#he looked limber as ever

[thevirtualvalentine]

Challengers

Plot: three young tennis stars find themselves in a sticky love triangle, or, satosugu x reader x Challengers!au, but if you were tashi and had stayed in the hotel room that night in 2006.

Warnings: threesomes (mfm), afab!reader, competitiveness, cunnilings, handjobs n’ oral, switch!gojo, fingering, porn with plot, missionary prince gojo, doggy king geto, they both have a massive crush on reader, banter, praise, degradation, multiple orgasms.

authors notes: I got super carried away and it’s such a long read (6.6k), enjoy! 😇

There was one thing two of these complete opposites could agree on. Y/n L/n was the sexiest tennis player either of them had ever seen. On and off the court.

Satorus' big bright eyes stared at your recent brand campaign on social media in awe as he scrolled through his phone during downtime before practice.

“Can you believe that? Look at this Su” Satoru shows his friend in utter disbelief like you just cheated on him or something. His eyes haven’t left his screen in over five minutes, he looks pained yet fascinated knowing you have no idea who he is. Additionally, he’s oddly defensive over his phone even though he offered to show the raven-haired male.

“Like she’d fuck with a guy like you,” Suguru mumbles quietly under his breath in annoyance, rolling his eyes and leaning further into his stretch. Sometimes he wishes Satoru took this a little bit more seriously considering upcoming dates.

While their favorite thing to talk about outside of tennis was you, they had serious work to do before an upcoming competition that the two of them would be competing in.

“But you know, Masamichi said we got invited to a party of hers before the match..” Satoru makes his way to the lined court, serving some while waiting for his companion.

“Shut up and just do your drills Satoru,” Suguru muses while grabbing his racket, making a face while returning a stray ball right at the white-haired man. He quickly ties his long hair back in a low ponytail before gearing up for practice.

“Ouchie!! Suguru be careful where you aim those,” he pouts, running frantically around the court before dramatically grabbing the net to state his grievances. He can only hear his partner darkly laugh with his back turned to him. Suguru has always had a tendency to be a meanie!

But, before they went to your party, they had wanted to watch you play a match in the exact upcoming competition. Suguru was the most inquisitive to see your infamous backhand the press can’t seem to shut up about in various headlines. Satoru would never pass up the opportunity to see you in motion.

Later that week at the match, the two of them arrive together and wave off various paparazzi looking for interviews before finding their seats. “Look look— is that her?” Satoru voices as you enter the court, they’re watching from their meticulously purchased stand seats as a woman with dark skin and a matching set begins to stretch. Your long curly hair is pulled back in a keen style as you showcase your limber frame.

“Unbelievable,” Suguru cannot ignore the sly smirk that graces Gojo's face as he observes you. There were visible glimmers in his friend's blue eyes that clearly shone for you.

Suguru isn’t sure if he’s jealous about it all, but he interjects nevertheless. “Again, like she’d want you over me.”

The match commences with your serve. The two of them instantaneously manspread in their seats, gazes glued to your every movement. You had absolute domineering control of the court, causing your opponent to run around like a chicken with her head cut off. Even as the ball was smashed to either side of the court, their yearning was fixated on Y/n L/n, the tennis prodigy.

During a particularly electrified set, Suguru rests his hand on Satoru's thigh. He can feel the stiffness of his friends' pants, he recognizes it because of his own growingly awkward condition. Fuck, he knew they were both whipped as they exhaled a long-held breath simultaneously. Neither of them realized they’d been holding it while watching you in the first place.

You ultimately win the match, exclaiming your victory boldly. “Come on!” Satoru doesn’t know if there’s a word for it, smitten maybe? Gobsmacked? Horny? Is he in love? He doesn’t know. He just knows you’re beautiful in that moment, emulating your joy with a smile of his own.

Later on that day, a party was held in one of your family's villas, the two of them couldn’t help themselves from gawking at all the decorations dedicated to you. Their jaws were practically on the floor seeing precisely how successful you were. Satoru’s dick hurt with how hard it was sitting in his pants, khakis aren’t really great for boners.

The duo finds you on the dance floor with your friends, a nice fitting electric blue dress hugs your curvy body while you sway and dance to the beat. It’s effortless, “wooow,” Suguru says downing his bitter drink. They’re not doing excellently to camouflage themselves with hard-pointed gazes, just standing there watching you at a nearby event table.

Their attire pales in comparison to yours, simple slacks with a nice suitable polo. Colors befitting the two of them respectively. Satoru sporting a pretty pale blue shirt and Suguru in muted navy (no doubt stolen from Satoru). You see the two of them watching you, but you don’t really mind. You know they’ll find their way over to you eventually.

In fact, it doesn’t take long. They scamper up to you in a hurry when they spot you sitting down to take a drink in a less densely populated area of the party.

“Satoru Gojo,” the man with short white hair and big bright blue eyes conveys.

“Suguru Geto,” the one with mysterious allure and long black hair articulated.

But, it comes out indistinguishable as they decide to speak in unison. “Yin and Yang, I know you two.” You take an interlude to catch your breath and sip your drink. Their hungry eyes track your hasty mouth to the straw with a similar thirst.

“So, which ones which?” they gulp, but Suguru is eager to bite first.

“Guess,” and it comes out how you would imagine. Flirtatious with a dynamism of sarcasm, you can spot the growing shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

“Your match today was incredible, it was like an entirely different game. I almost felt bad for Mei Mei” Truthfully, in his heart of hearts, Satoru Gojo cannot and will not be beat. Not even by his best friend. His pride runs too deep to face a reality in which he does not win.

You look down at your hands and smile before replying to him, soaking in the compliment. Just like a flower, he thinks you’re beautiful. “Thank you, but don’t she’s a freak, honestly. You should hear the rumors about her and her little brother.”

Suguru almost spits his booze across the small table, he didn’t think you of all people would be the one to say such gossip. Beautiful, athletic, and very witty. He likes it, at least that’s what he’s concluded.

“Hey, come hang out with us down by the beach later. Do you smoke?” He has also decided that he’d act upon his feelings. What’s the worst that could happen? Getting to spend time with you would be fun.

“Uh,” you dart your eyes between them considering your options, “Yeah, sure. I’ll come by.” Not a moment sooner though, your parents call you over to oversee some of your financial business partners at the party. You are whisked away by eager hands, quickly forgetting about the two of them as they’re left to watch you mingle with a sense of want in their chest.

“She totally wants me,” Satoru says full of blind confidence, not even bothering to look at his friend to confirm his thoughts.

And again, there’s that sparkle in Satoru’s eyes. “For the final time, like it’s you she wants. She was obviously flirting with me.” He is always full of fire and smacks the back of Satorus' neck in compensation.

Later on, when most of the attendees have trickled out one by one, the pair finds themselves plotting incessantly once more. Neither of them is able to help themselves in their delusions, discussing to share you like pieces of pie.

“Still here?” You say when you find them sitting off to the side by their lonesome. They always seem to be together, attached at the hip like a husband and husband.

“We were waiting for you. Come down to the beach with us.” Even though it was a question, one which you didn’t have to answer, Suguru's raging confidence speaks volumes making it a statement. smooth, a little too smooth.

You look back once more at your surroundings to ensure your family didn’t need you for any pictures, it would be awkward if they found out you were sneaking around with two guys. Yet, you indulge them, “Uh,” hesitation finds you biting down on your bottom lip slightly, “Sure.” you say, shaking any negative thoughts from your head. this was a party after a great win today, go have fun.

As a trio once more, the three of you make your way to the grainy shores, doing your best to avoid steep drops. Both of them engaging you in conversation simultaneously, almost talking over each other with their boyish charm. “One at a time please, I can’t understand you both when you talk like that,” you say with a huff, sitting down on a dry rock while the twins find themselves perched in chairs.

Soft waves scurry against the sand in droves painting a scenic backdrop for your conversation against the dark blue sky littered with stars. Suguru lights a smoke and the sparks ignite the air around him. He offers it to you and doesn't mind your inevitable rejection. You do have an image he supposes.

“Lemme ask you something,” he says huffing smoke, passing his cigarette to Satoru. You nod, letting your body face the water as the unclear and mysterious man talks.

“What’s your angle about the whole Jujutsu College thing, you’re too good for the collegiate league.” His eyes find yours, awaiting your answer as he leans further back into his seat.

Satoru, unlike his friend, knows the value of education. He also knows you’ll be attending the same institute as him to play tennis alongside your studies.

You answer him in a smooth tone, sure of your answer, “It has classes y’know. I don’t want my only life skill to be hitting a ball with a racket.” Despite the will of Mother Nature, neither of them could hear the sound of the waves over their heartbeats. Hearing you tell them exactly how it is makes them admire you as a player even more.

“I get it, you’re making us wait for you.” He finds himself grinning lightly. “The tennis phenomenon who cares about her education.” You’re exactly the woman they knew you’d be. Smart, cunning, and ambitious. There’s nothing you couldn’t do, and there’s absolutely nothing that could make either of them want you more in that moment. Satoru drones out the rest of your conversation as Suguru gets into morals and life goals on the ethics of tennis.

Satoru takes this time to really study you. He notes the smoothness of your skin, the enunciation of your collarbones through your strapless dress, and the silver hoops that dangle from your ears and sway with every word you say. He can feel himself almost begin to salivate and glow red.

“It’s a relationship,” you assert. That’s when Satoru has half a mind to pay attention again to the conversation instead of ogling you. Suguru has seemed to hit a nerve with you about whatever you were discussing.

“Is that what you and Mei Mei had today? A relationship?” Suguru throughout his career has found himself asking these confounding questions. Wanting to know the true essence of why he plays his sport. Your conversation and mind have intrigued him, he’s going to push you further just for the sake of intelligent conversation.

“Yes, it was like we were in love like we were the only ones there. Maybe somewhere far away.” Still confused, he wants to chatter more but Satoru seems quick on the uptake.

“When you yelled,” the gears in his mind flip to that exact moment during the match when you hit the winning shot. It was electrifying and infectious.

You’re touched he was able to examine your game like that. “Yeah,” you smile at him tenderly over your shoulder. Maybe they both weren’t so bad, a bit rough around the edges you suppose. “Okay, I gotta go before my parents need me. I’ll see you at school Satoru,” you reveal while grabbing your shoes and patting the sand off your dress.

“Do you have Facebook?” Suguru interjects before you can disappear into the night, only to be seen in another brand campaign on their phone before practice. If he didn't seize this chance, when would there be another opportunity?

“What?” You dig your heels in the sand and spin around to face them. There is a moment of silence as the wind gently blows your long curls into your lipgloss.

Satoru decides he’ll be brave too. “He’s asking for your number, and so am I.”

“You both want my number?” A look of incredulity transits your face at the implication. A pair of best friends, seemingly more, who both want you? It seems a little far-fetched.

“Yes.” Quick, concise, unanimous.

“Ok, well, I’m not a home wrecker.” Whatever is happening between them, stays with them. Your eyes are on tennis and your future.

“Whatttt, nooo. It’s an open relationship. Come hang out with us later. We’re at the same hotel. Room 206.” Satoru proposes to lighten the mood. Suguru only chuckles in his chair at your words, coughing up pools of smoke in the process. What a dope.

“Bye,” is all you leave them with, making your way back up the beach to your party with your friends and family. You can audibly hear boo’s following you from the shore from the two boys.

after leaving the party, the two make their way back to the hotel. Coming up with new ideas on how to win your affections. Going as far as to stake their match tomorrow on it. The room's AC had been broken since the two boys got there. Suguru needed the window open anyway if he was going to smoke.

“So, what are the odds you think she’s coming?” Satoru asks for the sixth time this hour alone. He’s dressed only in a pair of boxers feeling the heat, he's lying upside down on the bed observing Suguru chucking cards into the trash can in between punching the AC unit in hopes of it working. They’ve shared a few drinks between the two of them while yearning desperately in their shared hotel room.

Suguru, in typical fashion matching his friend, dons a shirt of his Satorus' with boxers. “She’s not coming,” he says with a mix of disappointment and longing as a way to console himself. Perhaps the two of them had glazed it on too strong.

“Besides, if she came how would that even work? Do we just wait till she kisses one of us and kicks the other out?” The thoughts that have been plaguing his mind now reside in the blue-eyed beauty’s.

Then, three knocks at the door rouse them from their depressive slump, they eye one another to confirm what they both just heard. Had you really come? With another three knocks the adrenaline starts pumping gas.

Fuck. Dumb and dumber run to clean the room, throwing the all cards in the trash can, straightening up the bed sheets, and most importantly putting on a proper pair of pants and a shirt. They practically trip over one another to open the door.

“Hey!” But Geto’s just a little faster.

“Again with the speaking in unison thing. Stop it.” You had been listening to them clamber around in there before opening the door. they laugh before showing you around the room and settling down in a circle on the ground.

“So, did you guys like grow up together?” They snicker and laugh with each other as you join them on the carpeted floor in conversation. “What! I just mean, it seems like you guys are brothers,” you say correcting yourself a little nervously. Now that you’re alone with the two of them it’s all setting in. Your eyes catch their adam's apple as they talk, the bobbing making you swallow hard.

“Well, we went to boarding school together. Been bunk mates since we were 12 years old. That kind of thing.” Suguru answers your question as an excuse to eye you longer. Tiny black shorts strangling your muscular thighs, a hot pink zip-up jacket with probably nothing underneath it, and you have your long natural curls flowing down your back and face. You’re just so tantalizing no matter what you’re in, and he’s sure Satoru feels the same way.

“Oh, and how often does this happen?” You pause, sitting up on your knees making your hips extra plush as you query, “Going after the same girl?”

Yin and yang eye each other before answering as if in deep thought, “Never.”

“Not as often as you’d think. We usually have different types” Truthfully, they wanted to sound sincere.

“Oh, so should I feel special?” but that honesty stung nonetheless. While they didn’t mean to, it came off a bit rude. Why even entertain these two freaks in the first place?

Satoru answers your question to soften the mood, “Aren’t you everyone’s type?” he has a strange threshold of emotional intelligence, more than Suguru. That's what you like about him though, his eyes that see everything.

Both of their stares pining you in place, while they are nice, you can sense a lingering intensity in their terminology. It ignited something in you, sending a tremble through your spine thinking of what they could do to you in the security of these four walls.

Your eyes flicker between the two of them but then fall on the bed, noting the fact the two once separate beds have been forced together. You face back to the pretty pair feeling the tension amidst you all reaching its climax.

“And what about the two of you,” your hands point back and forth trying to say the obvious without saying it. “I’m not a home wrecker.”

“Us?” They ask in unison almost comically. When they realize you’re dead serious they shut up and consider it for a second.

“Well..” Suguru starts, but Satoru stops.

A flush of red overtakes his face immediately, “no, Su, not that.”

He snickers to himself lightly in a teasing manner, but your curiosity gets the better of you.

“Tell me please, I feel like you two at least owe me that.” You can practically feel yourself digging your nails into the skin of your palm in anticipation of their little secret.

“Fine. Ok.” The confession begins. “Suguru taught me how to jerk off when we were 12. I think I was a late bloomer or something,” he says avoiding eye contact still beet red from the neck up. It’s honestly kind of cute but you still find yourself giggling slightly.

Much to Satoru’s dismay, Suguru only joins in on the laughter. The white-haired man places his head between his knees trying to think of some sort of rebuttal in the middle of his embarrassment.

“Whatever, you wouldn’t be the one laughing if it happened to you.”

Suguru attempts to console him to no avail and you slam down the rest of his drink when he isn’t looking, wiping the excess off the corners of your mouth. Shitty beer never sits right with you, but if you were going to go through with your plan you’d need liquid courage.

Rising from the floor you place yourself in the middle of their pushed-together beds. Sitting with your legs crossed eyeing them both from the floor. “C’mere,” you say softly, patting the bed to signal their attention.

Like a moth to a flame, they scurry over, settling themselves on either side of you.

You can feel the heat radiating from them just by being sandwiched between them, their knees confining yours. Their torsos completely turned to face you, waiting to see what you’ll do. Neither of them could face your rejection, who are you going to pick?

You lean towards Suguru giggling, twirling the hair that lays on his shoulder around your fingers. His face light pink as he looks at you expectantly, waiting for anything. It’s like he looks lost, confused as to what to do. It’s cute for someone who always seems so sure of himself. It suits him, you think.

Then, you turn to Satoru, his pretty blue eyes meeting yours with gorgeous white lashes. You’d never really seen them till now, then you noticed how well defined his cupid's bow was, and the light shade of his lips… you couldn’t help it, your mouth was meeting his with unexpected need. You felt him physically relax into you, his enormous palm resting on the fat of your thigh as you held his face. He was kissing you like he was familiar with your taste.

Suguru didn’t know he was going to be this turned on at the site before his eyes, not particularly sore that you kissed his friend before him. Bygones. It’s just thrilling to him how good the two of you look while doing it, he almost forgot he was in the room with you.

But you didn’t forget about him, of course, you have to peel yourself off of the needy man next to you to get to him though. “Can I kiss you,” you ask him.

And he nods, “More than welcome sweetheart.” You simply roll your eyes, what a charmer.

He’s all teeth and tongue, his mouth and hands trying to suck you closer to him. You felt like you couldn’t breathe and it was sending heat straight downwards, making you draw your knees together.

Though Satoru separates them, letting his appendage creep up your bare thigh trying to test the waters. You drag it up further to encourage him, he shows his gratitude by kissing the skin of your neck. He can feel you moan as you kiss his friend and he doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life. There’s just no way this was really happening.

You try kissing them at the same time, but it’s just overwhelming. The roughness of their fingertips makes you groan into their touch. It’s a battle of will and you can’t compete with their hunger as they devour you, greedy hands trying formidably hard to claim you as their own.

Satoru tows you into his lap, placing the plush of your ass directly on his boner. You can see the light pink hue coating his face as he watches Suguru slot himself between your legs, it makes you feel drunk to be between their immense frames like this. He grabs your legs as they dangle off the bed, letting his shoulders hold the brunt of their weight. His dark eyes find yours as he smiles, kissing your soft inner thighs with pepper-light praise.

It almost feels like you’re not yourself, witnessing your chest rise and fall so sporadically in anticipation of what his mouth is going to do next. Satoru's breath hitches as his partner slides your flimsy shorts down to your ankles, eyes locked on the translucent slick connecting you to your underwear.

Your face feels hot knowing they’re both looking at your indecent cunt, but instead they praise you.

“Pretty girl with an even prettier pussy,” Suguru says. Smug bastard.

“No fair. Do something or I will.” The blue-eyed beauty pouts, twisting your nipple from underneath your jacket. It elicits a whine from deep within your chest, their attention making you grow hotter and more ravenous every second.

Congrats, you just made their dicks 12x heavier in their pants. More of that sweet noise, they agree.

Su plants his face in your hot pussy with no shame, licking long stripes up your folds. “Fuck, Satoru you wouldn’t believe what she tastes like,” he remarks wiping your slick from his lips and directly into his mouth.

“Let me try,” his tone is different, all silliness gone, and it's quite dominant. He grabs Suguru by his dark hair, raising the male from his kneeling position to kiss him so he can get a taste of you himself.

The sight makes warmth shoot right to your guts, they’re making out so intensely it almost feels like you’re intruding, but you can’t stop watching them.

“You’re right,” he says with a wicked grin and blown-out pupils, “she tastes fucking incredible.”

You can see the look on their faces, they’re sick and you’re worried you’re going to become as fucked up as them by the end of this.

Continuing their ministrations, Suguru is back to kissing your thighs while Satoru massages your breasts in his large palms. But something’s different, their energy has changed. It’s been replaced with something you can’t quite yet place your finger on.

You start to feel teeth graze your supple skin, on both your neck and inner thighs. They smirk in unison feeling you twitch lightly in their hold, taking it as a sign to continue. “What’s wrong? You’re so shy all of a sudden. Where’s that on the court ferocity baby?”

His voice is smooth and low in your ears, you open your droopy eyes to find him already looking right back at you. “Shut up.” What a bunch of jackasses.

He laughs, pulling your cunt flush to his eager lips. “Fine then,” and damn does it feel good. His wet muscle rolls on your clit in steady waves, never breaking his pace. Suguru's warm breath and open-mouthed pants into your pussy have you crushing his skull between your toned thighs, but his iron grip stops you.

He alternates between flicking and sucking but you can’t follow because Satoru is making you feel limp in his arms. For all his cuteness, he’s really a beast; rutting his cock into your ass as he bites into your shoulder for a better grip on you. You have half to mind to tell him to not be so rough, it’s too hot outside to wear a turtleneck.

It just all feels so good, you didn’t think it could get any better till you feel a finger prodding at your entrance. It’s thick, and you welcome it with no fuss, sighing as you grind down on his worn hand.

“Her pussy is so soft, fuck I need to put my dick in this.” And there’s another finger, it burns but the calloused ridges feel much better than your own hands.

“You are disgusting,” you bark back, but it sounds pathetic as his friend pinches your dark nipples between his fingers mid-sentence.

“You’re the one twitching on my fingers, talk about disgusting.” His words sting and make your face feel hot, but he beams, delving in for more, making out with your sensitive bud as his fingers pump in and out of you.

Satoru feels this is all unsportsmanlike. He doesn’t get to taste you, but he guesses he should be grateful to just touch you. Something in him wants more, and needs to be selfish, “I get to fuck you first, understand?”

Your small face rests in his hand, your head tipped upwards to meet his infinite eyes that tell you he’s not asking. “Please S’Toru, mmn— need you now,” spit pools in the corners of your mouth and he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked sexier.

The darker-haired man merely chuckles, knowing he’s been beaten by the way your pussy is gripping his fingers right now. Only Satoru could do something like that.

But in the meantime, he’ll stretch you out just how you need.

You can only assume there are three fingers knuckle deep inside you, you honestly can’t tell because your eyes are rolled back in satisfaction. They’re caging you, bringing you to a threshold of pleasure you didn’t know before. “Gonna— ah! Wai- gonna cum,” his three digits curve upwards, jamming that spot as he sucks your clit within his velvety lips.

White hot pleasure clouds your vision as you come undone in front of them, their eyes watching every jolt devastate you. If they could make you cum like this, what else could they do to you?

“You’re so perfect for us, jus’ keep cumming princess.” You’re a moaning heaving mess in his arms but Satoru thinks he might be in love with you. He can’t take his eyes away from your face as you writhe so helplessly.

They let you catch your breath a moment before getting into the next position, removing any extra clothes that might prevent them from fully feeling you, kissing your face and thighs whenever you shiver. Despite all the shit you gave them, they were actually kinda sweet.

You let them move you to the center of the bed, Satoru slotting himself between your legs while your pelvis rests on his hips. Suguru innocently sits close by next to you waiting for his set of instructions.

“Do you trust us?” He asks.

“Of course not.” You joke, arching your eyebrow in defiance to them. Satoru slaps your clit with his cock for misbehaving, and you had not realized it before but he’s big. It’s almost to your belly button and you have no idea how you’re going to be able to take all of him.

Like a predator, he senses your fear, “kiss her,” he briefs Suguru.

His mouth and tongue still taste like you, warm and lithe as it seeps into your mouth. You’re distracted flat on your back as Gojo thumbs your still-sensitive clit, wanting to give you a little pleasure for the impending pain.

It’s like him to pick missionary, you think. You can’t see him but he’s biting his own lip to the point it could draw blood as he works his long cock into you inch by fucking inch. It’s torture not just fucking you to the hilt but he’ll be nice.

“So good baby, this pussy’s real fucking good,” he hisses through his teeth. You can only moan into Suguru's mouth, he drowns out and swallows up every cry of pain and pleasure.

They’re shallow and steady strokes that make you impatient, you respond by grinding yourself onto him with fervor. “Stop it, you know I can’t take it if you do that,” he whines, you feel his weight fall close by on the bed. “You’re just so damn tight.”

With his hand propped on the mattress, Satoru hits somewhere deeper inside you, making you reflexively close your legs around his small waist. It’s all a blur, Sugurus' snake-like tongue and Satorus' cannon of a dick.

They’re relentless. You feel like he’s carving a new hole in your insides with how thorough he’s maiming you. “You like it huh, love when I fuck you hard like this?” It’s all but enunciated with a potent stroke behind each syllable.

He knows you can’t answer him with his best friend commandeering your mouth, the sight before him was beyond enthralling. But he doesn’t need you to, each squelch of your cunt providing him with enough proof.

Plap, plap, plap. His heavy balls hitting your ass over and over again. He doesn’t even need to do anything unique with a dick like that, he might be too prideful to use it correctly.

“Su, I-I want you to eat her out as I fuck her, please,” even though Satoru was the one in control of this situation, you don’t miss the submission in his voice to his equal.

He hums, leaving your mouth to pick up where he left off earlier. Memories of your pussy sweet like candy on his tongue flash in his mind as he tucks his long black hair behind his ear to not get in the way of his feast.

It’s so fucking sexy, you moan out a mix of their names too far gone to differentiate at this point. They could be your god for all you care. “Don’t s-stop.”

“Of course sweet thing,” Suguru replies, they’ll service you however you need them to.

Satoru sits on his feet to give Geto space, inching his cock in you deliberately slow. Coupled with Su's stellar oral, you’re good as gone. Twitching and arching off the bed as you’re spread and fucked.

You didn’t know sex could feel this good, they’re so intently focused on your pleasure it’s overwhelming. That familiar fire kindling in your tummy. “Oh! I’m- I’m gonna—”

“Already?” They say in unison, watching as you cum for the second time tonight. Satoru grabs Suguru in support, your cunt is sucking him in so tight that he’s probably going to cum himself if he doesn’t calm down.

Suguru swallows your loud whines, wanting to be a little mindful of the late hour. That has his friend coming undone, “Me too— fuckkkk.”

You’re shivering in aftershock as he shallowly pumps his load in you. Letting you milk his tip as he rocks his hips lightly. It’s the most he’s ever came, and he just can’t stop cumming because it’s started to leak out of you. A foamy mix of him and yourself now coating his frosty happy trail.

“Well, that’s just not fair,” Suguru says, wiping his face and putting his fingers in your mouth. You obediently suck, feeling a tad bit remorseful. After all, he didn’t get to cum, and he’s been so good to you and your cunny.

You weakly grab his wrist, trying to speak with your mouth stuffed. “What?”

He withdraws, letting his hand drag down your body, squeezing your tit in his warm palm before resting on your tummy. The sensation of him tapping his fingers against your flesh lights you on fire all over again.

“Fuck me, I can take it. Or what? Are you too pussy?”

What a damn brat, you’re just like Satoru. At least, that’s what he thinks. After all, you both give him this nauseating sense of frustration to put you in your place for your sheer arrogance.

He just rolls his eyes, amused nonetheless, “Okay.”

He pulls a limp and exhausted Satoru from out between your legs, informing him of his next intentions before they have to go to sleep for their match tomorrow. You watch the two of them converge from on your stomach, trying to collect yourself. The feeling of something new is still so exciting even if you’re acting confident.

After what felt like forever one of them crawls back over to the bed. “Ass up hun, c’mon I wanna see it.” Suguru is hot in a different way than Satoru, as you get into position he starts pumping his cock from somewhere just out of reach. “Wow baby, beautiful arch,” he sneers, but it is genuine. He’s leaking pre just toying with himself while watching you.

“Clean her up,” he commands. Satoru obeys, giving your ass a light smack before positioning himself behind you. You’ve never had someone eat you out like this before, whatever their fetish was with tasting you was; it was heaven.

He spits in your pussy before dribbling it back up gain. Like a dog he’s responsible for cleaning his own mess, groaning at the taste of himself and you coating your thighs and folds. You’re sure it’s been gone for a while now but he doesn’t stop, neither does Suguru. Just standing there, stroking himself with a pink hue coating his face.

It’s mind-shattering at this point how diminutive you feel to their impulses. Incoherent babble about how good it feels and how it’s too much slip past your lips as you’re forced to watch his abs tense and flex in tandem with his sharp v-line, but he’s slow. Just edging himself over there as Satoru devours you. His tongue cooling your worn cunt.

“Careful, don’t make her cum again.” Enough watching, he honestly can’t take much more himself.

Satoru begrudgingly stops and sits on the bed by your head, waiting for further instruction.

“You think you’re ready?” His features are shrouded in a dark halo, raven hair cascading down his collarbones as he mounts you.

You deeply want to say yes but you can feel your pussy clenching questioning it, his broad shoulders looming over you. “Yes..” maybe you bit off more than you can chew. He would be the type to love doggy, you think.

He grins, lining himself up with your slit and coating his tip in your excess juices. “Good.” It knocks the wind out of you with how girthy he is.

If Satoru was length, Suguru was girth. You white knuckle the bed sheet as he fucks the sense out of you. Starting from the tip of your toes to the crown of your scalp he rearranged you.

“Nghhh—” You can’t say or do anything, just accept his intrusion. Tears begin to well up in your eyes, bracing yourself as Suguru picks up speed.

He’s exact, precise, and doesn’t waste a single ounce of energy in his stroke. It’s deep and punctual, powerful in your guts. “Fu-u-uck,” he has you stuttering over your words and the tears begin to spill from his mean dick.

“Aw, you cryin’?” Satoru says, wiping the tears from your face as you look to him for some sort of mercy. You should have known better, his icy eyes and tone betraying any semblance of pity to the brute pounding you’re receiving.

He just grunts behind you, hands bruising your sides surely from his grip alone. That’s the only thing keeping you up, the sheer power in his thrust makes the sound and smell of sex pungent.

Satoru takes your hand and places it on his shaft, he himself is a little envious of the sight and needs tending to again. Your sense of perception becomes needier to please and oblige his wishes, jerking his fat dick as his best friend pounds you.

It’s cliché, but you didn’t expect it to be this good. The two of them totally ruining you in their shitty hotel room, two arrogant rising tennis stars sharing you greedily.

The tension in the room builds, barreling towards completion as desperate moans and groans erupt from you all. A hedonistic sight indeed, chasing after your ends.

It’s Suguru who causes the domino effect, picking up speed and hunching over to rest his body on top of yours. You buckle under the weight which has him even deeper inside you. “Just like that, stay there,” it’s firm.

He’s moaning, driving himself in and out of you with reckless abandon. His hair wild as he mutters obscenities about your pussy. His hips begin to stutter, causing Satoru to follow suit hearing you both scream like animals.

Your hand works over just the top half of his cock as he cums, overstimulating him but he can’t help but buck his hips into your hand for more. Next thing you know, you’re finishing too, the rest of it being a blur from his spent you were.

A disgusting pile of sweat, cum, and spit coats the three of you on that bed. Catching your breaths and seeking warmth from each other after what you just did. “Are you sure you guys haven’t done that before?” You break the silence with a joke.

“We could do it again,” Satoru mumbles, half joking half serious.

“We have a game. Shower then sleep,” Suguru says matter-of-factly, removing his forearm from his eyes.

The three of you stumble to the bathroom, sticky and hot as you pile in the bath. It’s quiet, but it’s nice.

You talk about what went wrong and what went right as you wash each other, even talking about strategy for the game tomorrow. Oh, and of course the infamous bet.

Whoever wins gets to have your heart, right?

[florencemtrash]

The Artificer: Part I - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: None

✨Based on this ask ✨

Masterlist of Masterlists

"Azriel flipped through the information in his mind like a picture book: She specializes in crafting fae-bonded weapons using autoimmune magic. Brilliant, capable, and loyal - only a fool would underestimate her."

The air burned with unknown magic, mingled with the heady smell of smoke and metal and something else… something sweet and clean. Azriel couldn’t put his finger on it as he followed behind his brothers, weaving through the packed, but homey workshop. 

Bookshelves filled with carefully attended tomes on woodworking, metallurgy, glassblowing, and more lined one of the walls, some faint traces of magic keeping them safe from the dust and soot that tended to accumulate in the corners. 

The other wall was decorated with an assortment of keys - brass, gold, silver, steel, even glass twinkled in the faelight, like a hundred pairs of eyes winking. When Cassian reached for one, the metal began to glow and spark, spitting out thin bursts of magic that smarted until the Illyrian had the sense to pull away.  

When Helion first offered your weapon-smithing services to Rhys, he had sung your praises so loudly that Nyx had awoken from his nap, whining incessantly for his father to rock him back to sleep.

Originally born to noble parents in the Dawn Court. She moved to Day thirty years before Amarantha’s rule to escape an ill-suited marriage and has been quietly designing weapons for Helion ever since. She specializes in crafting fae-bonded weapons using autoimmune magic. Brilliant, capable, and loyal - only a fool would underestimate her.

Azriel flipped through the information in his mind like a picture book, cycling through the lines Helion had spoken and his own independent research. He could recite your birthday, the names of your parents, your grandparents, your older brother who’d been killed in the war against Hybern, and the day you graduated university. He even knew the planned date of your wedding to some pompous Lordling from Summer. 

What he didn’t know was what you looked like, and he wasn’t sure what to expect. 

Perhaps he’d expected someone more refined and regal - you were of noble blood after all… but then they rounded the corner and your soot-stained face popped out from beneath the workbench, purple lens goggles magnifying your eyes to vibrant proportions. 

You flipped the goggles up, resting them on your head like a crown.

Azriel blinked. 

Strands of hair curled around your fire-blown eyes, framed by soft skin that had been spared the worst of the soot by your goggles. You looked like you had stepped out of a flame - strong and resilient as steel.

You were absolutely breathtaking.

“Oh shit.” You quietly cursed, bouncing to your feet. 

You chucked the gloves to the side, hastily wiping away at your cheeks before dipping into a perfect curtsy. You were an actress caught in the spotlights after an ill-timed curtain opening, and you needed to make up for the poor first impression. You hastily slapped on the costume of the High Born Lady, feeling every etiquette lesson your mother had hammered into you slide over your limbs until you were a puppet on strings. 

“My apologies, my Lords. I lost track of time.” The words rolled out automatically, perfectly timed and perfectly pleasant, “Forgive me.”

Azriel frowned. He didn’t like the change that had just taken place. 

You held one hand artfully over your chest, the other flowing out to the side as you remained frozen in your bow. His eyes traced over the curve of your neck, catching on the sliver of skin that peeked out from beneath your work shirt, then down the slope of your sturdy shoulders and arms - strong and limber after decades of hammering away at glass and steel. 

The High Lord of the Night Court waved off the comment, a charming smile brightening his face as he hoisted you out of your curtsy. If he cared about getting soot on his fine clothes, he didn’t show it.

“There’s no need for any apologies. It’s a pleasure to meet you Y/n. Helion’s told me much about you.”  

You blushed, subtly brushing back the hair that stuck to your forehead and wishing you’d taken the time to clean yourself up… maybe wash your face properly and change into cleaner clothes.

“My brothers-” The High Lord swung his arm out in a slash of Night Court velvet, “Cassian and Azriel.” 

You had to keep yourself from sighing. They were all terribly attractive. It almost wasn’t fair.

“The pleasure is all mine, High Lord,” You curtsied again, “And Lords.” You appended gracefully.

The High Lord was as sensual and charismatic as everyone said with his twinkling violet eyes and perfect smirk - the kind of smirk that announced to the world that he was very aware of the effect he had on males and females alike. 

Your eyes flickered down to the tailored velvet suit. It clung to his body impeccably, carving out his broad shoulders and trim waist. How he wasn’t stifling in the heat was beyond you. The furnace roared a little louder, as if to push the point. 

The Lord of Bloodshed - Cassian as he was called - possessed a wilder beauty. He was all hard-cut lines and cords of muscle with a faint brush of stubble along his jaw that suited him well. 

But the Shadowsinger. He was the one you had trouble dragging your eyes away from. There was something heartbreakingly solemn about him, like a hero plucked out of a fairytale bound to end in tragedy. The same boyish joy that touched his brothers seemed to have skipped over him, and you couldn’t help but wonder why. In fact he seemed… displeased, and your heart began to beat a little faster.

“Call me Rhys.” The High Lord winked, drawing your attention away from the dark and silent Shadowsinger, “Any friend of Helion’s is a friend of mine, and I like my friends to call me Rhys. It keeps me humble.” 

Cassian snorted, “Sure it does.” 

He shoved past his brother, settling into a comically wide stance. You tried to disguise your surprise and confusion when he leaned down further to be eye level with you. His eyes twinkled with mischief, as if he’d caught onto the slip in your perfectly tailored costume and he wanted to rip it off and burn it to the ground.

“The name’s Cassian,” He held out his hand for you to shake, “Or Cass,” He tilted his head to the side, deep in thought, “Or Bastard brute, as my wife so lovingly calls me.” 

You snorted, then froze in horror, one hand flying up to slap over your mouth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” 

Cassian tipped his head back and roared with laughter. It was the kind of sound powerful enough to fill a tavern and made you feel as giddy as three glasses of wine.

Azriel tamped down the jealousy that flared to life in his chest upon seeing that Cassian was the first to make you laugh. Not that he would have been able to make you laugh as easily as breathing… but he could dream. 

Your eyes were blown wide, confusion racking your body as every etiquette lesson crumbled into a pile of dust. Your mother had warned you of what to do with males that were too forward, too cold, too dramatic, too charming. But Cassian was a different breed entirely - he was too casual, too friendly and normal. It took you aback.

Rhys rolled his eyes. Leave it to Cassian to make a High Born Lady crack as easily as fresh ice on the Sidra. 

Cassian tapped his chest, looking quite satisfied with himself, “There’s no need for bowing or Court pleasantries. Rhysand’s the only one of us with any real house training anyhow. Prissy little Lordling.” 

“Hey.”

“You know it’s true, Rhys. You’re wearing fucking velvet.” 

Rhys snorted, “Don’t attack me because I have some sense of style.”

You swiveled between the two of them, uncertain of how to continue. “Well I-” You stammered, taking a step back and straightening your shoulders. 

Your mother’s words rang through your mind: Don’t slouch. 

“Apologies, for my… manners.” You finished lamely. 

“Good manners are wasted on Cassian,” Azriel said. Gods, even his voice was tragically beautiful, like the sound of rain drumming against a window, or the crisp call of wind when Autumn sighs its last breath and gives way to Winter. “And Rhysand too, actually.” He added, ignoring the sounds of protest from Rhys and Cassian. 

His heartbeat picked up when your eyes fell on him completely.

“Are they wasted on you?” If they were going to act so… uncouth, perhaps that gave you a pass, “Or did I suffer through endless hours preparing for my debutante ball for nothing?” 

Azriel tilted his head. He tried to imagine you as a debutante, paraded around to various suitors in a puffy dress like the gods-awful one Feyre had been shoved into for her first wedding, and it left a sour taste in his mouth. But when he tried imagining you in Night Court attire - something blue - he couldn’t help but find that he quite liked the scene he’d conjured up for himself. He smiled - a faint and quiet smile that made your heart go still.

Cassian and Rhys gaped when their brother quietly closed the distance between you two and bowed. He was the picture of grace - deadly, beautiful grace.

Azriel took your hand in his, reveling in the feeling of your calloused fingertips against his scarred palm, and gently brushed his lips against your skin. 

“No.” He murmured, casting his eyes up at you. You melted, falling into the molten sea of his hazel eyes, and it wasn’t because of the heat, “Good manners are not wasted on me.” He finished, straightening up and taking a step back.  

He didn’t look disappointed anymore. If anything he looked… amused and… at ease. 

You tried to imagine him smiling - a true smile full of teeth and unburdened joy - and found you quite liked the image you’d crafted for yourself.

You tilted your head to the side, trying to disguise just how much he’d affected you. One kiss and a look and you were a goner. How silly of you. 

“That was quite good. I’ll give you that.” 

Azriel tipped his head in a subtle bow, “Thank you, My Lady.” 

You scoffed. No one had called you by any proper title in centuries. 

“Shall we begin with you, High Lord?” You asked him first out of propriety, missing the faint frown on Azriel’s face. 

He knew he shouldn’t take anything personally. This was a business meeting first and foremost, but that didn’t stop the flicker of jealousy from budding in his stomach whenever you laughed at Rhysand’s teasing or whenever he leaned just a little too close to look at the sketches you drew. The only moment of satisfaction he felt was when you slapped Rhysand’s hand away from the wall, choosing to pull the samples from the chestnut shelves yourself before taking notes on the styles he preferred. 

Are you ok? Rhysand asked, raising his eyebrows. It was Cassian’s turn now and The Lord of Bloodshed sat beside you, carefully watching your hand drawn sketches come to life.

I’m fine.

You don’t look fine, brother. Rhys said with a smirk, You look like you want to murder Cass. 

Azriel wiped the faintest hints of emotion from his face, turning away from Rhys to look around the workroom. 

Everything was warm and coated in soft orange light from the raging forge. It felt like the moment before the sun sinks into the horizon, when the world is as syrupy and comforting as caramel. Chestnut bookshelves lined the wall, filled with as many trinkets, plates of armour, and weapons as books. A long workbench ran the length of the room, neat stacks of paper punctuated by gleaming blades of obsidian, moonstone, and steel. It was where you currently sat, outlined by the fire like some angel sent down from the heavens.

Azriel’s eyes stuck on one blade in particular, carefully laid out on a bolt of midnight blue velvet. Its bronze handle gave away to gold threaded steel sharp enough to cut light and shadow. The sheets had been folded over and hammered so many times that thin rivers of radiance twisted and turned down the blade, mirroring the runes that had been painstakingly etched along its spine.

“Lord Azriel?” His head snapped to the side, following your lyrical voice. You’d soundlessly made your way around the table without him noticing and now stood at his side, “Do you like anything you see?” 

Azriel froze. From this close up he could see the faintest gold flecks in your eyes, as though a forge was burning there too, some piece of you always hammering away at an anvil… but maybe that was just the hammering of his heart.

Cassian coughed. Loudly. Rhysand smirked, elbowing his brother, but Cassian was successful. Whatever spell had come over the Shadowsinger broke and color dusted his cheeks.

“It’s just Azriel - or Az. Either works.” He was technically a Lord… emphasis on technically. “Could you tell me about this one?” He pointed to the brilliant blade, hating the sight of his ruined hand so close to it. 

You picked it up with ease, spinning it around your body with a strong grace that made Azriel’s breath catch. You weren’t the most skilled swordsman by any means, but you knew enough. After all, if you were going to spend your life making swords you’d be damned if you couldn’t wield one properly.

“This one,” You said with a smile full of pride, “Is Sunseeker.” The blade began to glow, content to once again be in the hands of its master, “It took me decades to figure out how to bind weapons to one master, but once I did - well - I thought if anyone should have that kind of weapon first it should be me.” 

To your surprise, a faint smile graced Azriel’s lips. It was such a minor display, but it brightened the air around him. Even his shadows began to emerge, wrapping around his arms and inching towards you like a moth to a flame.

Sunseeker truly was a work of art, beautiful and deadly in equal measure. 

Cass whistled low, coming closer to admire it. “How does weapon binding work?” He asked curiously. 

Your eyes lit up mischievously, “Would you like me to demonstrate?” 

Cassian had just enough time to say “yes” and stretch out his hands before you handed him the blade and he dropped like a stone. 

“CAULDRON FUCK ME!” 

Rhysand sputtered, doubling over in laughter. Azriel snorted, a hand flying up to cover his mouth in surprise. They watched Cassian fall to his knees on the floor, grasping the handle of the blade that felt two thousand pounds heavier in his hands. 

You looked rather pleased with yourself. 

Cassian growled, bracing his feet on the floor and pulling up so hard Azriel could see the veins pop out of his neck. “Fucking hell.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Come on, Cass. Get up.” Rhysand teased, shoving his brother with the toe of his boot.

Cassian kicked him in the knee, but from his position the blow didn’t land properly, “I would if I could, you son of a b-”

“Don’t talk about my mother like that.”

“Fuck you.” 

“Just. Get. Up.” 

“I. Can’t. You piece of shit. I can’t let go of this gods-damned sword.” 

Azriel shifted closer to you, heavily amused as Rhys leaned down and grabbed hold of the hilt. His signature charming smile slid off his face.

“What the fuck-” He pulled once. Twice. Tried to pry his fingers off the hilt, but he couldn’t let go no matter how hard he tried. It was as though he’d been glued to a boulder.

Cassian smirked, “I told you.” 

You smiled up at the Shadowsinger as the pair continued to bicker, stretching up on your toes to whisper in his ear, “Hardly anyone knows about what I do so I have my fun when I can.” 

He fought not to shiver, feeling your breath curl around him as intimately as his shadows. Azriel chuckled - a low rumble in his chest that reverberated through your bones. 

“And how many have fallen victim to your tricks?” He asked. His voice was as smooth as butter and honey to your ears. “Just three. Your brothers and Helion.” 

“Helion?”

You nodded.

“I would have paid good money to see that.”

You grinned, leaning closer to him. Without a second thought, Azriel leaned in as well, as if he were a light-starved flower and you were the sun.

“Sunseeker is bound to me - tied to my magical signature and my blood. To me, she’s as light as a feather. To anyone else, she may as well be a mountain.” 

“And why can’t they let go?” 

“It’s another trick. If anyone tries to go for my weapon, they’ll be brought down to the ground and I’ll have enough time to kill them first.” You cleared your throat, “Not that I’m a naturally violent person but… well it doesn’t hurt to be smart about it.” 

“I would agree with you.” Az smiled once again, “Incredible.” He whispered, looking you in the eye, “You’re incredible.” 

You shifted on your feet, clasping your hands behind your back and looking away so he wouldn’t see how much his praise affected you.

“If you two are done flirting with one another, can you please help us?” Cassian grumbled. Rhys and Cass had both given up, opting to sit cross legged on the floor like a pair of scolded children.

You hurried over, muttering sheepish apologies. You’d overstepped and you knew it but… well they just seemed so casual with one another and with you that you’d forgotten they were highly powerful fae first, and your clients second.

The spell broke the moment you touched the sword, Cass and Rhys groaning in relief and jumping to their feet. You polished off the sword and placed it back on the table. 

“Ta da.” You wiggled your fingers. Cass huffed and Rhys cleaned off his clothes with a sweep of his hand. 

Az leaned down and spoke in your ear, hazel eyes glowing, “I think it’s my turn now.” 

You shivered, feeling both small and powerful under the weight of his gaze. Azriel decided to forgo the chair, choosing instead to kneel beside you. One arm rested on the back of your seat, hovering dangerously close to your shoulder blades as you repeated the same questions you’d asked Cassian and Rhys.

You jotted down notes diligently and Azriel took the time to admire your neat and simple handwriting. Your hand stilled over the paper as a tendril of darkness curled around your fingers. Azriel sat so close that your head swam with his scent. He smelled like winter mountains after rainfall - crisp and clean like a breath of fresh air. His shadows had similarly begun to wrap around you like an Autumn breeze, slipping through your hair and around your neck like they wanted to feel the pulse of your beating heart. 

Azriel swore under his breath, pulling them back as quickly as he could, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” 

“I like them.” You said quietly, registering the shock in Azriel’s hazel eyes. You quickly went back to your sketch, “They remind me of home.” 

As a final step you took their measurements - the length of their arm, shoulder width, the distance between their hips and knees. Measuring Cassian and Rhysand went without incident, although they did poke fun when you pulled out a stepladder.

“It’s not my fault you’re all so ridiculously tall,” You grumbled, stretching out the tape across Azriel’s shoulders, “Did your mother fuck a tree?” 

The Illyrian snorted, “I wish.” He flinched once the words left his mouth, his smile twisting into a grimace.

“Hmmm?” You hummed curiously. Azriel felt your breath brush against the nape of his neck and shivered. 

“A tree might have treated her better than my…” Azriel trailed off. 

You’d been too young to attend Court when you still lived with your parents in Dawn. But even so, whispers of the Night Court were always followed by discussions of Amarantha’s whore and the Illyrian bastards.

His wings drooped and from the corner of your eye you saw Cassian’s gaze fall to the ground. Even Rhys bristled, the charisma sliding off his skin and replaced by something colder.

He loved his brothers more than himself, and the lack of a blood connection had never minimized the fact that they were his family - his legitimate family. He liked you, but one wrong word about his brothers and he would take his business elsewhere, no matter how talented you might be.

Azriel dared to glance at you, wondering if some part of you believed in the truth - that they were bastards unworthy of attention and respect in the eyes of true high fae nobles, or anyone for that matter. Even in your mussed up clothes you were radiant, carrying yourself with a confidence and grace that came from birth as much as it came from upbringing. 

You were royalty… and Azriel suddenly didn’t seem worthy of your attention, even though he was craving it right now.

Your lips tightened into a flat line, anger flaring up in your deep eyes, but you swallowed that anger and channeled the energy into making the brothers laugh once again, “Well I’ll go down on a limb and tell you trees are fantastic lovers.” You said, followed by a cheeky wink. 

Cassian turned to look at you, absolutely dumbfounded. Rhys was similarly shocked, violet eyes twinkling and mouth twisting into a smile. But it was Azriel who broke the silence first, tipping his head back and laughing so hard that his shoulders shook from the effort. The sound rang through the workshop, like the sound of rain falling. Cassian and Rhysand joined soon after, clutching their stomachs and leaning against chairs and tables for support. 

You bowed dramatically, arms sweeping to the sides like a tropical bird, “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all evening.” 

And Azriel took that very seriously. After the sketches were finalized and the blood samples were collected to be bound to metal, Azriel hung close to you, quietly begging Rhys with his eyes to stay longer. They wouldn’t be back for another six months after this. 

Rhysand raised his eyebrow knowingly at Cassian and The Lord of Bloodshed smirked. 

“Y/n,” Rhys said, voice dripping with persuasion, “Are you hungry? Perhaps you’d like to join my family for dinner?” 

You blushed at the invitation, “That is very kind of you, but I think I’ll stay here and work on these further.” You shook the papers in your hand, “I don’t want to forget anything.”

“At least let us bring you food then,” Cassian jumped in quickly, “Az! Why don’t you keep our favorite artificer company until we come back.”

Azriel blanched, stiffening up like a board. He could admire you in the company of his brothers when you were distracted, but he would be hopeless if left alone. “Cass, I don’t think-”

“Oh, I don’t want to take up-” You stammered.

“What a wonderful idea,” Rhys clapped Cassian on the back, all but shoving him back the way they’d originally came, “We’ll be back soon!” 

The door hissed closed behind them and you blushed, daring to glance over at the Shadowsinger. At least he also looked flustered. You could find comfort and hope in that. 

“I guess it’s just us now.” You murmured. 

His eyes softened, taking in your figure, “I guess so.” 

You spent hours talking with him that night, both of you leaning over the tables as you discussed your work and what your life in Dawn had been like. Your parents’ marriage had been arranged in haste after a drunken one-sight stand resulted in your brother’s conception. There was little love to begin with, but after his still-birth, whatever affection had existed between them vanished into thin air. You’d been born seventy-three years later - a true born noble in name only. Your parents never hated you, although sometimes you wished they did. Their indifference was a unique pain that you’d never been able to shake off.

But Azriel… Azriel was anything but indifferent. He hung onto every word like it was liquid gold dripping from your lips, and you did the same. Clutching what he said like pearls and committing them to memory. 

You couldn’t hide your disappointment when Cassian and Rhys finally reappeared four hours later. “Oh.” You whispered, pulling your hands away from where they brushed against his on the table. 

“Apologies, it took so long.” Rhys grinned. 

He didn’t look sorry at all. In fact, he looked very pleased to see you and Az pressed together, sharing the same seat despite the empty chairs scattered about the room.

Azriel was less pleased and Rhys didn’t miss the faint frown on his brother’s lips as you begrudgingly reclaimed a seat of your own, nestled between Azriel and Cassian. He also didn’t miss when one of Azriel’s shadows curled around the leg of your chair and tugged you closer to him. 

You listened to the brothers talk. Rhys and Cassian carried the weight of the conversation, as they usually did, bickering over lunch leftovers and proudly discussing the progress their mates were making with their respective projects - Feyre with her art studio and Nesta with her Valkyries. Azriel’s shadows shrank away, a glint in his eye dimming when the subject came up. 

You stole a glance, watching him carefully. When he caught you staring you smiled and some of that glimmer came back. 

“Can I see you again?” Azriel asked quietly once you’d finished eating. Rhys had already cleaned up the food scraps with a snap of his fingers and now lingered by the door, speaking with Cassian.

You looked puzzled, “Won’t you be here when the swords are ready? It shouldn’t take longer than six months. Maybe less. And I can still make adjustments then, if you don’t find it to your liking.”

Azriel shook his head, smiling softly, “No I meant before that.” He glanced at his brothers - his lovingly overbearing, nosy, matchmaking brothers, “Just us again.” 

Your heart skipped a beat, tempo quickening after the momentary stillness. “Oh.” You breathed, “I would like that. I would like that very much.” 

“Good.” Azriel took your hands in his, feeling the rough calluses of your palm against his scarred skin. He pressed a kiss to both hands, then looked at you, “Until next time then.” 

Azriel could never regret meeting you that day, nor could he completely regret seeing you the next week… and the week after that… and the week after that. He burrowed underground with you, sought after the warmth of your home and of your heart like a moth to a flame, daring to brush closer and closer with every beat of his wings. 

But it had been a mistake to visit you so often, and so brazenly. Here, in the safety of your workshop, he forgot there were fires that were not so nurturing and lovely. And he forgot that there were others who sought your power and not just your company.

Next Chapter ->

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 4

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: Ben claims his prize…

Word Count: 5.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for suggestiveness. Cheating (technically), more cat and mouse seduction, cracks in the masks, and a cat fight.

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

🎙️ Series Masterlist

Part 4: Better Shape Up

Who knew this man could be such a damn tease. You wouldn’t have thought him capable, for someone who wasn’t used to waiting for anything he wanted.

He demonstrated his resolve on a morning where you thought it safe to venture down to the gym. The others typically didn’t surface until around noon at least, so the morning was your time to work out and train in peace.

Today, Ben was already here. He was dressed down in a loose gray shirt and a pair of sweatpants and combat boots. He had already worked up a sweat and was now doing some impressive leg curls.

You tried not to linger your gaze on the exposed muscles of his arms and the outline of his broad back, but you slipped by him to claim a treadmill after offering him a polite good morning.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you in here,” he remarked.

You shot him a glance. “I like the quiet in the morning.”

“Matter of fact, you don’t go out of your way to hang out with anyone else on the team,” he said, as if you hadn’t answered.

He was right, but the fact that he’d noticed that about you was interesting. It proved he had his eyes on you, in more ways than one.

“Smart,” he added. “The others are dipshits.”

You smiled in amusement. You were inclined to agree.

Well, most of them, anyway. Crimson Countess was smarter than he gave her credit for, and you were sure Mindstorm was as well, even if he was a hermit.

Once you finished your cardio, you caught your breath with a few sips from the water fountain and found a small towel to wipe at your face and arms. Afterwards, you moved to the mats to stretch out. Yoga was one of the exercises that not only cooled you down and kept you limber after a workout, but it also helped you focus your internal world.

Sometimes it wasn’t easy being able to sense so many male presences around you, along with their baser emotions. It had taken several years of honing your mind and your powers to be able to spread your awareness only when you wanted to. But some energies were just too difficult to ignore.

You raised your hands high above your head, then bent at the waist to lower them all the way to the ground. From there, you walked your hands out across the mat into a downward dog pose.

As you moved through your yoga routine, you could feel a hot stare on your ass. You almost smiled to yourself.

By now, your companion had shifted to a different machine, working on his arms. After a few minutes, you heard the heavy clink of metal on metal. You looked over and saw that he’d finished, dropping the truly massive dumbbells on either side of his legs. He sat at the machine for a moment, catching his breath. His skin was glistening with a fine layer of sweat.

He pointed over to a water bottle that lied on the floor, a few feet away.

“Mind grabbing that for me, sweetheart?” he asked.

That request was harmless enough. You went over and grabbed it for him, your warm hands brushing his on the tradeoff. You meant to turn and head for the showers, but your foot got caught on one of the dumbbells. You gasped and nearly went down when you tripped.

Ben stood and hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you into his solid form. You grabbed onto his arms on reflex. You felt sweat under your palms and between your fingers, smelled his musky, masculine scent. Your breasts were brushing his chest with every breath.

And all the while, he looked down at you like he was thinking about devouring you. You felt his desire.

Instead, he smiled and let you go.

“You okay?” he asked.

Your brain short-circuited for a minute.

“Um, y-yeah. Thanks,” you said. Your hands slipped away from his arms, and you slowly turned and walked away. You almost stopped at the showers like you intended, but at the last second, you thought better of it and kept going all the way back up to your room.

Ben watched you go with a smirk, admiring your ass in those yoga pants.

You knew your plan was working, even with all his antics. You could ultimately use his interest in you to your advantage: for your career.

The plan had started forming the second you met him in that breakroom, and was only reinforced by Countess's superiority and general bitchiness toward you...

But you also thought that man was affecting you far more than you’d like to admit.

So you tried your best to give yourself a break from him. You trained on your own, and only engaged in minor small talk with your fellow teammates whenever you crossed paths with them; even Black Noir, the only person you’d been able to share some genuine conversation with.

You’d sensed the friction between him and Ben, and as unfair and often cruel as you thought it was, you didn’t want to give the latter a reason to resent you. It would only muddle your plans. For that matter, you tried to stay out of Countess’s way as well.

Throughout it all, you began to realize that you were even more alone than you thought you would be in this Tower.

However, your excitement bubbled up again when Arthur called you up to his office. He seemed excited too, which already had you gripped with anticipation. You were hungry to prove yourself, and also to jump on a project. Any project that they might give you to advance your career and increase your exposure to the public.

“I happened to show Soldier Boy that clip you sent in with your audition. The video of your off-the-cuff duet with Whitney Houston at that live show? Now, it was a little fuzzy. Looked like it was filmed with a kid’s Kodak, but whatever. It was brilliant.”

You smiled genuinely. “Thank you.”

Arthur nodded. “Well, Soldier Boy agrees that you’re impressive. And he’s been chomping at the bit for something new. So, I talked to Madelyn and the rest of the team, and we think you two should do a duet together. A cover.”

You blinked a bit wider. “O-Oh, really? Of what?”

“You remember ‘You’re the One That I Want,’ by John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John?”

“From Grease?” you asked with furrowed brows. That movie was like, five years old already. But you did see the previews for a new movie John and Olivia just did together, Two of a Kind. It was set to come out later this year.

“Exactly,” Arthur said, pointing at you. “It could be bigger than the movie!”

You doubted that, but it was still a great opportunity for you. Exactly the kind you’d been waiting for.

There was just one problem.

“And…what about Crimson Countess? You think she’ll be okay with this?” you asked. “She hasn’t exactly warmed up to me.”

Arthur sighed, but he waved a dismissive brow.

“Let us handle that part. At the end of the day, she understands this is all business here. No one’s gettin’ married.”

You laughed politely while hiding a sliver of unease. You agreed to the idea, but if Ben had a hand in this at all, you had a feeling you knew what he was up to.

You showed up early to the studio on a Tuesday morning. Ben, of course, was an hour late. You two had already pre-recorded your vocal parts separately, so today started the filming for your version of the music video.

You were already getting ruby red lipstick painted on your lips, when Ben stumbled into the hair and makeup trailer.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he rumbled in your direction.

“Good morning,” you replied cordially, though you watched him out of the corner of your eye.

He was nursing a tremendous hangover, by the looks of it. If it wouldn’t ruin your stylist’s concentration, you would shake your head in exasperation. Could he take nothing seriously?

Angela, his stylist, began by cleaning his face with an exfoliator wipe. She spread some primer on first before she went for the foundation. He stopped her with a raise of his hand and a halting sound in his throat.

“Make me a little more tan today, eh, doll face. You washed me out last time,” he said, slapping her on the ass. Angela jolted, but she gave him a practiced smile.

“No problem, Soldier Boy.” She swapped the foundation in her hand for a warmer shade. 

You barely managed to stop yourself from frowning. Asshole.

Another half hour later, you were ushered out of the makeup trailer and into the dressing room. By the time you stepped out, you were transformed fully into Sandy Olsson, Olivia Newton-John’s character in Grease, complete with the skin-tight black jumpsuit.

You were reenacting one of the final songs of the movie—the moment where Sandy drops her prim and proper upbringing to show Danny that she could live in his “edgier” world, if he was willing to step up, or shape up, for her as a man.

Vought had the money to create a truly impressive set. You stepped out towards the stage and looked around at all the people, not to mention the expensive-looking equipment on this production. You had been on big stages before, but not as the leading lady. This was big, and you could admit, it was intimidating.

Ben soon joined you, looking very much the part with a real cigarette in hand as he blew out smoke. He was made to look like John Travolta’s character, of course. His brown hair was neatly coiffed and gelled back. He was wearing a tight black shirt tucked into a pair of black slacks, with five o’clock shadow dusting his cheeks. You were a little surprised he was agreeing to something like this…but you also had a hunch on what was motivating him.  

A grin soon spread across his face. You averted your eyes, surprising yourself by the way your face warmed. However briefly it was, he’d caught you checking him out.

He returned the favor. His gaze lingered on your every curve, and finally your face.

“Lookin’ good, baby doll,” he said mildly, but he leaned over to whisper in your ear. “I’m gonna be thinking about those red lips tonight.”

Your lips pursed as you watched him walk away with his usual smooth, arrogant stride. You refused to feel how hot your face was. Instead, you relaxed your shoulders and raised your chin before you stepped onto the stage with him.

The director came over to talk you both through the script and his vision for the music video, a scene by scene replica of the fairgrounds. (And he handed Ben an ashtray for his cigarette.)

The opening scene was already set up. The pack of actors playing Danny Zuko’s friends were hanging off to the side, while a handful of young women in 1950s style dresses hung out on the other side, waiting for you.

The director called to roll sound. A production assistant handed you a fake cigarette to hold between your fingers, just like the original movie scene. Other instructions were shouted out as you stared into the cameras blankly. Your body felt stiff, your mouth heavy.

You were nervous, no matter how much you didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Hey,” came a deep voice in your ear.

You turned to Ben and tried to hide your anxiety. He smiled and once again leaned in close. You felt the warm pressure of his hand on your lower back.

“You’ve seen cameras before. Don’t even look at ‘em. They’re not there,” he said, encouraging you to use your imagination.

You took a subtle breath. “And the thirty-something crew of people?”

“They’re the audience,” he said. “This is just a stage, like the ones you’ve been on before. Even smaller.”

You nodded subtly and tried to calm the ball of nerves rising into your throat. You made your way over to your mark and got ready with a hand on your hip, and the prop cigarette poised in the other. Ben went to his mark, with the other Greasers.

Ben smirked at you. “Remember to sing pretty.”

You shot him a teasing smile back.

“Oh, don’t worry. When I sing, people listen.”

I got chills, they’re multiplying. And I’m losing control.

‘Cause the power you’re supplying…

It’s electrifying.

He might not have had Travolta’s range, but Ben was a decent singer himself. It was rich and baritone, occasionally with some edge. They’d lowered the song down a key for him, you noticed, but you didn’t mind.

It was all you could do to remember the choreography, all while feeling the push and pull of the music, the lyrics, and the man himself. He was also making some subtle changes to the character in his performance.

“I’m not dragging myself across the fucking ground after her like some love-sick pussy,” as he’d snapped at the director.

So he was applying a more suave approach to Danny’s role, trying to persuade you with a Cary Grant-like charm. Partnered with your sensuous persona, it gave the bouncy song some new depth.

You better shape up, ‘cause I need a man.

And my heart is set on you…

It took a few hours to get through the first scenes, and you found that you and Ben worked well together. But his attention on you was intense whenever he looked into your eyes. His every small touch ignited across your skin, eliciting tingles of electricity down your spine.

When you finally got to your first verse after the chorus, you were up on one of the carnival ride platforms. Painted on one of the walls was Danger Ahead.

If you’re filled with affection, you’re too shy to convey…

Per the choreography, Ben followed you up a short flight of stairs and cornered you against a wall. You pivoted on your heels and felt bold enough to improvise. You drew him in with a hand on his stubbled cheek, and you allowed your eyes to shine with a bit of your power, giving them a violet glow.

Meditate on my direction. Feel your way…

As you sang, his hands glided up the swell of your hips and gripped you tight at the waist. His gaze lowered to your lips. You could smell his musky cologne mixed with cigarette smoke as he began to lean in. Your mouth parted unconsciously.

“Cut!” the director shouted.

The music stopped and a sharp bell rang out. You paused, letting your hand fall away from Ben’s cheek. He reluctantly released you as well. You eased away from him with a smile.

“All right! That was great guys,” the director chimed in cheerfully after he came out from behind the network of cameras. “Tell you what, let’s break for lunch.”

You sensed the burning presence following you off the stage, just a few feet behind. It shadowed you all the way to your trailer.

The moment you opened the door and stepped inside, you weren’t all that surprised when Ben grabbed your hand and turned you around into his arms. You stifled a small gasp.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, despite knowing full fucking well.

He was no longer teasing as his eyes swept down to your cherry red lips.

“I’m claiming my prize,” he said, his voice sinful and deep.

He bent down to capture you in a demanding kiss. You breathed in, and allowed yourself to give into it. Your hands slid up his arms, then wound up into his hair. He devoured you deeper with each new glide of his lips against yours, his hold on your waist moving down your hips and gripping your ass.

He mostly carried you as he guided you back against the wall of the trailer. His hand slapped against it to brace your impact, making the wall tremble. You gasped into his mouth at the suddenness of it, and he took the opportunity to taste you deeper, slipping his tongue against yours. He relished every small sound you made, and every part of you he got his hands on.

Until he broke from you suddenly, allowing you to catch your breath. You couldn’t help but blink up at him in a bit of surprise while you recovered. His smile was smug looking down at you.

“That was more than a kiss,” you said. Thank God you sounded steadier than you felt.

Ben chuckled and leaned in closer again, this time letting his lips drift across your cheek, and down your neck.

“And I promise I’m good with my hands,” he said in your ear.

You fought not to shudder at the depths in his voice. Your internal alarm finally sounded, however, when one of his hands left your hip to slip along the inside of your thigh. He stroked a thumb between your legs, over the silky leather of your pants. Your core pulsed with anticipation, but this wasn’t part of the plan. Not yet.

You tensed up and grabbed his wrist.

“Ben,” you warned in a gasp, issuing a trill of power on reflex.

Stop.

The unspoken command laced through him. He paused with a tense look, but not just because of your powers. He saw the sliver of fear in your eyes. He frowned.

For your part, you honestly didn’t mean to compel him this time. Your eyes widened, your mouth pressed into a line.

Part of you was afraid, but not for the reasons he might’ve thought. It was a delicate game you were playing with this man. And like it or not, even though you had the power to stop him if he tried to take it any farther, his influence still had power over your career.

“The fuck is your problem? You’re running hot and cold on me,” he snarked. But he relaxed, taking a step away from you. You released his wrist.

“I meant what I said,” you said. “Look, you’re helping me out a lot by doing this music video, and I appreciate that. More than you know.”

Your tone was gentle as you attempted to soothe his ego, but your words had the added benefit of being true.

“I’m still the new kid here,” you added. “Countess already thinks I’m trying to take her place.”

Which, at this point, you could admit that you were in a way. You had a feeling that she’d been using Ben the same way you were—to enhance her status and cement her position in Payback. 

He rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t have to know.”

You broke into a small smile, crossing your arms at him.

“Come on, Ben.”

His face became taciturn. You tried to gouge his reaction with your abilities, and you sensed his irritation underneath. He was likely trying to curb every inclination he had to give a nasty retort and hold onto the charm, but he was also starting to lose patience.

“So what the fuck do you want from me?” he snapped.

You held your tongue for a moment. You knew that whatever you said, whatever you did next could either make or break your plans to be successful. Still, no matter how much you actually wanted to give in to the desire in his eyes, you didn’t just want to be the equivalent of his mistress, or one of his forgettable conquests. That would make sure you remained on the sidelines forever.

No. The only way this worked was if he broke up with Countess for real. 

You stepped in close to him again. With slow moments, you rested your hands on his chest and leaned up, as if to give him a sensuous kiss. You stop just shy of his lips. He grasped your hips on instinct.

“If you really want me, you can have me,” you purred. Though you pulled away when he bent down to kiss you. You lowered back down to your heels.

“Just me,” you said. “I like you, Ben, but if you really do love Crimson Countess and want to…work it out with her, I understand.”

You crossed your arms. His jaw ticked in annoyance.

“They’re gonna have to fix your face,” he remarked with a gesturing finger. “Looks like you sucked off Ronald McDonald.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. You turned to look at yourself in the large mirror on the far wall, and sure enough, your pretty red lipstick was smeared all around your mouth. When you turned back to find Ben’s more amused grin, you glared at him, feeling a hot blush coming on. Pink smudges stained his lips and chin as well.

“Yeah, well, you too, Casanova,” you say pointedly. “You look like a…a fucking clown!”

It was lame, you could admit.

He just laughed and strolled out of your trailer. You huffed and crossed your arms.

He was goddamn insufferable.

Challenges of sexual tension aside, the music video turned out to be a great success. It wasn’t a perfect frame by frame rendition of the movie, but you recreated many of the scenes at the carnival, especially the one at the end. Ben actually hit the High Striker bell so hard that it flew through the roof of the studio.

Maybe getting out some pent-up frustration there.

The video would later get splashed across MTV and all the Vought channels. It piggybacked on the publicity from your first couple of saves with Payback that finally made it to the news.

It all did wonders for your popularity, especially because the reviews on the video were mostly positive—not only for the production and the quality of the vocals, but also for the chemistry between “Soldier Boy and Sirena.”

It just had the predictable side effect of making Countess even bitchier toward you, if that were possible. To a point, you couldn’t fault her. You and Ben did have chemistry on-screen, and she was smart enough to guess at your chemistry off-screen as well. She probably already thought you two were fucking.

You knew the truth, but you also knew it was useless to try and change her mind—hers, and everyone else who gave you sidelong looks when they thought you didn’t notice. Maybe you should’ve just done it with him anyway, if people were going to think it was true no matter what you did.

The only one who congratulated you on your success with any sincerity was your brother.

“I’m proud of you, sis. You’re really doing great,” Chris said.

You shed a couple of tears on the phone with him before hastily changing the subject, asking about your nephew. He’d made a new friend at preschool.

“Aww. Lisa, huh?” you teased. “Is she gonna be his new little girlfriend?”

“Well, she shared her box of crayons and he gave her half of his oatmeal cream pie at lunch, so they’re off to a great start,” Chris joked. You were happy to hear it, and you promised to send him another gift signed by Soldier Boy soon.

After you hung up with your brother, the next call you made was to your dad. Except, you never even got the chance to mention the video.

“How’s Mom doing?” you asked.

“Well, I was actually going to call you,” your dad said. “She’s uh, she’s not doing well… It’s time, honey.”

Your breath stilled in your lungs. You almost didn’t hear his next words: that your mother had been transferred to hospice this morning. That she had a matter of days, and you should come home as soon as you could. You promised that you would.

And suddenly, you remembered every promise you’d given your parents over the past couple of months to go see them, have dinner with them. You remembered that you’d never made good on any of those promises.

Your ears were ringing after you hung up with him. You wiped your tears away.

In your dissociative state, you went to your desk and looked at your calendar to see what was next on the painstaking daily schedule you crafted for yourself. Instead of packing a bag or calling Arthur to try and negotiate some time off, you donned some activewear and went down to the breakroom.

You shoveled some oatmeal into your mouth that you didn’t even taste. Then you went to start your morning routine at the gym.

To your unpleasant surprise, Crimson Countess was there. She was running on the treadmill you usually took. You barely glanced her way as you passed by, aiming for an elliptical instead.

She smiled and tsked. “Oh, honey. That’s one rough looking hangover.”

You turned to her and tried to hide your annoyance. Your eyes were likely red rimmed from crying, not from a bender.

“You should drink more water,” she said, gesturing with a finger around her face. “Might help with the bags under your eyes.”

You sucked in your cheeks and pursed your lips. An irrational anger, dark and deep, roiled in your gut.

“Maybe you can give me the number of your surgeon too,” you shot back. “That’s how you got those plastic tits, right?”

Countess visibly paused, like she hadn’t expected you to hit back. You normally just took whatever snide remarks she made with a smile, as if it were a joke (or at worse, a look of nonchalance). Today was not that day.

She turned off her machine and slowed to a stop.

“No, but I do know someone who can suck the cellulite out of your ass,” she said snidely. She grabbed a water bottle up from the floor and took a sip. You hopped off your own machine and smacked the bottle out of her hand. It made water spill down the front of her red sports bra.

“Tell me, Donna. As the most senior female superhero in Payback, how does it feel to be every man’s guilty pleasure jerk off material?” you sniped.

That managed to strike a nerve. She sneered at you.

“That’s right, honey. Everyone in the world knows who I am,” she said with a haughty look. Her eyes were cold and cruel. “The only way someone’s gonna remember you is exactly how you got here. On your fucking knees.”

She shoved at your shoulders, pushing you back a couple of steps. Your temper finally snapped.

“Oh really? The only reason people know you is because you’re fucking the ‘boss,’” you said, air quotes included. Then you laughed. “The Sonny and Cher routine? Please. Soldier Boy doesn’t love you. He doesn’t even fucking respect you. And you let him walk all over you. Because it keeps you exactly where you want to be. On your knees, sucking off the oldest dick in the world.”

You could see how your words were cutting into her, making her seethe. Her hand came up swiftly with a slap across your face. She was strong. The force behind the hit made you stumble again, but this time, you weren’t holding back. You threw a punch that caught her on the side of her nose. (And for the record, that one actually was fake.)

It soon devolved into a petty, dirty, angry fight, complete with hair pulling, punching, and a kick to the stomach that sent Countess onto her back on the hardwood floor.

The gym doors opened to Ben and Gunpowder rushing in. They must’ve heard the commotion, because they were already on alert. Ben’s face was set with a frown while he watched you squared up on the mats. Your opponent was slowly getting to her feet, huffing and puffing with rage.

Your eyes widened when Countess raised her hands, and a red glow of energy materialized. She tossed a red hot fireball in your direction. You dove across the mat to avoid it, but it vaporized half the gym equipment on your side of the room. You twisted your ankle badly on the way down as well.

While Ben intervened and stopped Countess from hurling another fireball, Gunpowder went to you.

“You okay?” he asked. He reached out a hand to you, but stopped short, like he was afraid of your touch. You were dismayed, but you grimaced and tried to help yourself up. You’d fallen onto another exercise machine and one side of your ribs felt battered.

Meanwhile, Ben whirled Countess around by her arm and glared down at her.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he raised his voice.

She was still livid as she tried to yank her arm out of his grasp. She pointed at you where you lied on the floor.

“Are you fucking her?!” she yelled.

He blinked in surprise, but he quickly recovered.

“What’s the matter with you? Of course not!” he bellowed. “Jesus fuck. Forget to take your damn crazy pills today?”

At that, she looked stricken. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“They’re not…I suffer from migraines,” she said.

“Yeah, well, do us all a favor and take a handful,” Ben groused. “Better yet, the whole goddamn bottle.”

You somehow managed to pull yourself to your feet. Gunpowder was useless, since he was wary of touching you. Really? Does he think I’m going to hijack his mind right here and now?

It hurt, but you hopped from machine to ruined machine in attempt to get out of the room. Ben started toward you. You held a hand up to stop him.

“I’m okay,” you said shakily. “I don’t need help.”

At this point, you were done being reckless. You didn’t want to give Countess any more ammunition against you. 

You managed to limp your way out of the gym and down the hall to the sound of Ben’s shouting, versus Countess’s enraged crying.

“I know you’re fucking her. You want to know why? Because you fuck anything with a pulse!”

“Christ on a cross, I can’t talk to a hysterical woman.”

You shook your head, despite the tears burning in your eyes. You felt your way down the wall like a one-legged crab.

Until a strong pair of arms scooped you up under your legs and around your back. 

You gasped and met a masked Black Noir.

Without a word, he carried you up to your room. There he set you on your feet, in front of your door. You braced yourself with a hand on the doorknob, but you carefully twisted around to look back at him.

“Thank you,” you said with a sniff.

He paused. You sensed his uncertainty.

“Feel better,” he said.

Then he left you alone in the hall.

You took the longest hot bath of your life, dumping in half a bottle of lavender bath soaks. It helped your aches and pains, but it still didn’t manage to wash the day away.

I need to go home, you were reminded. You needed to see your mom, before…

You covered your face with your hands, and you finally allowed yourself to cry.

Back in the gym, Ben cut off Donna's enraged rant with a sharp grip on her arm. He shook her once, hard enough to make her teeth click. It startled a gasp out of her.

She looked up at him and couldn’t entirely hide her fear.

“Get a goddamn grip,” he growled. “Never fucking disrespect me like that again. And if you make another mess like this, so help me God, you’re gonna leave me no choice but to make you regret it. Do you understand me?”

It took her a moment, but after he tightened his grip on her arms, she winced and nodded contritely.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ben,” she stammered. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

He rolled his eyes, but he released her. “Good. Go clean yourself up. You’re a fucking mess.”

He left her in the gym where she stood, still holding herself.

Ben frowned when he didn’t find you in the hallway. At the pace you were going, you couldn’t have gotten that far, he reasoned. But he still didn’t find you, even when he traveled to the elevators and up to your apartment. He stopped in front of your door.

He raised his fist up, poised to knock, but his superior hearing perked up to a sound.

He realized he could hear you crying. The kind of muffled sobs where you were trying to hold yourself back, and were failing miserably.

Ben hesitated…but ultimately, he couldn’t handle two emotional women in one day.

He walked away from your door.

AN: *Sighs* Ben isn't shaping up, is he? Don't worry though. We've still got plenty of track left to go on this rollercoaster.

Next Time:

An album was playing on his record player. You recognized Sinatra’s smooth voice singing “My Way.”

“You want a drink?” Ben asked.

“Whiskey, neat,” you replied. He rose a brow, but he fulfilled your request. While he was busy, you grabbed his forgotten half a blunt from the ashtray on the coffee table, and you lit up. You didn’t often partake in drugs because you didn’t like being out of your lucid mind. You preferred being in control.

Today was different. You needed a distraction. Maybe that was why you were here to begin with.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 5

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Series Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy Tag List:

If you would like to follow along as I post each chapter, please follow my side blog @zepskieswrites with notifications on so you don't miss out. 💚

@spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @adoringanakin @rizlowwritessortof @chernayawidow

@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @lacilou @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@waynes-multiverse @my-stories-vault @syrma-sensei @alwaystiredandconfused @globetrotter28

@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @k-slla @deanbrainrotwritings

@jackles010378 @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @just-levyy

@leigh70 @kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @jessjad

@beautyvaliant @mimaria420 @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters @twinkleinadiamondsky

@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2 @mostlymarvelgirl @artemys-ackles

[dearharriet]

American Honey; Steve Harrington ⛱️

summary: it’s summer, and you’re in love with your boyfriend, steve.

word count: 2K

warnings: implied fem!r, drinking, lots of pet names (honey, baby, pretty, beautiful), lord of the rings references (+ fellowship spoilers!!), tickling, suggestive language

authors note: rly missing summer after writing this one 😭 also I made a mental yarn map between st and lotr while writing this that i can’t unmake I fear

Steve Harrington is an American Treasure.

Fresh out of the pool, he strides toward you, a limber hand reaching out for the beer he entrusted you with. It made you feel special, and Steve certainly entertained the notion. He’s always calling you sweet things—baby, pretty, beautiful, or your favorite—

“Honey.” His shining body is enveloped in shade as he steps under the umbrella you’re using.

He’s an American treasure. Patriotic the way that Colonel Sanders or Bruce Springsteen are. Spangled with freckles and moles like stars, stripes of hot skin on display. Red-shouldered from the sun, blue-lipped from a rocket ice pop, but his teeth remain pearly white.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his warm fingers dampening yours as you hand the can off to him.

“‘Course,” you reply, breathless.

“You sure you won’t swim with me?”

You liked that. He never pretended he had the interest of the whole group in mind. Steve wanted you all for himself, and he wasn’t shy about it.

Smiling up at him, you shake your head.

“I don’t wanna get burnt,” you say. “And anyways, who’s gonna look after your drink if I get in?”

Steve steps closer to pet your hair. It’s a little awkward with his hands still being wet, but you accept it nonetheless.

“Lucky for you, I don’t really care about the drink. I only asked you to hold it ‘cause you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

A smile creeps onto your face, which has turned red—sunblock be damned.

That’s another thing you like about Steve. He’s not really coaxing you into the pool. He knows you burn easy, and further, he’s trying his hardest not to touch your face. He’d watched you meticulously rub sunscreen over it just thirty minutes ago, and he’s sweet enough to remember now.

Worst of all, he knows your anxiety about burning stretches beyond just you, so he ordered the kids to sunscreen up just to put you at ease. It has you thinking undeniably fond, hungry, and binding things about him.

Steve is none the wiser, setting his beer down and rubbing a pruny palm down his chest.

“Could you get my shoulders again, babe? Think the chlorine washed it all off.”

You both know damn well it didn’t, but neither complains as Steve perches himself on the edge of your lounger and you rub sunblock into his broad shoulders.

It’s hard not to love everything about him. Not that you’re trying to stop, but you haven’t admitted to it yet, so maybe you are. Everything is terribly simple and domestic with Steve, easily imaginable as a forever kind of thing, and you’re desperately trying not to jump the gun.

What’s stuck with you time and again—like now—is your contentment in committing unselfish acts, as long as Steve is happy. Everything you do for him is sublimely fulfilling, and you can’t help but imagine that he thinks the same about you. Why else would he happily swim alone and bake away in layers of sunblock, if not because you’re happy first?

Feeling intimidated by all of the commotion around, you amalgamate all of these big feelings into a subdued kiss on Steve’s sticky shoulder. Your lips come away tangy with sunblock, but it’s worth it.

Taking it as a sign that you’re done, Steve turns around and gives you exactly what you want, leaning over your bare legs to kiss your waiting mouth. You think it’s a thank-you kiss, but then he’s leaning in for another, and another, his hand holding steady to your ankle.

When he pulls away he’s like a concentrated UV beam. His shoulder is hot where you draw shapes into it.

“Y’still having fun? We could go inside.”

Your legs press together.

“I know why you want to go inside,” you tease, poking his cheek, “and it’s going to have to wait.”

“Who says,” he challenges, pouting, “s’my house.”

Your eyes leave his face to watch the action in the pool. The kids are reenacting a Tolkien-related battle very loudly and dramatically, with Eddie as Aragorn.

“Everyone is here,” you remind him, nodding at the pool just as Will flays an imaginary Orc. Steve doesn’t even glance behind himself.

“So?” He mumbles, kissing your bottom lip. “I’ll tell them to leave.”

He’s so hard to resist like this, all gushy and lovesick. You push your fingers into the hair at his neck to pull him away and he hums happily.

“You’re terrible,” you chide, but you’re smiling, anyhow.

“Is it a crime to love your girlfriend?” A shock zips through you, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice what he's admitted.

“Steve!” Lucas—who is using his recent growth spurt to play Legolas—calls over, saving you from responding.

“Stop sucking face and get over here! It’s time for you to die.”

“Uh-oh,” you laugh, patting Steve on the back. “Sounds serious.”

“How come they always make me play Boring-mir,” he complains, turning back to you. He doesn’t seem very motivated to get up at all, practically lazing beside your legs despite the gang of nerds waiting on him.

“He’s not so bad, from what I’ve read,” you argue, glancing at the closed book by your side. “Though I think they should let you take a crack at Aragorn.”

Grinning, Steve stretches up to kiss you.

“Honey, I think you’re the only one who believes in me,” he whispers sarcastically, and then presses in again.

“Steve!”The kids all throw their hands up. Eddie continues to swing a pool noodle like a sword.

“Coming!” Steve gives you the kiss they interrupted, though it's missing the sensuality it began with. “Jesus, you guys, you see what I’m leaving behind?” Steve gestures to you, and you swat at his arm.

“Steve, stop.”

“No! It’s an impossible task,” he declares, arms out, loud enough so the kids can still hear him. Then, quieter, “you’re too damn gorgeous, gorgeous.”

“Resist temptation, brother,” Eddie calls. “The power of the ring cannot be wielded!”

Steve waves him off as he gives you one final, lingering kiss. Then he's up, trekking back into the sun.

“Don’t think you’ll kill me so easily this time, brats. I’m fighting for Mordor!”

“You’re fighting for Gondor, thick head,” Dustin snips, but screeches when Steve tackles him.

Smiling from your shady oasis, you leave your book forgotten at your side. Steve puts on a good show, taking imaginary hits for Merry-Erica and Pip-Dustin, cutting off forgotten lines with groans and tears.

You shake your head ruefully as the kids cheer and applaud his passing, not sure they understand the sacrifice made. Steve just smiles and bows, and you think maybe he doesn’t, either.

When he finally slumps down next to you again—dripping and warm and happy to be discharged—you curl into him and throw your legs between his.

“Tired?” You lean your head against the springy elastic slats and look at him softly. He nods and pulls you closer, his free hand and his thigh working together to open a new can of beer. He takes a swig and hands it to you.

“I don’t know how they can keep going. I feel like I need an IV.”

You laugh around the rim of the can.

“Maybe I can get you a glass of water, then, and keep this to myself.” You swirl the heavy can in front of him. Steve shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t dare. Beer is, like, basically water, I’m pretty sure.” You raise a skeptical brow, but hand it back to him. “It is! It’s sterile, baby.”

“I love it when you talk sexy.”

Steve throws his head back laughing, nearly dumping the can into both of your laps. You never take your eyes off of him, chest light with the high of encouraging a sound so sweet.

“Where did you even hear that?” You trace his collarbone as you ask, and then his adams apple. Steve’s eyes are still squeezed shut as he attempts to talk through his giggling.

“E—hedd—d-iehee.”

Surely it wasn’t that funny, you think, watching him go red in the face. He’s working himself up more than anything, now. You don’t care. You add fuel to the fire, pinching under his ribs to watch him squirm and howl.

Steve practically throws the can onto the ground, writhing away from your menacing fingers.

“Baby—stop!” You’re laughing with him now, infected by his hiccuping voice. “Honey—honey, please——time-out, time-out!”

You stop, and he snags your hand to hold it away from him. Panting, Steve twists around to pin you on the chair, his free hand creeping towards your bare side.

“Payback…,” he whispers threateningly.

“No…Steve—“It’s too late, Steve’s hands are already working into your sides cruelly, and his mouth is blowing raspberries into your neck. You kick your feet wildly, pushing at his shoulder with your connected hands.

At your shrieking, everyone looks over, faces forming into a hash of reactions. Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly—no one intervenes. The boys boo at you, but it’s only as long-lived as the tickling itself.

“Sto-ho-ho-hoppp—“ you plead, and Steve yields, a satisfied smile on his face.

When you finally relax back into the chair again, chest rising and falling rapidly, Steve takes your hand into his and holds it over his torso.

“Hate you,” he puffs out, and then picks up the beer that started it all.

“Hmph,” you complain, and hold your hand out until he passes it over.

“I love you.”

You’re aiming for casual, but you miss the mark obscenely. It sticks in your throat and you end up saying every letter.

Steve is eerily silent, watching as you take a nervous gulp of PBR. When you try to pass it back, his receiving hand floats up to your face to wipe over your bottom lip instead.

“What was that?” It’s not a question so much as an encouragement, a request. You can’t even look him in the eyes, curling into his shoulder shamefully.

“Please don’t laugh,” you whine, mortified. How had he made it look so easy?

Steve snakes an arm behind you and rubs your back comfortingly.

“‘M’not, honey. Just wanna make sure I heard you right.”

“You heard me,” you confirm grumpily.

He hums a warm laugh.

Smushing your face into his bicep, you laugh, too. Like magic, the ease flows through your body again, as if it never left. Like the water in the pool, your conversations always slip and slide from childish to heart-pounding and back again. So far, the scariest parts of being with Steve have been the anxieties you invented along the way, and he’s never been unprepared for them.

Propping your chin on his peck, you cuddle closer to him, the warm day slipping into evening chill. Steve waits, patient as a Saint, fiddling with your hair and your top and your mind.

“You knew, didn’t you,” you whisper, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. The near-empty can is still wedged between your bodies, cool against your ribs.

“Sure,” Steve admits. “But thinking it and saying it are different things.”

“True.” You swallow. “Were you waiting on me?”

“Mm, I guess.” He shrugs. “I know it doesn’t change anything if you don’t, but I think I wanted to hear you say it back. Yknow, when I told you.”

Nodding, you kiss the closest patch of skin you can find. Steve continues.

“And then I realized I’d never know if you’d say it back, so I thought I’d wait for you to say it first, which is dumb—“

“S’not dumb,” you assure him, “that’s what I was doing, too.”

Locking eyes, you both peel into laughter at the same time.

“That’s why it’s dumb,” Steve emphasizes. You crawl closer still, giving him the can to put down so you can close the last gap between your bodies. Steve sighs as your nose presses into his neck. “What am I gonna do with you, honey?”

“Terrible, awful, horrible things, I hope.”

You can feel him smiling, sense it.

“Nuh-uh, we’re in love now. Only love-making from here on out.”

You look out towards the pool, at the kids drying off and getting hungry.

You could hardly wait.

+

thank you for reading! 🦢

masterlist

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

Who Wears Short Shorts?

Week #1 Prompt: Short Shorts | Word Count: 1469 | Rating: M | Pairing: Steddie | Characters: Eddie, Steve, Robin | CW: Mild Sexual Content | Tags: Post S4, Everybody Lives, Eddie POV, Platonic Stobin, Silliness, Fluff, Hair Removal, Getting Together, Blame it on Nair Fumes

Letting himself inside, Eddie looks around, and the house seems empty, even if Steve's car is in the driveway. He pauses, and he's pretty sure he hears the faint sound of music coming from upstairs.

"Hey! Steve?!" Eddie screams, and waits. Nothing.

So, he climbs the staircase, and that's when he hears that the music is coming from the bathroom. He can also hear Steve and Robin talking, arguing, laughing.

When he gets to the doorway, he's very confused.

Very, very confused.

"What exactly is going on here?" Eddie asks, looking back and forth between Steve and Robin, both standing in the bathroom, wearing short shorts, white lotion slathered all over their legs, "And what's that smell?"

Eddie pulls his shirt up over his nose. It smells like some of the chemicals that Wayne sometimes comes home smelling like after a shift at the plant.

It's caustic. Burning his eyes and nose.

Robin wiggles her leg in his direction, "Nair."

"Hold still!" Steve chides her, trying to get her to stop moving without messing up the application.

"Nair," Eddie repeats.

"Nair," Steve confirms.

"And…"

"Who wears short shorts? We wear short shorts! If you dare wear short shorts, Nair for short shorts!" Robin and Steve both sing-song together, loudly, over the already loud music, waving their arms, legs kicking up together into a kickline, the idea of not moving around, obviously long forgotten.

And, oh. Steve's limber. 

Flexible, and Eddie has thoughts he's not supposed to be having right now. 

He feels insane as he reaches over and turns the music down, maybe a first, in his whole lifetime. He's not supposed to be the normal one in any situation. This is wrong. So wrong.

Like, he gets it. He watches TV. He knows what Nair is. Sort of. In theory. He definitely knows the commercial jingle. But he doesn't understand why this is happening right now. He thought they were going swimming. Not, whatever this is.

"You're using Nair? Why?" Eddie asks, because it smells like something that shouldn't be used by humans without proper ventilation. Maybe gas masks. 

"Robin was curious, so I'm showing her how to do it," Steve says, like that's a normal thing for him to say.

"Okay, sure. Of course. New question, why do you know how to do it?" Eddie asks, as he mourns the loss of Steve's leg hair, that Steve is currently in the process of burning off with that eye-wateringly stinky cream. 

"Swim team," Steve says, like that's an explanation. It's not. It's really, really not.

"Swim team," Eddie repeats.

"Yeah, for like, all that aerodynamic shit," Steve says, and Eddie can't help it. He smiles. 

The kitchen timer dings, loud and shrill, in the small room. 

"Is that so?" Eddie asks, leaning against the door jam, watching as Steve wipes the cream off of Robin's legs with a washcloth. Then forces her legs into the tub, one at a time, as he rinses them off. And Eddie can't tell if it worked or not, it's not like Robin's legs were all that hairy to begin with, at least not as far as he's ever noticed. 

But, Steve. Steve's legs are hairy, just like the rest of him, and Eddie's curious. Morbidly, so.

Robin is running her hand over her legs, and Eddie watches as Steve just stands there, grinning at her.

"See?!" Steve says, excited.

Then she coughs.

"I'm gonna go get some fresh air," Robin declares, and Eddie wishes she'd bring a little in for the rest of them, honestly. This bathroom needs a window, desperately.

After she goes, Eddie looks back at Steve, "What about yours?"

"Takes a little longer, my hair is way more thick and coarse than hers," Steve says.

And, yeah it is.

Eddie doesn't want to admit, even to himself, what he thinks about all that body hair Steve has.  But he definitely has thoughts about it. Lots and lots of thoughts.

"I'll do you next," Steve teases.

"The hell you will. I like my leg hair right where it is, Harrington."

"Suit yourself then," Steve says dryly, and he finally starts wiping down his own legs. 

And yeah, he's losing hair up to his knee. Well, some of the hair. A little of it. Honestly, it seems very hit and miss as he wipes it away. Most of his leg hair just looks a little melted, singed, curled. 

Damaged, not removed.

"Is it not working?" Eddie asks, curious what the plan is here.

"Well, it's not perfect," Steve laughs, and it looks pretty bad, but Steve doesn't seem to care, as he adds onto his thought with a breezy, "Oh well."

"Are you just gonna leave it like that?" Eddie asks. Because, honestly. No.

Steve just shrugs, "I guess I could shave them."

And Eddie is pretty sure his brain short circuits, because the next thing that comes out of his mouth is totally against his will, "Can I shave them for you?"

Steve stops, looks at him, then laughs, shrugging his shoulders, "Sure. Okay."

Eddie isn't sure why he asked that, and he feels like his cheeks are on fire. Steve reaches into the medicine cabinet, producing a razor and a can of shaving cream, handing them both to Eddie. Then he plugs the tub, runs some water, and wets his legs with a washcloth, before sitting down on the closed toilet seat. 

Oh shit. 

Shit, shit, shit.

"You want me to…?" Eddie asks, trailing off, waving his hand holding the shaving cream towards Steve's legs.

"You're the one that asked," Steve says, teasing him.

Eddie swallows, kneeling in front of Steve, squeezing some of the shaving foam onto his palm, and then runs it up Steve's leg, applying it, stopping when he gets to the knee.

Steve pulls up on his shorts, his already very short shorts, making them even more indecent, "Might as well go on up."

Eddie's dick twitches at the idea, but he nods, getting some more shaving cream and rubbing it up onto Steve's thighs.

Then he holds the razor in a slightly shaky hand, "You sure you want me to do this?"

Steve shrugs, "It'll grow back."

Eddie nods. That's not exactly what he was asking, but he grips Steve's foot in his hand, and starts running the razor upwards, gently. Trying to be careful. One stripe in, he leans over and rinses the blade off in the tub, looking back up at Steve's face. 

And then keeps shaving, getting everything off his lower legs, before pausing, then just forges ahead. In for a penny, in for a pound.

He puts Steve's heel on his shoulder, giving him access to the underside of his thigh, and he's fully hard in his own shorts now, and he really hopes Steve won't notice. He's sure this isn't supposed to be that. He's not supposed to be getting off on this.

But he is. He really, really is.

He's such a goddamn pervert. 

Then he sees it. The hard line of Steve's cock, pressing against his shorts. His tight shorts.

Eddie drops the razor. It clatters to the tile, and he laughs nervously as he reaches to pick it up.

What is he doing? What are they doing right now? It's madness. It's the fumes. They've gone to their heads. They've lost critical brain function, the both of them. That must be it. It's the only explanation. 

Robin turns back up in the doorway, and they both turn and look at her. It must look crazy, Eddie between Steve's thighs, his leg hoisted up, covered in shaving cream.

"Oh, ew. No," she says, and disappears just as fast as she'd arrived, slamming the door behind her as she goes. 

Steve chuckles, and Eddie gets back to work. Shaving, rinsing. Over and over, until Steve's legs are both bare. 

It's weird, but Eddie can't help himself, and he runs his hand up Steve's calf, slow. Exploring. 

And Steve moans. 

Oh, goddamn. 

Eddie suddenly raises up on his knees, sending Steve backwards, off-balance, falling against the toilet tank. 

"Am I reading this wrong?" Eddie asks, chest heaving. Both of his hands clutching Steve's wet, smooth thighs.

Steve shakes his head, pupils blown wide, and Eddie runs his hand up, cupping Steve through his short shorts. Leaning forward, pressing against Steve, contorting Steve's body, as Eddie leans close enough to kiss him.

And he does, lips barely brushing, lightly, and it isn't lost on Eddie that he put his hand on Steve's dick before they even kissed. 

Steve leans forward, surging into him, kissing back. Hand coming up to press against the back of Eddie's head, pulling him closer. 

And Eddie's sure he'll die right here, for real this time.

If not from the lingering toxic fumes, definitely from Steve.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun! 🌞

Notes: There are lots of different versions of the Nair "short shorts" commercials, but here's one from the 70s, if you're unfamiliar.

[thegingerwrites]

Suddenly a Sith

Warm up ficlet inspired by this art. Possessed by a sith artifact Obi-Wan you say? Sign me up

Anakin knows something is wrong from the moment he enters the cave. Beyond the strange glyphs lining the walls, circling the altar like a snake, beyond the darkness and the cold, beyond every instinct in Anakin’s body telling him turn around, run—the Force screams as he enters the room, setting his teeth on edge.

“Obi-Wan?” The man is in the center of the chamber, his back to Anakin. His head is bent low over something and if it weren’t for the fact that this is Obi-Wan, Anakin might not care to find out what is so important that he can ignore all of the agony around them in favor of it.

Obi-Wan doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t move at all, like he can’t hear him, though Anakin’s voice echoes off the walls.

A few of the men in the small scouting party reach the entrance behind Anakin—Commander Cody and two others—but Anakin holds up a hand to stop them from going any further. Something strange is going on here and Anakin would much rather be the only one who has to suffer the consequences of messing with something that he shouldn’t. Well, he thinks, considering the strange, still form of his former master, perhaps not the only one.

“Obi-Wan?” he tries again, as he takes careful steps forward. This time, Obi-Wan seems to hear him. He tilts his head to the side then stretches his neck fluidly like an animal, rolling his head from side to side as though he is limbering up before a sparring match.

When he turns to face Anakin, he smiles. But it is like no expression Anakin has ever seen on his master’s face. Even with closed lips, there is something sharp about the look of it. Dangerous and cold, for all that there is genuine amusement there too. Like Anakin could cut himself on it, like Obi-Wan wants him to.

And his eyes, when they meet Anakin’s, are gold.

His smile widens and Anakin almost misses it, too captivated by eyes that are not his master’s, staring out of Obi-Wan’s face. Anakin considers himself something of an expert on Obi-Wan’s facial features and yet somehow this smile is fierce, more earnest, shows more teeth than any that has ever crossed Obi-Wan’s face before. There is something manic about it, something painfully intense.

“There you are, darling. I’ve been looking for you.”

He steps forward and there is even something in the way he moves that screams bad-wrong-no. A fluidness, a relaxing of the shoulders, predatory and feline as he fixes his sights on Anakin and refuses to let him go.

“Are you alright, master?”

Anakin cannot make himself move. Not forward to take hold of his master, shake him until whatever trance he is under lifts, or away, stepping back from whatever corruption has overtaken him.

Obi-Wan—and it is so strange to see this man and think of Obi-Wan, not when just looking at him makes it clear that something is wrong, that this is not his master—closes his eyes and sighs with deep satisfaction. “Perfect, Anakin. Better than I’ve felt in years.”

“Right,” Anakin says. His brain short-circuited somewhere between the soft sound of breath Obi-Wan released and the sinuous stretch of his neck, like he is learning the feel of his own body for the first time.

“Sirs,” Cody interrupts from the doorway. “We have to keep moving. The rest are already waiting for us at the rendezvous point.”

“By all means,” Obi-Wan says. “Lead the way, Commander.”

Anakin stops him with a hand on his pauldron, catching and holding him. “Not so fast.”

Obi-Wan puts the barest effort into swallowing his grin and fashioning his face into something more serious. “Is something wrong, Anakin?”

His eyes seem to flash an even brighter gold, a trick of the light, teasing Anakin with just how wrong they are. “You—what did you do? Did you touch something? Read something?”

“We have to go, Anakin. You heard the Commander.”

He tries to slip free of his grip but Anakin holds tight. “This isn’t you.”

“What would make you think that?” A grin escapes his careless control. When Anakin merely gapes at him, Obi-Wan decides to answer for him.

“Do I seem more relaxed? Less uptight?” He steps closer to Anakin until their chests brush against each other. Obi-Wan plays with the edge of Anakin’s tabards before turning those gold eyes back up to him. “More agreeable? Is it that I’ve decided not to sink under the weight of infinite sadness and instead let go, as a good Jedi Master should? I feel so much lighter without that tiresome burden already.”

Instead of resisting further, Obi-Wan decides to go on the offensive. They are so close Anakin can feel Obi-Wan’s breath on his skin. He tilts his head to the side and for a moment, Anakin thinks Obi-Wan is about to kiss him. Then he turns further and speaks his next words directly into Anakin’s ear.

“What could it be, my very young padawan?” he asks. Anakin has never let those words send shivers down his spine but they do now and Obi-Wan knows it. “Tick tock. As the dear Commander said, we do have places to be.”

“Your eyes,” Anakin blurts out. He manages to find the wherewithal to tighten his grip on Obi-Wan and turn him around in his arms. His hold on Obi-Wan is tight and keeps him from squirming loose, but this will never hold him for long, not if he gets it into his head to run.

“I take it you’re not a fan of the new me, then?” Obi-Wan says over his shoulder “Too bad. There are so many things I would love to do to you now that all of that troublesome shame and guilt are gone.”

Anakin’s mind fills with static. He screws his eyes shut and strengthens his grip on Obi-Wan. The man makes a weak attempt at getting free, like he’s playing with him. Like this is a game he’s winning.

Anakin definitely doesn’t feel like the one in control here.

“Commander Cody, binders,” Anakin grunts. Obi-Wan rolls his hips back in something Anakin can’t bring himself to call an escape attempt. He tips his head back onto Anakin’s shoulder and grins, looking up at him.

“Those won’t be necessary, Cody. I might be different than I was but that hardly makes me dangerous.”

Anakin shoves him forward. “You’re a Sith.”

Obi-Wan laughs, turning around to face him again, pulled like a magnet. In the blink of an eye, he gets in close and drapes his arms over Anakin’s shoulders. “You’ll have to prove it, darling. For now, I want to take a look at this war you’ve been fighting. It sounds thrilling.”

Something in Anakin flares hot despite himself at the feeling of carrying Obi-Wan’s weight like this. He catches Obi-Wan at the waist to offer him some balance, to keep them both from tipping over. It’s an instinctive move but one that leaves Anakin knowing Obi-Wan’s slim waist better than he ever hoped he would and with his hands far too close to his Master’s ass. Obi-Wan’s hands insinuate themselves into the back of Anakin’s hair, offering a playful tug to one of the curls he finds there. In the flash of his yellow eyes and the gleam of his sharp teeth, Anakin can see the danger of letting this man loose on the galaxy.

“You’re not going anywhere. I’m not letting you out of my sight until we fix you.”

Obi-Wan presses up onto his toes to close the meager distance between them. He presses a kiss—a quick, chaste thing and hardly what Anakin would expect from a Sith—before pulling away. He doesn’t make any move to run, to squirm out of Anakin’s grasp now that he has totally and completely bewildered him, just leaves his arms around Anakin’s neck and smiles up at him.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” The words are simple and yet they stun Anakin like a blasterbolt. Because he sounds like his master, looks like his master. And yet. those gleaming yellow eyes pierce right through him.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

How Different Is It (part 18.5)

Previous | Masterpost | Next

Tim left Jason and Danny’s apartment with a tupperware of cinnamon rolls and a fresh loaf of bread after the confrontation with Danny and Jason, and shot a quick text to Dick assuring him everything was fine and Tim would share details later, and to Alfred asking about a vacation. Then he turned off his phone before they could text him back. He had had enough of emotions for today and he just wanted to go home and see Kon. To talk, and maybe spar, and try and make sense of what he had just seen.

He sped back to Titan’s tower, he could have called on Kon for a lift, and been home faster of course but he wanted to clear his head on his own. He thought it had worked, at least until he slammed the door with enough force to make himself wince. Huh, he hadn’t meant to do that, clearly he was more upset then he realized.

He winced again when he heard the woosh of air that meant the unusual noise had summoned Kon. Damn that super hearing, nothing got past him. 

“Are you okay?” Kon asked, looking over Tim worriedly. 

“Yes,” He snapped, before amending quickly. “No, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet. Can we just spar? I have some… stuff to work out. Only if you’re up to it?”

“Of course we can! Come on. Weapons or hand to hand?”

“Hand to hand,” Robin decided as they walked together up to the roof top sparring room. “And stay grounded please.” Sometimes Kon using some flight was a fun challenge to get up to him, today Tim would just find it frustrating. 

“I’ll keep it as no-powers as I can,” Kon promised, holding up his hand in a pledge which made Tim's lips twitch up in a smile. He loved the sincerity in Kon, it was so… sweet.

“Thanks Kon,” Tim said, his shoulders already relaxing in preparation for the fight. He tolled them comfortably, his neck to, limbering up for the upcoming spar.

He avoided common areas on the way up, except for slipping into the deserted kitchen for just a moment to leave the food, most of the time sparring was a group activity with those not in the fight cheering from the sidelines, but today Robin didn't want an audience.

They reached the sparring room without anyone seeing them and Tim hopped up onto the mats, waiting for Kon to come join him. When his… partner drifted up Robin didn't wait for the usual formalities of sparring before lunging in, immediately on the offensive. Kon kept his motions to a human speed as he dodged and kicked though it was performative more than anything.

Robin jumped over the leg and kicked back, he didn't pull his punches fighting Kon and normally would think nothing of it. This time though, he hesitated which meant he missed, an event which startled them both so badly that Tim stumbled and Kon missed catching him. 

“Robin… are you sure you're okay?” Kon asked worriedly but Tim ignored the question. He used the momentary distraction to push himself up and used that momentum to go on the attack again. He struck without hesitation this time and knew as usual that his knuckles would be now bruised then Kon’s skin. Kon barely responded, he grabbed Tim's arm and swung him around making him skid back before he ran forward again.

He forced himself not to hesitate even as he more deeply analyzed how this felt then he ever had before, was fully aware of the impact of his feet and fist on the flesh of the man he loved. Because despite what everyone thought he was aware of his feelings for Kon. It was just… complicated. 

By the time Robin finally stood still they were both breathing heavily, and Tim felt a little bit better. He sighed and ran his hands back through his fair, nodded to Kon and then wandered off the mat, sitting down on the edge of the mat and crossed his legs. After a moment Kon came and sat down next to Tim quietly. 

“So, are you ready to talk?” Kon asked after a bit of comfortable silence. 

“Ya, Ya I guess so. But you have to keep it to yourself alright? I don’t want anyone else on the team to know it’s a-” He struggled for a moment to think of what to say. “A family matter.”

“Of course. I won’t tell anyone. If you don’t want to talk about it here we can go somewhere else,” Kon offered. 

“No that’s alright,” Tim said, shaking his head. “We’re alone right?”

“Ya, we are,” Kon confirmed, he would hear if anyone was eavesdropping. 

“Alright,” He was quiet again for a minute trying to figure out how best to say this before deciding to just spit it out. “I saw Jason hit Danny yesterday.” 

“What?!” Kon spluttered, his eyes wide and confused. 

“They have an agreement, because Danny is durable and heals quickly, and Jason has anger issues Jason takes his anger out on Danny. But it looks awful, Jason is so violent and Danny still bruises and bleeds.

“Nightwing and I went to try and talk about it with them, try and stage an intervention I guess? Danny was absolutely furious and made Nightwing leave immediately but he let me stay because they feel protective of me I guess. Danny explained the bit about the arrangement to me, before that I just knew that Jason hit him.

“He said that it’s no true harm, it’s a bonding thing for them even. He likened it to us sparring. He asked if knowing I can hit you as hard as I can without hurting you really helps, if it feels good to work out my frustration on you knowing I can't actually hurt you.” He sighed, combing his fingers through his hair again. “And it doesn't.

“Is that bad? I mean, he's right, it does feel good. It looks worse that Danny doesn't fight back at all but you can't fight at your full strength either when we spar so the fight you put up is performative to make me feel better more then anything, is that materially different?

“I have a feeling that if I asked you not to fight back you probably would just let me. I didn't ask earlier because I didn't want to find out, not really.”

“Ah,” Kon sounded, looking down and to the side and rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I wouldn't, if you asked. But you're not hurting me Tim, we're sparring. It's different, it's not wrong. So I guess if that's what they're doing it's not so bad it's it?” 

“That's what I think too but at the same time I don't know if that's because it's true or because it's to painful to think about my brother being an abuser and me being like him,” Tim sighed and leaned against Kon’s shoulder who hesitated and then wrapped an arm around Tim’s shoulders.

“You're a good person Rob, and so is Hood. It's okay, you're not doing anything wrong when we spar, it keeps both of us sharp and… calm, and it does help me feel closer to you,” Kon assured.

“Thanks Kon. I really, I really like you, you know?” Tim said softly.

“I really like you too Tim, and when you're ready to get past those fears of commitment you know I'm here, right?” Kon asked softly.

“Right, thank you for being patient. I think it will be soon,” Tim promised, snuggling a little closer to Kon’s side.

[megamindsecretlair]

A Little Mad Sometimes

Pairing: Ghostface x Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. FILTH, PWP, cursing, protected PIV, oral (male and fem receiving), degradation kink, toxic smut, mocking, minor knife kink, use of pet names, overstimulation if you squint, all consensual. Established relationship.

Summary: Playing hide and seek with Billy and Stu looking for you was beyond fun. But they have to catch you eventually.

Word Count: 4,032k

A/N: Full moon's out, I'm out being feral again. Happy Halloweek! Time for more spooky smut, because YESSS. This is my favorite gif of them. I'm off to throw this movie on for the thousandth time. Tagging those who interacted with my previous fic, I can totally remove it if you don't want to be tagged! Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! Please put age in bios or else I block!

Taglist: @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @notapradagurl7 @lovedlover @sevikasblackgf @miyuhpapayuh @planetblaque

The heavy thud of a knife hit a table somewhere in the house and you flinched. Your hand knocked into the wall with a small smack and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. Your heart thundered in your chest. Anticipation and fear mixed into a heady cocktail.

You squeezed your bare thighs together, your short shorts were barely long enough to cover your ass. That was Billy’s idea. His favorite part of you was your thighs. Watching them, holding them, kneading them. If he was near you, he was touching you.

You dared to peek in between the door jam and the door. All of the lights were off casting everything in shades of black and gray. With the lack of sight, your hearing strained for anything familiar. Anything to put you at ease.

Every so often, you’d hear a creak. Or the whoosh of a door being opened. But was it them? Or was it just the house settling? Each new sound set your nerves on edge. 

Playing hide and seek was so much harder with two people looking for you than just one. The house was on the big side, so there were plenty of areas to hide in. But if they ever cornered you, you were done for.

Of course, the goal was to find you, but your competitive side didn’t want to make it easy. You wore socks to help muffle your movements. Since they were scarily quiet on a good day, you made them wear boots. But then they warned that you had to move around the house. You couldn’t just camp out behind a door forever. They needed you loosened up and limber. For reasons.

The hallway was pitch black; even if they were standing right at the door, you wouldn’t be able to see them. Still, rules were rules. You slid out from behind your bedroom door, peeking down both sides of the hallway. There was no movement, so you crept slowly down. 

If you could make it to the bathroom…

The stairs creaked, sending your heartbeat through the roof. You huffed, whipping your head to the other end of the hallway. A shadow played on the wall. A figure moved slowly. A knife scraped against the wall.

“This is our best game yet,” a voice whispered. You didn’t know if it was Billy or Stu walking up the steps. It didn’t bode well that you only knew where one was.

You lifted your feet slowly but quickly, tiptoeing down the hall. Your eyes were trained on the stairs, watching that shadow move higher and higher. Your pulse jumped in your throat. 

Your hand searched behind you for the door. Finding it, you slowly backed in. You didn’t dare move the door as you got behind it, close to the wall. The house was older than those in the neighborhood and everything fucking creaked. You suspected your parents liked it that way. Wouldn’t want you to sneak out without them noticing. Without a chance to stop you from doing something naughty. If only they could see their baby girl now.

You strained to hear over the sound of your heartbeat. One of them stopped making sounds. You were sure, even in their boots, that the carpet underneath muffled the sound. You could only rely on that faint sixth sense of the area around you. 

Light rustling made you widen your eyes. Not that you could really see anything. But you begged for any type of night vision. You heard him move down the hallway, trailing his knife against the wall. You licked your lips, your mouth going dry. 

Fuck! This was the wrong place to hide. He stopped outside of the bathroom door, presumably staring in. 

You slid a hand over your mouth, quiet as you could, to prevent him from hearing you breathe. “Come out, come out,” he whispered. He sighed. The door flew towards you with a loud kick from him and you jumped.

The door got caught on the rug, preventing it from slamming against you and giving away your position. You shook. Adrenaline pumped through you. Distantly, there was a sound of a door slamming against the wall. These two were so in sync it was frightening sometimes. 

But, good to know that they weren’t on the same level of the house. Bad to know that they weren’t on the same level of the house. Either one could catch you as you moved about, scurrying to avoid detection. 

The one near you stepped into the bathroom. You watched the shadows undulate as he moved. His ghostface mask was a stark contrast against the darkness. The ghostly image seemed to float in mid air. You were fairly sure this was Billy. 

He was a lot calmer, more rational of the pair. He had ice water in his veins. Moving like a predator where Stu stumbled around like an excited baby giraffe. 

A crashing noise split the air. Billy turned to the sound and ran down the hallway. You heard his thunderous footsteps descend the stairs and you eased out of the bathroom once more, crossing the hall, towards your parents room. You thought about the attic, but that was too easy. They found you there in under twenty minutes last time. It wasn’t easy to move around up there in the dark, plus it was creepy and full of spiderwebs. No thank you.

You moved quickly, sliding to the floor and shimmying under the bed. The cushy carpet slid over your skin as you wiggled underneath. Your chest burned with the need to take a full breath. You counted in your head, willing your racing heart to calm down.

But you were too anxious. Too keyed up with the thrill of being prey. You heard the stairs creak again. You strained once more, trying to discern any and all types of sound. 

Cold slender hands encircled your ankles and yanked. You screamed, throat burning, kicking your legs. But it was futile. The hands gripped you harder, pulling you completely out from under the bed until you were exposed. 

“Oh, what do we have here?” Stu’s excited voice carried from beneath his mask. 

“Wait!” You yelled out. 

Light flooded the room rendering you blind temporarily. You blinked away hot tears as Stu stood in front of you and Billy leaned against the door frame. He tilted his head as Stu gripped you by the arms now and lifted you clean off of the ground. 

He turned you roughly, to face Billy. His hands were like steel, wrenching your arms behind your back. He pushed into you and your head barely came up to his chin. “I caught a rabbit,” he sang.

He removed his mask, chuckling in your ear. He ran his hands up and down your arms. Goosebumps pebbled your skin. 

“I thought you were downstairs,” you pouted. You stared as Billy lazily removed his mask. His hair fell over his brow and you couldn’t help a quiet hum. Watching these two never failed to take your breath away. They were gorgeous. They were intense. They didn’t do anything by half measures. 

“Remind me to give that stupid animal extra treats,” Stu said with a dreamy sigh.

“You bastard! You two planned this,” you said.

Billy’s smirk only confirmed it. Of course they planned it. It was uncanny how Billy seemed to know your moves before you did. 

“It’s not hard. Figured you’d run to mommy and daddy’s room. Is that where you want it?” Billy asked as he crept closer. “To be fucked in your parents’ bed?” 

You loosed a breath. The thought hadn’t even occurred to you. You ran in here because it was the only logical place from the bathroom. The bell had been rung. You glanced towards the bed. It would be much bigger than your little full sized bed. 

“I think she’s considering it,” Billy said to Stu, talking over your head. Stu grinned and chuckled, his warm breaths fanning across your neck. 

His hands slipped from your arms, no longer trying to restrain you. He moved his hands to your chest, immediately grabbing your tits and pushed them together. You wore a flimsy tank top, no bra.

The house was cold, courtesy of Billy once more. Your arms were freezing while your nipples poked out and Stu zeroed in on them, tweaking and rolling it between his fingers. Sharp zings of pleasure ran through you.

You were equal parts hot and cold. Your skin was overly sensitive, waiting. Stu licked the shell of your ear and you moaned, the traitorous sound escaping before you could snatch it back. 

“We caught you. Know what that means?” Billy asked. He tilted his head once more, his hair falling into his eyes. You groaned and stomped your foot. 

“You know this is bullshit,” you said. But inside, your mouth watered thinking of wrapping your lips around Billy’s dick. You leaned on the tips of your toes as Stu pinched your nipples. A sound of protest left you and Stu mocked you.

“Aww, too rough?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said.

“Too bad,” he said and laughed. He continued to pinch and tug at your nipples. Your panties grew more damp by the second.

“Knees,” Billy huffed out. You dropped down, watching him the whole time. He watched you descend, waited till your knees hit the ground and shook his head. He inclined his head to Stu and you shivered. You couldn’t decide who you wanted your hands on more. You turned around.

“Thanks buddy,” Stu said. He unzipped his pants, wasting no time shoving them down and stepping out of them. His shirt went next and he eagerly pumped his fingers along his length. 

You watched the action, licking your lips in anticipation. You knew the taste of him and yet you gingerly moved your head forward, licking his offered dick. He groaned at the first swipe of your tongue. 

He was so tall. It was near impossible to maintain eye contact with him while you pleased him. So you didn’t try. You opened your mouth and he shoved in, groaning at the feel of your mouth. “Fuck, that’s good,” he moaned.

His hands petted you as you suckled and worshiped his dick. You felt Billy kneel behind you and you shifted until he could scoot in more. “Suck harder,” he commanded. 

You did as he instructed, sucking harder on Stu who moaned uncontrollably. “Fucker,” Stu moaned. 

“Play with his balls,” Billy said. You raised your hands and softly massaged Stu’s balls. His dick twitched in your mouth, his hips leaning away. You chased him, fighting to fit more of him back inside. 

Billy’s hands moved up and down your body. He lifted your shirt and played with the soft skin underneath. His cold fingers found your hardened nipples and you moaned around Stu’s dick keeping a steady rhythm in your mouth.

You tried to play with Stu, tried to tease him a little. Your tongue swirled the tip of his dick. But Billy’s hands on you were breaking your concentration.

“Faster,” Billy snapped. You cried and bobbed your head, taking Stu deeper. You moved your hands to Stu’s thighs because there was no way that you could fondle him and focus on what Billy was up to.

Billy moved his right hand lower, slipping underneath the waistband of your shorts. He moved lower, past your panties, and teased your dripping wet slit. “She’s fucking soaked, Stu,” Billy cooed in your ear.

Stu’s dick twitched with a deep groan from him. You licked the vein on the underside of his dick, carefully tracing the curve. “Fuck,” he groaned and released hot cum down your throat. 

“Swallow it like a good little slut,” Billy said.

You did as he demanded. You swallowed Stu’s load. Stu slipped from your lips with a sigh and painted the rest of his cum on your lips. His dark grin turned feral as your lips glistened with his cum. 

You licked the rest of him from your lips. “My turn,” Billy said.

Stu pulled you up to stand in front of him. He removed your tank top, squatting down to kiss your belly, your chest, lick your nipple, and your neck. The shirt went over your head while Billy tugged your shorts and panties off. 

You stepped out of it and faced both of them. They were gorgeous. Complete opposites and yet so similar. Billy’s dark hair suited him. Stu’s hair was a grade lighter, more brown and closer cropped.

Billy shoved you onto the bed and you flopped onto it, bouncing a little. Stu groaned and moved around to the other side of the bed. He grabbed you roughly, spinning you around and pushing you into the position he wanted.

He laid you on your back, your head back towards Billy. He spread your legs and looked at your dripping wet pussy. His eyes practically sparkled as he drank you in. “You really liked my dick in your mouth, didn’t you?” Stu asked softly.

You leaned up on your elbows. The sound of Billy moving made you wonder if he was finally getting undressed. You kept your eyes on Stu though, on the subtle vulnerability there. “It’s all I think about,” you said.

Stu’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping a little in surprise.

“Sometimes I can’t stand it. Sitting on my bed, late at night, with the burning need to cum,” you said. Stu licked his lips and climbed onto the bed. 

“I have the door closed, my panties off, my fingers buried in my pussy,” you said.

Stu huffed, his face close to your core. “I bet you get them in deep,” he said. His gaze dropped to your pussy, to the way it clenched and contracted around nothing. 

“I can only get them so far. It’s not like when you’re inside me, so deep, so good,” you moaned. A rush of heat ran through you as you watched Stu’s eyes light up. You never had to doubt if he wanted you. Hunger and desire played over his features. He leaned in, rubbing his nose through your slit.

“Tell him the rest,” Billy said. He moved closer to your head. You leaned your head upside down. He glanced at you, still so cool and collected. Sometimes, you wonder why Billy bothered with you. You were gorgeous, of course, but Billy got that look in his eye. Like he was picturing what you looked like on the inside. 

It should frighten you. You suspected that he really would kill someone. Just to see. But then he’d smile, like nothing was wrong. He’d make a joke or change the subject to something random. Or he’d place your hand on the front of his pants and tell you that he needed you. And who were you to resist?

“I get so wet and needy. Thinking of you. Wishing you were there, getting me off instead. Sometimes I hump my pillow too,” you returned your eyes to Stu. 

He watched you with that small look in his eyes. Like he wanted to reject what you were saying. “I have to bite my pillow to keep from screaming your name,” you said. You were making yourself wetter. It was just the other day that you did this. Thinking of them got you so hot and bothered. You’d spend hours in your room, playing with yourself, getting yourself worked up thinking of what else they can do to you.

Billy caressed your cheek, pulling your attention to him. He smiled. He leaned down and kissed you. Your lips pressed together seamlessly. His tongue danced with yours. Stu flattened his tongue against your slit, licking up the arousal that seeped past your pussy lips. 

You gasped into Billy’s mouth and he hummed. “Like that, huh?”

You nodded, kissing him again. “Need to be full, don’t you?” 

“Yes, please, please,” you whined.

Billy looked over at Stu and nodded. Something passed between them. Stu stopped and you whined, wanting his tongue back on you. He placed his hands under your ass and pushed. Billy grabbed you under your arms and pulled. You scooted across the bed as if you weighed nothing. 

Your head hung off the bed. Billy slapped your face with his thick dick. “Open up,” he said. He rolled his neck as you opened your mouth. He pushed inside, grunting. 

Stu moved up the bed, positioning himself in between your legs. His tongue lapped up your juices before his fingers spread you open. Then he truly went to work, sucking and licking your pussy.

You cried out, mouth too full of Billy to say anything. Your hips wriggled on the bed. Stu grabbed your thighs and pushed them open wider, as wide as they would go, and feasted on you. Billy grabbed your flailing arms and pinned them to the bed.

He started to stroke, moving in and out of your mouth. His pace was smooth and unhurried, but he shoved in without a care. You choked and he kept going, knowing your limits. “You can do it. Suck me down,” he coaxed.

Stu was relentless, flicking your clit back and forth. Their styles were mixed and it was driving you nuts. You didn’t know who to pay attention to. Your pussy throbbed and your legs shook. Your pathetic whines did nothing to sway the both of them to mercy.

Stu moved his whole head, your juices coating the entire lower half of his face. “Taste so fuckin’ good,” he moaned. 

You whined, your moans vibrating across Billy’s dick. He sighed and panted as he moved in and out of your mouth. “Like getting fucked, don’t you?” 

“Mhhm,” you moaned. He still held you down. You tested his restraint, but he gave you no wiggle room. He was fucking your mouth and you were going to lay there and take it.

Stu switched tactics. One of his hands brushed across your thigh, down towards your pussy. He plunged two fingers inside and you leaned up, the pleasure too intense for words. He pumped his fingers in time with his tongue.

Your stomach flipped, your orgasm building higher and faster. You cried and moaned but it came anyway, flushing through you and rolling over you in waves. Your eyes crossed riding it and Billy still fucked your mouth. Your moans seemed to spur him on faster and faster until he was shooting his load into your mouth.

It was odd to swallow him down this way, but you had plenty of practice over the past few months. Billy grumbled something as he slipped out. Stu moved back, pulling his fingers out of you and licking his fingers.

You were as limp as noodles, so sure that you were completely spent. What a fucking rush. The adrenaline from earlier had morphed into a mix of pain and pleasure as your orgasm ran its course. But they were far from done.

Billy and Stu moved in tandem to position you how they wanted. Now, you were on your knees, ass in the air, and leaning on your elbows. Stu leaned up on his knees on the bed, his erect dick jumping close to your face.

Billy stood behind you, his still hard dick poking at your entrance. It was so tempting to have him fuck you raw, to feel him without a barrier in between you. The last thing you two wanted were kids. Fucking yuck.

“What are we going to do with our little cock-hungry whore?” Stu asked. He had his head cocked to the side, looking down at you. 

“She’s so fucking needy,” Billy said. He moved away, probably to grab a condom. You heard his clothing hit the ground, a package opening, and then Billy was back at your entrance. 

“It’s taking more and more to please her every time,” Billy continued. They talked about you as if you were an object. Just a dumb little toy they played with together. 

Stu ran his thumb across your lips and you sucked him in, needing something in your fucking mouth. You were spent, but fuck, you wanted them. You were mad with the lust, with the desire to have them to yourself. 

“Open up like a good slut,” Stu said.

You opened your mouth and Stu slipped his dick in, a deep sigh escaping him as he threw his head back. “Fuck,” he grunted. His face twisted, the pleasure too much for him. That only turned you on more. That you got to turn him on too. You had the power to render him slack jawed, face turned towards the ceiling, bliss across his pretty features.

Billy shoved in with one hard thrust and you braced yourself on the bed to keep from shoving face first into Stu’s groin. 

You growled, the feeling of being full overpowering and heady. “Do that again, that felt fucking amazing,” Stu said. 

You thought he was talking to you. Billy pulled out and then shoved back in, deeper and harder this time. Your growl was immediate, tapered off with a whine. “Oh fuck, so good,” Stu whispered.

Billy pounded into your slick walls, grabbing your hips and throwing you down onto his dick. His fingers dug into your soft flesh, digging for purchase. He angled up and hit your G spot. Tears rushed to your eyes at how deep he was. He felt too good. Too amazing. Stu’s dick in your mouth twitched as he watched Billy fuck you. Watched the tears leak from your eyes and down your face.

“Aw, is it too much?” He asked.

“Mhm,” you said. 

“You hear that Billy? She wants more,” Stu said. 

You screeched as Billy increased his pace, hitting that spot over and over until you were shaking through another orgasm. Your body went limp, your thighs spasming and convulsing. Billy held you up, still ramming inside of you.

The force of Billy’s thrusts pushed you onto Stu. It was like he was fucking you both. Stu muttered incoherently as your mouth took him deeper and slobber drooled from your lips and onto the bed. Your arousal gushed out of you, leaking down your thighs. 

“Shit, shit, there, right there,” Stu stuttered. He bit his lip and moaned as he climaxed, hot splashes of his cum coating your tongue. Your mouth worked on its own, sucking him down and drinking every drop he gave you.

Billy leaned over you, panting and huffing. His fingers still dug into your hips as if he were afraid to let you go. Stu massaged your jaw as he coaxed his dick from your mouth. He wiped up the drool and winked at you. 

You couldn’t take another one. But you desperately wanted to flip over so that Stu could have a turn. He chuckled as if he could read the thought on your face. 

“We know your limits, babe,” he said. He leaned down and kissed you, swiping his tongue across your lips. “We have all weekend for more,” he said.

You wanted to protest. You wanted to please him now. You wanted them both to have a turn inside of you. You worked your jaw, working the dull ache out. But a yawn escaped you.

Stu softly pushed you to lay down on your side. He curled in behind you, his warm chest into your back. You hummed as his warmth encapsulated you completely. Billy disappeared to get rid of the condom. 

“Look at you two,” he murmured. He turned off the lights, plunging you back into the inky darkness.

“You’re not invited,” Stu said. You elbowed him softly and he protested.

“There’s plenty of room.” Billy laid down in front of you, facing you. He kissed you softly.

“Ours,” he barely breathed. Maybe he didn’t think you’d hear him, but you kissed the corner of his mouth. He smirked and shook his head. 

Stu snored softly in your ear. You giggled, snuggling deeper into him. Between the two of them, you felt like you were in a sauna. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Psst, there's more! The Secret Ghostface Files

[mysteriesmuse]

Football Player Katsuki + Marching Band Girlfriend

Like all his stupid friends here, he met you at UA University Freshmen Orientation — Group 1-A. The same group of eclectic college kids that are around today all hanging out between the Varisty Sports and Spirit Teams. Still doesn’t understand how you all managed to be put together like that. Katsuki sees you regularly ever since then. Football Player Katsuki who sees you sitting in the university cafeteria sitting with Squeaky, Tape Arms, and Round Cheeks all smiles and giggles or all slouched and complaining. And on game days when he’s got the time he and some of the team go over and sit with y’all. Because Kirishima is real good friends with those two woodwind idiots— so Bakugou initially just gets dragged along. Football Player Katsuki Who always send a big wink and grin your way as he’s running through the tunnel before the start of the game. Who compliments your playing to the rest of the team and the compliments spread like wildfire back to your director and now you’re yelling back about “Katsuki stop complimenting my playing by name. Director Yamada keeps putting me on tunnel duty — at this point he’s gonna make it a permanent thing!” And Katsuki always shrugs watching the way you’re fighting a smile, instrument in hand, but he loves it when you do the pre-game mini pep tunnel thing with him. Always gets the chance to take a pre-game (pre pregame) photo with you. All color-coordinated with his jersey and your marching uniform. Football Player Katsuki Always standing on the sidelines with the other big players Midoriya, Todoroki, and Kirishima as y’all set up for pregame. The four of them taking the time to watch what y’all are doing — even if it’s the same each time. And if he’s part of kick off then he KNOWS he’s about to be running towards y’all as you scramble off the field. And he’s barreling towards the sidelines when he spots you in the crowd. Always making goofy faces at you when he slows down: big old monster hands and downright terrifying snarl of his canines and molars, but LIVES to see you smile bright when you notice him — fellow section members now knowing him by look slapping you on the lapels to grab you attention. For Katsuki to then mime a couple clicks of a paparazzi camera back at you. sauntering over with the rest of his team back to the sideline with a faint shout of “ — you looked good!” Leaves you with a section full of snickers and teases when you’re in the stands.

Football Player Katsuki who steps on your toes all the time for these dangerous and unorthodox training schemes that his denfensive coach Aizawa comes up with. Your director Yamada somehow agreeing to letting the entire defensive team zig-zag through the marching bands box-drill warm-up. Coach Aizawa doesn’t even regulate everyone to specific sections of the “drill” — which is what you band kids read and walk everyday. He lets the team run their laps beforehand to limber up and Bakugous sharp red eyes are always watching as you’re coaching your section on the whole drill. The angst on you and his friends faces makes him wince espically when the drills starts — it’s like a mazey hell of some kinda freaky spooky mind-control shit bc you’re all moving the exact same — and also not.

Bakugou’s a big guy — tall shoulders, broad shoulders, and pretty jacked — and so is the rest of the team. And Bakugou always ends up in your section of the drill: the team and marchers absolutely scared out of their wits. And luckily y’all have your stinking movements memorized for all these turns bc you always end up turning smack dab into his chest — at least once (and no y’all do not have instruments that’d be irresponsible on Director Yamada’s part) — and then being able to maneuver around him with a beaming grin and a polite little shove into a safe spot always pausing in chanting the numbers to say, “better luck next time babe!” 7- 8. And when it’s said and done you and his friends will skip over to him and Kirishima. All laughing and comparing tallies of how many people got in your way — and he can feel his ears steaming with the way you playfully punch his shoulder and say that he’s “always on your dot” whatever the hell that means. Football Player Katsuki who practically has your little band songs memorized for all his plays. And he makes a lot of touchdowns — always waiting on that delayed cheer of your voice coming from the band stands afterwards

— always looking up waiting for your delayed smile and wave, bc you were busy fighting down a smile while playing and dancing to the fight song for the touchdown he just made.

you, Round Cheeks, Squeaky, and Tape Arms always bursting into a song and singing your parts to some band kids tunes whenever some particular trigger word falls from someone’s mouth in conversation.

Like his number? 17? He can’t get past the Seven part because Uraraka starts wailing on an imaginary horn singing the low brass line while you and the two woodwind nerds start throwing down some funky dance moves.

and he hates himself when he’s taking a break on the sidelines and him and current benchwarmer Shinsou start humming some little ditty when Midoriya and Kirishima make a first down on the field. The two of them sharing concerned glares before staring up at y’all laughing and wailing just down the way. “We never speak of this again, got it?” “Got it.”

Football Katsuki whom you always pass on your way to set-up for pregame. The man always covered in dirt and grime with his hairband pushing back his blonde bangs. The little stereotypical thick black paint smudged across his face as you pass by him with a gentle little hand to the back. And he turns around with those red eyes accentuated by those big black smears and gives you a grinning smile. Always attempting to peck his gf’s cheek before you go into place and you always taking a step back with a teasing giggle, “can’t right now ‘Suki I’m in uniform.” And you love watching his nose scrunch and his eyes flutter open, lips still pucked as you blow him a kiss. The student going crazy because the camera man has caught onto y’all a few times. Suki’ always crossing his arms and rolling his eyes shouting “break a leg!” As you prepare. Football Player Katsuki who waits around with his mates before he sees you run over to him. You and your friends now changed into regular clothes and ready to head home and shower. After he’s just helped win the whole thing and you’re walking, stomping, staggering over to him in shambles and you come up and dodge HIS KISS??! Always whining and pointing an accusatory finger like “Suki’ you made my lips hurt!” And he’s always like baby how?? And you’re like too many good touchdowns. I had to play the fight song too many times :(

Has his mates howling!!! 👏 he just doesn’t understand :((

Football Player Katsuki who also makes that adorable scrunchy face of confusion when you flip-flop between telling him that’s he’s gonna help take the team all the way to the championship!! And then you pulling back with a fearful face and whispering, “but then I have to go to finals. I have to play at finals. I have to be on the band bus to get to finals.” And he chuckles and naively says oh it can’t be that bad. Only to get a genuine slap to his arm as you glare up at him “never say that again.” A dark energy he can only explain as marching band trama when he sees your frantic pleas of a text when he tells you he’s about to reach the point in the flight where he’s gotta put his phone up. He believes you when y’all show up days later at the venue. All smelly, all angsty, all hangry from the drive over. Has him cooing over you as you mumble and grumble waiting in line with an equally agitated Round Cheeks and Ponytail as the band waits for its 400 or so members to be given room keys. A total sunshine/dark cloud reversal. Always shakes his head at Dance/Cheer Team Friend Mina who’s already been here the same amount of time he has. Short pink curls bouncing over to ask how it’s been only to see everyone else with glare as if her cheery attitude is a death wish. Immediately cowering behind him and cooing and fretting over y’all band kids just the same seriously what happened to y’all? Doesn’t matter, y’all won’t answer. The band bus is still the band bus even in college. Football Player Katsuki who helps drive/walk you home afterwards again getting a flimsy puffy and chapped lipped peck at your door after every game. Being incredibly dramatic as insists he’s in “kiss withdrawal” when you don’t kiss him the next day because your lips are still recovering. LIVES for the day-after when you’re all better. And you finally give him a good fixing of those kisses he’s been missing out on. And he looks so smitten with all your invisible chapstick lip stains and little mosquito pecks; absolutely adorable. And you can’t help but roll your eyes when he pouts up at you, blinking those thick lashes. “Still in a tremendous deficit!” He nods eagerly as you rolls your eyes and start smooching every corner and curve of his face again. Laughing between kisses “seriously suki’ it hurts! you don’t understand”

you’re right he doesn’t, but luckily he’ll wait for his victory kisses. Doesn’t ever wanna put you in more pain after a game day 🥺

[hornyhornyhimbos]

Happy By The Poolside

pairing: steve harrington x afab!reader

summary: while they wait for the annual pool party to start, steve knows exactly how to keep his lover happy by the poolside ☼♡

word count: 1,477

warnings: MINORS DNI (18+ CONTENT) oral f!receiving, fingering f!receiving, semi-public sex (sex by the pool), nicknames (baby, sweetheart), edancy appearance because i said so, allusions to steve jerkin it in the bathroom, no pronouns or reader descriptors used other than reader wearing a bikini, color coded speaker tags!

genre: fluffy, established relationship smut ♡

extra notes: did y'all really think i'd let fourth of july go by without slutty 'i <3 swimming' steve?

beta read by: @lcvingprentjss (love u sm)

masterlist | location smut prompts | ask box

it was hot. it was oh so hot. but it wasn't the 80° heat that had you feeling that way. no, what had you feeling that way was a certain brunette boy in big sunglasses and loose-hanging shorts.

you all but stared as steve emerged from the pool, blue swim trunks settled low on his waist, accentuating the trail of hair on his lower belly and the dips of his adonis belt. you practically drooled as he shook out his wet hair, beads of water flying about and landing in various spots on the concrete and your chaise.

he reached for the towel that he'd tossed at the end of the chair, a few loose droplets of of water falling onto your feet as he did so. you'd been happy right where you were, enjoying a magazine as the sun rays beat down on your body, fingers crossed that you'd have a tan after this, not a nasty case of sunburn. steve had been pouting half the morning, trying to get you in the pool with him, but you hadn't budged, saying you were happy by the poolside, waiting until the rest of your friends had arrived for the pool party.

still, even an hour after you'd sat down on the chaise, he wasn't letting up. "baby," he said, somehow managing to make the term sound conspiratorial, "are you sure you don't want to join me?"

you shook your head, putting this month's edition of cosmo to the side and taking off your sunglasses to meet his gaze. "everyone should be here soon. then you'll have plenty of time with me in the pool. it's not like dustin would ever let me miss the annual chicken fight."

he chuckled at your statement, but took your hand in both of his and gave you that look, the one he always gave you when he was determined to get you to do whatever he wanted. "come on, baby. please?" his bottom lip puckered out like a child in a candy store. "just for a few minutes?"

"nope," you answered, putting your sunglasses back on as the sun moved further overhead. "i only have so much time today to start on my tan. besides, they'll be here any minute."

in protest, steve pulled you up from the chair and tugged you toward the pool. "come on, at least dip your toes in."

you supposed you couldn't argue with his compromise. he walked around to the steps, slowly submerging himself in the pool once again, while you sank onto the concrete, dipping your feet into the contrastingly cool water. you chuckled as steve went limber, letting the small waves of water carry him through the pool. "you're missing out," he stated, like it was an absolute fact.

"i'm perfectly fine right here, my little fish," you teased. you kicked your feet softly in the water, watching as tiny ripples floated to join the bigger ones that carried steve. from this new angle, the sun was hidden behind his neighbors' trees, prompting you to place your sunglasses to the side and get a better look at steve: the once dark blue shorts now a beautiful cerulean, just a tad darker than the water he floated on, his normal wavy tufts now a sea of dark curls, the way his skin practically sparkled in the sliver of sunlight that wasn't hidden behind his neighbors' sugar maples. you watched as beads of water slid down his stomach, dragging along every crevice and line of his abs. you'd be lying if you said the sight didn't have you turned on.

steve must've noticed the way you'd been staring, forcing himself upright again and wading through the water toward you. unbeknownst to you, that little red bikini you had on was doing a number on him, his inner monologue and thoughts being driven by his little head at this point. he made his way over to you, placing a delicate kiss on your leg, looking up at you through water-matted eyelashes. "baby," he said, his tone teasing this time.

"hmm?" you hummed in response, afraid your voice would betray you if you said anything more.

his eyes flicked between your eyes and the place where your thighs squeezed together. you needed him, and you both knew it. "you okay?"

you managed to nod, the friction between your legs not at all aiding the want that had taken over your body. "i'm good," you said sheepishly, a blush creeping up your skin.

"are you sure? because," he paused, placing his giant palm on your knee and pulling your legs apart. he smirked at the wet spot he'd unknowingly created on your bathing suit. "you seem like you could use some help over here," he finished, his hand making its way up to your thigh.

the logical part of your brain managed to take over for a moment. "steve, people will be here any minute," you protested, despite the irrationally horny side of your brain that was currently fistfighting the logical side.

"then i'd better be quick," he said, his hands inching toward your bikini bottoms.

he left a space of availability in the air for any more protests you might have. after all, even though you were in a very established relationship, consent was always key. but you made no more argumentative comments, only approving moans and the occasional, "please," as he pulled your bathing suit down.

his lips met your clit with soft licks at first, giving you time to respond with just how hard and fast you needed it. your hands met his hair, tangling in the wet curls as you pulled him closer to you, letting out a soft moan as he suckled your bud.

he pulled your bikini bottoms all the way off, setting them aside on the concrete before meeting your pussy once again. your legs wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you again. his damp hair settled on the sides of your thighs, sending a shiver up your spine.

his tongue worked itself in heavenly figure eights around your core, while one of his hands met your entrance. he toyed at your hole with his fingertip, waiting for some kind of approval to continue.

you gave him exactly that, letting out a whine that sounded like an attempt to say, "please, stevie," but was nearly incoherent. he slipped one finger inside you, the sensation absolutely intoxicating.

he left a series of open-mouthed kisses on your clit, his digit continuing to bury itself inside you. he moaned at the taste, and the vibration had you inching closer to your release. your fingers curled into his hair while your toes curled into his back as his finger reached that sweet spot deep inside you.

the logical part of your brain took over once more as you spared a quick glance at your watch. "steve, they're gonna be here any second," you said through moans, hands pulling so hard at his hair that you were surprised you hadn't ripped it out yet.

"patience, baby, patience," he reminded you, immediately diving back into your cunt. his finger was accompanied by a second, his thrusts only becoming faster and deeper with every flex of the digits. your eyes had started to roll back and your toes had started to curl even harder. you were close, oh so close, and you both knew it.

the familiar rumble of eddie's truck trumpeted from what sounded like a few houses down. "steeeeve," you let out, ever so close to your orgasm.

his fingers drove impossibly deeper into your cunt, his mouth only parting from you to say, "cum for me, sweetheart."

as if on cue, your orgasm rippled throughout your body, pain and pleasure taking over all of your senses. a moan escaped your lips at the last possible second as the truck turned off outside the fence.

steve left one last open-mouthed kiss on your core before rushing to pull your bottoms back on. "you let them in while i go, uh, fix something in the bathroom."

you giggled, watching as steve padded toward the back door. surprisingly, you managed to compose yourself between the fifteen feet that lied between the pool and the gate, a smile making its way onto your lips as you let your friends in. "hey, guys," you greeted, moving to let the trio in.

mike entered first, while eddie and nancy stepped in behind him, eddie's arm tossed around his girl's shoulders. "you okay?" nancy asked, seemingly having noticed your wobbly legs.

"i'm fine," you answered. "just stood up a little too fast. got a little lightheaded."

steve chuckled as he closed the glass door behind him, making his way inside the house and heading toward the bathroom. if you thought that was lightheaded, just you wait until the after party…

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @rupsmorge @writer-in-theory @esoltis280 @liberhoe @wifeyreid @serenity-lattes-reads

[comatosebunny09]

with a pretty bow on top | astarion a.

summary: you’ve never been particularly good at wrapping things. but you want to ensure your friends have the best gifts of all, including a certain snarky elf who’s difficult to please. genre(s): romance, fluff, modern au, friends to (possible) lovers warning(s): alcohol, profanity, mentions of blood, mutual pining notes: merry chrysler! i hope everyone has a lovely christmas! thank you so much for reading! screenshot credit

For the umpteenth time, the paper rips. 

And for the umpteenth time, you feel this is a lost cause. Deflate like a balloon, a sigh rushing past your lips.

You’ve never been particularly good at wrapping things. Usually had your mother or roommate to carry that burden. 

You routinely opt for gift bags. Easier to drop a present inside, dress it up with pretty tissue paper and a witty card, and go about your business. 

But you made a terrible mistake, forgoing the convenience store in your haste to get to your Airbnb.

It’s a tucked-away cabin in the woods. Secluded and ominous, shrouded by the night. The pristine blanket of snow building outside makes up for its creepiness. It’s nice to be away from the city, too, surrounded by people you adore. People who’ve filled the space between your ribs for years. 

On cue, their merriment reaches your ears, streaming from the kitchen. 

They’re hammered. You should be, too. But you want to ensure your friends have the best gifts of all. Wrapped neatly and tucked beneath the Christmas tree, waiting to be ripped open come morning. 

You huff, balling up another sheet of paper and chucking it. 

Errant pieces of tape litter your clothing. Strips of foil wrapping paper gleam in the light emitted from the fireplace. The ribbons you haphazardly cut shift in the ceiling fan’s breeze. Your battlefield. 

The medium-sized box sitting between your spread legs leers at you condescendingly. You fold your arms, nudging it with your foot. 

“I’m not your bitch,” you mutter, turning your nose up with a scowl. 

“Well, that’s no way to greet an old friend.” 

You start, your attention pilfered by the man wandering towards you. 

He paints an ethereal picture in the firelight, curls flouncing about and glowing like a halo around his head. A bottle of wine and two Bordeaux glasses greet you from between his fingers. He wears that effervescent smirk beneath round frames. Brow pitches up with amusement, gait flamboyant whilst the kitchen blurs behind him. 

You swallow, your lips trembling around a greeting when he plops down beside you. Cross-legged, scooting closer like a friend bearing gossip. Fills your lungs with the smell of brandy and cracked vanilla beans. He’s naturally corpse-cold, but the slightest bit of warmth radiates off his skin, permeating through the layers of your clothes. 

Must’ve fed on something viscous wandering the woods before he found you.

He brings you back when he pushes a glass into your hand. 

“I was wondering where you’d wandered off to,” Astarion purrs, his tone colored with alcohol. With your breath held in your esophagus, you watch as he pops the stopper off the bottle with a pointed tooth. Spits it out. “Mind if I impede on your party of one?”

Your lips twitch. Like you’d ever say no to him. “Course not.”

And no, you do not nearly jump some 50 feet out of your skin when limber fingers curl around yours, bringing the glass up for him to fill it. He catches your stare over the rim, scarlet spun eyes alight with mischief. You look away as heat branches up your neck. 

The dark liquid sloshes about as he fills his own glass. Fizzles, the sweet fragrance curling around your nose. “Finally, some good shit,” you breathe, taking a sip. Release a content sound as it bubbles on the back of your tongue. The burn of it washes over your nerves, loosening them.

Astarion scoffs, leaning back on the hand he positioned behind you. Adam’s apple bobs in your peripheral as he takes a swig. He redirects his attention to you, something of a pout occupying his lips. “Darling, you wound me. As if I would bring anything worse than that cheap excuse for booze you lot rave about. Four Loko, was it?” 

You snicker, nursing your glass. Turn the stem between your fingers, examining the hardwood floor beneath. 

Sure, he’s always had this thing with you. This way of squeezing himself beneath your skin where no one else could, turning you into some flustered mess. But you can’t deny you’ve missed his company. His eccentricities. His smell.

The years have dragged you all apart. Pushed you in different directions, your careers casting you out to sea. But like driftwood, you all floated back to shore. United under the same roof to celebrate Christmas and usher in the new year.

It’s a pleasant sensation, idling with the wine warming your veins.

The hum of his voice eases through your musings. “Mm, what’s this about?” Astarion queries around another mouthful of wine, signaling to the massacre at your feet. 

You shrink. An uneasy smile rounds your cheeks. “Yeah, about that. Kinda got carried away.” 

“Carried away? By the hells, it looks like you got into a fight with a pair of scissors and…lost. Abysmally.”

You snort. “Alright, alright. Take it easy. We can’t all be gifted with our hands like some people, Mister Art Teacher.” 

Your stomach plummets. Blood turns to ice. The double entendre hits you like a sack of coal. You bring your glass to your lips to mask your unease. To mask the shakiness of your limbs. 

Astarion exudes smugness, admiring his nails with a flourish of his fingers. “Well, these hands aren’t just made for sculpting works of art, my dear.”

You sputter, speckles of wine flying everywhere. 

Astarion chuckles, the sound of it smooth as velvet. Leans closer, his elbow brushing your thigh as he reaches for something in front of you. You stiffen, biting the rim of your glass. It’s almost like you two haven’t been friends for years. Haven’t seen each other bleed, cry, piss, for God’s sake. 

“Come,” beckons Astarion, taking up a roll of wrapping paper and plucking the box from between your legs. 

You huff a disbelieving laugh. “What are you doing?” 

He scoffs. Side-eyes you as if it’s as apparent as night and day. “Well, clearly, no one’s taught you the art of wrapping a bloody gift. I mean, look at this. A child could do better.”

Your shoulders touch your ears. Astarion’s disapproval is akin to upsetting your parents. Even after all this time apart, he still knows how to lay the insults on thick. 

It’s kind of comical how he grumbles like an embittered old woman, unraveling some of the paper. Still methodical in everything he does, positioning the box in the center. Concentration pulls his brows together. “Fetch me that tape.”

You give him an incredulous look. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you relent before doing as he demanded instructed. His fingers ghost over your hand in pursuit of the tape, and you bristle. 

Astarion goes into full scholar mode hereon, paper rippling around him as he cuts away. Moves like a butler masterfully laying out a tablecloth. No trace of inebriation lies in the shift of his fingers. It’s as if he hadn’t polished off a bottle of brandy before finding you. 

“Typically, wrapping paper comes with a template. A set of squares or lines you can use to gauge where you need to cut.” 

He gestures for the scissors. You scramble for them like a student eager to please their instructor. 

“Depending on how precise you want the wrapping to be, you must trim off as much excess as possible whilst ensuring you have enough left to cover your parcel.”

“Interesting.”

You angle yourself closer, sitting up on your haunches. The bulb of your glass grows warm, stained with your fingerprints. You nod, genuinely intrigued. Chin finds the pocket of his shoulder—an affectionate gesture amongst longtime friends. 

Astarion tenses. You wince, flinching away.

“Sorry.”

“No, no. It’s quite alright, darling.” He clears some phlegm from his throat. Squeezes your kneecap, presenting you with a fraction of a smile. Dragonflies tickle the lining of your stomach. He resumes his lesson as if his muscles aren’t pulled taut. 

Your lips twitch. Seems Astarion’s not the only one capable of disarming those around him. 

You cant your head along the slope of his shoulder, watching him work with the curiosity of a child.  

“It helps to tape here.” Carefully, he layers a strip of tape near the edge of the box where paper meets cardboard. “So as to keep your paper from shifting.”

As Astarion leads on, you find yourself terribly distracted. Your vision ebbs and flows. Body buzzes. From his proximity or the wine, you’re unsure. It’s a pleasant sensation, nonetheless.

The cacophony of the cabin and your friends fade into a dull hum. Only the rumble of Astarion’s voice fills the wrinkles of your brain. He’s surprisingly nurturing despite how he outwardly projects himself to the world. Soothing as he speaks to you, gaze occasionally flitting your way to ensure you’re still with him.

Try as you might to focus, you find your lids drooping, your vision blurred around the edges. An inebriated smile teases your lips. You could fall below the inky depths of sleep like this, led into it by his voice. Still would feel perfectly safe on your descent, knowing he’d be there to haul you back to the surface. 

You sit up to take him in. To observe the furrow of his brows, the coil of his lashes. The gilded lenses perched on his nose like a librarian. His mouth pulls into a tight line while he focuses. Plump and petal pink. Skin’s still smooth and dewy, glowing in the firelight like he’s descended from heaven. His hands move seemingly of their own volition. Caught in a dance he knows all too well, still pretty and delicate-looking, untouched by time. 

You imagine what they’d feel like, clasped in yours. Thumb cruising over the grooves of your knuckles, pushing reassuring beneath your skin. How he’d look with a careless smile, whispering the sweetest supplications into the crown of your head.

Reality comes pitching forward, the moment ending too soon. 

You blink out of your reverie as Astarion slides the box toward you. It softly thumps against your leg. Expertly wrapped with a bow in its center and ribbons waterfalling down its sides. You stare in awe. You could never master something so intricate. 

“And that, my dear, is how you wrap a present.” Astarion pats your thigh with finality before leaning back with a sigh. Looks smug as ever whilst taking a sip of his forgotten wine. 

You smirk. Offer Astarion a half-hearted applause, and he eats it all up.

“I envy whatever bastard receives this, honestly,” he croons around the mouth of his cup. “I outdid myself.”

You chuckle. Your inhibition is thrown to the wolves. You eye the present, your body vibrating with anticipation. Maybe it’s the liquid encouragement urging you forward, loosening your tongue. Whatever the cause, you push on. 

“I mean, I’d hope he likes it. He took his time wrapping it, after all.”

Astarion casts you a sidelong glance. Snorts into his glass. Realization gradually descends on his features. It’s funny watching his face morph into something akin to a confused puppy.

You shrug, caught like a child rifling through a cookie jar. It takes a moment, but his brows finally lift with an unasked question. 

Seriously, they ask. For me? 

You reach for the box, pointedly avoiding his stare. The heat of bashfulness inhabits your cheeks as you carefully slip the box into his lap. Your hand lingers. Fingers tenderly grip the meat of his quad, stars dancing across the stratosphere of your eyes when you muster the courage to look at him.

“Merry Christmas, Starry.”

He sputters. Sits up. Glances between you, the box, and the clock perched above the mantle. It’s midnight. Tradition dictates you open one present at the cusp of Christmas day.  

Astarion laughs, something airy and pleasant. His hand closes over yours, and he squeezes. He’s beautiful like this. Youthful as he glances up at you, his mouth working around a reply.

“You cheeky little shit. Making me wrap my own gift. The gall.”

He acts offended, but you know that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“Would you rather I have wrapped it?”

You both warily eye your shit attempts at wrapping his gift. 

“Fair enough,” he jests with a resigned drop of his shoulders. 

You share a laugh, the air between you charged with affection. Through it all, you note Astarion’s hand has yet to leave yours. Thumb kneads reassuring circles into the clutch of your hand. Your heart thrums a war cadence in your ears, blotting out the sound of his wine glass clinking against the floor as he sets it down.

He releases a breath. Observes you a moment longer with a warm smile on his lips. Shifts his gift onto the floor beside him. “Come here,” Astarion murmurs, saturating your vision with nothing but him as he leans closer.

You heed his request, and your lids lower, a pleasant shiver sifting through your bones at his glacial fingers at the nape of your neck. You have but seconds to appreciate the flutter of his lashes before he closes in.  

He fuses his lips to yours with such precision. Tender, supple. Just like you always dreamed they would be. He’s frigid, but he scorches you from within. Gently takes possession of your cheek, coaxing your lips to part with the slide of his tongue after your body relaxes. 

You grant him the entry he requests with an abrasive sound easing from your throat. Warmth pools in the chasm of your belly whilst your tongues intermingle and the maple taste of brandy pushes into your mouth. 

His voice vibrates in your mouth as he chuckles something satisfied. He breaks the kiss with a soft click, and you chase his mouth in pursuit of another. 

“Don’t be greedy, darling,” he husks with a teasing tap to your nose.

Your eyes cautiously slide open. Lips still pursed, head still swimming. “What was that all about,” you breathe into the space between your mouths. 

Astarion chuckles, all fangs and mirth. You follow his gaze skyward, a blur of forest green and red nestled between the space of your lashes. Slowly, the distortion works itself into discernable shapes. You laugh at the telltale plant dangling above your head. Held by him.

“Mistletoe,” he croons as if it’s the most obvious thing.

You giggle, your nose brushing along the peak of his whilst you draw him in to press your foreheads together.

The time eases by with you sitting together by the fireplace, your cheek resting on Astarion’s shoulder as you regale stories of a childhood once passed. Hardly notice when you’re beckoned to sleep by the pretty girls of slumber.

[meanbossart]

Spicy Asks: The Sequel is here. I'm so, so sorry.

Oh he's a very passive guy, he likes being manhandled around and not having to do much of the work (a bit of a pillow princess one might say). As far as fetishes go, he does have fantasies about group sex and of being roughed up, but I think if put in a situation where he could practice it in a controlled environment he'd be like "EHHHH nevermind actually" and go home very quickly LOL

DU drow would have 100% banged Lae'zel if he hadn't killed her. He couldn't stand her personality but they would have gotten on like two peas in a pod in the sack.

He does find Shadowheart very pretty, but they struck up a friendship so quickly that I don't think he could see her in that way 🤷 but that's still a smash, technically speaking.

Jaheira. Ohhhh Jaheira. As far as general dynamics go she would have been the best choice after Astarion, probably - though there is no way in hell or high heavens that she would have ever let him touch her LOL regardless, DU drow finds her looks and personality to be very attractive.

He's pretty much utterly indifferent to anyone else. Wyll is too idealistic, Gale is Gale, Karlach isn't his type, Halsin gets on his nerves - oh, he WOULD have banged Mizora if he hadn't been heads over heels for Astarion by that point.

The man just likes his femmes I guess LOL

HMMMMMMM yes, but since it's not really a porn fic expect any scenes like that to be in line with what we've had so far, where there's more of a focus on developing character dynamics rather than gratuitousness (I hope I've gotten that across, at least LOL).

LOL, It's ok, it's a ridiculous not-name and I'm so sorry for all the people I have made confused and will continue to confuse because of it.

As for your question, definitely not! I personally like big-bottom/smaller-top scenarios so that's why I focus on it, and I do think character-wise those are the roles they fall into most naturally - but they switch around every so often when the mood strikes and it isn't really a big deal.

Oh are you kidding me? The guy LOVES being cared after in an intimate setting. Being doted on, groomed, checked up on, having his hair played with and clothes fixed up - he doesn't express it outwardly much, but these are all things that make his murderous little heart skip a beat. He was the same way pre-tadpole but it was mostly servants and Sceleritas doing it, so he didn't get much out of the exchange; and Orin didn't entertain this at all, or, if she ever did, it was very, very, very rarely and really just a crumb of intimate affection that he most likely misread anyways.

I'm not sure what to say to this one LOL the penis is full of blood already man I don't think a vampire needs to make it any more tempting to themselves to chomp down.

I wrote a thing about that not too long ago :D ! The answer is complicated but, mostly yes.

Alright you joke, but, if you don't think DU drow hasn't spent a little too long lingering over Astarion's feet and ankles then I got amazing news for you.

I touched on what they generally like on the previous edition of Wine Fuelled Spicy Asks, but as for what they like to do as a couple, it's probably a lot of body worship and some playful denial on both ends. Du drow thinks Astarion is the most elegant and limber thing he's ever seen (and he loves how he smells), and Astarion thinks DU drow's body is an expertly put together murder machine. They have a great time being mutually enamored with each other's (and their own) appearances.

I think they also venture into some blood-play and vapid threats of violence in the future, as a treat, but takes a while for them to trust themselves and each other enough to indulge in that kind of thing.

Needs a little direction, plus you gotta learn to enjoy a bit of teeth and a very slobbery time - also I think he distracts easily, It's nice to have a man who's willing to venture the whole perimeter with his mouth but sometimes you do just want him to stay on the prick. But generally speaking - yes, DU drow gives good head. Fun head, even!

What do you people want from me? Do you want schematics? Diagrams? Do you want me to compare their holes to famous people holes? Do you want me to take out my measuring tape and give you numbers, tell you which kind of produce each of them can fit in there???

One is pink, the other one is brown. One of them just looks normal and the other looks and feels a little like it been around the block a few times. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW.

[rosaline-black]

̲R̲̲o̲̲m̲a̲̲n̲̲t̲̲i̲̲c̲̲i̲̲s̲̲e̲ ̲t̲̲h̲̲i̲̲s̲

Summary: you’ve gone through life living vicariously through the characters in the novels you so regularly read. But when a rambunctious curly-haired dungeon master decides to insert himself in your day, maybe you’re forced to tare your eyes from the page.

Category: Eddie Munson X Fem!reader

Warnings: very very mild sexual references. Swearing. Kinda angst but not really. Just intensely fluffy tbh. Minors dni.

You romanticised everything. Whether it was walking home with the rain pouring down and pretending you were in some crappy rom-com or listening to music while you sat in the library, everything had to be romanticised. Your theory as to why was quite simple, romance had never come easy to you. Nobody had ever asked you out, nobody had ever as much as flirted with you before. Your love life was, and had always been stagnant.

So, when a rambunctious metalhead was leaning against your locker, twiddling his hair between his long lean fingers like a schoolgirl in love, you stopped in your tracks. Maybe he was high and thought your locker was his? That made the most sense logically.

With hesitant steps, you simply walked to him, eyes already wide at this bizarre scenario. Slipping off your headphones and clearing your throat, the boy in question jumped in his spot before chocolate brown eyes were staring at you. He had those classic glowing doe eyes that could be mistaken for street lamps in certain lighting. Eddie Munson was just so pretty. Prettier than you had ever realised. The more you stared wordlessly the more you began to romanticise this meet-cute. That was until he finally spoke, and you were reminded that romance movies were not real life (and usually written by women).

"Can I help you?" His words were colder than you had expected. Could you help him? The nerve of this boy to question you when he was the one standing before your locker.

"Well, you're blocking my locker..." Unfortunately, the words didn't come out as strong as you had hoped, you should have limbered up your throat before speaking. Now you probably came across as some random scared girl who was afraid of the big bad freak at Hawkins High. In reality, you were scared of pretty much anybody.

The guy in question's eyes softened at your voice. He looked almost apologetic. Your heart fell into your throat at his next action. With a flourish of his arm, Eddie twirled nearly tripping over his own feet in the process, trying to make a big drama out of moving from your locker to the next. Instead of acknowledging this you simply put in the combo and grabbed what you needed, basically hiding your face in your locker out of embarrassment.

It's not that you were ashamed to be seen with Hawkins's resident king of freaks, you just didn't enjoy the attention he warranted. Since starting high school, you had done everything in your power to remain as forgettable as possible. You only had one real friend, Robin the band girl, who had the same strategy you did. Survive. Get in, get out with no trace. Then you could live your real life once running away from this shitty town.

"Ignoring me won't work..."

His voice was like a song, and you screwed your eyes shut once more. You were sort of using that child-like defence. If I can't see him he can't see me. Annoyingly he was right though, ignoring him was futile. You'd provoked him, proved that his company wasn't something you craved, and now he would do anything to hold your attention. Slamming your locker shut you turned to him, crossing your arms across you like a form of protection, a coat of arms if you will.

"What do you want Eddie?"

"Ah, nothing princess... just bored you see..."

That love-obsessed sado within sighed once again. Obviously, he didn't seek you out for any particular reason. This wasn't a romantic gesture or a sign of fondness, he was just bored. They were always just bored. You didn't stop to talk any longer, turning on your heel and walking as fast as possible down the hall. Your headphones went back on, and new order pumped around your body. Your steps grew faster with every fast beat, completely missing the body who was following behind you like it was their only mission.

Eddie had spotted you months ago, although you probably didn't remember your interaction. It was menial at best, you dropped your cassette, and he picked it up and passed it to you. That was all. Yet you didn't leave his mind. The scared animal look you had going on drew him in. Not because he thought it was entertaining but more intriguing. Why did you hide from everyone? Never present, just keeping your head low, letting the music be your distraction from everyone and everything.

For whatever reason, you hadn't left his mind over the past couple of weeks, and after many lunch times spent bumbling about you to the other hellfire members, Dustin snapped and ordered him to just go speak to you. Maybe he hadn't realised it yet, but it was pretty obvious to everybody else that he was harbouring a crush on you.

So, when the interaction started with you looking around shamefully, almost fearful of his presence in itself, his guard went up just like your own. Stupid was the only word he could think to describe himself right now. In a fit of desperation, Eddie reached for your shoulder, tapping it lightly which caused you to trip, landing on your knees.

His chocolate eyes widened and as you slipped off your headphones he could practically feel the humiliation. A few kids were laughing to themselves, pointing at the girl who had just stacked it. When you turned around your eyes were filled with fury, in all honesty, Eddie was frightened (and a tad turned on).

What annoyed Eddie even more, was that you didn't shout at him, call him out on his admittedly dumb behaviour, no, you simply walked the other way towards the school exit. The attention seeker couldn't take it.

This was exactly why you were the way you were. Those leaches that joined any bandwagon they could to make themselves feel better laughed at you. In theory, nobody would care in an hour, but you would. Your over-obsessive brain would replay the cringeworthy moment over and over until you wanted to puke. As you fell asleep that night you were betting on the fact that your heart would plummet and your toes would curl just at the memory of your embarrassing blunder.

What was worse was that damn pretty metalhead had been the cause of your humiliation. He had sauntered after you and caught you off guard, again. What pissed you off even more was you couldn't bring yourself to be mad at him. His wide terrified eyes told you all you needed to know about his intentions, and really that's all that mattered.

Coming to a stop in the middle of the woods behind campus, you stumbled across a bench that you could rest at. Screw the rest of the day, biology could miss you for just one period. Taking off your blaring headphones, you let your head rest in your palms for a moment, just taking in the sounds of the wind blowing the trees, the scurrying of squirrels and the approaching footsteps-

Wait, footsteps?

"I come in peace I promise..."

Eddie freaking Munson.

Raising your head to look up at the voice, you couldn't help but frown. Was he here to mock you? Were your presumptions wrong about his guilty expression?

"Can't you just leave me alone? Can't you bother someone else with your boredom?"

You rarely spat venom like that, but the built-up stress and anxiety spilt over. You regretted the minute he pulled his pink bottom lip between his teeth like a scolded schoolboy.

"I just wanted to apologise... I think we got off on the wrong foot..."

His eyes were dripping with longing. You almost felt guilty, even though you hadn't done anything wrong. And to be fair to the puppy dog-eyed dude before you, he hadn't done much wrong either, well not on purpose anyway.

"Fine... I accept your apology... can I just listen to this in peace please?" You gestured to your Walkman and instead of leaving Eddie took tempered steps even closer.

"Uh... what are you listening to?"

He looked cute when he was nervous. Did you make him nervous? I mean you were probably the most calm person from day to day, the fact that you made him nervous was quite perplexing. Finally thinking over his question you sighed and pulled out your mixtape, sliding it to him. All of the songs were listed on the side and as Eddie wrapped his long ringed fingers around it, you had to force yourself not the choke on the air. Get it together.

"Woah... some real obscure shit on here... impressive..."

He seemed genuinely happy with your selection and it made your heart grow hotter, well your entire body for that matter. It's not that you sought out his approval or anything, it's just the smile that had formed on his face was something you wanted to stare at over and over.

"Thanks... uh... I might head home now..."

Just like always, the minute something felt nice or out of the ordinary, you ran. With a brief wave, you left Eddie Munson staring at the place you had just been sat.

The following week nothing much changed for either of you. Eddie had made no effort to seek you out again which was relieving but also... disappointing?

That night when you went home your embarrassment had been fought by the aching in your chest. The kind of longing you'd feel diving into a shitty romance novel you'd gotten for a dollar at the thrift store. Shamefully the difference this time was the man in your head wasn't some six-foot-seven muscled Casanova but a lanky tatted dork.

His hand caressed her inner thigh as his large brown eyes met her own and-

NOPE. No no no. You wouldn't allow yourself to turn whatever the hell that arbitrary hour was into some sick romantic fantasy just because you were lonely. Though maybe you didn't have a choice? Since every time your eyes would read the page your brain would shift the words to fit the description of the dungeon master walking towards you.

Walking towards you?

Shit.

"Hi sorry... hi... uh are you busy?" His palm collided with his forehead like he had said something obscene "Sorry of course you are you're reading... I'll leave you to it..."

The fact that the boy, before you seemed so apologetic for merely speaking with you, put your heart in a vice shaped like his ring-clad hands. It was clear he was as used to being thrown aside like you. Always conditioned to believe he was an inconvenience, too much or not enough. No matter how terrified he made you, no way could you allow yourself to make him feel that way.

"Stop... no I'm not busy... the books shit anyway..."

Pivoting on the ball of his foot, Eddie was now face to face with you. Two pairs of eyes locked in the middle of the library.

"I just wanted to say hi again... and uh I was wondering if you were busy later? They're doing a reshowing of the breakfast club tonight at the movies and well... shit I don't know if you wanted to go... with me?"

If you were to compare yourself to any creature at any point in your life, a goldfish wouldn't have come to mind straight away. Your memory was pretty swell. However, the way your mouth opened and then closed... and then opened again contradicted the fact. You were a fucking goldfish.

"If not it's totally cool... you probably already have like plans or something so no worries-"

"I love the breakfast club..."

Finally, words formed. Dumb words. Very very stupidly obvious words. But words nonetheless.

"I know..."

He knows?

"You... know?"

The nerves on his countenance began to morph into a darling shyness. The big bad Wolf of Hawkins High was certainly more a red riding hood type, his cheeks matched her hood perfectly.

"Well, I heard... well asked Buckley what kinda movies you liked and uh... she said that... I coulda guessed honestly simple minds were on your mixtape... and uh you got the whole pre-makeover Alison look going for ya which is sick by the way..."

Maybe you were both red riding hood. Your face is set alight and it was only then did the romance novels and the unrealistic tropes fly from your mind. Not only had this delightfully odd creature before you ask you out, but he'd gone to the effort to ask about you. Not just ask about you, but know you. Know you enough to ask you out to your favourite fucking movie.

Clearing your throat, and finding the courage to rise from the safe zone of the library desk chair, you let yourself warm into a grateful smile.

"Im free tonight... and I'd be happy to watch the breakfast club for the eighth time with you..."

"Only the eighth time? Well sweetheart my chariot can pick you up at seven..."

The shyness melted into that same bravado you assumed he exuded during D&D campaigns.

"Well good sir I look forward to it"

Your dorkiness matched his. And in that moment Eddie Munson decided that his favourite princess was not Leia. But you.

[koolades-world]

Hey! I'm sorry if your (inbox, is it called?" Is closed, I just read your little story on how the brothers would react to an MC with a British accent.I was wondering if you could do a reaction to a Puerto Rican MC? Again, I'm sorry if your inbox is closed.

OMG HI inbox is open no worries!

so excited for this!! had to do a double take at first. I'm actually half puerto rican half indian! weird combo i know BUT I absolutely love this request! sometimes it's hard for me to be positive about my background and who I am. usually any mention of my race or ethnicity feels like a knife to the back, but I'm so excited for my chance to be happy about who I am

I know it just came in but as soon as I saw this I knew I had to write it right away! this is something that has every puerto rican gene in my body infused into it and despite being so short, it probably has some of the most love i've probably ever put into a piece of writing

thank you :))) please enjoy

Puerto Rican Mc

Lucifer

at first, it doesn't mean a lot to him since you're not that close yet

but later on, he begins to understand why you're so proud of your background

he totally understands being loud and proud about who you are and not being afraid to shy away from others about it

any demon who comments on this negatively vanishes mysteriously

Mammon

bonding over being poc and being able to share the struggle with each other

you understand each other and he knows what it feel like to look around and realize you're the only poc in the room. you're not alone with him by your side

lots of sweet moments and tears shared together and an inseparable bond

at the end of the day, you have each other <3

Levi

once you get close, he introduces you to all of his favorite puerto rican characters

admires how protective and loyal you are of those you're close to

values you so dearly

he doesn't regret opening up to you because it was the best choice he ever made

Satan

he begins to collect books he'd think you'd like written by puerto rican authors or have puerto rican characters because he knows how excited you'll get

he goes out of his way to introduce you to his favorite puerto rican adjacent restaurant in the devildom

takes you on plenty of trips to the human world to experience home again if you need it or just to eat good food

could listen to you talk for hours about why being puerto rican is great

Asmo

think the fact that you speak spanish (or some) is so hot (a/n: I myself speak very little haha)

immediately asks you to teach him some and to say something that sounds sexy even if it's not actually

gifts you all sorts of things that either have the puerto rican flag or have the same colors as the puerto rican flag, like clothes or little trinkets

acts as your personal cheerleader whenever you need it

Beel

loves the culinary journey you take him on through your culture

he especially loves coquito and limber (a/n: my personal favs)

asks you to teach him how to make several puerto rican dishes that practically makes your heart explode with joy

he knows food is always a huge part of the culture and in honored you showed him all the ins and outs

Belphie

likes to poke fun at you from time to time to see how defensive you'll get

you poke fun at him right back with lots of cow jokes

you two playfight a lot, usually with you being victorious maybe because he let you

however, there's always room for you under his covers where ever he might be

[brewed-pangolin]

Is Captain MacTavish also a gym rat? If so, please explain...in detail 🫠😉

Captain MacTavish is absolutely a gym rat. But unlike the maniacal menace that is Sgt. Gym Rat Soap, this beast is much more refined, disciplined, and methodical.

And the best damn eye candy you've ever seen while you focus on your own routine.

Just a sprinkle of NSFW at the end...

Pulled a bit from this post by @obligatoryghoststare

--

Wardrobe

First of all, he'd rather be caught dead than wear a pair of high thigh gym shorts. This man is always well put together, even while pumping iron at the local fitness center.

And he is a walking billboard for Under Armor.

Prefers more natural colors for his outfit; black, grey, royal blue, forest green. Nothing eye catching or brighter than an earthy hue. Doesn't need to draw more attention to himself. His sculpted body does that enough.

Compression shorts are a must. Pulls the sweat, keeps him dry, and holds everything in place. (Man's got a healthy Lorne sausage to contend with)

Topped with a fitted muscle shirt, of the same color. The Captain must have synchronization with his wardrobe. Always. (Well put together, like previously stated)

He's always going to wear darker tones with the compression fabric, mainly because he likes to overlay that with something more lose fitting and in a softer hue (think whites, light grays, may dabble in some soft blues or greens)

And while not technically wardrobe, will always have a half gallon steel water bottle within reach. Hydration is key.

Routine

Captain MacTavish is the epitome of methodical routines when it comes to gym. He's like clockwork.

His mid routine will change depending on the week (leg day, arm day, chest, back, weights, you get the idea) but his beginning and end are always the same.

First and foremost, stretching. The most important part of a workout.

Next, treadmill. 30 minutes. No more, no less. And this beast looks majestic while he runs. Perfect strides, breathing heavy yet measured. Just a beautiful sight to behold.

And this mofo sweats. Not an obscene amount, just enough to make him glisten. (Sparkling sexy beast)

Now, bulking up. Weights. Soap uses both free weights and strengthening machines, for obvious reasons. Free weights for compound movements, machines for isolating certain muscle groups.

You'd think he'd be loud during his weight training, but no. He's classy. And he's not rude. He may let out a few heavy breaths and an occasional low growl, but nothing too audible. He's already got countless eyes on him, no reason to bring in more attention.

Enjoys his time on the rowing machine. Prefers it after a his weight training. Aids in recovery, calms his mind. Builds his endurance. (And this man's all about endurance)

Lives for the circuit.

[2min/station, 1min rest b/w, 2 loops]

[Pull ups, planks, tire/sledgehammer, kettle lifts]

Pulled straight from his journal

The Captain is in his natural environment when perfecting and strengthening his mind and body. Goes into a daze. Movement remiscent to a skilled predator. It's a sight every gym enthusiast pushes to achieve, and every casual enjoyed drinks in to the fullest

Recovery

His recovery will change depending on his core routine for the day. Sometimes he finishes with a light jog or brisk walk on the treadmill again.

Perhaps even go another round on the rowing machine. Helps him clear the daze and focus his mind in preparation for the next phase.

But it culminates to a relaxing session of yoga because this man knows the benefits of centering himself post pump and grind.

And this is where you come in. He's more than happy to assist in perfecting your downward dog in the process while he lets his body recover from a rough workout.

Expect to be pulled into a private room once he's all limbered up after his full exercise session. Nothing quite like finishing his routine by emptying himself in your needy little hole. (Post endurance high nut is his favorite, afterall)

Captain MacTavish Masterlist

[spiderymiasma]

🕸 Five Times....🕸 || Miguel x f!Spider

Summary: Five Times They Weren't Alone and One Time They Were.

Words: 1.5k

Tags: Mutual Pining, Eventual Kissing, Pre-relationship, Flirting, Dating, Fluff, Wholesome

|| My AO3 ||

1. Pavitr Prabhakar

Pavitr bounced eagerly on the balls of his feet, making sure his calf muscles were limber.  It would be one of his first big team up assignments.  Well, of course he's worked with Gwen and Hobie but that was nothing compared to this one.  It was the Big Leagues.  The A team.  The Varsity League.

If he were anyone else, he would be nervous.  But he's worked hard for this.  He's got this.  Great hair, great web, and nothing could stop him.

"What are you doing here?"  A gruff voice asked.

Oh….well…that…that could stop him.

The bulking, looming mass of Miguel O'Hara towered over Pav.  It was hard not to be intimidated.

"Hello Mr. O'Hara, sir!"  Pav gave a little wave.  "I'm reporting for the mission to Earth-6709."

"What?" the older man's lips curled upwards, his fangs peeking through. 

"Pav!  There you are!" A bubbly, feminine voice spoke from behind him.  "Are you ready for our first trio mission!"

Pav bounced in excitement.  "Charlotte!!  I'm excited to see you!  This is going to be one of the best missions ever!"

She beamed with crescent-shaped eyes.  It's been a only three months since Charlotte took the newly minted Spiderman under her wing.  As one of the older, most senior members of Spider Society, she took join in mentoring many of the new recruits.

Miguel thought it was a tremendous waste of her time and talents, but she had gotten rather good at ignoring her boss's nagging.  Especially when it came to spending too much time with the kids.

After all, who could say no to a face like Pav?

"No."  Miguel crossed his arms, the muscles bulging quite ominously.  He glanced over at his mission partner.  "We're not taking the kid."

It was a good thing that Charlotte had such selective hearing.  She seemed unperturbed by his menacing figure, an impressive feat in Pav’s eyes.  "You're going to do great, Pav.  Stick to me and listen to Miguel or me for any directions.  This is going to be the best mission ever."

Miguel hung his head.  His eyes burning daggers into the linoleum floor of the lobby. "Why did you invite the kid?"  Miguel mumbled flatly, now more speaking to himself than the woman ignoring him.

She adjusted Pavitr’s mask like a mother bundling her child for the cold.  "Did you tell your Auntie you were going to be away for a while?  I don't want her to be worried over you, Pav."

Before Pav could answer, a low growl came from behind him.  "I don't think this mission needs him."

Hands on Pav's shoulders, she looked up at the taller man behind him.  Her grip tightened on Pav protectively.  The two stared at each other intensely, no doubt having a silent conversation only they were privy to.

The eyes on her mask narrowed into tiny slits.  "Miguel."  She stretched out his name in a tone that left very little room for discussion.

"Charlotte.  We're not taking the kid." Miguel placed his hands on his hips, clearly done with the conversation.  "It's too dangerous.  Those are my orders, and that's final."

🕸 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩🕸

…..Pav came along anyway. 

Maybe it was the body language or maybe it was Miguel saying "I don't want you here," but Pav was starting to get the impression that Miguel O'Hara did not want Pav there.  Now, ordinarily Prav would be offended.  He was a good Spiderman: kind, efficient, good quips, good hair.  Pavitr was a vital and essential part of Spider Society.  After all, he was trained by one of the very best mentors! 

But it soon became quite obvious why Miguel was so offended by the younger kid's presence.

It's because this was supposed to be a date. 

A mission date.

Yes, it was so obvious.  Trailing a good distance behind the two adults, Pav would observe their interactions with each other.  The longing stares, their closeness, the small smiles underneath Spider masks.  Their body movements, so fluid, so in sync with each other, as if they always knew where the other one was.  The pair kept whispering (bickering) with each other, hoping that Pav couldn't overhear there.

The tension.  It was palpable.

And Pav was so excited just to bear witness to it.  Love, at any age, especially at Mr. O'Hara's twilight years (of 50 or 60 years old?  Give or take a few years?) was a sight to behold.

She turned around, swinging backwards, to address Prav, "Whenever, it's just Miguel and I, we usually go get post-mission dinner.  Whoever catches the anomaly, chooses the venue."

Miguel's shoulders stiffened.  It was their thing.  No one else knew of this.  It was something that they kept to themselves.  Certainly not to share with some nosy teenagers and their blabbermouths.

It was often the best part of Miguel's week, sometimes the highlight of his month.  Sitting on top of whatever universe's equivalent of an Empire State Building, and sharing an empanada in peaceful silence after a job well done.  No urgent tasks.  No annoying blabbermouths, quips, one-liners constantly nagging his voice.  Just two people enjoying each other's company. 

Now, this kid was here to ruin it all. 

Pav's heart skipped a beat.  A long-standing private romantic tradition? 

He could hear wedding bells~~

"It's not a thing that we do.  We have never done that before."  Miguel denied gruffly, his face turned away from the other two.    "We don't do post-mission dinners."

Lyla popped up next to Miguel's head, no doubt triggered by her creator’s words.  "Would you like me to curate your usual ranking list for dinner plans?"

The responding silence spoke volumes.

Miguel slapped his face.  This is exactly the reason why these missions were two person missions.  To avoid any embarrassment.  "Yes Lyla."

"Careful Miguel," her voice was thick with amusement.  "Any more slip ups, and we'll be getting Italian in Earth-33443."

Miguel growled.  "Charlotte.  Don't you dare play games with me!"  He pointed at her.  "I refuse to go back to go back to an Earth without seasoning."

Pav nearly crashed into a skyscraper, only saved by last minute by his own Spidey senses. "An earth with no seasoning?  Does India still exist?"

Miguel shuddered.  "The curry's grey, kid.  Just grey slob." 

Prav wailed in the background, distraught at this newfound knowledge. 

🕸 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩🕸

Pav was the one to catch the anomaly so he chose the very best food in all of the multiverse.

Samosas from Mumbattan.

Masks off, the trio of them devoured their food, sitting on one of Pav's favorite watch spots.  His heart overflowing with joy, he kicked his feet happily.  A job well done, mentor pleased with his work, the big boss grudgingly approved of his contributions.  An overall successful mission all around.

And of course, to be a fly on the wall of this beautiful romantic?  Between an old couple?  Who didn't even know they were in love?

Amazing.  This day literally could not get better.

"Mig, you got sauce all over your face."  Reaching up, she wiped the corner of his cheek with her thumb, as if it was a practiced move she'd done a thousand times before. 

To Pav's surprise, the intimidating man was not at all bothered by the close contact.  Mig swore.  "It's these fangs,  You know how hard it is to eat with these things?"

"Yes, yes, well, we can't all have easy excuses for own bad manners."

They were sitting so close.  Their thighs pressed against each other intimately, sharing body heat.  If Pav were to do something that scandalous to Gayarti, well, he didn't even want to think how her father would react.

The last few rays of dying sunlight illuminated her hair giving it a soft otherworldly glow.  Miguel had a hard time looking away from her.  She looked so at peace, the lines around her figure soft and inviting.  Miguel’s shoulders soften.  Somehow the million of reasons why they couldn't be together seemed to fade away from his mind.

Perhaps the reason why Miguel so coveted these small moments was how simple they were.  He wasn’t Spiderman. He wasn’t the leader of an elite task force. He wasn’t a father who killed his daughter twice over.

No, here, in this moment with her?  He was just a man.  Eating samosas in the sunset with a beautiful woman who was always by his side.

“Charlotte.”  His stomach tensed.  His voice was low.  “They’re something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

She body shifted, turning towards him like a sunflower yearning for the sun.  Her eyes bright a glossy, her lips slightly parted in anticipation.  “Yes, Miguel?” 

“I….I think we-"

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.

She swore jumping to her feet.  The Spiderwoman mask already over her face.  “Message from Jess.  Emergency back in HQ.  C'mon, Pav, let's get you back home before your Auntie notices anything."

Miguel's expression was closed off, back into the stoic professionalism that was so familiar on his face.  The peace, tender moment entirely gone now.

Pav almost swore.  They were so close.  Confessing feelings, in the sunset?  They had to be the most obliviously in love couple he's seen in a while.

If only they could wake up and see it.