100 as a tip for giving him exactly what he wanted down to the tiniest details. “This body is everything I could’ve wished for! Huge, strong and so much hair. Even the scent is perfect!” He stated while lifting up one of his arms to reveal a hairy pit, clearly enjoying the smell it was giving off, while thanking me again.

We talked some more for a while. Discussing my powers a little and what he was going to do now with this new and improved look. He even asked if I wanted to hang out in a bit more of a romantic setting sometime. He seemed like a nice enough guy and his dream body just so happened to be exactly my type so I happily agreed. After which he gave me a big hug with those new hairy muscles of his before jumping up from the bed and tugging on an extremely tight t-shirt. This adorable hunk gave me one last kiss on the cheek before walking, well more like waddling with how tight those clothes were, out of my apartment with a smile on his face.

My dick truly was a gift. I figured out shortly after having sex for the first time that anyone I fucked would transform into the version of themselves they desired most. If I fucked a dude who wished he could be lean and hairless super model, he’d become just that. If I fucked a dude who wished he was big muscle bear, he’d pack on all the fat and muscle he needed to be such. So on so forth.

Of course I quickly realised I could make a business out of it so I started charging money as word spread about me. Of course I know I could charge a hell of a lot more than 1K but I also just liked doing it for the sake of helping people. And help people I have. Ton’s of them! Hell I’ve even had a few straight guys take my dick up their ass just for a chance to have their perfect bodies. Can’t say I didn’t enjoy that.

I reached a hand down and cradled my cock slightly. I still have no idea what granted it this kind of power but whatever the case I plan on using it to change the lives of so many more men out there for the better. In the meantime however, I can’t wait to start setting up date plans with hopefully my soon to be boyfriend!

#magic #male transformation #musclegrowth #hairy #age progression #twink to hunk #wish #beard #short story

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bitchlessdino · 9 months

Note

Happy 3K Nana 🥳🥳🥳 I hope your celebration has been going well and, your actual vacation is even better.

Noone perceive me. So, because I have no sense of self-preservation, could I please request a drabble featuring ChanCheol. As long as it's smut related in some way, I leave the rest up to you. I'm excited and terrified to see what your brain comes up with.

Pairing: bf!Seungcheol x fem!reader x chan

Genre: smut, slight humor

Word count: 2.8k

tags: mention of infidelity, mentions of fem oral, banter, exhibitionism, vouyerism, body worship, choking, spitting, spanking, fingering, brief biting, blowjob, degradation, praise kink, brief hair pulling, unprotected sex, double penetration, oral fixation, plot twist

Summary: Being caught doing something you shouldn’t do is a big no-no, especially when it causes Chan to come across a 5’10 unit with muscular stature by the name of Seungcheol, your apparent boyfriend.

author note: how fun. my return i bring you a chancheol fic, pls enjoy as much as i enjoyed writing.

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @wonuhour @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun

“You taste like candy.”

His tongue traced your skin as if your sweat was pure concentrated nectar. Your giggles left your lips in a perfect melody, trickling as he made his way down your chest and wrapped them perfectly around the bulb of your nipple.

His moans vibrated off your body. Voice shaking to the point it could’ve been mistaken for weakness, but rather it was the radical opposite. When he replaced the plush felt of his lips to twist you between the pads of his fingers, he splayed effortlessly an intoxicating smile as the words he made left you begging for breath.

“Wanna worship every inch of skin. Fill your pretty pussy to the brim with cum. Make you mine.”

You’d drink every syllable, just as you planned to drink him up.

His bare skin was blistering, burning against yours as your legs hugged his sides. Your digits ran through his hair in fatigued confidence, thumbing over his smooth and flushed cheek. “Promise?” You asked in a sickly sweet voice.

“I’m a very bad liar, but I’m good at a lot of other things.”

You let out a light chuckle before you gripped his hair to meet his needy lips. His body enveloped yours in an overwhelming heat, muzzling your mind with incoherent thoughts. Together you were a symphony of lust, attraction, and animalistic instinct.

That was then a deep voice made itself known at the bedroom door. It boomed like a loud drum, startling your intimate partner and causing him to jump away from you. He covered his naked body with the blanket kicked off to the corner of the bed, tugging you to his side to keep yourselves hidden beneath it.

Now the shake in his voice resembled fear, pupils trembling back at the intruder. “W-who are you?”

“Ask my question first before I answer yours. Having. Fun?”

Chan’s eyes rapidly blinked for Seungcheol’s, barely meeting the other man’s eyes, clutching the fabric as if letting go would mean letting go of his life. He swallowed with effort, giving a prompt nod of his head, hoping desperately it was a good enough response.

“Now, to answer your question. I’m the boyfriend of the girl you’re fucking.”

You could feel the other body stumble behind you, physically processing the information he had just been told. “B-Boyfriend? Boyfriend?!”

“Yeah.” Seungcheol's steel stiff body took one heavy step over the other until towered over your bodies, eyes piercing back at them in a cold, intimidating gaze. “Boyfriend.”

“Look m-man. I’m sorry. For real. There’s no way I could’ve known.”

Your boyfriend snickered. “You think that’s a fucking excuse to be fucking my goddamn girlfriend?”

“No! No. I mean—“

“What’s your name, kid?”

Chan held the blanket closer, tighter, against him. If he was sweating already from the foreplay, he was shooting bullets of nerves down his forehead from fear. “Please, man. I’ll leave.”

“You think you’re better at fucking her than me? You think your cock can do worse damage?” With every word, there was seething venom on the man’s tongue, burning tension in the already charged air.

Chan violently shook his head. “N-no sir, please I didn’t know. I’ll get out of your way.”

“You think I’ll just let you fuck my girlfriend and not want to know who it is she’s fucking?”

“At this point, I just want to go home. I’m not—“ he gulped, “a home wrecker. Not intentionally anyway—“

“Fuck her in front of me.”

Chan blinked, “What?”

Seungcheol slyly grinned. “You heard me. Fuck her like I’m not here. Fuck her like she’s yours.” Your boyfriend veered his eyes on you. “That’s just what you want. Isn’t that right, you little succubus?”

You giggled a cheeky grin on your face, clinging to Chan’s arm as you locked eyes with the other man. “Yes, baby. I want him to bury his cock deep inside me until I’m crying.”

Chan shivered, cock tensing underneath the blanket much closer to its initially aroused state as heat crept the back of his neck and across his cheeks.

“Of course you do,” Seungcheol snickered, “my little slut is always so hungry for attention.” He picked up your chin between his fingers before smoothing his thumb over your jaw. “Ask him. I’m sure he’ll do what you say.”

You turned to Chan with the guide of Seungcheol’s friendly hands cascading over your body like silk drapes, they smoothed over your neck and shoulders delicate but with the weight of a ship anchor cupping a single breast. Chan’s face was overwritten with shock, unsure what part of you to look at. “Chan…” you moaned, like a siren calling to a sailor at sea, the weak helpless sailor being Chan. “Fuck me, please. Fill me to the brim with your cum like you said you would.”

The devil himself let out a shallow breath, the carrot dangling right in front of him. He drew closer to you, hand reaching up to your neck before a digit descended down your neck, “Can I really do that?”

“Of course, you can,” Seungcheol interjected, “Just fuck her like you mean it.” Seungcheol rolled your buds between his finger, eliciting a whimper from within you and your body jerked toward him behind you. “She likes it rough. ‘Enough to leave her sore’ rough. Can you provide? Chan?” He asked him solemnly, the name sounded foreign the way he enunciated it.

“I can,” Chan answered confidently for once, fueled by a festering competitive spirit. “Like I told gorgeous here, I’m a bad liar. I’ll fuck her just how she wants me to.”

“Prove you’re not all talk then.”

A switch was flipped. The hungry gazes on you had doubled and your heart pounding sound enough to be heard through a vast sea. Chan pushed you against the mattress, caressing the shape of your body as if ingraining the image through touch before the pads of his fingers dug into your plush flesh.

You felt the unremorseful spat against your already wet pussy, Chan's fingers running sloppily over your slit as his other hand clashed with your ass. His fingers entered you fast and deep, giving you a taste of what was about to come.

Chan licked his lips at the sight of you, letting his digits push in and out of you as you made those sweet, delectable sounds, looking just as–if not more–delectable yourself. Just like that, his throat was as dry as a drought in a desert, inching closer to your honey-coated folds and panting to your beckoning until he’s atoms away. He held his gaze to you, a hopeful wish in his heart that the image of your pretty cunt never vanishes or fades from memory.

It was then Chan was yanked by his blonde hair. Tugged at the root ,wincing out in annoyed pain, he now sneered back at the man who halted Chan's steps towards the gates of his personal heaven.

Seungcheol slyly grinned back at the bitter-looking individual before forcing his face parallel to his. The elder clicked his tongue as if scolding him, wrapping his fingers tighter around the boy's hair when he felt protest. “You may get to have her, but you don’t get to taste her like I do. Have her anyway but that. She’s still mine.”

Chan muttered some not-so-nice things under his breath before agreeing. He let out a sigh of relief as he was let go, annoyed now more than scared. “Fine, I’ll have no choice but to show no mercy then.”

Chan dragged you by your thighs and pushed himself against the cushion of your ass. You let out a rich moan as you felt him twitch against you. The head of his cock rubbed against the curve of your posterior before it slid through the divide, teasing you until you practically begged him to put it inside you.

His responses to your pleas are anything but generous, only kind enough to sting your bottom cheeks with the flat palms of his hand. “So needy…”

He’s surprised to not hear fits of pain, but rather hearty moans of pleasure, urging more harsher strikes to your body that left you in a raw lust. “You like that? You’ll like this even more.”

Even with the warning, nothing prepares you for fullness from Chan making his presence known. His cock filled you with strain, stretching you to your wits. “Chan…”

“Whining already? I barely put it in.”

The smug in his voice only made you want him more, making you claw at your sheets like an undomesticated pet.

“Excuse her,” Seungcheol entered, “She can act out at times.”

“Then I’ll put her in her place.”

Seungcheol chuckled, counting character points Chan has just gained from his response. “I like the way you think.”

Every thrust had the power of every fully winded stroke of his hand, slamming both your cheeks against the heat of his lap. Your face once buried in your face rose up to the surface by Chan’s vice grip on the column of your neck. The moment he made contact, you could feel the closing of your airways as he compressed around the girth, not once faltering as you swallowed every inch of cock.

Your cheek to his face, he could listen to every choked breath hardly escaping. “Take it. You said you like it rough, didn’t you? Until you cry, right?”

“Y-yes…m-more…”

“He’s fucking you that good?” The glint in your boyfriend's eyes excited you, as well as the permanent grin on his face as he moved dangerously close. “Needy little slut taking a stranger’s dick while I watch? You like that?”

“Yes, baby. He’s fucking me so good. His dick makes me so full.”

“Such a cute thing you are. Just you want until I get my hands on you too. Chan, stretch her mouth open. Warm her up for me.”

You felt another hand creep against your face, tugging you at the corner of your mouth. Through your gags, Chan managed to gradually insert each digit until there none were left. He could feel every finger coat in your thick salvia, plunge deeper as his cock rocked in you faster, heartier.

Meanwhile, your front watched Seungcheol take apart his clothes. Every muscle, every pec, every ab in place and none the other wise. Your voice broke out in anguish as he exposed himself from his trousers, his lengthy cock making an appearance like the star of the show. Your eyes trailed his hand through every stroke, every squeeze, watching as he edged himself in a controlled manner. You wanted to relieve him of that burden, make it so it choked around your throat instead, but you knew you’d get the pleasure soon enough.

“Stay as pretty as you are, little succubus.”

Your boyfriend replaced Chan’s fingers, filling a space that fit what he offered rather cohesively like two perfect pieces of a puzzle. You blinked back your tears, hot moisture running down your face furiously as his cock massaged the inside your mouth and eventually down your throat, hitting you head first.

“That’s it,” he winced, “pretty little mouth taking cock like it’s what you’re made to do.”

He took the back of your head to make you bob on him, the squelching sounds music to his ears.

“That’s so hot,” Chan commented in a breathy speech, “take him deeper.”

You were shaking, being used past your limits, and filled to the brim with cock on both ends. At this point, your eyes could only make out shapes and colors, blurred by your tears and loss of oxygen. The only coherent thought of holding cum inside you running through your mind. Their grunts were your background music, and the praises, and degradation was the melody. You begged through choked sounds as if you were on your last leg, not caring how much in pain you’d be in the aftermath.

“Came twice already and you are begging for more?”

“She’s very greedy. You want us to cum in you, little whore? Can you take being that full?”

Physically speaking, you were sure if you had a straight answer, but mentally, the thought made your stomach churn incredulously. You nodded, echoing every yes you had within you until Seungcheol pulled out of your mouth to hear you more clearly, “What was that? Let me hear that again.”

“C-cum in me,” you said through your heavy, hot sobs, “let me feel every inch of me full of cum, please…”

“I think she really wants it,” Chan teased.

Seungcheol grinned, parting your hair from your face. “Let’s not waste any time then.”

Planted on your side, both men were on either your front or back, taking residency in your walls at uneven paces. Chan pushed himself against your backside, allowing you to imagine the sculpt of his body through touch. He forced you to arch, guiding your body so he could plummet inside the very depth of you, while Seungcheol held up your front.

The heat of your boyfriend's tongue steals your breath along with the energy in his hips. He glued your thigh to his side, gripping you against him as the other man’s leg follows after you, overlapping you. You couldn’t help but feel so wanted, so spoiled, every grateful word in the dictionary. But no one was more grateful than the newcomer who was any second from exploding inside you. “Pussy feels so f-fucking heavenly. Your boyfriend’s so lucky.”

“Yes, I fucking am,” Seungcheol growled, “maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get to find pussy almost as precious as my pretty baby here.”

“If I’m only so lucky,” Chan chuckled against your skin, “maybe I need to learn a thing or two from you?”

“Handsome thing like you,” the out of the blue, a hand is on Chan’s ass, “with an ass like this.”

“Likewise,” Chan revealed a toothy grin, “one nice ass to another.”

You could feel Seungcheol’s smile against your lips and a second later, you hear the boisterous sound of skin colliding, urging an abrupt slam of Chan’s hips against your backside. “I like you, kid, maybe I’ll keep you.”

Utter shock ran through the younger man, followed by arousal and a string of cusses. Chan clung to your side, trembling, teeth digging into your shoulder. “Fuck, fuck.”

Eventually, the rhythms find a mutual harmony. Your toes curled helplessly as thick threads of silky white released inside you, the legs of men clamping you down on the bed. You clutched your boyfriend, determined to not spill a drop, but relaxed as the fatigue hit you. They splayed you out once you were finished, joining your side in rest. You looked of bliss, taking in a gust of breath as you relieved yourself. “Wow. Great job, guys. That turned out better than I expected.”

“Yeah, Chan those acting classes really are coming in handy,”

The blonde rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Do you guys always take role-playing this seriously? I’m pretty sure Cheol bruised my ass cheek.”

“And I’ll do it again. You have a nice ass.”

You missed the banter. It was a little foreign to not have it almost the entire time. “And we’re back to reality.”

“I guess I don’t have much to complain about. You both did open the relationship for me. Thank you,” Chan hummed with glee. “Though it really would’ve been nice to have gotten to eat you out. Maybe once some time has passed—“

“In your dreams, twerp,” Seungcheol quickly retorted.

“Oh, I’ll be dreaming of it alright.” Chan nudged your face his way, “I’ll be dreaming of a lot of things I want to do with you.”

“Why dream if I’m here,” you grinned back, “I’m yours too now.”

His fingers ran through your hair adoringly, a cartoonish sparkle in his eye. “You are now, huh?”

Seungcheol thought he’d be jealous but it turned out better than he thought it would. It seemed that everyone was happy, even him, the guy that got the worst end of the deal but what more could he want than the smile on your face looking at him or Chan?

Seungcheol nuzzled closer to you both collectively, his chin hooking in the crook of your neck. “We’re each other’s now. It's new, but I think I like it. I’m glad to hear you both do too.”

Chan looked over at his now boyfriend(?) in gratitude and joined in, sandwiching you in between. “I’m grateful for my first poly relationship if it’s with you both. I think it’d only work if it’s with you two.”

You smiled the hardest you ever had tonight, making an effort to embrace them both, and feel the warmth that radiated off their body keep you warm. “I think we’re gonna work out just fine.”

To be continued…

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hubbvrd · 5 months

Note

#38 with Joe Burrow

Under the mistletoe ❄️ Joe Burrow

summary — joe and your first kiss under the mistletoe

pairing — joe x y/n

words — 777

note — thanks for your request. I hope you like it!!🧡

CHRISTMAS MUSIC WAS playing softly from the radio. Joe's right hand was on your thigh while he held the steering wheel with his left hand and drove you through the crowded traffic to your parents' house.

This year was the first Christmas Joe and you had spent together, so you were quite excited and your excitement was quite obvious, so Joe's thumb gently stroked your thigh and made you relax a little.

"Did I drive past the house?" Joe asked into the silence as he drove through the street where your parents' house was located.

All the houses on this street were decorated with countless lights and Christmas figures, so even though you had grown up on the street, it was hard for you to see your house among all the colorful lights.

"No, it's over there." You pointed your finger at your parents' house.

Shortly afterwards, Joe pulls up to the side of the road in front of your house, as the driveway is already fully parked with countless cars belonging to your siblings.

"Here we are" Joe announces as you both get out of the car and he casually throws the large bag with the presents over his shoulder.

You start to knead your hands nervously.

Joe had already seen your family a few times before, but since you were already pretty nervous at Christmas in general, your nervousness literally doubled.

"Everything okay?" Joe asked as he put his hand on your back and stroked it gently.

"hold my hand, babe, i'm nervous."

Smiling, Joe grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers, which made you relax a little as Joe's closeness and the warmth he radiated next to you.

For a few seconds, Joe just stood next to you, giving you some time to catch your breath, until he gently squeezed your hand to indicate that you were going to the house.

From a distance you could hear the voices of your family and the shrieks of your nieces and nephews, which made you relax a little more.

You couldn't wait to go inside, smell the delicious food, hug your family and then throw yourself into all the hustle and bustle.

Before Joe could even begin to press the doorbell, the door was ripped open and you both found yourselves in the arms of your mother, who was wearing a chef's apron and was no doubt totally stressed about the food.

"Merry Christmas to you both. Come on in!" she babbles and shortly afterwards starts to engage Joe in conversation as she pushes you inside and closes the door.

"Wow, that smells great Mrs. y/l/n," Joe begins to enthuse and gives your mother his best smile.

"Thank you, Joe. But you're supposed to call me y/m/n" she reprimands him with a grin as she rakes him and leads him into the kitchen.

You trot after them, where your father and two brothers are already waiting, whom you also pull into a hug and wish them a Merry Christmas.

But there's not much time for a conversation, because your mother and father are already literally pushing you and Joe into the living room, where a small sprig of mistletoe hangs over the door, which has been part of the family tradition for years.

"Come on, y/n. You're finally one of those who have to kiss their partner under the mistletoe," your eldest brother urges you, standing there with your little niece in his arms and holding his cell phone out to capture the moment.

"I'm sorry," you whisper wordlessly to Joe, who just shrugs his shoulders with a grin and pulls you by the hips towards him under the mistletoe.

He doesn't really seem to mind this tradition and all the attention from your family, who are watching you very closely. But why should he?

After all, he was quarterback of the Bengals and played in front of thousands of spectators.

"Well, let's make your family happy, shall we?" he whispers softly in your ear as your hands find their place on the back of his neck and interlock.

"We should, because otherwise we won't get Christmas dinner," you whisper back with a grin as Joe pulls you a little closer to him and his lips land on yours.

Whistling and clapping can be heard around you, causing your cheeks to turn a shade of red.

But even though you don't usually like kissing Joe in public in front of others, you enjoy this moment with Joe under the mistletoe to the full and hope that this is not the last kiss with Joe under the mistletoe, but one of many.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow imagines #nfl imagines #nfl #nfl fic #cincinnati bengals #nfl imagine

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pink-apollo · 2 years

Note

Task force with S/O that have big breast please?

AHHHH. I saw this and got sooo excited😭 As a gal that has double Ds it can be such a pain. Buttons busting open, shirts tight in certain areas, just a struggle ;-; but they make wonderful pillows!

Wasn’t sure who you wanted so I added my main 3. If you want price and gaz let me know ^^ Also I am so sorry if Simon is very ooc, I’m trying to go with his current self and exactly pin point it which I find to be a little difficult😅

——————————————————————————

Task force with large chested S/O Headcanons

🎀Soap is a cheeky guy, we all know this. Of course he loves you for you! Not just looks! But at times he can’t but to just…stare. He knows it can be rude and weird, but when they’re right there in his face he can’t help it

🎀You could be mid conversation, babbling away at something you were talking about and John would be sitting there eyeing you up, tuning out what you were saying only to be met with your chest in his face as you looked at the man red from getting caught

🎀He means well, honest! But will try every chance he gets to grab them or lay on your chest because of how comfortable it is. A “perfect pillow” as he would say

🎀Purposely buys shirts that are rather a bit too tight for you. Although you may think it doesn’t look good, soap on the other hand is taking mental pictures to remember how you fit into the shirt

🎀Loves to feel you pressed up against him. Yes for the contact because he does enjoy it! But to also feel all of you and be a little more intimate

🎀In general loves to hold them. His thumb gentle rubbing your nipples to piss you off or to tease depending on the mood. But for the most part holds them, massaging them as he leans on your back , leaving trails of kisses along your shoulder to neck

🎀Is basically a child in a candy store

Ghost

🍁Simon is…well let’s say more sneaky than soap is when it comes to taking peaks. No, he doesn’t do it often, but if you just so happen to wear a shirt that fits just right and shows a bit of cleavage? He can’t help himself but to look, especially if he’s taller than you

🍁Although he does enjoy them, he’s more so focused on your other needs. Like if your back hurts or in general breasts are achey to to your hormones. He doesn’t mind whatsoever focusing on making you feel better before anything else happens. Your comfort comes first

🍁Notices every little detail when you move. Purposely walks behind or in front of you so he doesn’t glance down to see you walking with your chest slightly bouncing. Steps? Won’t say anything, but are his weakness when it comes to you. Thank god for the mask

🍁If you ask him to hold them he will. Might be a little unsure of how exactly to please you, again when it comes to physical things, Simon needs a little bit of guidance! He just wants to do right and to be sure you’re okay. But oddly enough finds it to be a stress reliever for himself

🍁Is very gentle with them in the beginning. Gives kisses all over before nibbling and leaving marks all over your chest. Caressing them with his hands, ever so softly pinching them to hear you sweak

🌹When it comes to you? This man looses all train of thought. With every step you take towards him, he can’t help but to look down. You know it’s his weakness and sometimes use it to your advantage, but other times simply oblivious to the fact that he was staring

🌹Alejandro tries his best to a gentleman, but can’t help but to glide his hands over your chest when alone sitting on his lap, squeezing them from pent up sexual tension that you caused

🌹Of course he always asks for permission regardless of how long you’ve been together. He just needs to know what kind of mood your in before he does

🌹Certainly loves when you straddle him and just hold him or perhaps ride him. Not only an amazing sight, but just being close to you is one of his many favorite things

🌹Lays on your chest very often! Just so squishy and comfortable to lay on! Has fallen asleep quite a few times on your chest, with his hand up your shirt on your breast. Could lay like that forever if you allowed him to do so

#headcanons #mw2 #modern warfare2 #Simon ghost Riley x reader #John soap mactavish x reader #Alejandro Vargas x reader #Simon Riley headcanons #John soap mactavish headcanons #Alejandro Vargas headcanons #x reader #modern warfare

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httpsleclerc · 4 months

Note

here’s an idea for mick & vettel!reader :) they go go karting as young kids & at the track some rude boys make fun of her for being a girl & mick stands up for her

THANK YOU ANON I LOVE THIS

You beamed up at your dad, your wide, excited smile evident on your face despite the helmet you were wearing. Sebastian smiled as he situated you into the go kart, making sure that you were strapped in tight, since you were on the smaller side and tended to sometimes slide around the small seat.

"Feel okay, liebling?" He asked you, nodding and grinning as you gave him a thumbs up in response, looking over as Michael helped Mick into his own go-kart, going through the same routine he did with you. "Remember, you and Mick are on the same team, you don't need to beat Mick, just the other boys, okay?"

"Okay daddy," You responded, once again giving your dad a double thumbs up just to emphasise how much you understood what he was telling you. "Are you and Mick's daddy gonna watch us?" You asked your dad hopefully, Sebastians heart swooning at your puppy dog eyes which were visible through the visor on your helmet.

"Yes, Liebling, we'll be right over here cheering you both on, okay?" Your father assured you, stepping off of the go kart track as a whistle was blown, Michael coming to stand beside the younger German. The two watched and commented as you lead the rest of the boys for more than half of the allocated laps, with Mick taking over your lead in the second half, but watched as you pulled what could only be described as a stunning overtake last minute and winning overall.

"Daddy! I won!" You cheered as you came pelting towards your father, tossing your helmet to the side as you ran towards your dad, your small self colliding with his legs with a small grunt. Sebastian smiled as he picked you up, holding you at his hip so he could place a small kiss on your cheek as a congratulations.

"I know! You did so good, liebling!" Sebastian congratulated you as he pointed to the small gold medal hanging from your neck. "Mick did really well too, didn't he?" You nodded and grinned at the mention of your best friend, whose silver medal hung proudly around his neck as his own father congratulated him. "Me and Mick's dad are going to get you two ice cream, so you two stay here okay? Do not move." You nodded, understanding how stern your dad was being.

"You did so good y/n," Mick smiled at you as the two of you sat on the bench previously occupied by your fathers. You blushed as you looked away from him, going shy at the praise from your best friend.

"Thanks, I might let you win next time, Mickey," You teased him, the two of you giggling at your joke. However, your laughter didn't last long as you were soon pushed from your seat on the bench, landing on the ground on your hands and knees with an oof. "Ow! Hey!" You whined, tears bubbling in your eyes.

Three boys, who you had beaten, were clearly unhappy with the given result of the race - Which was a bit ironic since it was a kids go-karting race and not a real Formula One Grand Prix.

"What are you even doing here? You're just a stupid little girl, shouldn't you be playing with barbies or something?" The boys friends laughed at their jabs at you, laughing even further as you started quietly crying, at this point just wanting your dad and to go home. "Aww, poor crybabies upset. Maybe you should just go home, little girl." Their jabs at your age were almost laughable, since you were 6 and these boys were 8, you had driven laps around them during the race.

"Leave her alone! You're just jealous that she's better than you and that her dad is here," Mick tried to be as formidable as possible towards the older boys, who did seem taken aback at the young Schumachers words. "You're just being mean to her because you are not as good as she is, she did a lap around you and you so maybe you should go home and play barbies!"

Following Mick's defence of you, the older boys backed off and left the two of you alone, leaving Mick to help you up off of the ground and back up onto the bench.

"It's okay y/n, they are bad drivers anyway," Mick tried to make you laugh, but you continued crying due to the seething pain in your skinned palms.

"My hands hurt, Mickey," You cried to him. Mick, knowing a way to help you which his mom always did, picked up your hands gently and placed small kisses on each of your palms.

"There! All better."

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula 1 #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel x daughter reader #mick schumacher x vettel!reader #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher #michael schumacher

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headcaasefiction · 6 months

Text

Ecstasy: Chapter 1

Chapter 2 is here.

Mihawk/Shanks/AFAB!Reader

Minors Do Not Interact

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Threesome, Dub-con, Non-consensual drugging, Vaginal sex, Fisting, Double penetration, light BDSM, Dom/sub, Daddy kink, Sir Kink.

Summary: Shanks and Mihawk take you out to the bar for your birthday. They slip a little something in your drink as a present and lavish you with attention. Happy birthday to you!

“Well then wouldn't that mean you're the one taking advantage of me? Seeing as I'm under the influence..." You tease, trying to be coy.

He pulls back from nipping along your shoulder, a possessive hand circled loosely around the soft column of your throat. His eyes meet yours, intense as ever, "Would you like me to?"

Ecstasy: Chapter 1/2

1: a state of overwhelming emotion

especially : rapturous delight

2: often capitalized : a synthetic amphetamine analog C11H15NO2 used illicitly for its mood-enhancing and hallucinogenic properties, called also MDMA

3: a state of being beyond reason and self-control

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

"We have a surprise for you," Shanks grins ear to ear, all bright teeth and shining sparkle in his eyes. His one arm encircling your waist, hand on your hip as you, him, and Mihawk enter through the tavern door.

Mihawk as stoic as he is, even has a shift in his normally blunt expression, the corner of his mouth curving up in a slight smirk, his piercing yellow eyes flashing over to Shanks with a devious look of knowing.

You smile wide, your hands gripping the back of Shanks' shirt as you squeeze Mihawk's hand with excitement, bouncing gleefully on your feet, "A surprise? When? Where? What? I wanna know!"

Shanks chuckles, leading you and your other lover towards a small rounded booth near the back of the bar, patrons scrambling nervously out of the way as they saw the powerful pair of pirates enter the space.

"Paitence, darling," Mihawk murmers, his lips ghosting over your forehead as he slides into the booth, pulling you into his lap, "It will be well worth the wait. "

You huff, lip sticking out in a firm pout, "It's my birthday. I should be allowed a hint at least."

Mihawk and Shanks make brief eye contact again, their subtle glances at each other going completely over your head.

"It will happen sooner than you think, " Shanks promises, kissing you sweetly, thumb grazing over your bottom lip, "I think you're going to love it."

The smile returns to your face, bratiness quelled for now as you kiss the red-haired captain once more, then lean back to comfortably adjust yourself in Mihawk's lap.

"Well whatever it is I can't wait, it has to be something good if it's coming from both of you."

At that Mihawk snakes his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to the meeting point of your neck and shoulder, a sensitive spot that makes you sigh.

"I can't take too much credit," he says, breath tickling your ear, "I have to admit it was our dear Shanks who came up with the idea, though I will be very much involved."

Your heart flutters at the insinuation, you have no idea what they could possibly have planned for you - especially something amazing enough that Mihawk would even be so interested in. Tonight was going to be a good night, you could feel it.

“Alight Hawk-eye, let's stop teasing," Shanks taunts playfully, stepping out from the booth, "I think it's time I got the birthday girl a drink, would you like that, sweetheart?"

“Yes please, Daddy, " You say eagerly, "and some shots!"

Shanks laughs loudly, head tossed back, his single hand on his hip, "You got it sweetheart, anything for our birthday girl. Wine for you, aye Hawk-eyes?"

Mihawk gives his usual curt nod, Shanks leaving the two of you alone as he saunters over to the bar to order your drinks. That's when you notice something just a little different, a little odd about your yellow-eyed lover tonight. You shift your weight turning sideways in his lap, and rest both your arms around his shoulders so you could better see his face.

“You've been smiling all day today..." You tell him, watching his demeanor carefully, "Is everything okay?"

You're rewarded with a low chuckle and a small flash of a genuine smile from him, a complete rarity.

"Yes darling, just been in a good mood today," he soothes his hand over your thigh, resting the other on the small of your back, "We've been looking forward to spoiling you all week."

You press your forehead to his, lips close to touching, you purposefully shift your weight to grind down against his cock you can feel starting to get hard in his pants, between your layers of clothing, "And what about my surprise, Sir? Will that spoil me?"

He knows what you're doing, has seen you pull the same similar kind of moves as you're doing now, seducing him, manipulating his soft spot for you so that you get what you want.

"Soon, you little siren," he growls softly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thigh and hip, his lips then catching yours in a heated kiss. You relax into him, savoring the sharp nip he gives your bottom lip as he pulls away, "Just enjoy the night, Red and I will take care of the rest."

It's just then that Shanks strolls back up to the booth, a tray of drinks balanced in his remaining hand, that he carefully places on the table before sliding into the leather seat next to you. He pulls your legs to rest on his lap before reaching over to the tray and grabbing a bright pink cocktail in a hurricane style glass, garnished with a cherry and a slice of peach.

"A very special drink for a very special girl," he grins with a wink, handing you the fancy beverage, "Drink up love, let's get this party started."

You squeak with excitment, hastily grabbing the fruity concoction and immediately begin to suck it down.

"That's my girl," Shanks coos, pressing a chaste kiss to your jaw before throwing back a shot of whiskey, and sliding Mihawk's glass of wine over to him.

Mihawk smirks, one hand stroking your back while the other moves the glass of red wine to his lips, taking a sip and setting it back down, "How does it taste, love?"

"Mmmm," you vocalize, finally putting the glass down after having drank half of it in one setting, you cozy further up to the captain, batting your eyelashes, "So good! I want another, Daddy, will you please order me one?"

Shanks squeezes your thigh, lips connecting with your neck for brief moment. He then picks up a shot glass filled with amber liquid - some kind of whiskey or possibly rum and hands it toward you.

"I'll get you another one as soon as you take this and finish the other. But after that you have to promise me that you'll pace yourself, we don't want you getting sick on your birthday and ruining your surprise."

"Okay, okay," You say, your tone dripping with attitude and annoyance, and with a roll of your eyes you reach for the shot glass.

Shanks holds it back slightly, giving you a gentle but stern look, eyebrow quirking up with expectation.

"Manners, darling," Mihawk drawls, fingers gripping the nape of your neck in warning as he continues to nurse his wine.

You tense up, embarrassed, a flush spreading over your cheeks, "I'm sorry...I promise, Daddy, I don't want to ruin the surprise you worked so hard on."

Shanks flashes a smile, re-extending the shot back to you, all being forgiven.

“Good girl," he praises, kissing your lips once more, hand settling back down to your thigh as you accept the glass.

You toss it back, grimacing at the fiery burn and acrid taste, quickly grabbing your cocktail to chase it down. When you were finished you set the glass back on the table, a few more sips still sitting at the bottom.

"Ah, ah, ah," Shanks tsked, gesturing to the meager contents, "Every last drop, sweetheart."

You giggle, the alcohol beginning to wash through your system, warming you. You pick the glass back up, humoring him, "Yes, Daddy," you say before sucking down the rest.

"Atta' girl," Shanks grins at you, seemingly pleased as he rewards your leg with another squeeze, before exiting the booth once more,"I believe it's time I got us another round, don't you think?"

You hum in agreement, snuggling up to the warlord's side, your hand riding dangerously close to the waistband of his pants. Mihawk in turn nips at the shell of your ear in retaliation, his goatee softly scratching against your face, making you blush and press your face into his neck.

"Oh and Mihawk, keep an eye on her, yeah?" The tall red-head says with a wink, leaving again after receiving a brief nod from his companion in return of his request.

Your brow furrows, confused, "I'm not going anywhere," you nuzzle in closer, giving Mihawk a peck on the underside of his jaw, "Why would I leave when I have the best seat in the house?"

That actually amused him, a low short laugh sounding deep in his chest, and huffing out slightly as he downed the remaining contents of his wine, "I think he meant for me to look after you, seeing as you're under the influence."

Now it was your turn to laugh, your face tinged pink as you felt the drinks work through your body, giddiness bubbling to the surface, you tease: "Are you going to protect me from anyone seeking to take advantage?"

Firmly, he grips your jaw in one hand, pressing you hard against him he gazes at you with those fierce yellow eyes, suddenly serious, "Yes, I am," he murmers, before claiming your lips with his own, tongue slipping languidly into your warm pink mouth.

You gasp, clinging to him, hands gripped tight to the lapels of his jacket you whisper against his lips, "S-sir...someone might see..."

"Hmm, let them," he drawls, sucking a dark mark into your collarbone, free hand reaching down to squeeze the upper curve of your ass, "I want everyone to know that you belong to us."

His words deepen the flush spreading along your cheeks and down your neck, pleasure swirling through your veins and heightening your alcoholic buzz. You desperately try to keep your wits about you, grasping to control yourself.

"Well then wouldn't that mean you're the one taking advantage of me? Seeing as I'm under the influence..." You tease, trying to be coy.

He pulls back from nipping along your shoulder, a possessive hand circled loosely around the soft column of your throat. His eyes meet yours, intense as ever, "Would you like me to?"

A longful whine climbs it's way out of your throat, heat shooting straight to your core. You tremble under his gaze, embarrassment and indecent need dancing in your blood.

"I'll take that as a yes." He whispers low in your ear, pleased with your reaction.

You're suddenly snapped back to reality, saved by Shanks' return, his tall figure towering over the corner of the booth as he sets the tray back on the table again, warm brown eyes meeting yours with a playful look of knowing.

"Teasing a lady on her birthday, Hawk-eyes? How cruel."

Mihawk rolls his eyes, a bit more gentle than usual, "You're one to talk."

You laugh loudly, brought back into focus by their bickering, the previous atmosphere returning to the table. Shanks offers you another shot, which the three of you take in unison, toasting to the date of your birth.

The next hour is a bit of a blur, more of Shanks' crew joining your trio for a party of conversation, dancing, merriment and drink. Even Mihawk seemed more social than normal, though every time you glanced at him, his eyes were fixed back at you. You were starting to think he had taken Shanks' request to keep an eye on you just a little too seriously.

You had been good at doing what Shanks had asked of you with pacing yourself...but when you were almost done finishing the second cocktail he had given you is when you felt something strange. A sudden intense tingle zips from the top of your head and pulses out of your fingertips, alarming you.

“Strange..." You muse to yourself while you place your glass on the counter, rubbing your fingers together, "I haven't had that much to drink..."

You spoke too soon, as a wave of euphoria crashes rapidly over you, heated blood singing through your veins, pleasure buzzing under your skin. Your eyes loll back slightly, your stature wavering as you try to steady yourself against the bar. Someone suddenly appears by you, taking you by the hand and waist, pressing you firm to their side as they begin to walk you back to the booth you had been sitting at near the beginning of the night.

You're pushed up against the darkest corner of the tavern, the tall figure crowding you in - excitement screams through your system, the feeling of elation increasing at every passing moment, as their touch, heat, and proximity overwhelms you.

Two glowing orbs hover in your line of sight, your mind piecing together the striking face of someone beautiful, someone familiar...Mihawk's face swims in your vision, his golden eyes fixed on you with his usual stoic expression. He stands in front of you, one hand gripping your wrist while the other is held to the wall next to your head, caging you in.

You feel yourself burn up, wave after wave of euphoria throbbing inside and out of your body, pure rapture caressing every fiber of your being. It makes you feel ultra aware of his presence, his power, his dominance bouncing off and reverberating through the pulse of your need.

"How are you feeling, darling?"

His voice, smooth and sultry like warm honey melts over you, deepening your vulnerability. The only thing you can focus on is the white hot pulse you feel throb through your clit, and your wishful need dampen your panties.

Rather clumsily you reach out to him, hands gripping tight to the lapels of his coat.

"I feel...I feel..." You're not quite sure, don't know how to explain it, this mind numbing pleasure. The only thing that felt comparable was the sub-space mindset you have entered before, after Shanks and Mihawk have fucked you into oblivion, "I feel...good."

A shadow looms over Mihawk's shoulder, and a flash of red. Mihawk removes his extended arm from the wall, and then you have the bright dazzling smile of Captain Shanks hovering over you, a gentle hand caressing the side of your face.

"My, my, what do we have here, hm? Did someone have too much to drink?" Shanks teases in a condescending tone, sliding his thumb down to your bottom lip, pulling it down so your lips ever -so-slightly separate.

Your eyes roll back once more, your body eagerly responding to the contact, making you shudder. You stick your tongue out laving the tip over his thumb before taking the digit in your mouth and sucking on it, sliding it out with a lewd pop.

"Mmm, good girl," Shanks breathes, cradling your face in the palm of his hand again.

“I...I-I don't remember drinking that much...and I feel, I feel so different, so, good...I don't know what's going on..." You whine squeezing your thighs together, still desperately hanging onto Mihawk's coat for dear life, your only tether to reality.

"Sh, sh, sh, my love," Shanks soothes, pressing his forehead to yours, "You're here with us, with Sir and Daddy. We'll protect you, won't let anything bad happen to you."

Mihawk crowds into you again, shoulder to shoulder with his companion, slotted perfectly into where Shanks missing limb would be. He moves one hand to your hip, the other reaching down to grip the edge of your skirt.

"This is the surprise we mentioned earlier," Mihawk whispers, as he begins to pull up your skirt, fingertips brushing softly against your thigh.

Your breath hitches in your throat, a bolt of electric heat shoots down your spine, shockwaves travelling up your thighs to your pulsing clit, his touch paralyzing you, your body quivering for more. You try to focus on the words he's saying, exactly what he's telling you, the cogs in your brain working overtime to process and remember: A surprise? Yes!...but what was the surprise?

"Don't panic, baby," Shanks reassures, stroking your collarbone, observing as Mihawk makes his way up your skirt, "I put something in your drink, something that will make you feel really, really good."

You were so focused on Mihawk's hand inching it's way up the sensitive flesh of your thigh that you almost hadn't heard what Shanks had said. Your body was screaming out, begging for contact, your cognition beginning to fumble.

"Something in my...drink..." You trailed off, lost in a daze, moaning in ecstasy as Mihawk finally makes contact with your clothed clit, fingers smoothly sliding over the little nub and your absolutely soaked through panties.

Mihawk makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat, his lips parting as he makes eye contact with your huge blown out pupils, arousal thick in his voice, "So wet."

You whimper, biting your lip, attempting to cease the lewd vocalizations as arousal floods your brain. Mihawk continues his slow and torturous exploration of your cunt through the thin fabric, the tips of his fingers swirling over your clit before curling inward, pushing your drenched panties a little further into your hole each time.

"Sir, w-wait...~," You say ashamed, your hands abandoning the front of his coat to try and weakly push down your skirt.

In a flash both of your wrists are quickly scooped up and held together above your head in the single hand of your red-haired captain. The stern, almost disappointed look he gives you makes your stomach drop.

"Tsk, tsk," he utters with a gentle suck to his teeth, towering over you, "That's no way to show your appreciation, is it sweetheart?"

You tremble, fingers gently twitching in his grip, your arousal beginning to peak as Mihawk continues his relentless caress.

“No, Daddy I'm sorry," you whisper, head lolling back against the wall as you feel another surge of the euphoric drug, Mihawk's fingers squelching obscenely inside of you as you leak more wetness.

"Mmm..." Shanks quietly hums in appreciation at the noise, "I can't stay mad at you for long, not when you're taking his fingers so well."

He leans closer to your face, crimson hair tickling your cheek, "Now tell me birthday girl, what do you want?"

As soon as Shanks asked you felt Mihawk's pace quicken slightly and his left hand brush across your clothed nipple, making you gasp, fireworks going off in your head...you were getting close.

"Use your words, little one," Mihawk murmurs, teasing you, more than pleased with his handy-work.

" I... " You gasp, biting back down into your lip, heat pooling up and igniting in your belly, "Please...please I want to cum..." You plead with a whine, closing your eyes and pressing the side of your face into the crook of your still pinned arms, attempting to hide your embarrassment from your tormentors.

"Aww," Shanks coos, nuzzling your exposed neck, "Is someone close?"

You bite back a rather pathetic cry, tears welling up in your eyes as your body teteers on the edge - swollen clit and puffy lips overstimulated from the drag of your Sir's fingers and the confines of your ruined panties.

"Yes, Daddy, please please please..."

Shanks chuckles, watching in delight as you beg and start to fall apart - the drug he gave you had worked even better than he thought it would, making you perfectly needy and pliant. He enjoyed toying with you in public, but you were always hesitant. As much as he was enjoying your break of will power, he still has bigger plans for you this night.

"I'm sorry baby, but not quite yet, " he soothed, kissing the corner of your mouth, and giving your wrists a gentle squeeze as you flexed and struggled against him, frustrated, "Soon. I promise."

Mihawk had suddenly withdrawn his fingers, his other hand settling on your hip with a vice grip, preventing you from thrusting forward. Slowly, while looking into your desperate and blessed out eyes, he sucks his soaked digits drenched with your juices into his mouth, a short low moan escaping from deep in his chest.

"How does she taste, Hawk-eyes?" Shanks asks, the both of you transfixed on Mihawk's mouth.

"Mmm, divine," he states, tone thick with arousal, his striking yellow eyes never once straying from yours.

Shanks releases your hands, your body going slack with submission as your muscles fail. Before you fall, three strong arms hold you up.

"Steady now, sweetheart," Shanks says just above a whisper, arm gripped tight around your waist, "I want to get you back to the ship so we can finish your celebration in private."

Without another word Mihawk reaches down, sliding one arm under your knees and using his other to support your back, he swiftly bundles you into his arms. You immediately rest your head on his shoulder, arms tucked close to his chest and collar bone. A wave of emotion suddenly hits you, spurred on by the relentless rush of the drug coursing through your veins. You felt safe, loved, cherished.

All patrons of the bar, including Shanks' loyal crew clear a path to the door as Shanks takes the lead, Mihawk following close behind, eyes fixed ahead - stern and threatening as he stalks forward. His demeanor completely protective as he cradles you in his arms.

You bury your face against his neck, your cheeks flush with embarrassment, hoping to whatever God was listening that no one witnessed you unravel and give into your desires in public. If anyone did you don't think they would live very long, it was entirely well known that you belonged to two of the most powerful men on the seas. A wrong glance toward you could warrant a death sentence.

As soon as the three of you exited the tavern, the cool night air hit you, making you shudder as another wave of pleasure fell over you. Your hot and clammy skin tingling, goosebumps erupting as the ocean breeze cooled you down, quelling your nerves.

Your eyes flutter slightly, lulled by the gentle and rhythmic jostling of your figure as Mihawk strides down the dimly lit road, the lights of the tavern shrinking further and further away in the distance behind the three of you.

"Try to stay awake for me, sweetheart," Shanks smiles, his fingertips gently ghosting across your cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, "The night has just begun."

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

I’ll be posting the last half later this week, stay tuned! It’s about to get filthy.

#mihawk/shanks/reader #one piece live action fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #mihawk/reader #shanks/reader #mihawk x reader #shanks x reader #one piece #one piece live action #dracule mihawk #shanks #akagami no shanks #fanfic #fanfiction #headcaase writes #reader insert #one piece reader insert

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lunarbuck · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Week 2: Double Penetration

header: @jen-with-a-pen

Pairing: Stucky x f!reader (any race)

Word Count: 802

Prompt: Double penetration

Warnings: smut (p in v), double penetration, fingering, oral (f receiving), swearing, pet names [baby], praise

my masterlist | kinktober masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary

Bucky presses you down on the mattress, the bulk of his body covering yours as he kisses you passionately. “You really think you’re ready?” You nod, eyes twisting shut as his hands roam over your body.

“She seems to think she’s ready, Buck,” Steve whispers, running his hand along Bucky’s spine. “Why don’t we let her show us.”

Bucky is on you in a flash, kissing and nipping along your neck and collarbones. Steve’s hands drift over your body, squeezing and massaging. The two men work you up until your head is spinning with need, just the way they like you.

It doesn’t take long for metal fingers to trace along the seam of your panties, cool against your heated body, and you gasp at the temperature difference. Bucky grins down at you, loving how responsive you are.

Together, Bucky and Steve work your panties down your legs and begin to take you apart with their fingers and tongues. It overwhelms your senses, feeling so much all at once, but the two men keep you grounded in the moment with words of praise and love.

You can feel nervousness and excitement in the air. The three of you have been working up to this for quite some time now, and you can tell they’re eager. They work hard to bring you to the edge, heat tightening in your belly.

“Please,” you whimper, tangling your fingers in Steve’s hair. “Please fuck me, Stevie.” He moans against your pussy and smiles, circling your clit with his tongue. Bucky’s fingers curl to hit the spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back, and the band in your belly snaps. Steve pulls away and watches you come undone, clearly pleased, before guiding Bucky away.

You hear shuffling and the tearing of wrappers, and a moment later, Steve helps you into the position he wants you in. He lays down and guides you on top of him, and you line his cock up with your entrance. Bucky kneels behind you, kissing the soft skin of your shoulder.

“You’re gonna look so fucking pretty taking both of us,” he whispers in your ear. You grin, sinking down on Steve’s cock. He groans, gripping your hips with his big hands, guiding your movements.

Bucky slides his fingers down your body, feeling where Steve is pumping inside of you. You shiver when he adds a finger alongside Steve’s cock. This isn’t the first time they’ve done this to you, stretching you and getting you used to the feeling, but you know this time will end differently.

You take deep breaths while Bucky adds another lubricated finger, and Steve helps you through it by sliding this thumb over your clit, gently teasing it.

“I think she’s ready,” Bucky says to Steve, the two men exchanging a heated glance. Electricity thrums through your body, anticipation thick in the air. Bucky removes his hand, and Steve steadies you, halting your movements.

You rise up until just the tip of Steve’s dick is inside of you, and Bucky lines himself up, biting down on your shoulder. Four hands grip your body, easing you down. The stretch burns, and you screw your eyes shut, but those hands tease and graze over your clit and nipples, bringing you pleasure right along with the pain.

Bucky and Steve both hold their breaths, holding themselves back while you adjust to the feeling of taking both of them. You release a loud moan when they’re fully inside of you, and your whole body shakes at the sensation.

“So. Fucking. Perfect.” Bucky rasps, thrusting his hips with each word. Steve groans, biting his lip to the point where he draws blood. They work in unison, pumping into you with measured thrusts, but you can tell the longer it goes on, the more their control is slipping.

“Please, please, please,” you whimper, your mind melting into a puddle of pleasure. You’re putty in their strong hands.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” Steve praises. “Look so perfect taking both of us.” Their careful pace stutters, and as if a switch has been flipped, they both begin to rut into you with deep, hard thrusts. Your body hums, succumbing to an orgasm that takes you by surprise. It drags you under, stealing your breath, and all you can do is hold on as Steve and Bucky follow you under.

The two men ease you onto the bed before they dispose of their condoms. You suck in deep breaths as you come down from the high. Bucky and Steve lay down, one on either side of you, and press kisses to your forehead, cheeks, and nose. They hold you close, warming you with their bodies and whispering to you how proud they are, how much they love you, how perfect you are for them.

@flightlessangelwings | #fawktober 2023 list

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noroamenial · 8 months

Text

I wrote some more Raphael x Tav!!!

spoilers for story stuff in Act 3, its there to set the scene.

uhhhhhh cw: a pretty suggestive start (it's just paragraph.)

basically it starts at the end of a sex scene between Raphael and Tav. After that its just a bunch of sweet. And the main plot is a date between raph and tav.

....“Take me, Raphael.” and oh did he. Passion and lust coupled into a starburst of an orgasm, the stroke of his cock drove you insane. Through a mix of biting, scratching, gentle words, wandering hands, and three orgasms you were laid sated and bare on your bedroll.

Raphael sat beside you, stroking hair from your face. He sighed, leaning over to kiss you briefly.

“Will I see you again?” your voice and thoughts had returned, albeit hoarse.

He looked at you, contemplating for a few moments. Something swirled behind his amber eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

“Yes.” he stayed close to your face to speak softly. “Once you arrive in Baldur’s Gate, meet me in Sharess Caress…try not to let your companions tag along.” he glanced at the bedrolls around camp. “Then we can discuss over dinner.” he smiled, looking down at you once again.

You smile back, coaxing him down to kiss his cheek. Raphael obliges.

“Good, now take care to remember our plans. And do try not to die, my dove.” he scolds lightly, pulling the bedroll’s blanket around you.

~~~

Your exhaustion had turned to excitement as soon as your party had made it to Baldur’s gate. You reserved the rooms above the Elfsong tavern for your companions before heading out. You were meant to meet Kithrak Voss at Sharess Caress along with your other…confidant. So hopefully your party wouldn’t connect the dots too easily.

The morning you had woken up after your last encounter with Raphael, you were greeted with your whole party and their deep concern for the bite marks, scratching, and not to mention the infernal lettering hastily scrawled up your arm. You honestly couldn’t even give a half assed excuse. And thank the hells no one could read infernal—you couldn’t either but that's besides the point. You assumed it was just a reminder from Raphael.

In Sharess caress Kithrak Voss spouted nonsense about the devil Raphael and freeing someone before scampering off to the lower level of the city and telling you to meet him there after meeting with Raphael. You sighed, you had thought that this meeting would be something more…casual, rather than some new contract business.

Begrudgingly you let your companions—Astarion, Gale, and Karlach—come with you. Now that they knew it was Raphael, they insisted. With how much you left out of disclosing your rendezvous, and Raphael’s charm and seeming inability to feel shame, your party might end up learning a little too much today.

Pushing open an oak door you briefly glanced at the sign beside it. “Devil’s den” was this a usual arrangement? Seeing as it was a room inside a brothel, you didn’t particularly want to know if Raphael was an employee or a patron.

The quick light up of his eyes as you led your party into the room was all that you needed to confirm what this was going to be. It was only for a second, the gentle amber of his true irises, before it faded back to a washed out rich brown for his human form. It's not as if his human form wasn’t attractive—it was. It was just that you had been longing for that form bathed in the soft camplight glow.

“My dove and her flock have finally come to my nest,” Raphael clasped his hands together in front of him, his easy smirk lazily sprawled across his lips.

“Though I believe I asked just for you,” he mutters, taking your arm suddenly as you got close. His free hand pulling up your sleeve, thumb rubbing across the infernal writing in ink still clear on your arm.

Karlach fidgeted at your side, you could tell she had to double take as not to strike the devil.

“Anything you have to say to them, you can say with us around too.” She growls, leaning forward. The teifling makes a motion with her hands for him to brush off and he does.

“Oh it’s fine by me, but it might not be fine by her.” Raphael shrugs, backing up.

“And why would that be?” You ask hesitantly, meeting his gaze.

“You know why,” he shrugs again, “anyways, to business.” Raphael explained his deal to you, he’d offer the Orphic hammer to release the Githyanki prince from the empower and the astral prism and in return he wanted the netheres crown.

“…After a century long rage, I decided that my time would come.” He smiled, “and here it is, the dead three’s little representatives stole it right from under Mephistopheles nose, and I may regain it.”

“Do not agree to this.” Gale warns from behind you. “Netheres magic is wild and untamed, it must be studied and understood.”

You hesitate here, you had promised Gale this artifact, but centuries of disappointment and even wrath could come from turning Raphael down.

The devil must have noticed: “I won’t make you decide now, after all, you have other things to do before then.” He let out a sigh, gazing out the window as his expression fell.

“Thank you,” You sigh. And suddenly you’re both standing in silence. You can tell your party is shifting uncomfortably behind you, they don’t want to be here longer than they need to.

Raphael clears his throat,

“One last thing, then I will let you go.” You watch as his gaze looks you up and down. “I promised you dinner. If you’re still interested, come back at sunset. Just you this time, my dove.” And his smile returns with the name.

~~~

Your heart was beating so fast as you and your party left to go back to the Elfsong Tavern. Truth be told, all you could think about was what do you possibly have that would be suitable to wear on a date?

Your companions were less giddy.

“Dinner? For what? When did he promise you that?” Karlach was talking into the air, hot steam rolling off of her shoulders as her infernal engine worked inside her. “Promised you? You better not be making some sort of deal with him. You can’t. I know firsthand the consequences of making a deal with a devil.”

“Don’t go.” It was Gale’s voice this time, “I know you think you can handle everything, after you’ve handled—“ he waves his hands up, “—all this. But don’t. Please.” He places a hand on your shoulder. And at this point you can’t tell if he’s more afraid of losing you, or the potential to study that artifact.

You shrug his hand off as you see the Elfsong in sight.

“Well Astarion, any opinions?” You sigh, looking over at the pale elf.

He shrugs, “If you do this, do it out of your own benefit. And If you end up in harm’s way, we’ll come running.”

That was one of the most caring answers the vampire could have come up with. Maybe he was seeing part of himself in you, or maybe he really did just care.

“Thank you.”

~~~

You had already spotted your companions across the tavern eyeing you. After confessing you had a ‘date’ and that’s why you were sneaking away from the tavern so late, they had followed you. At first you laughed at how they tried to be sneaky, but now it was just annoying.

You were sitting near the back in a reserved booth, it was in a corner with a little alcove above it, and a single candle in the middle of the table. You had dressed up, some black outfit that had caught your eye the day previous. It had little silver embellishments and white trim lace, it cost a pretty penny, but you felt as though you deserved at least one nice thing.

Tracing the smudging infernal on the inside of your arm, you sighed. You shouldn’t get your hopes up for anything. It was more likely that Raphael wanted a contract out of this encounter and was just nice enough to save you from embarrassment directly in front of your party. You suddenly felt really stupid with that last thought. Why would someone desire your company in such a way? Nevertheless a devil of all beings. It seemed that all you had been doing lately is giving. Giving to your companions, whether that was emotional or physical. Giving to the damn parasite in your head. Giving to the emperor. Being the conduit to the end of something greater than yourself. Every action, every consequence hangs over your head every day, every second of your journey. You are a beginning and an end. A tool for greater purpose.

You swallowed hard, looking at the small flickering candle inside of a half mason jar. This wasn’t good, you were holding back the urge to burst into tears.

“Usually I am nothing less than punctual.” A deep sigh and the creak of wood, and Raphael was sitting beside you in the booth. He had that sharp tang of sulfur with him, meaning he must have rushed in not long ago. “But I was taking my time, apologies.” Raphael was one for attention, but his usual outfit was gone in place of something more neutral, dark grays and maroons, accented with gold. It was a change from the vibrant blue. Stray burning cinders floated from his hair as he combed a hand through it. The human glamor was probably rushed too.

He flashed you a grin that faltered when your eyes met.

“It's okay.” You murmured, dabbing at your eyes. It was more embarrassing than anything to be caught so emotionally.

“And, I'll admit, I’m glad to be a bit more casual with you.” He teased, taking your hand in his as soon as you finished. “As my favorite entertainment of course." And as you meet his gaze, that uneasy feeling returns.

"It actually...was really exciting to be asked out to dinner." you admit, "And I'm excited it was you who asked me."

That had left him quiet, no quip or remark. He angled his head to look at you. Perhaps he was taking in the genuine tone of your words, or maybe he was just content with the fact that you wanted what he wanted.

“Your companions are here.” He says after a moment of silence.

“I know.”

“They are glaring.”

“I know.”

“I take it they don't approve.” He chuckles.

“Nope.” You can’t help the smile that comes from you. “I’m allowed to go on a date and not disclose the who, what, and where.”

“So they followed you?”

“Probably.” You shrug, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Let’s make this night as long and enjoyable as possible, because I know I’m getting a stern lecture the moment I leave.”

“Why don’t we go somewhere more private then?” He proposes, kissing the top of your head.

“In a moment, we’ve got one of these reserved booths. I want to makeout with you openly.”

For some reason, that perked him up exponentially. Perhaps his desire for performance and attention. “Whatever you wish, my dove.” He purrs, hand leaving yours to instead gently squeeze your thigh. “I would give you the world if you asked.”

“Why is that?” You ask, moving to face him.

“I am fond of you.” He chuckles, “I don’t like things like I like you. If you weren’t in the middle of a life or death situation—I would court you slower. But you’re mortal, I have to be quicker lest you slip from my grasp all too quickly.”

There was a slip of worry in his tone, perhaps love all too soon lost. Or maybe just the nagging worry of losing you. But it didn’t dwell long as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. And finally, there was that warmth you had been missing.

~~~

If this is well received I could make a part two! or even a smutty prologue but here is what I have to offer.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 raphael #raphael #raphael bg3 #baldur's gate raphael #raphael the cambion #raphael x tav #raphael x tav bg3

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