#this game has the best bared teeth expressions

[sonic-adventure-3]

love love love the expressions in sonic riders and i’m obsessed with the way they did stylized sonics teeth i love how it’s sharp on one side

[kaiijo]

ok. bllk and jealousy rate. how jealous can they get over their gf and what do they do to cope lmao

HOW JEALOUS IS HE? — [BLUE LOCK]

characters: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kunigami rensuke, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, oliver aiku content: gn! reader (request says gf but reader is gender neutral) notes: some of these are lowkey toxic, minor spoilers for kunigami’s character arc, nagi is taller than reader

most jealous: bachira, rin, reo 

bachira meguru ✶

bachira has many, many insecurities. growing up isolated and without many friends, he is more possessive of those he’s close to, which obviously includes you. he just doesn’t want to lose you, which manifests itself in jealousy over anyone he perceives as a threat to your relationship

bachira gets really clingy when he’s jealous. he thinks that inserting himself into the situation, sometimes literally wedging himself between you and the other person. he usually chooses to drape himself over you, nuzzling into your neck and speaking low enough that only you hear, trying his best to divert your attention. third-wheeling is pretty uncomfortable for the other person, especially with the smiling sneer bachira’s shooting at them, so they make a quick irish exit 

itoshi rin ✶

an egoist to his very core, rin can get very jealous. while he’s very sure of himself in nearly every other part of his life, he knows that he is not an ideal partner a lot of the time, though he’ll never admit it. he’s not the most expressive or the most patient, and he’s sure that there are better partners for you out there. 

when rin’s jealous, it’s a silent but deadly thing. like when he’s locked in on the ball in a game, his focus you and his ‘competitor’ is unwavering. he stalks over to stand behind you, his chest bumping right up against your back, and he snarls, “what the hell do you want, you mediocrity?” usually the other person backs off after seeing rin’s bone-chilling glare but if they’re bold enough to answer back, rin bares his teeth and is poised to strike. it’s probably best if you diffuse the situation quickly before it gets uglier  

mikage reo ✶

we already know how jealous reo was over nagi so it’s safe to say that he’s definitely very jealous. having been bored with the world and other people for so long, he’s thrilled when you two get together. it makes his very protective of you and he wants to be one of the most, if not the most, special person in your life. 

reo can go a couple of ways when he feels jealous over someone else but it think his primary response is to tear down the person methodically. he tilts his head a little, looks the person up and down, and notes everything about their appearance — hair, skin, clothes (including brand and cost) and criticizes every little thing. it’s a strategic move in his opinion, using observational skills and knowledge he had given his upbringing to pick apart the other person. he also might make some underhanded comment that includes that he has a black card 

less jealous: isagi, kunigami, sae 

isagi yoichi ✶

he definitely gets jealous from time to time but he doesn’t feel the need to act on it a lot. he’s pretty mature and for the most part level-headed (plus his ability to piece together future events helps him keep his cool a lot). this doesn’t mean that he isn’t jealous 

when isagi is jealous, he’s sulky. he won’t take immediate action and watch from afar, arms crossed and a little pouty. he tries to look as dejected and as ‘wet-cat pathetic’ as possible to make you feel bad and come over to comfort him. when you inevitably do, looping your arm through his and kissing his cheek, he can’t help but smirk at the other person like a cat who go the cream 

kunigami rensuke ✶

i debated where to put kunigami since there are ‘two sides’ to him — pre- and post-wildcard. pre-wild card kunigami is definitely a lot less bothered; he trusts you 100% and is 100% confident and secure in your relationship and himself. post-wild card kunigami is less chill and more forceful. he’s not a hero anymore but even as he plays a more ‘villainous’ role in soccer, he won’t cross that line in your relationship. he’s still very secure in you and himself, but he’s more protective of your relationship. definitely a ‘i trust you/us but it’s other people i’m worried about’ kind of guy

when pre-wild card kunigami got jealous, he won’t act in the moment and will talk to you about it afterwards, in a private setting. open lines of communication were important to him and working out problems like this. post-wildcard kunigami is all stormy looks and intimidation. like rin, he also stands behind you but in less actively aggressive way and more just to be threatening. it’s 95% effective and the 5% of times it doesn’t work, kunigami is not above muscling the other person away 

itoshi sae ✶

i thought about putting sae in the ‘most jealous’ section but i just think that he is someone whose jealousy simmer just beneath his apathetic surface. he sees most other people as beneath him and believes that they are not worthy of speaking to you, let alone hitting on you, but because he’s sees them as so beneath him, he can’t be bothered half the time to do anything since they’re simply not worth it. he gets the most jealous when it’s people who he can potentially view as equals, like other professional athletes 

when he’s jealous, sae literally just pretends they don’t exist, only talking to you. if the other person tries to interject, he sends them a sideways glare — the only acknowledgment of their existence — and then turns away to continue whatever conversation, suggesting that you both get away from the other person as quickly as possible. if ignoring the person doesn’t work, sae doesn’t shy away from spewing vitriol at the other person

least jealous: nagi, oliver, michael

nagi seishiro ✶

simply put, being jealous is a hassle to nagi. it makes him too hot and too annoyed for him to want to feel it so he suppresses the feeling a lot. nagi’s height is already intimidating enough for most people so they don’t approach you when they see you two together but that isn’t a deterrent to everyone

when nagi gets jealous, he does one of two things: just gives a thousand-yard stare that freaks people out or he gets whiny and clingy. his stare is eerie and silent, and the lightness of his eyes doesn’t help it. he towers over you like some cryptid companion. when he gets whiny and clingy, nagi tugs at your sleeve and asks drily, “can we go yet? why are you still talking to them?”

oliver aiku ✶

sigh… oliver is undoubtedly someone who thinks and knows he’s the shit. with so many women and men alike fawning over everything about him, his ego is through the roof. he has very little worry about you leaving him for someone else. honestly, he finds it amusing most of the time when someone attempt to draw you away from him, and let’s it play out a lot for his own entertainment. of course, he’ll intervene if it’s making you uncomfortable but he also believes you can handle yourself 

when oliver gets jealous, he acts as casual as possible. he’s friendly towards the other person and but it’s not hard to uncover that it’s all fake, whether it’s from the glint in his eye or the way his smile is stiff and forced. common tells when he gets jealous is that he pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek or he clenches his teeth and inhales softly but sharply.  he employs the good old tactic of calling the other person the wrong name and making all kind of underhanded comments that slowly chip at their nerves. (“haruya? haruki? oh! you’re haruto! right, right, you know, they’ve never mentioned you before! crazy, huh?”) 

michael kaiser ✶

kaiser in german literally means ‘emperor,’ and it’s no secret that kaiser views himself as one. similar to sae, he see himself as so above others that he’s not even bothered by other people hitting on you. it displeases him greatly, sure, but these cockroaches will never be able to steal you from him so why should an emperor deal with the plebians? the only time that ever happens is when a peasant is particularly forceful and then, kaiser intervenes

when he gets jealous, kaiser puts on a show. if there’s one thing about him, he’s a bit of a drama queen. he will absolutely posture and puff out his chest at the offending person, looking down his nose arrogantly and smirking. he makes a big display of wrapping himself around you, gripping firmly at your hips and saying, “liebling, you’re very charitable to entertain this insect, but it’s time to end this ruse.”

[nicolinocolino]

@wolfstarmicrofic | May prompt #3: love confession | word count: 882

“I dare us—“

Remus’s stomach swoops.

“—to drink this,” Sirius punctuates by setting a delicate glass vial of clear liquid onto the table between them.

“Veritaserum?” Remus asks. Dizziness overtakes him.

A spontaneous game of truth or dare in the Gryffindor common room ended moments ago with Lily daring James to go to bed. It earned laughs all around, although James took it as a euphemism instead of his right cue to leave her alone. It left him with a mouth hexed shut.

Now, with the stragglers headed to their dorms, Sirius and Remus are the only two left.

Sirius looks smug. “Brewed it myself.”

“Why?”

“Just to see if I could.”

They lock eyes with a long, dangerously charged glare.

“Okay,” Remus agrees, his rare Gryffindor courage taking over.

Sirius throws him a wicked grin that has him second guessing.

Remus drinks the potion first, just a sip to coat his tongue, then passes it to Sirius who does not break eye contact when pressing the vial to his lips.

“Is it working?” Sirius asks.

“Yes.” The truth leaves Remus immediately. This will be tricky.

Sirius leans forward, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. Ringed fingers cradle his face. “You go first,” he decides.

Remus swallows. He’s strung up like a kite. “All right. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Why did you really brew the Veritaserum?”

“To move this along.” Sirius waves his hand dramatically in the air between them.

“This?”

“Us.”

Remus notices the first hitch he thinks he’s ever seen in Sirius Black’s throat, as if Sirius himself is startled by how reckless the truth feels coming up with no control.

“Truth or dare?” Sirius continues before Remus can respond.

“Dare,” Remus chooses, afraid.

“Really?” Sirius questions him. He sounds annoyed. “Fine then. I dare you to kiss me.”

The space between them shrinks. Sirius, on the opposite couch, still has his chin in his hands. His smile is sly and his movements coltish, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Having fun, even.

Remus does not move.

“What? Don’t want to?”

“No, I want to,” Remus confesses, then groans. “Don’t do that, Pads.”

“Do what?”

“Cheat.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Are you going to play or not, Moony?”

Remus stands up, crosses the distance, and sits next to Sirius on the opposite couch. He can feel his heart beat behind his teeth it’s so fervid; his hand shakes as he gently cups Sirius’s cheek. It’s difficult to think of anything more anxiety inducing than the moments before his transformation every full moon, but this comes awfully close.

“Well, Moons?” Sirius repeats in a whisper. His grey eyes bounce between Remus’s, wide and hopeful.

“Yes, I’ll play.” Remus tucks a strand of Sirius’s hair behind his ear and leans in.

Their lips barely meet before Sirius responds with earnest, smile blooming. Remus’s fingers drift back to comb through curls, tugging slightly. It’s rapacious. Sirius gasps and laughs. Remus can’t do this for much longer before the point of no return will ruin him forever.

“Truth or dare?” Remus pants, pulling away with a wild expression.

“Truth,” Sirius chooses. His lips are shiny, eyes dark. Remus wants to devour him.

“Am I a good kisser?”

“Yes. That was the best kiss of my life.”

Remus has to put some space between them soon before that point of no return opens up like a black chasm and becomes an inescapable void. He gets up quickly, awkwardly, and goes back to the opposite couch. The fire in the fireplace gives a sharp, crackled pop.

Sirius looks disappointed, rejected, almost angry. “Truth or dare?” He snaps.

“Dare,” Remus chooses again.

Sirius sets his jaw tight, exasperated. “I dare you to tell me how you really feel about me.”

Remus takes a deep breath. “I’m in love with you,” he whispers, the truth ringing in his ears after he says it. He hides his hot face in his hands and lets out a strangled, muffled scream. “You clever git. That’s cheating. Merlin, you really are bold tonight.” He risks a peek through his fingers at Sirius opposite him. Face unreadable, the weak flames of the fireplace dancing golden and scarlet across his face.

“Now ask me,” Sirius says softly.

“What?”

“Ask me,” he repeats. “The same.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Remus hesitates. “How do you really feel about me?”

“I’m in love with you too,” Sirius is saying, already halfway off the couch, approaching Remus, tucking in next to him on his knees and grabbing his face with force, kissing him for the second time that night.

Love and hunger and relief and joy. And a little bit of panic. They pull at each other, kiss like they can’t get enough.

Remus breaks away. “For how long?” Veritaserum still coursing through them, he will milk the powerful truth potion for all it’s worth.

Sirius does not let their lips be apart for very long. “Moons,” he says through an open mouth. “It’s been all year.”

Remus melts.

“And you?” Sirius continues. “How long?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember,” Remus confesses.

Sirius slides a hand down Remus’s chest. He feels how heavy and quick it beats under his palm.

“It’s been so long, I don’t remember,” Remus repeats.

It must be the truth.

[elaci]

Just Friends

Patrick and you are just friends, so he shouldn't get this jealous when you get sick of his games and decide you'll spend the night with Art instead.

cw; spitting, degradation, rough sex, choking, unprotected sex, creampies, ruined orgasms

Patrick Zweig x fem!reader | 18+ mdni — special s/o to the anons that helped imagine this up

It’s demeaning, really, the way Patrick Zweig watches you from the other side of the room. You can barely see him, shadows and party-store strobe lights displace his expression for seconds at a time, but when you do manage to hold his gaze long enough to make out the sharpness in it, your skin crawls. Through his eyes, you're no better than the last of his conquests.

You still like the heat of his hatred, though, especially when it's his best friend's lap you sit on. Art Donaldson has an arm around your waist, fingers dug into your side, the pressure light yet insistent. His face is flushed against your neck; lazy kisses pepper your throat. He wouldn't be marking you up for the world to bear witness if Art knew you belonged to Patrick first, but the brunette had insisted you were just friends, it was nothing more than a casual night or three. Now, he gets to watch as Art's free hand trails up the inside of your thigh, waging war against his urge to have you ride his fingers in the middle of the crowded living room.

Art's eyes are closed, lips wet against the expanse of your throat as he sucks a hickey into your skin-- your eyes are locked on Patrick's, who stands across the room, jaw clenched tight and hand wet with the spill of beer from his plastic cup. A sea of bodies act as the barrier between you two, dancing and grinding against each other in the same show of college-aged lust you're exhibiting with Art's hand trailing that little bit further up your thigh. You watch Patrick swallow and take a step back, ready to turn away, but something deep inside of you aches to be seen. You use a hand to lift Art's chin up so that you can plant your lips to his in a bruising kiss. Your blonde tryst responds eagerly, parting his lips, letting your tongue dart in to explore the seam of his mouth. His eyes flutter shut but yours stay open and stuck on Patrick, who doesn't blink as he watches you share spit with his best friend. He looks like a different man.

You pull away from Art slowly, dragging your teeth over Art's lip before leaning back in with purposeful abandon and you can almost swear you see him shudder in turn. One of his hands has slipped under your shirt palming your breast, his thumb rubbing a taut nipple through your bra. The contact makes you moan involuntarily, but it does nothing to distract you from the intense stare of Patrick Zweig who is still watching you. It takes all the restraint you possess not to look back, to ignore the piercing stare that could burn a hole right through the side of your skull. Instead, you give Art a soft but sultry smile and say, "I'll get us another drink, and then we can get out of here?"

"Sounds good," Art gives you a nod and takes his hand from under your shirt so you can stand from his lap. You eye the growing tent in his pants that he has to readjust to sit comfortably, and you smile as you turn to walk to the kitchen while Art follows you with his eyes.

You slip behind a corner into the kitchen where half-emptied bottles of nondescript booze and solo cups of mixers sit precariously along the countertops. You grab one of the bottles and two cups that you hope are clean and start to pour a drink for you and Art. You need this, a good orgasm or two to get your mind off of Patrick and his incessant proclamations of 'just being friends'. You'll fuck Art as a 'fuck you' to Patrick and move on to the next guy that won't make you cum half as well as either of them can. But the bottle is plucked from your hands, spilling over as it's placed down harshly and you're suddenly pressed against the edge of the countertop by someone much larger than yourself, their chest pressing against your upper back, crotch against your ass, arms boxing you in on either side.

This isn't Art; he's too coy for something this crude. This guy, who smells like cigarettes and a deodorant you've smelt too many times before, leans forward until his lips brush against your ear. His breath is hot, fanning your skin in ragged waves. Him. "So are you gonna fuck him?"

"Fuck you, Patrick. We're just friends," you parrot his own words back to him. Just friends, he had said whilst knuckles deep in your pussy, begging you to sit on his face only a moment later. Just fucking friends.

"That's what I thought," he exhales, and his voice is low, rough. You shiver, goosebumps prickling on your arms. The pressure of him on your back slackens and you twist, turning around only to find yourself still boxed in, but face to face with the source of your every wrongdoing, Patrick fucking Zweig. The grin pulling at his lips makes him appear predatory, almost feral. It's an animalistic thing; the look he gives you, hungry and angry and desperate. Like he wants to devour you in whole and spit you out just to taste you again. "Let me rephrase: have you fucked him already?"

No. "Yes." That answer comes quickly enough, even if it sounds a little pathetic in the face of Patrick's glazed eyes. Your hands rise of their own volition, landing on Patrick's chest and trying hopelessly to push him back. "Now get off me."

He doesn't budge, instead leaning in until you can feel his breath ghosting across your lips, noses bumping together lightly, "you're a fucking slut," he smiles, and you want to slap the grin off his face, want to claw into those beautiful eyes of his for looking at anyone but you. You hate him, you hate him with everything you have, you hate that your heart is slamming against your ribcage in response to his words. He's so close he can probably hear it, feel it, taste it on his lips and feel it in his hollowed bones.

You slip a hand from his chest down to the bulge of his jeans; he's hard, and you palm him through the coarse denim. "I'm the slut?" you bite, "what about you, Patrick, huh?" You squeeze him harder, feeling him twitch underneath your touch, "what are you then?"

One hand snaps from the countertop beside you to your throat, fingers digging in hard enough to start hurting. "I'm one minute away from fucking you stupid on this goddamn counter, that's what I am." When you don't dignify him with a word in response, he continues, lips barely an inch from yours. "You'd like that wouldn't you? You just won't fucking admit it."

You’re a moment away from spitting in his smug face when Patrick takes the hand against his crotch and uses it to pull you out of the kitchen in a swift but forceful motion. You trip over your own feet with the speed that he drags you, his grip unrelenting, but you’re able to glance into the living room as you pass to see Art talking to someone you don’t know. You try and get a look at your replacement, but Patrick is too fast, his grip on you only tightening as he takes you upstairs and starts checking doors for a room to push you into.

A chorus of “ooh la la” erupts when Patrick swings open a bathroom door to find a group of people smoking weed on the floor in front of the toilet. You could use a toke right about now. Patrick huffs a half-assed ‘sorry’ before pulling you to the next door and trying it- there's a click and before you can register his success, Patrick is pulling you into the empty bedroom and subsequently pushing you against the back of the door as it shuts. Your hand flies to the door handle in instinct, searching for a lock to turn and ensure your privacy, but it's futile when Patrick has a hand clamped over the handle to keep you from playing with it.

"Let someone walk in," he says. "Let them see just how fucking desperate you really are," he reaches a hand up and grabs your hair, yanking it backwards to expose more your neck. "Just how bad I wanna ruin you."

You slap him hard across the cheek. The sound reverberates through the room as Patrick turns his head only in the slightest to rub the sting away. Though his shock is short lived, he steps closer, forcing you back against the door until you hit the wall with no space left for retreat and he's pressing his lips to yours in retaliation, licking over and over at your bottom lip until you finally give up and kiss him back. This is worse than the stinging cheek of a slap, the wrung heart of knowing you want this more than a drunken clumsy night with Art Donaldson: you want the anger and the hurt and Patrick is kissing you like he loves you just to taunt you. To torment you for being weak enough to let him. For wanting the man that you hate to fuck you against the door. And you do. You want it so badly it hurts more than your ego.

"Fuck you," you speak against his lips.

His reply is a hand to your jaw, rough and mean and lifting your head so he can access the bites left behind by Art in the living room. He dips his head down and licks across every last mark his best friend had bitten into you, painting over Art's spit with his own, staking his claim like a dog with a bone. "Tell me to stop," he breathes out, mouth still glued to your throat.

"Fuck you."

You don't have time to think before Patrick is grabbing at the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down to pool around your ankles; your legs instinctively curl inwards to cover yourself but Patrick pushes your knees apart with both hands and lowers himself between your thighs. He pulls one of your legs up, rests it over his shoulder and looks up at you with darkness in his gaze. Though he's the one on his knees, you're the one at his mercy. His lips curve up at you again and he bites into the flesh of your inner thigh, making you hiss out a gasp at the sudden pain.

"Tell me to stop," he repeats in a growl.

"Fuck you," you spit in return.

"Say please."

Your eyes flutter shut in defeat. "Please."

"I told you," Patrick presses an almost sweet kiss to your clit, "that you're a fucking slut." He moves his tongue back and forth between your folds, and you let out a soft moan, your hips rolling instinctively forward to meet the invasion. You can't help it - you love his tongue, he knows that - you'd beg for it when you were sweeter on him but now... now, all you're capable of doing is arching your hips further into his mouth, hand flying down to the mess of curls atop his head in an attempt o pull him impossibly closer to you.

"Please, please, please..." Your hips thrust harder into his mouth with each syllable that leaves your lips, growing close to sweet release. Patrick moans softly and licks over the sensitive bundle of nerves buried within your folds. You pull hard at is hair, you hope it hurts, you need to be as close as physically possible to him, need it to connect you completely.

And then it happens. It happens in a cold second, one moment you're building to orgasm and the next you're feeling wipe his mouth and stand up with no orgasm from you to show for it. You don't move at first, frozen solid and waiting for something to happen. But nothing does, and when you realise he hasn't moved either you force your eyes open, squinting past the black dots dancing across your vision to find him staring at you with a wide smile.

"What the fuck, Zweig?" you demand, though it comes out more pleading than anything. Your voice cracks. It's embarrassing.

"Art wouldn't have made you cum either," he shrugs, an evil look on his face- you want to cry. You want to shoot your hand down and finish the job off yourself but you know Patrick would never let that happen; he nods to the bed against the wall. Some strangers bed; a full length mirror sits opposite it.

"Don't tell me this is some sick punishment." God, you wish he would stop smiling.

"Just get on the fucking bed."

“F—”

“Fuck me, yeah I know. Move your ass before I fuck that too.”

Your plain lust makes it difficult not to oblige, and you’re walking over to the edge of the bed and sitting down before you can register yourself doing so. The sheets are a dark blue and smell like detergent and dryer sheets, so the thought of fucking on a strangers dirty sheets are calmed as Patrick traipses towards you.

He lands between your legs, eyes darting down to look at your glistening cunt before taking in the rest of you. With a simple nod, he orders your top and bra off, and you’re naked before a ‘fuck you’ can leave your lips. Patrick remains fully clothed, but you think he likes that contrast, that aspect of control. You’re so cock-hungry you let it pass, because you can see the tent of his jeans and there’s little you wouldn’t do to be full of Patrick Zweig right now.

“Open your mouth,” he speaks down at you.

Your lips part, head tilted back ever so slightly as your tongue lolls out of your mouth. Patrick spits directly onto it, the very same saliva that had just mixed with the lust of your pussy now lace your tongue and spill down to your lips.

“Swallow.”

You do, Patrick loves the sight. So much, in fact, that he wastes no time in pulling you to your feet just to press a wet kiss to your lips, swap some more spit, and then turn you on your heels and push you face-down into the mattress of the poor soul who owns this bed. You land with a whine, and Patrick lands a spank to your ass in a silent order to get on your hands and knees for him.

You comply without even thinking, curling your body in the perfect angle to allow Patrick easier access to your aching entrance. Looking forward, you watch yourself in the mirror, a mess of everything you shouldn’t be doing, and Patrick: a mess of everything you should. He lines up behind you and moves to push inside of you, but his hips halt before he makes contact.

His eyes flit up to meet yours in the mirrors reflection. “I don’t want to ever see you with another guy like that. No one but me, you got it? You need to be fucked stupid to understand who you belong to? Sure thing. You need dates and kisses and to call me your fucking boyfriend so you don’t chase the next dick that’ll fill you up? Whatever. As long as it’s me.”

You nod. You want it. You don’t deserve it but you crave it.

Patrick slowly pushes himself into you until he’s fully seated inside you; you let out a groan as you adjust to the stretch of his size. You’ve never quite gotten used to how big he is. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sensation and he takes that as his cue to start moving. He pulls almost all of the way out of you, eyes stuck on the sight of his cock covered in you.

“Did you just ask me to be your girlfr—FUCK.”

Patrick slams his hips forward and you feel his entire length split you open on the spot. You cry out, loud, long and ragged breaths leaving your body as he begins to pound into your body again and again in quick succession. His hands grip your waist harshly, fingers digging deep into your flesh to make sure you stay in place on the bed.

When you finally do manage to relax, pleasure begins coursing through you like waves on the shores of some vacation beach you couldn’t name. Patrick takes your hair in one hand and continues his bruising grip on your waist with the other.

The repeated snapping of his hips against yours is brutal, skin against skin and sweat permeating the room's heat. With every thrust you’re pushed forward, your eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror. You’d lay your head down to rest against the sheets if Patrick wasn’t fisting your hair so tight, pulling your head up to stare at yourself getting wrecked on his cock.

He leans forward, chest pressing against your arched back, a harsh bite to your earlobe, and then the growling words— “could he fuck you stupid like this?”

“Yeah,” you manage, tone dripping with an aching need.

“Yeah?” Patrick loosens his grip on your hair and instead snakes his fingers around your neck, squeezing each side of your throat in such a way your head already feels light. He pulls you up, your back flush against his front as his cock still drills into you; he squeezes further. “Shut the fuck up.”

Patrick trails his hand from your neck to your bottom lip and slips two fingers inside your mouth as he fucks you. You’re full of him from both ends, tasting his fingers and taking his cock in its entirety like you were fucking made for it. There’s something about being taken apart so thoroughly that nearly pushes you over the edge of your climax, though it’s not until Patrick slips his hand, fingers wet with your spit now, down to your clit and starts rubbing it in quickened circles that you’re really melting into his touch.

It isn’t long until you lose your mind, legs trembling underneath the weight of such overbearing pleasure. Patrick’s the only reason you stay upright, holding you against hisself as his hips start stuttering and he falls over that same precipice you just did.

With one last hard thrust that near sends you delirious, he spills into you, filling you up so full with his seed that you already grieve the inevitable loss of it when he pulls out and insists on watching it leak from your pussy in a display of his hood on you.

For now, though, you revel in the haze of laboured breath and the warmth of his sweat-glossed chest against your back. You can feel his heart beating against your shoulder blades in a rapid drumming rhythm. You watch yourself in the mirror, plugged with Patrick’s cock as he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder in turn— he’s never done that before.

“Did you mean it?” you ask through raspy breaths, barely above a whisper.

“That you’re a slut?” Patrick grins, biting over the spot he had just kissed, “yes.”

“That you want to be exclusive. More than ‘just friends’.”

“I just came inside of you, I’m still fucking inside of you. We aren’t just friends.”

His voice is thick and hoarse, you can hear the smile forming on his face in spite of his efforts to keep his expression blank. You want to say something more, tell him a million different things that should probably wait until he isn’t plugging you with his cum, but your thoughts are cut off by a heavy knock at the door and the call of your name.

It’s Art, and he’s turning the doorknob.

And his best friend is still balls deep inside of you.

[malliluvs]

begging for attention

♡ ellie williams x f! bratty reader

♡ ellie has been ignoring you all week, and you're needy. after watching her lay down for a nap after an intense workout, you see it as your time to strike

18+!!

warnings!

teasing, edging, cursing, smoking, ellie being really rough and mean :( , oral r!receiving / giving, light spanking? , hair pulling, after care, mostly smut, kind of hardcore

word count: 1.7k

you watched from the side of the small at home gym ellie had created for herself in the garage. you fidgeted in your seat as you watched ellie workout. her breasts straining against the her shirt, and her ass looked so good in those tights.

you tried to distract yourself from the ever growing aching from your core. ellie hadn't touched you in almost a week now, and she refused to tell you why. you could always pleasure yourself, but her fingers were bigger than yours, and she knew all the right ways to make you crumble.

ellie's muscles stretched against the fabric of her compression shirt. with every bench press she did, she gritted her teeth. a low growl emanated from the depths of her throat, a bead of sweat ran down her chin.

you were so used to ellie spoiling you, getting you whatever you wanted and touching you whenever you asked. it was frustrated for her to suddenly rip it all away and give you the bare minimum.

you felt hurt, but when you yelled at her for it, a smirk adorned her face. that's when you knew...

... this was her game.

she wanted you to beg for her attention, but you wouldn't do that. no. you'd take it.

-

ellie laid down on your shared bed, laying in a bra and some jeans. after her workout, she just wanted to relax and get high. her arm rested on her inner thigh, her legs spread open on the bed. she took a drag from her blunt, blowing out the smoke, her head leaning against the headboard

you snuck up between her open legs, leaning against her inner thigh. ellie felt a smirk pull at her lips, but she held it in and continued to ignore you.

this pissed you off.

you gave her the best puppy dog eyes you could muster up, but ellie wouldn't even spare a glance at you. instead of saying anything, you started to unzip her pants. ellie raised an eyebrow, but instead of interfering she wanted to see where this was gonna go.

ellie grabbed her phone, taking another drag of her blunt before unlocking her phone, scrolling on it aimlessly.

you swallowed an annoyed growl, but you couldn't help the ache in your core that you had been shoving down since this morning. you pulled her pants down just enough, and pulled her panties to the side, kissing her clit.

ellie gritted her teeth a took a deep breath, intent on ignoring you.

you sucked on her clit gently, looking up at her facial expressions.

ellie let out a guttural growl, closing her eyes, she moved her hips against your mouth, trying to fight that feeling. you continued to tease her, she had to break soon.

eventually ellie let out a loud groan as she sat up, gripping you hair and pulling your face up to her level. you smirked.

you got your way.

"you're a fucking brat, a slutty one at that." she growled, before suddenly shoving your face into the mattress.

"put your ass up, bitch." she said in your ear, her voice guttural and filled with irritation. before you could even move she placed her large, calloused hand on your stomach, pushing it up, forcing you on your knees.

you let out a loud yelp when she smacked your ass.

"you wanted my fucking attention right? now you're gonna get it." she said, smacking your ass again. she roughly pulled down your bottoms and panties, leaving your soaking cunt on full display.

you felt a shiver run down your back, the cool air hitting your wet core.

"god... you've been begging for me to touch you all week." ellie laughed, her voice harsh and unsympathetic. "you're such a slut for me... i can't stand it." she said, holding your legs down as her tongue ran up and down your lips, collecting the slick you've accumulated.

you let out a desperate moan, your hands gripping the sheets under you as her tongue abused your desperate cunt, her tongue moving expertly, licking you in all the right spots to make you fall apart.

"els... fuck!" you moaned, your eyes rolling back in your head.

ellie smirked, lightly sucking on your clit. "shut up and take it." use growled, the vibrations from her throaty voice sending your mind into overdrive. you could already felt your knees getting week, but ellies strong arms wrapped around your legs, spreading them so she could hit the deepest parts of you.

she stuck her tongue in your gaping hole, filling it with her longue, needy tongue, rubbing against the places you needed her the most. she rubbed your clit roughly with her hand, not interested in your own comfort.

you began to babble nonsense as your climax was approaching. ellie felt you tighten around her tongue, she knew you were close.

she pulled away, before grabbing you by your hair and pulling you up to her chest. you let out a whine.

"els pl-"

"shut the fuck up." she cut you off, her voice harsh and demanding.

she wrapped her hand around your neck, gripping it, making breathing uncomfortable, but you felt your mind go dizzy from her touch.

"you wanna cum? hm?" ellie asked, a smirk playing at her lips.

you nodded frantically. "ellie please... need.. I need... to cum... els..." you begged, you felt your slick running down your inner thigh, you couldn't do it anymore. you needed her and you needed her now.

"should I let my princess cum? hm? you think you deserve?" she said, patronizingly. you felt like you wanted to cry, you needed her so bad but she was denying you.

"yes yes yes." you repeated. "i'll be good... i'll be so good." you promised, your eyes glossed over.

ellie chuckled, before her hand slid down to your needy core, sticking three fingers in without warning. you threw your head back, letting out a loud gasp. she thrusted her fingers in rapidly, barely giving you time to breath.

"yeah... you like that don't you? oh I bet you do you little slut. you want me to fuck you senseless huh? look at you, losing your pretty little mind already."

your head rested against her shoulder, your loud moans filling the room. her words just added to your pleasure. ellie looked into your eyes, watching them roll back in your head with satisfaction. when you finally came undone, she brought her soaked fingers and pressed then against your red, pouty lips.

you were too exhausted to care, she slide her fingers in, making you clean her fingers clean.

once you had finished, she pushed you onto the bed. your head hit the pillow under you, as you looked up at ellie. she grabbed a small box from under your bed, taking out her strap. she put it on, not losing eye contact with you

she positioned herself over you. she held your leg over your shoulder. she pushed it in, she didn't even let you have time to adjust to the new length, never mind recover from your previous orgasm before she started recklessly pounding into you.

you let out a choked sob.

"els!" you moaned, your mind going blank as she hit your sweet spot over and over again, your already overstimulated core ached in a painful pleasure. you begged for her to stop, but you begged for her to keep going.

you felt those familiar butterflies in your stomach as your second orgasm of the night arrived.

"ellie... im coming..." you cried. ellie put a hand over your mouth. "shut up, you come when I tell you to." she growled.

you nodded, you already felt the tears pricking at your eyes. the sound of skin clapping and your desperate whines for release were like music to ellies ears.

"beg for it."

your eyes widened, you opened your mouth, but you barely understood what she said, your mind went blank as you focused on not letting yourself cum just yet.

"aww... is my pretty girl being fucked too dumb to understand?" she gripped your hair. "beg. for. it. you wanna come? beg for it. before I fuck those pretty lips like the slut you are."

your vision blurred as you tried to listen to ellie. you couldn't take it anymore, as you felt yourself coming on her strap. your back arched and you threw your head back.

ellie looked at you, her eyes filled with rage. she pulled out, her strap soaked with your juices.

as your mind cleared up, you realized what you did.

"did you just fucking cum?" ellie said, her tone strict and demanding. she gripped your hair, pulling you up and sitting you down in front of her strap, the tip teasing your bottom lip.

"look up at me." ellie demanded.

you looked up at her. "im sorry ellie... I... I couldn't handle it-" suddenly you were cut off by her forcing you down on her strap.

the taste of your juices mixed with the plastic you so desperately missed the taste of entered your mouth as she roughly fucked your mouth.

"I can't fucking stand sluts like you." ellie said, biting her lip at the sight. "you're not even trying to deny me. you want me to fuck you like this, this is why you've been such a fucking bratty bitch all week."

with every thrust of her hips the tip of the strap hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag. spit dribbled down your chin, the tears that threatened to fall before were on full display.

"oh... is my bitch crying?" ellie said, wiping your tears.

"maybe you'll think before fucking with me again." she said, before pulling out.

you gasped for air, clinging onto her thigh. she sat down next to you, wiping the spit off your abused lips before kissing you.

"Shh... it's okay baby." she said comfortingly, rubbing your back. "you okay?" she said, smiling at you.

you nodded, as she wiped away your tears, she brought you to the bathroom to get you cleaned up.

when she laid you back down on the bed, you ran her hands through your hair comfortingly, whispering praises in your ear.

"you did so well for me."

"god... you looked so pretty." she said, while peppering your face with kisses.

she wrapped her arms around you, as you two fell asleep.

one thing you knew.

you'd be doing this again.

-

(idk if this is good but I started laughing while making this bc imagine if you had a wig and ellie pulled your hair and it just came off)

[neckromantics]

*NSFW*

"You're on the brink of an orgasm that's going to wipe you off the face of the planet, and he's laughing at you again."

Pairing: GN!Reader/Astarion or GN!Tav/Astarion (Not really gender specific, but the MC is said to create slick, so do with that what you will.)

CW: Smut. Beware! There will be: Biting. Edging if you really think about it? Laughter (what). Maybe a liiiiittle bit of tears in the best way. Fingering? Astarion.

You're not listening.

Astarion's laughing at you, and you're not even listening.

It's not quite your fault though, as just about the only thing you're able to hear is the pounding of your own heartbeat against your eardrums.

A high giggle and the sharp exhale of his breath. So cold. So close to the sensitive flesh at the back of your knee that goosebumps prickle along the length of your thighs.

Even colder are the lips that trail up, soothing away those goosebumps before you can squirm too far off in your pleasure-drunken stupor. It's a rather sweet gesture, you think, until the sharpness of his teeth has your hips jerking clean off the bed. Those things-- an ever-present threat to the supple skin that he pulls between them-- digging in until you whimper out his name.

"Astarion." A silent plead for it.

Bite me. Mark me. Break the skin.

Please.

And yet (of course) he doesn't. There's the gentle pressure as he sucks. Works your skin between his lips until he can feel a bruise blossoming beneath his tongue and has to swallow back a mouthful of saliva before he begins to drool. Delicious as you and your sweet blood may be, he won't let it distract him.

Not yet, at least.

He nips a little (okay, maybe it's big) love bite through that downright evil grin that's been splitting his handsome face for Gods' knows how long, now. He could have been teasing you for a ten-day at this point, and you wouldn't be surprised.

You can feel the curve of that grin as it grows mischievous, and you feel tears prick at the corner of your eyes in anticipation. You turn your head to the side in an attempt to hide them, near delirious as he nips another bruise just beneath the space where your groin meets your thigh.

When he hums, it's a thoughtful sound. And, while you're still not listening yet, you can feel the vibrations of it from where his lips are still against you. He makes his move while you're distracted.

Your yelp chokes off into a moan so high that you would probably be embarrassed if you had half the mind. The familiar sting of his gnawing blends with molten hot pleasure as he sinks his fingers back inside of you with little warning this time.

Two of them, long since warmed by your heat from his prior teasing, taking their time to explore parts of you that you've never been able to find on your own. Reaching. Curling. Searching. It's so good. It's so fucking good, and you've been on edge for so long that you're going to full-on cry if he doesn't stop playing games with you soon.

Your heart nearly drops into your stomach when he pulls away only moments later, but he's quick to hush any whimpered complaints before they start. You don't even have time to mourn the loss of his fingers as they drag out of you because they don't go too far. Firm, slick circles rub quick against the rim of your twitching hole until you can barely keep your eyes open.

A wet trail of opened-mouthed kisses up your belly. A nuzzle against the center of your chest before he shifts about.

Your lover crawls his way up the bed until he's all but looming over you. Ruby red eyes peer down at your fucked out expression from beneath heavy lids- drinking in every square inch of you as you writhe amongst the bedsheets and beg so sweetly for him. Yes, this will do nicely.

He seems more than satisfied with this angle. Presses his free palm to the back of one of your shaky thighs and guides it up, up, up until your knee is against your chest and he's got you splayed out. Pinned.

You swear you can feel each knuckle as he fucks his fingers back into you. Three this time, you think, and then make the mistake of craning your neck to watch his glossy digits as they press in again just to see if you're correct.

Gods, you're making a mess of yourself. Of him. Everything is so slick. Every push and pull is punctuated with an obscene squelch that leaves your face feeling hot. You can't control your whimper as you feel it drip from the curve of your ass and onto the sheets below, no doubt creating a wet spot that you're both going to be annoyed about later.

But then, he's finding that spot inside of you that has you singing for him. Presses right into it and starts rubbing these quick little circles that make you cry out his name over and over again until your voice finally gives out and you can only whine with every breath.

And, that asshole, is grinning down at you again. 

With clumsy hands, you reach out to him. Shaky fingers tangle into the curls on the back of his head, and you do your very best not to pull when you guide him down into a desperate kiss that's more tongue and teeth than anything else. The weight of his body bears down upon you- does the job of keeping that leg to your chest even after his free hand moves up to brace himself.

Your hole clenches around him when he comes to you without a fight, sucking him in deeper as a result, and he moans, unabashed into your open mouth like he's fucking you proper. Your breath hitches-- cuts off completely for a moment along with your brain.

But, you're listening, now.

"I know, love. There you are." Astarion guides your focus back to him with a coo so sweet, then licks a stripe up your jawline to tug at your earlobe between those teeth again just to make you squirm.

You're on the brink of an orgasm that's going to wipe you off the face of the planet, and he's laughing at you again. Although, without humor this time. Incredulous, almost, as he watches- feels you cum for so long that it'd probably be worrisome to anyone else.

He sucks in a hiss as you gush around him one last time, so hot and tight that he has to take a moment to steady himself before he gets too carried away.

"I've got you, darling." He assures as you shiver beneath him, cool hands soothing your heated skin as they knead at your (no doubt) tired muscles and rub away at more goosebumps as they form.

When you finally crack open an eye, he's smiling at you again. A small, but genuine little thing that you can't help but find contagious. You pull him down for another kiss before he can say anything about it, though. Smart ass.

[undercoverpena]

wet n' wild

frankie morales x f!reader

summary: “This what you wanted?” His breath fans across your cheek, your neck—teeth all but gliding over your hammering pulse. “You just wanted me to touch you, querida?” wordcount: 1.8k warnings: smut. p in v. frankie doing a bit of dirty talking. reader wears a white two piece/bikini. mutual appreciation of bodies - although slight mention of shyness about 'your' body. an: all thanks to this anon, i hope you appreciate how you made me rot.

As soon as it had begun—you’d hoped it would end like this.

The game of who could break the other started as soon as he'd pushed you into Santiago's pool.

The rules dissolved, disappearing amongst the soft waves made from your legs wrapping around his middle when you finally got him in the water, "jus' wanna float with you" you coo, wrapping it in naïveté as the pool floats moved past you and people shout over the music and sizzling food.

He believed you for all of a few moments. That is until you tightened your thighs, rocking yourself over him, smirking, fingers twirling a strand of his hair around and around. Just like you do at home.

Stop, his eyes said. Make me, you challenged silently, it having become clear that there would be no defined winner or loser.

Just a symphony of soft brushes and lingering glances, ones that make your face burn and your thighs press together as hours tick on by and the teasing increases. Each time he wraps an arm around your waist, you feel you're losing the edge, becoming powerless, desperation creeping up as you dig your nails into your palm, the sun drying your skin and two-piece doing nothing to quell the fire that swirls in your insides.

It's why you'd been cautious to slip from the party, from the laughter and loud yells. Sliding past bodies you don't know, moving between ones you do, as you head up to the house.

To freshen up, compose yourself.

But then you’d felt him follow.

A thrum darting through you, turning the fire into an inferno, it grows, showing no signs of simmering as your flip-flops clap against tiles. Even less so when you hear the backdoor slide open and then shut. Recognising that gait, that walk.

Your pulse thumps in your ear as he follows you, doing so down Santiago’s hallway. A part of you waiting. All on edge. Anticipation quickening the rhythm of your heart within its cage of bone as you turn your head, graceful, ear tilting akin to a curious animal, capturing the quiet sound of an opening door just as fingers wrap around your wrist, gently tugging you back.

Game, set, match.

You do your best to hide your smirk—smother it in wide eyes and a blank expression. Innocence, all halo shining and white two-piece gleaming. You know Frankie sees through it—has been aware of each brush of your ass against the strings of his swim shorts.

It's evident in the way he looks at you, and pins you to him, all broad and spectacular as he moves you, back meeting the edge of the dresser as it digs into exposed skin. And, suddenly your throat is dry, unable to tear your eyes away from him if you tried. Because he’s crowding, all but looming—palm resting on your hip, the other cupping your cheek.

It’s brief, the seconds he provides. A flick of his gaze between both eyes, a confirmation requested and given with a smirk of your own mouth.

Then, he's on you.

Hot, wet mouth sliding over yours, tongue pressing past your lower lip, cursing somewhere at the back of his throat that he breathes into your own. Because fuck. A thought that grows, builds, but you do your best to bite back as your fingers grasp at bare skin, palms sliding over the flexing muscles on his shoulders and along his back before you grab a handful of his curls, droplets dripping down your wrist.

You don't fight the moan when he flattens his body to yours. Frankie flush to you, soft stomach against yours—no space between the two of you, nowhere for air to be except around the two of you—as his fingers splayed out on your hip. Keeping you where he wants you; where he needs you.

Here, here, here.

You lose yourself against his mouth. Drown in it; pleasingly overwhelmed by him, and desperate for more. Insatiable, in fact—as you become aware of his fingers at the crease of your thighs, parting them, ungluing them, fingers sliding over your fabric-covered seam.

The tip of his nose slides against your cheek, breath searing against your skin, leaving a trail of fire to your ear before he whispers, “Don’t think your bikini is wet from the pool, is it?”

It's instinct, barely muffled, a murmur of his name escaping—but better that than the moan you have to bite down on your tongue to suppress. More so as his fingers, all expert, competent, slide back and forth over your covered pussy. The thinnest layer being a barrier, keeping him from sliding into your heat and making you see stars.

“This what you wanted?” His breath fans across your cheek, your neck—teeth all but gliding over your hammering pulse. “You just wanted me to touch you, querida?”

You can't think, not as he teases the edge of your bikini.

Your name on his lips is elongated. Meaningful.

And, there's an answer forming somewhere, but it won't make it to your tongue. It thought, but barely given—never mind said—but he reads you. Pushing the fabric to the side, fingers parting you, retrieving a moan that does more than kiss the air.

You think you nod. You must do as sounds dull and thoughts silence as he sinks two fingers into you.

"Eyes on me, bonita."

And they pin to him just like he demands. Seeing only slowly drying curls and deep brown eyes. Admiring, mouth parting around silently pleas as he focuses on you, nothing else mattering, as he studies you, moves his fingers and thumb to get the sounds from you he knows he can get you to play.

There, you think. But he already knows. Frankie's attentive like that, swirling his thumb, circling and circling as your own hand slides between the two of you, palming him, feeling every thick inch of him as your teeth nip at your lower lip.

And he gleams as though reading your mind like he’s watching a movie in your eyes. Hand stopping, making your face scrunch before he's retracting it, fabric snapping back into place.

You barely have a chance to ask, never mind speak, before he’s shifting you, moving you with far too much ease until your back is bouncing on a mattress that isn’t your own—staring up at him as he tilts his head.

Fuck, he looks good.

Impossibly good. A thought you have constantly, almost continuously. Because it's him, all yours, forever 'mine'.

It's why shyness is gone, eroded. Hands rising, undoing the top of your swimwear until it parts open at your cleavage, exposing your breasts to him, nipples pebbling in the cool, drier air before you grasp them—take one in each hand and roll, squeeze, parting your thighs further as you mentally wish for his hands to replace yours—

“Or,” he says suddenly, grittier, all low and sounding closer to a grunt.

Jaw ticking to the side, eyes narrowing, as he takes one of your knees in hand, forcing it up, further into your chest.

"Is this what you wanted?”

Your heart hammers in your ears, thunders. It practically dulls all else—mind emptying of a party, of anyone walking in and catching the two of you. Least of all when he slides the fabric to the side, an order—direct and stern—to hold it for him, as you do so, all in awe, watching as he frees himself, swimshorts pooling somewhere at his ankles before he runs his palm up and down as he drinks you in.

And you’ve never felt more seen, more beautiful. Usually, a hand would have slid over your stomach, a thought crossing through your mind about the thickness of your thighs or the slithers of discolour that stretch across your hips.

But there’s none.

Just the sight of him, all handsome and pretty, stroking himself as he admires you undone and waiting.

“I ever told you how good you look?"

His eyes flick to yours at the sound of your voice.

"You do," you continue. "So pretty with your hand wrapped around your cock for me."

Sliding a finger over your soaked folds, breath hitching, you watch his eyes snap to it.

"Fuck Frankie," you whine. "Especially when you’re like this—when you’re doing this?”

It's silky, the way you let each word fall. Let it glide through the air to his ears as you earn a brow twitch.

“I want you, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, your free hand reaches for him, the mattress dipping as he kneels.

"Want you to fuck me so good we have to buy Santi new spare bed sheets, and not just wash them."

Leaning over, he smirks, pink sliding up his neck as his palm flattens to the mattress, all close to your head. "He never uses this room anyway," he retorts, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, forcing your teeth to bite down on the back of your hand. "So, someone should."

Nodding, you murmur something, words, letters at the very least.

“Fuck, who knew my girl was so dirty?”

Heat flushes through you, spreads—licks across muscles and bone as you stare down at the place the two of you could be conjoined—

“Frankie, please—“ the last letter barely forming as he pushes in, pussy taking him, inch by fucking inch, “—fuck, baby.”

His forehead finds yours, pushing it back as the back of your head meets the mattress as he slides himself into the hilt. All thick, suddenly nothing but full—mouth parted at it, before you begin to move, urging, pleading, before he’s moving.

Palm finding your mouth, you try to smother the moans and whines as he rolls his hips, gripping your hips, bruising, thrusting and kissing that part inside of you that makes his name fall in tandem from your mouth.

Distantly, you can hear him. Mumbling, babbling, lost in it: “I know, s’good for me. Feel perfect—always do. Look so good, querida—wanna fill you up. Touch yourself, come for me, baby. Please come for me.”

Fingers moving, sliding from holding the fabric for him to drawing circles, chin lifting, back arching into him as fire slides up your spine, the knot tightening in your stomach, muscles both tightening and relaxing. And it’s dizzying, vision blurring as you hear him talking you through it, murmurs of “that’s it’s baby, come on baby” as your fingers move on their own and your other hand clamps and digs into your own cheek, "can't believe you're letting me fuck you here, so perfect, mine, all—"

Hissing, moaning into his palm—teeth almost biting, piercing your skin as a tightness forms before you're clamping down. Before you snap, crack.

And you come.

And it's all but consuming, mind-bending and sound melting as he fucks you through it. Hips snapping against yours, skin slapping, as you hear him hissing, grunting, his name painted in spit and hisses against your palm as your legs shake.

You yank him down by the back of his neck, fingers full of curls, mouth slanting over his as you swallow his breaths, all hot and desperate—

“Come for me, Frankie.”

And he does. Hard.

And fuck, you know you're gonna have to replace more than the bedsheets.

an: hides and runs cause for me this was so filthy and I'm unwell from my own words

[wineauntie]

i’ve never requested anything haha, but i hope this works! i love your writing!! <3

jack hughes (or whoever you think fits) fic where reader wears another players’ jersey to a game, he notices, and jealousy (…jealous smut) happens?

thank you! 😘

ALL BARK, NO BITE — Jack Hughes x fem!reader (smut)

summary: wearing your boyfriend’s teammate’s jersey is never a good idea, especially when Jack Hughes is the boyfriend in question.

note: this is my first Jack hughes fic and I am in love with him istg

warnings: NSFW, MINORS DNI, jealous sex, choking, hair pulling, spanking, dominant!jack, mean!jack, bottom!reader, p in v, degradation, nicknames like baby; sweetheart; brat and pretty girl, fem!reader, dirty talk, swearing.

word count: 2k+

Shrugging on the borrowed, red material of the New Jersey Devil's signature jersey, you felt as if you'd struck a deal with the devil himself.

Growing up with Dawson Mercer as your best friend, meant that your life has never truly gotten boring. You'd lived beside him since you were nine, the two of you instantly becoming friends. You'd watched him succeed time after time, and when it had announced that he'd signed to a three-year, entry-level contract by the New Jersey Devils the same year you had gotten a job in East Brunswick, the two of you seemed to be destined to remain close.

That is until he ‘double-dog dared’ you to wear his jersey to a game instead of the usual one that your boyfriend, Jack Hughes had gifted you.

Oh, you were a dead girl walking.

The red jersey with the boldened number '91' plastered across was the first thing Jack noticed when he'd searched for you in the crowd and eventually found you. He had noticed Mercer's mischievous grin directed at him all day but now it made sense and Jack's vision burned with envy.

He'd skated through the entire game on autopilot, his shooting more aggressive, his hits more full on and his words more volatile. He'd earned himself two trips to the penalty box, catching your shocked eyes as much as he could, to convey his dismay at your choice of clothing.

You had watched the entire game through half-lidded eyes, groaning as Jack's behaviour became more and more amped up. Your head was in your hands for the entirety of the third period as the Devils led 4-2. You were elated that the team was pulling ahead but you couldn't even begin to fathom how worked up Jack would be by the time the two of you would return home.

The game finished 4-3 to the Devils, leaving the Prudential centre to roar and celebrate the New Jersey Devils win. When you'd met Jack in the tunnel you'd greeted him with a wide smile and a grin, your eyes soft until his blown pupils and firm expression caused you to tense- yet it caused a surge of excitement to flutter through your stomach.

The ride home had been the same. Jack's stoney expression remained settled as you sat in silence, squirming as his hand gripped your thigh, the faint music of the radio drifting through the air. You'd let out small, quiet whines as his fingers trailed closer and closer to where you needed him the most until they retreated– a constant game of teasing.

You'd barely gotten in the door of your apartment before you were pushed against the wood, your back flush against the cold. Jack had his hands on the wood either side of you, trapping you as he leaned into your body.

"Have your fun, baby?" He spoke through gritted teeth, his nose brushing yours as your eyes fluttered shut. "Wearing another man's name on your back, when you come home here practically begging me to fuck you?"

"Jack," you whined, trying to lean toward his lips, only for him to move away, moving his lips to brush your ear. "Please."

Jack clicked his tongue as he shook his head, "No..." he practically growled, causing heat to spread between your legs. "You made your bed, now lie in it." He pushed away from you as you chased his warmth, walking towards the kitchen.

"I think you're all bark and no bite, Jack," you called out to him, your back still against the door. Jack froze in his steps as you gulped. He turned slowly around to face you, his eyes hardened.

"Wanna say that again, baby?" He dared, his pupils blown in desire as you tucked your lower lip between your teeth.

"I–" your voice faltered, as Jack approached you slowly, his eyes remaining on yours.

"You, what?" He taunted hoarsely, his fingers carefully curling around the expanse of your neck. "Not so talkative now are you?"

Your eyes wide with desire followed his every word, your heart thumping as his fingers tightened. Your eyes fluttered shut with a whine as Jack's nose brushed yours once again.

"C'mon, baby," He tutted, his breath fanning across your cheeks as he shifted closer to you. "Open your eyes and say it again." His words were more demanding this time. Your eyes shot open, locking on his, silent pleads echoing from yours to his.

Jack laughed darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as lust completely overwhelmed you.

"I said you're all bark and no bite," you gasped out, as Jack's gaze pierced you. Electricity ran through your body as his gaze darkened further.

"Thought so," Jack clicked his tongue as he hoisted you into his arms. You let out a sharp squeak as he carried you towards the kitchen island and dropped you down onto the marble. You were barely able to take a breath before Jack smothered you with a kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth as you groaned into the kiss.

His hands kept you grounded to the countertop, his fingers curling into the skin above your hips as you tried to lift yourself towards him, your hips bucking desperately.

Jacks head traveled downwards, his tongue trailing down your neck before he paused to bit the flesh above your pulse point, your head falling back as your hand weaved its way into his hair.

"Jack...please!" You moaned with a jolting gasp, your eyes half-lidded with desire, trying to pull Jack away.

"Nuh uh, I'm in charge here, baby." Jack growled, taking your hand and holding it to the countertop. You let out a small whimper as he ripped the jersey off of your body. "You feel good wearing this piece of shit?" He dangled the red jersey with Mercer's name across it in front of your heated cheeks.

"Feel proud that you've riled me up? That you've pissed me off enough to fuck the brat out of you?" He continued, his quick hands working down the buttons of your jeans before he yanked them down your legs. "Feel happy with yourself."

"'m sorry, Jack," you mewled, as he tore your bra from your body, the sting of the material rather satisfying. "Please!" You tried to reach for him again before he pinned you down.

"No," Jack gritted, abruptly flipping you around so that your bare chest was flush against the biting cold of the marble countertop. "No touching." He moved your arms above your head. "Keep these right there."

His grip slipped from your hands as they traipsed down your warm skin, making their way towards your panties. His hand brushed across your heat, your head lulling to the side as you stifled a moan.

"Oh, you are dripping," Jack tutted, dropping his head to admire the wetness spread across the fabric. "Did acting like a brat do this to you, huh?"

"No, Jack...it's all you," you stammered out, trying to arch into his touch. You jolted forward as Jack's hand crashed against your ass causing you to yelp out.

"Stay still," he warned, his hand trailing over your panties before he dragged them down your shaking thighs. You tried to not move a muscle as his steady fingers teased the supple skin along the back of your upper thighs. His feathering touches moved closer and closer to where you needed him the most as you whimpered, your hands clenching ahead of you.

Jack seemed to have noticed your reaction as he moved up your body, his clothed chest leaning down onto your bare back, his hands unclenching your fists and laying them flat, moving them up further so that you could grip the counter edge.

"Wanna feel you," you croaked, as Jack pressed light kisses down your back. He made a noise of agreement and ripped off his shirt, unbuttoning his pants. You mewled as you tried to reach back and touch him, only to be stopped by him.

"Yeah?" He hummed, his hand curling around your neck, pulling you back up against his bare chest. "You're a needy little thing, aren't you? Don't worry, I'll let ya feel."

You let out a cry as Jack thrust straight into you, your heat enveloping him. Your state of desire allowing him to glide against your walls almost seamlessly– the stretch adding to your satisfaction. Your eyes rolled back as he tightened his grip on your neck, his lips brushing your ear as he pushed into you.

"Do you think anyone else could fuck you like I do?" Jack rasped, his cruel voice spurring you on. "Do you think anyone could make you come as hard as I do? Huh?"

"No, Jack!" You moaned out, your breath catching in your throat as his cock continued its merciless hammering. Your hands clenched the countertop as pleasure pulsed through your entire body.

"That's right, baby," he huffed, moving one of his hands down the front of your body, his fingers pinching your hardened nipples. "This pussy was made for me...you were made for me, it's all mine."

A strangled yelp ripped from your throat as he pushed you flat against the countertop, his hand gripping the flesh of your waist as he ruthlessly pounded against you. His hand moved to your hair, his fingers threading through it as his other hand laid a harsh slap to your ass.

"This is mine," he spat, his hand kneading the tender flesh under the warmth of his palm. His unforgiving pace never relented as you crumbled into a wordless state. "And I never want to see it being covered by a jersey that isn't mine."

Your pussy clenched around him as your body rocked against the marble. The cold from the marble seeped into your sweltering skin as you scrambled to hold on.

"That's it, baby..." Jack swore as his grip on your ass tightened. Your body trembled beneath his touch. All you could feel, taste and see was Jack and you relished it. You relished every last second of it. "Do you think you deserve to come, huh? I can feel you getting closer, pretty girl."

You let out an incoherent string of moans at his words as his sweat-speckled chest brushed against your back.

"Hm...seems I've fucked you dumb, baby," Jack hummed, his hand on your neck as he moved your head to the side so that you were face to face with him. His lips pushed firmly against yours, his tongue plunging into the warmth, your moans muffled by his mouth as a tight warmth tied itself in your stomach. He showed no mercy in his pace as he continued his ruthless pumping, his hand tightening around your neck, leaving you breathless in his kiss.

"Come, baby," he demanded, pulling away briefly as your body exploded from his words. Your back arched pushing your chest against the marble as you let go of the built-up tension in your lower stomach. Waves of infinite pleasure rolled through you, your eyes fluttering shut as Jack's hips staggered in their pace before he collapsed around you, his arms trapping you against the counter as the both of you panted for air.

"If I knew..." you began, your eyes half-lidded with pleasure whilst Jack pressed chaste kisses down your neck. "If I knew the jersey would elicit this kind of reaction...I kind of want to do it again."

Jack grumbled and bit your neck, latching onto the skin there causing another moan to vibrate through you.

"You're mine, pretty girl," he muttered, running his tongue over the bruising skin. "and I don't plan on letting you go anytime soon." You nodded slowly before you groggy moved your face to look at his exhausted one. Fire lit in your eyes at the sight of his bare body and worn face, your eyes drifting down to where the two of you were still connected.

"...Round two?"

"Get your ass in the bedroom, baby."

I feel like I should repent for my sins after writing this 🙏

[augustjustice]

That Healing Touch

AO3 Link

They stand in the Mayfield’s darkened living room, all looking at each other like they can’t quite conjure up the words for their next move. Eddie rubs a hand over his head, eyes darting away from the gazes of the others, just barely managing to bite off another Jesus Christ by digging his teeth into his bottom lip. 

They can’t be certain where Mrs. Mayfield is. Maybe she’s been cleared out because of the hellscape currently seeping through Eddie’s trailer ceiling, like he assumes Uncle Wayne has. Maybe–she’s out for some other reason. The pinched expression on Little Red’s face suggests that wouldn’t be all too uncommon, for her mother not to come home in the night. 

Eddie knows that song and dance well enough from his own youth.  

All they can do is hope for the best–that she doesn’t show up. Eddie isn’t sure what they’ll do then, but he’s gotten pretty damn good at this whole running thing, bitter as he is about it. 

“We should try to get some sleep,” Nancy finally breaks the silence, clipped and authoritative, like she hadn't just been dragged through a landscape of nightmares by Vecna’s own design. 

After Chrissy, and then Patrick, Nancy makes the third time Eddie’s seen it, a pair of eyes glazing over, ghostly white. As shaken up as it’s left him every time just to see it from the outside looking in, he can barely understand how Wheeler is still on her feet, isn’t just a quivering mess in the corner somewhere, like he imagines he would be. Full of surprises is a fucking understatement, at this point. 

“Nance–” Steve starts, one arm stretching out towards her, the worry on his face transparent. 

“I’ll be okay, Steve,” she takes a step away from him, putting distance between them.

From the thin line of her mouth, Eddie gets the sense that any comfort offered might make her reach her breaking point. Steve must feel it too, because he drops his hands as though in surrender. 

“Just…” Nancy sighs, steadying herself, “we won’t be any help at all if we’re all too exhausted to function.”

“You heard the lady,” Robin gives a wobbly, uncertain smile, “she’s in charge, after all.” 

She pulls out that old adage, like it’s a well worn joke. Eddie has the good grace not to call her out on it, doesn’t quite drawl out a sarcastic That’s not what you said in the boat, but it’s a close call. 

Steve’s eyes dart back and forth between them, lingering on Robin, the pair of them managing some kind of silent communication through nothing but frowns and eyebrow twitches. 

“Alright, alright,” he finally agrees, however reluctantly, giving a defeated nod. “I mean, you’re not wrong on the sleep thing. Not like we can play our best game when we’re totally out of it, after all.” 

There’s something in his tone, the way his gaze flits briefly to the kids and then catches Eddie’s own, that reminds him of that moment right before launching off the bank out into Lover’s Lake. Steve’s being glib, casual, the way Eddie had been when he’d refused to let Dustin get on the boat with them, the four older teens all playing along with an unspoken plan. He’s trying so desperately to seem perfectly normal for the four munchkins currently in the room with them. 

Eddie barely understands how any of the kids are holding their shit together as well as they already are, especially when he feels like he’s about to shake apart himself at any second. But behind the brave faces, he can see it, the exhaustion beginning to settle, making them look older than they have any right to.

The least he can do is play along. 

“Not the sports metaphors, Harrington,” Eddie sighs, long and loud, as he sways into Steve’s space, grin too bright. “Please, be merciful, there are nerds present.”

“Yeah, well, when aren’t there?” Steve asks, low and dry. He bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s, gratitude obvious.

“I am not a nerd!” Erica protests loudly.

“You’re joking, right?” Dustin rolls his eyes. “We’ve been over this, Erica Sinclair. You are as nerdy as they come.” 

It’s a little uncanny, because the amused but fond look Dustin pins her with almost perfectly mirrors the way Eddie has seen Steve look at Dustin himself, the way Eddie suspects he also sometimes looks at the kid.

“Plus, some of us? Are jocks and nerds, thank you very much,” Lucas says, swiveling around to Erica’s other side and shooting her a pointed look. 

“Yeah, turns out Lucas isn’t too cool for the rest of us,” Max teases, eyes crinkling at the corners as she knocks her shoulder into his. 

“That’s true,” Erica agrees, hands on her hips in a way that reminds Eddie, hysterically enough, of Harrington. “You’ve always been the one who’s way too cool for my brother, not the other way around.”

As their bickering continues, Steve catches Eddie’s eyes again, mouthing a quick Thank you while they’re all too distracted to see. 

Nancy and Robin both look a little heartened, too, by the familiar sounds of the kids arguing, their rigid edges softening.

“Nine has long since past, so you know what that means–time for bed, kiddos!” Robin interrupts the petty squabbling before it gets entirely out of their control, starting to corral them back on track. 

Several groans ring out, but Steve cuts them off with a quick clap of his hands, jumping in right where she left off, their rhythm as fluid as a well-oiled machine. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he makes a motioning gesture with one hand, the other firmly planted on his hip, “Come on, you knuckleheads, and get a move on.”

The combined force of Robin and Steve seems, miraculously, to be enough, the younger four members of their little monster-fighting brigade getting into gear to set up their various sleeping arrangements, even as they grumble about it. 

“Robin, you’re with me,” Nancy declares simply before turning on her heel and marching from the living room.

Eddie catches the subtle look Steve and Robin share again.

“Better somebody stick close by Nance after…everything,” Steve says quietly, the tightness of his voice making it clear he’s still a bit shaken up.

“I’ve got her,” Robin assures him, giving Steve’s arm a quick squeeze at his grateful nod. 

Max clears her throat, then, drawing Eddie’s attention away from the pair as they hunch their heads together and head out of the room, still talking in soft voices.

“Erica can stay in my room. There are sheets and shit in the hall closet for the rest of you,” she directs.

Eddie nods, following her and ignoring the heated game of rock-paper-scissors that’s broken out between Dustin and Lucas to determine which of them is going to claim the couch. As they make their way down the hall, they pass what must be Mrs. Mayfield’s room, catching a quick glimpse of Nancy and Robin beginning to quietly settle in for the night.

Max stops in front of a wooden door, shorter in width than the rest, and yanks it open roughly.

With a dismissive wave of her hand, she gestures at the contents inside for Eddie to see. 

“Whatever you guys need, take it.” The words are brusque, a cover for the generosity of her statement, the ease with which she’s letting them all into her space, into her home. He’s noticed it to varying degrees with all of them–it feels transparent how much they know and trust each other, the way they’re willing to give up nearly anything to help the others, to help with this entire life-risking hero’s quest they’ve put themselves on.

But Eddie’s the outsider, here, not a member of their little party, the odd man out. So it still feels like he should be especially grateful, every time they extend that willingness to give whatever they’ve got to try and help him.   

“Sure thing. Thanks, Red.”

“Night, Eddie,” she murmurs, back already to him, quiet enough he almost doesn’t catch it.  

He’s turning to retreat back to the living room, blankets piled up in his arms, when a voice behind him stops him in his tracks.

"Psst! Eddie! Hey, Eddie!" Steve calls at a stage whisper from down the hall, reminiscent of the way he'd called after him in the Upside Down. When Eddie catches his eye, Steve motions with one hand for him to follow. "C'mere."

Eddie drops the stack back in the closet for now and dutifully makes his way towards Steve. 

“Yeah, dude. What’s going on?”

Grabbing onto a loose fistful of Eddie’s leather jacket, Steve tugs him into the bathroom in one quick motion, and then shuts the door behind him with a click.

Eddie tries fervently to ignore the thrill that goes up his spine at being manhandled by Harrington. 

It shouldn’t come as all that much of a surprise, really, that Steve’s capable of it. Eddie might not know shit about sports, but he did know that Steve was on, like, pretty much every team known to Hawkins back when he was in school. So, of course he can tug Eddie around like a floppy-armed ragdoll. 

That said–Steve seems winded from the exertion, after he does it, leaning back to basically slump against the bathroom door. The move serves as a reminder that he’s a little worse for wear, at the moment, despite the fact that he definitely hadn’t showed it earlier. Not while he was busy running around the world hidden beneath their feet. 

“Harrington, seriously, man–you doing okay?” Eddie asks, wincing slightly in sympathy pains even as he tries to keep his tone light, conversational. 

“Just–give me like…one second here,” Steve holds up a finger for emphasis, the fact that his breathing is still clearly labored not doing much to soothe Eddie’s nerves. 

But he does as Steve asks, taking a moment to drink in the sight of him–a check in with absolutely no subconscious ulterior motive, thank you very much. 

And, well–Steve is a far cry from the pristine, preppy visage Eddie had gotten used to seeing swaggering around the halls of Hawkins High in his perfectly pressed jeans and popped collar polos. Here, in the lowlighting of the Mayfields’ bathroom, he’s bare-chested–apart from Eddie’s battle vest still slung over his shoulders–skin smudged with Upside Down soot, his sides mottled with angry crimson gashes where the bats had dragged him across rocky ground. 

That famous hair of his is still somehow swooping perfectly into place, though. Annoyingly enough, and as fucked up as it probably is…Eddie thinks he manages to be mouth-wateringly hot regardless, whether he’s totally polished under the high school’s harsh fluorescents or mussed and panting beneath the dim orange glow of the single working lightbulb currently flickering above the sink.

He’s gotta admit, though, in his fantasies of Steve Harrington cornering him alone in a bathroom–of which there had been none, obviously, because that would be ridiculous, not to mention colossally stupid–approximately zero of them had panned out like this.

Especially when the next words out of Steve’s mouth are a hurried, “Eddie, man, you, uh–think you can change this bandage for me?”

Eddie's eyes dart down to the scrap of Wheeler’s shirt wrapped around Harrington’s middle, the darkened stain of rust colored blood coating it–and, yeah, shit. Definitely makes sense now, why Steve dragged him in here.

“I’d ask Robin,” Steve is saying, “but, dude, you saw how she got about the rabies, and I really don’t wanna freak her out more than she already is. And Nance–well, after the shit she already went through tonight, I’m not gonna put this on her too. There’s Henderson or Sinclair, I guess, but–”

Steve bites at his bottom lip. And, sure, Eddie’s never been great in school, but he likes to think he can read people pretty well. It doesn’t exactly take a rocket scientis to put the pieces together, especially after the little show they’d put on in the living room–Steve doesn’t want the kids to realize just how badly he’s hurt, and clearly he doesn’t want to burden the girls, either. 

Eddie wonders exactly how he should feel about the fact that Harrington’s singled him out as the one he’s willing to let carry some of the responsibility currently weighing on his own broad, more than capable shoulders…and decides to take it as a compliment. 

“Harrington,” Eddie cuts him off by clapping a hand gently to his arm, meant to be reassuring, “you don’t have to sell me on it, man. I’ll do it. Happy to help.”

“Oh, okay…good,” Steve’s shoulders slump, like he was expecting to have to put up some kind of a fight. He catches Eddie’s eyes, giving him a quick, almost uncertain half-smile. “That’s–thanks, man.” 

Steve moves around him, then, allowing himself to collapse into a sitting position atop the closed toilet with a pained wince. 

“Don’t mention it. Uh,” Eddie spins around once in the small space of the bathroom, searching, “has Little Red got…alcohol pads, gauze, shit like that?”

“Under the sink,” Steve pants, one hand clasped against his side, “second door.”

That one simple sentence from Steve is enough to paint a picture in full. Steve’s been in the Mayfields’ trailer. He’s been in it enough times he knows where things like the first aid kit are kept. 

Eddie squats down, ducking his head below the counter–and spots it immediately, the slender first aid kit, exactly where Steve had said it would be.

And, sure, Eddie had at least been aware that Steve knew his mouthy little red-headed neighbor. Dustin and the other boys had often regaled him, disbelieving as he might have been, with tales of their incredibly cool babysitter, the former King of Hawkins High. Eddie had even seen Harrington’s infamous BMW parked over here a few times, a sight so surreal he couldn’t help but register it. 

But, still–there’s a difference in knowing abstractly and actually seeing the familiarity between Steve and the kids in words and gestures, his importance in their lives taking concrete, undeniable shape. 

Like Eddie had told him while they trekked across the woods in the Upside Down–the Steve Harrington of reality? Is nothing like the one he’d pictured all those years they’d shared space in the same halls and classes. 

“Seems like you know the lay of the land pretty well,” he can’t help but comment as he tilts his head toward the cabinet.

“Yeah, well, Mayfield wipes out on her skateboard a lot.” Eyes widening, as though he just realized what he said, Steve points in Eddie’s direction. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

Eddie shoots Steve a toothy grin. “You scared of a fourteen year old girl, Harrington?”

“Absolutely,” the corner of Steve’s mouth quirks up into a half smile, “and if you know what’s good for you, you will be, too.”

“Trust me, man–I’ve got a healthy respect for Red’s fearsomeness. Even if I think she’s totally a lot softer than she lets on.”

Steve shakes his head, giving him a rueful smile. “You’re not wrong there.”

Popping open the kit, Eddie surveys their supplies. There’s an assortment of things inside, including an array of bandages in a variety of sizes alongside gauze, scissors, and hospital tape. 

“Jackpot.” 

Eddie holds up an alcohol wipe, shaking the little white package triumphantly.

“Great,” Steve agrees, though he sounds ragged, eyelids fluttering shut for a brief moment as he sucks in a sharp breath.

“You need me to,” Eddie tilts his chin towards the scrap of fabric wrapped around Steve’s middle, “undo that for you?”

“...Could you?” Steve asks, a flash of hesitance and uncertainty crossing his face. 

Eddie isn’t sure if Steve really thinks he might refuse, that he’s overstepping some kind of boundary by asking, or if it’s just costing him immensely to admit he needs the help. 

“‘Course I will, man. Absolutely. Said I’d help, didn’t I?”

Steve nods, then stands up, reaching out and gripping the bathroom sink briefly in order to steady himself. 

Once he’s up, Steve shrugs out of Eddie’s battle vest. The move puts himself–and that thick pelt of his chest hair over firm pecs, the hard planes of his stomach just above Nancy’s makeshift bandage–on full display…revealing the very physique Eddie had been desperately trying to get him to cover up by tossing him the vest in the first place. 

Eddie tries his damnedest not to ogle Harrington’s body too obviously, reminding himself of Steve’s wounds, of the task at hand. The task in which he’ll have to get up close and personal with Steve’s bare stomach. 

Jesus Christ. Maybe he’s still in Hell, and climbing out of that impossible, gravity-defying hole in the trailer’s ceiling had actually all been part of some elaborate fantasy. 

Eddie squats down in front of Steve, putting himself on eye level with his stomach. He shouldn’t be glad for the stain coating that strip of white fabric, the reminder of blood–he’s not, really, obviously he’s not–but he’s not mad about the fact that the sight is helping his boner just…calm the fuck down. Because now is absolutely not the time, but the wires in his brain can’t help crossing, taking very interested note of the fact that he’s all but kneeling in front of Steve fucking Harrington on a dingy bathroom floor. 

As Eddie reaches out for the makeshift bandage, he braces one hand on Steve’s hip to steady himself, his fingers grazing against the unmarred skin just below his wound. That initial brush is enough to have Steve sucking in a sharp breath.

“That hurt?” Eddie asks, spooked as he blinks up at Steve worriedly.

“All good, dude,” Steve shakes his head in answer before tilting it up to the ceiling, hands settling on top of his head.

He grips at his own hair tightly, mussing those luscious waves with the force of his tugs. The move is enough to have Eddie seriously doubting the truth of his denial. He’s got a feeling trying to argue the point, however, would get him absolutely nowhere. 

“Just keep going.” 

So Eddie does, unwinding the fabric in slow, careful movements, tongue poking unconsciously out from between his lips as he pours all his focus into the task at hand. 

He’s just managed to get off the first layer when Steve’s body gives a subtle shift, the only warning Eddie gets before the other boy sways on his feet. 

The pair of them let out an alarmed Shit! in unison just before Eddie catches Steve around the waist, careful not to press against his injuries.

“Dude! Holy shit, be careful!” he chides sternly. “You’re not gonna be a damn bit of good to any of us if you collapse on the floor and conk your head on the side of the tub or some shit.” 

Steve lets out a humorless laugh.

“And what exactly am I supposed to do about that, Eddie?” he asks, sarcasm on full blast as he gestures weakly to his belly, body still pressed close in Eddie’s arms. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not, like…exactly at full fighting shape here.”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, man. Look around,” he thrusts out his free hand in exasperation at the empty bathroom. “It’s just you and me in here. So you can give up the heroic, stiff upper lip shtick for a minute, and just–I don’t know, hold onto my shoulder, or something. Jesus Christ, Harrington, scare a guy to death, why don’t you.”

Steve lets out a huff, but Eddie’s pleased to feel his body loosening beneath his touch, the line of his shoulders no longer so taut and rigid like he’s a warrior who’s about to be called right back onto the battlefield. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, you’re right, you’re right.”

“No shit I am, Harrington,” Eddie reaches over and bops him lightly on the end of the nose, “and don’t you forget it.”

Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Uh-huh. No one likes a smart ass, Eds.”

But Eddie can see the way the corner of his mouth quirks up into a private half smile. 

They untangle themselves then, resuming their prior positions. Miraculously, Steve does as instructed, settling a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, large palm warm enough Eddie can feel the heat radiating even through his leather jacket. He really hopes that’s not a sign Steve’s running some kind of infection induced fever. 

So Eddie returns to the task at hand, peeling back the last scraps of Wheeler’s shirt, he and Steve grimacing in unison at the way it tries to stick steadfast to his skin. 

With the wound finally free, Eddie hisses in sympathy as his eyes dart all over the bite marks beginning to scab across Steve’s stomach. They look raw and angry, bright red where all the skin has been scraped off or gnawed through. He’s seen his fair share of cuts and bruises, from brawls at the Hideout to scuffles at school, but nothing quite like this. 

"Shit, man. We could really use a Healer right about now."

Steve lets out a wry little noise of agreement, understanding enough.

“Guess that’s gotta be you, Munson,” he says, giving Eddie a jocular, almost apologetic pat on the shoulder. 

Eddie can’t stop himself from shaking his head, because Christ, this guy–all heroic, death-defying stunts and sarcastic comebacks one minute, and then big, sympathetic puppy dog eyes the next. He kinda can’t believe he’s even real, let alone that this is what the Steve Harrington is like.

Scrambling to cover up how awe-stricken he’s suddenly feeling, Eddie shoots Steve a smirk as he quips, "Admit it, Harrington. You just wanna see how I'd look in the skirt."

Idiot, Eddie mentally berates himself, posture stiffening the second the words leave his mouth. Just because you’re a sixth year senior, that’s no excuse to be a fucking moron, do not flirt with the former jock King of Hawkins High. 

After all, just because he's hurt…that doesn't mean he couldn't break Eddie clean in half if he wanted to, and flirting with a straight guy is practically a one-way ticket to just that.

So shock hits Eddie with all the force of an ice cold bucket of water dumped over his head when Steve simply huffs out a laugh, good-natured.

"You caught me," he sticks up his hands, like he's surrendering in a hold-up. "That's been my real plan all along."

For once, Eddie’s too flustered to speak, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he feels the distinct heat from a blush spreading up his neck, splotching his face and ears. 

There’s a playful glint in Steve’s eyes, then, like he smells blood in the water. It’s nice, after everything that’s happened this evening, to see them shine with something other than the foggy glaze of pain. 

“Oh, seriously, did I catch you off guard with that one for a change?” Steve leans a little closer into Eddie’s space, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a half-smirk. “What is it, Munson, cat got your tongue?”

Eddie finally recovers enough to shake his head and quip, “Can’t turn off that infamous Harrington charm for even a second, can you, Stevie? Bleeding all over the place, and you’ve still got it.” 

“Well, how do you think I get all the nurses at Hawkins General to take such good care of me when I end up there?” Steve shoots him a wink, being distressingly glib, in Eddie’s humble opinion, about the multiple trips to the ER he’s apparently got under his belt. “A little charm goes a long way, Eds.”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, so they tell me.”

“Come on, man,” Steve waves a dismissive hand at him. “You’d know all about it.”

Embarrassingly enough, the mere suggestion that Steve Harrington finds him charming makes Eddie’s cheeks go even pinker.

He clears his throat, soldiering on quite valiantly, if you ask him. 

“Well, uh…Nurse Munson’s on duty tonight, and, in my totally accurate medical opinion, we need to get those scrapes cleaned up asap, big boy. No more dalliances,” Eddie wags a finger in his face, “and then I’ll think about letting you earn back your lollipop at the end.”

Steve laughs again. “Yeah, well, no way in hell I’m gonna miss out on that.”

But he stills dutifully, like he really is serious about being the model patient, earning back his treat. 

As he starts tearing open the alcohol pad, prepping for the next part, Eddie can’t help but shoot him a sympathetic look.

“Harrington–sorry, dude. This is probably gonna sting like a bitch.”

Steve’s grip, where his hand has settled back on Eddie’s shoulder, tightens, but Eddie refuses to shrug him away. As Steve nods his head, Eddie can see the way he’s clenching his teeth. 

“Just…try to make it quick, yeah? Lickety split.”

Eddie’s lips twitch in amusement from the dorky turn of phrase, yet another layer to Steve Harrington he finds irresistibly endearing. 

But he promises just the same. “You got it. Fast as lighting, that’s me.” 

Keeping his swipes gentle, Eddie begins to clean the wounds gouged into his sides. Almost instantly, he can see sweat beading on Steve’s brow. 

It feels kind of like a parody, of the handful of times Eddie had attended gym class, found his eyes lingering despite himself on Harrington’s glistening, Adonis-like form. Something inside him stirs, deep into caretaking mode, compelled to wipe the dampness away.  

He resists the urge, but just barely. And since there’s not much else he can do for the pain, Eddie figures conversation makes as good a distraction as any. 

“You know, I thought Dustin was full of shit before, but–you’re, uh. Totally babysitter extraordinaire, aren’t ya, Harrington?” 

“For all the good it does me,” Steve lets out a huff that’s at once amused and exasperated, and the sound is music to Eddie’s ears, breaking up the short, pained breaths from before. “Those little shitheads are total pains in my ass–but, I mean, somebody’s gotta keep ‘em alive, you know?”

“And that’s gonna be you, huh?” Eddie quirks an eyebrow up at him as he continues rubbing circles into his skin, doing his best to clean the gore and muck from the stretches that remain uninjured. 

Talking is helping distract him, too. Sure, he had patched up his dad as a kid, after a few jobs gone wrong, but, still–nothing that really held a candle to this. The less he thinks about the raw wounds spread out in front of him, the ones Steve is trusting him to help with, the better.

In honor of that, Eddie lets out a whistle. “Steeeeeve Harrington, big damn hero. Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Shut up, man,” Steve complains, and even though the lighting is low, Eddie would swear there’s a pink tinge staining his cheeks, “it’s not that big a deal.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear Steven. It absolutely is. Total paladin behavior, in fact.”

The little confused furrow that appears between Steve's eyebrows is ridiculously cute. Eddie isn't sure how disgusted he should be with himself for what a lovesick thought that is.

"...Pala-what?"

“They’re like knights, basically. The D&D version. Championing a cause, protecting the weak and defending the innocent, restoring good to the lands. That sorta thing.”

Steve gives a short nod of understanding, his mouth forming a perfectly shaped oh. 

“I’d say the shoe–or, you know, armor, whatever–fits.” Still meticulous in his strokes with the pad, Eddie finds himself rambling. “Diving into that lake to protect the rest of us? That’s paladin 101, man. True heroic shit.” 

“I mean…it’s really not.” Steve shrugs ever so slightly, his lips tugging down into a small frown. “It’s what I’m good for, you know? Nance and Robin–hell, even the kids–they’ve got the brains part of this operation covered. They need somebody around to just…take the risks so they don’t have to.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up immediately at the implications of Steve’s words. 

“Well, well, will you look at that? Now who needs to cut himself a break?” Eddie asks, echoing what Steve said to him back in the Upside Down.

“Just the facts,” Steve says with a wan smile–parroting the phrase Eddie’s heard the youngest Sinclair use on the boys after she’s thrown out a particularly cutting remark, and not even having the decency to look bitter about it.

Eddie shakes his head, vehement. “That sounds like a crock of bullshit to me, Harrington. Don’t sell yourself short, not like that. You’re a badass, sure, no two ways about it–but those kids, out there? They’d be fucking…lost without you, man. Hell, when Buckley realized you’d gotten hurt? Looked like she was hanging on by a thread. They need you.” 

I need you, Eddie thinks, but can’t quite say it, his throat constricting anxiously around the words. Still, he catches Steve’s eyes deliberately, willing him to catch his full meaning. 

Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth to chew at it, Steve ducks his face for a second, dodging Eddie’s look. When he speaks again, it’s quiet but no less sincere.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie answers immediately, a smile breaking out across his face. “I mean, what’re friends for? You’d do the same for me–already have, even.”

“Oh, so you’re saying we’re friends now, Munson?” Steve crinkles his nose in amusement, inviting Eddie in on the joke.

“Well, I mean…hell pretty much has frozen over,” Eddie replies, playing along easily. “Besides, who else but us is there to band together, give Dustin a hard time so his head doesn’t get any bigger than it already has?”

Steve inclines his head, smile amused, soft. It’s a beautiful sight, one Eddie could get used to seeing. 

“Can’t argue with that.”

As Eddie finally finishes up cleaning the last of the scrapes and bite marks, he can feel Steve’s eyes on him, following his movements. 

“You know, you’re not half bad at this,” Steve observes thoughtfully.

Discarding the last of the alcohol pads, Eddie gives Steve a cordial half bow. “Why thank you, my liege. That’s high praise indeed coming from the king himself.”

“Never mind, I take it back. Your bedside manner sucks,” Steve says, deadpan, rolling his eyes. Then, he jabs a finger in Eddie’s direction, “And don’t call me that.”

“Guess you’re just gonna have to report me to the doctor on the floor, then…your royal highness.”

As Steve reaches out to shove his shoulder, Eddie lets out a delighted cackle, dancing just beyond his reach. 

“Strike what I said earlier, too. There’s no friendship bracelet in your future, dude, not with that attitude.”

Eddie lays a palm over his heart, gasping like he’s been hit. 

“Not the friendship bracelets, Stevie! What have I done to deserve such a cruel and unusual punishment? And after I helped heal your wounds, too.”

“Yeah, well, the job’s only half done on that front, Nurse Eddie. Better get back to it, and then I’ll think about letting you earn back your friendship bracelet. Maybe,” Steve says, mimicking Eddie’s ultimatum from earlier. “And you’d be missing out, too, dude. Just ask Robin, I come up with the absolute coolest designs.”

“Challenge accepted, Stevie boy. Prepare to witness the best bandaging you’ve seen since Boris Karloff’s The Mummy.” 

Steve’s lips twitch, like he’s trying to bite back his smile. “Thought you were trying to keep me alive, Munson, not turn me into a Halloween decoration.”

Eddie clucks his tongue. “Such limited imagination, Harrington. I assure you–I can do both.”

Gauze from the first kit at the ready, he gets right to work unspooling it, giving himself a suitable enough length to get started with ease. 

Now that they’ve managed to jump over that first major hurdle and Steve’s injuries have been thoroughly cleaned, the full magnitude of the situation hits Eddie all at once. A wave of tiredness, bone deep, rolls over him as he presses that first layer of gauze against Steve’s side, and he can’t help but say, “This whole thing is–completely and utterly batshit insane. You realize that, right?”

Steve’s got his arms raised over his head, now, but the slight tilt of his eyebrow might as well be a shrug as he looks down at Eddie, the quirk of his lips apologetic. 

“You kinda get used to it, after a while.”

“Get used to it? Jesus Christ–” Eddie groans in disbelief even while he keeps his fingers steady, holding the gauze carefully in place as he continues wrapping it around Steve’s stomach. “Don’t say that kinda shit to me, man.” 

“Sorry.” Steve has the decency to look chastened, though not nearly as apologetic as Eddie thinks he should.

“Like, sure, okay–dark wizards and magic, that’s great for D&D. But in real life? Kinda prefer that the evil alternate dimensions didn’t eat a hole in the ceiling of my uncle’s trailer, you know? Some of us need a place to live.” 

Eddie’s practically hugging Steve around the waist by the time he’s stopped talking, ready to secure his handiwork. There’s a bizarre kind of intimacy to it, Steve warm and solid in his hold, and Eddie wonders if Steve can feel it too when he glances up at him, silent communication passing between them that has Steve ripping off a long strip of medical tape and handing it down without having to be asked. 

So, needless to say, Eddie’s a bit distracted, finishing off the job and giving everything one final assessment, when Steve breaks the silence with two totally nonsensical words. 

“...the pool.”

Eddie blinks, startled enough he straightens up and gives Steve a full once over, wondering for a moment if the bats had gone for his head, too, without them being any the wiser.

“Wait–what?”

“The pool, at my place,” Steve trucks on, that determined clench to his jaw. Not from pain, this time, but something else. “That’s what it was–well, is–for me. The place, where the demogorgon attacked. It took Barbara–Holland? Nancy’s best friend. The first night that we…”

He trails off with a shake of his head. 

“Well, anyway. It doesn’t matter. I’m just saying, I get it. Maybe not to the level of, you know, having your whole goddamn ceiling ripped out, but–the Upside Down, all this shit. It takes things from us. All of us. And I’m sorry it happened to you, too, but…at least you’re not alone?”

Eddie gnaws on his bottom lip as he looks at Steve, watching the other teen wince. Like he just knows it’s not enough.

But the thing is…it is. Steve has to know that it is.

“To be honest, I think that’s the only thing that’s keeping me from just, I don’t know–shattering into a million little pieces, or something,” Eddie admits. “The fact that you guys–” 

Embarrassingly enough, his throat constricts, for a second, choking off his words. 

“...that you’re here. With me. Especially Buckley and Wheeler and Little Red–even Lucas, after I was such a shit to him…and you. I mean, you don’t even know me, not really, and the whole rest of the town is practically lined up outside with Carver, holding pitchforks…but not you. Pretty damn sure I’d never have even made it this far without that.” 

Steve clasps his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“We’re not going anywhere, man,” he promises, gaze steady, hazel eyes so serious Eddie doesn’t dare doubt him. “We’ve got this. We’ve got you.”

Eddie takes a chance, settles his hand on top of Steve’s, gives it a squeeze in return. 

“I’ve got you, too. You know?”

Steve gives a little nod, his smile warm enough to light up his entire face. 

“I know you do, man. I know.”

And, for a second, looking back at Steve, the hope floods in, and Eddie lets himself believe it. That, with this merry band of misfit monster hunters standing behind him, there’s no choice–it’ll all turn out alright, in the end.  

—

By the time they make it back to the living room–“decent” again, Steve having immediately shrugged Eddie’s battle jacket back on over his now freshly wrapped bandages, the sight of which had made something in Eddie’s chest immediately flutter–Lucas is settling down on the couch with a patchwork quilt while Dustin bemoans his fate, loudly, as he piles blankets onto the floor in something that’s steadily resembling a nest. Eddie guesses, when he didn’t immediately come back, the pair of them must have gone on their own journey to raid the Mayfield’s linen closet.

“We said best of ten,” Lucas is saying with a sigh, the picture of put-upon patience, “not my fault you suck at rock-paper-scissors.” 

“It’s a game of chance!” Dustin squawks in protest. “There’s absolutely no skill involved. How can I ‘suck’ at some bullshit game that requires no strategy.”

Lucas shrugs, unperturbed. “You tell me.”

The noise Dustin lets out makes it clear he’s gearing up for a continued argument–when Steve drops a hand on his head, distracting him with a noogie. 

“No one likes a sore loser, Henderson.” 

“I am not a sore loser!” Dustin huffs, arms crossed over his chest and lip jutting out in something that dangerously resembles a pout. 

“Au contraire, my dear friend. You’re right about that, you’re not a sore loser. You are, in fact…” Eddie holds up a single finger, Dustin’s face brightening in that moment’s worth of anticipation, “the sorest of losers.”

The blue streak Dustin swears up is worth it for both Lucas and Steve’s guffawing laugh. 

He continues muttering to himself, low-voiced and difficult to make out apart from something that sounds distinctly like traitors in my midst, as he somewhat viciously tosses more quilts onto the ground.

“Gimme that,” Steve says without heat, taking several blankets from Dustin’s hands and spreading them out, laying a solid foundation for a pallet that he quickly uses the others to build upon. “Now, come on, man, quit complaining and just…lie down.”

Given the fuss Dustin’s been kicking up, Eddie can’t help but be impressed that Steve’s instruction is enough to actually get him to comply. The powers of babysitter persuasion strike yet again, it seems. 

Or, at least…half as he’s told, since settling onto the pallet still offers plenty of back talk on Dustin’s part. 

“I can’t believe this. My theories turn out to be correct all damn night, and still I get relegated to sleeping on the carpet. How is that fair?!” Dustin huffs. 

From his position on the couch, Lucas’s only answer is to snort, shaking his head. 

Hand on his hip, Steve cocks a single eyebrow, shooting Dustin the driest of looks. There’s something deeply wrong with Eddie, he’s pretty sure, that he finds the whole thing painfully attractive. 

"Dustin, man, it’s not a competition. Besides…beats the floor of a Russian elevator," he comments, and Eddie has no idea what the hell that is supposed to mean.

Dustin tilts his head from side to side, as though considering. Reluctantly, he says, "...Agreed."

Nodding, seemingly satisfied, Steve lays down on one side of Dustin. Eddie does the same, following suit until they’re bracketing him like a pair of parentheses. A warmth settles over Eddie, pleasant and bone-deep, as he tilts his face to catch Steve’s eyes, staring back at him from over the top of Dustin’s head. 

"Scoot over, dude. Eddie doesn't want your pointy ass elbows digging into him." Steve nudges Dustin in the side, causing the younger teen to readjust with a minimal amount of grumbling. To Eddie he says, sotto, "Trust me, man, I know. Those things are like daggers or something, I swear."

“Are not,” Dustin protests, though the words sound drowsy, his eyes having already drifted shut despite all the protests about how uncomfortable he’d been.

“Are too,” Steve volley backs effortlessly. Eddie catches the look he’s giving the kid, though, and it can only be described as fond amusement.

“Thanks for the warning, kind sir,” Eddie gives Steve a mock salute, eyes sparkling mischievously. “I’ll be on the lookout for those deadly weapons being brandished in the night.”

“Can’t believe…ganging up on me…” Dustin murmurs, the last word trailing off as his breathing begins to even out. 

“You’re the one who wanted to introduce us, dude,” Steve argues softly, though it’s clear his words have fallen on sleeping ears. To Eddie he says, voice a whisper, “You believe this kid? The arguing never stops, man, even in his sleep.”

“I know,” Eddie whispers back, parroting back Steve’s own words in the Upside Down, and the pair of them share a pleased, knowing grin.

And it’s comforting, the thought that sweeps through Eddie’s mind once he’s settled enough to start drifting off, Dustin’s snoring soft between them, Steve only an arm’s length away.

They’ve got Henderson. And as for Eddie himself?

Well…Harrington’s got him.

[familyvideostevie]

october thirtieth

day thirty: james potter you find a photo of the two of you in james's pocket | established relationship, fluff | 1k

“James, have you seen my lipstick?”

No reply. You check your makeup bag one more time but can't find it.

“James!”

“What?”

His voice is muffled. You leave the bathroom and follow it, finding him standing in the closet frowning at his dress shirts. You press into his side, wrapping yourself around his bare torso. “Your face is going to stick like that if you're not careful.”

He drags his hand up and down between your shoulder blades. “I have to be the best-dressed bride of a vampire out there, darling. You know that.”

Silly, silly man. The event of the evening is Halloween-themed drinks at the popular bar on the high street. You had to book a table and everything and James has been looking forward to it all month.

He came up with your costumes: you, a dangerous and beautiful vampire, and him, your willing and handsome bride.

“Well, best of luck to you. Have you seen my lipstick? The red one?”

You need it to draw the punctures on his neck and lines of blood from the corners of your mouth. James pulls himself from your hold and selects a shirt, finally, buttoning it up halfway and messing with his hair in the mirror.

“I don't have it, darling,” he says.

You sigh. Easily distracted, this one. “I gave it to you the other night to hold.”

He snaps his fingers. “So you did. It must be in my jacket pocket.”

“Which one?” You swear James has more clothes than you.

“Which jacket or which pocket?”

“James.”

He winks at you, glasses flashing. “Brown jacket, not sure which pocket.”

You leave him to his fussing and find it hanging on the hook in the entryway.

The lipstick is not in the right pocket or the left. You hope he's not lost it because it's a great color and you really don't want to have to draw the blood on in purple, or something, but then you feel something lipstick-shaped in the breast pocket.

“Jackpot,” you mutter. You pull the tube from the pocket but out with it comes a piece of paper.

It's creased and wrinkled, as if it's been handled many times. You unfold it and —

Oh. You think you say that out loud.

It's you and James. A photo from ages ago. Years, actually. It's you two on the night you met. A party of Lily's, something she did often in those days to bring people together, and this one was a game night. You and James had been paired up for charades and you'd absolutely crushed the competition. You remember feeling like you could read each other's minds.

In the photo you're holding the trophy — a tiny, plastic thing Lily had bought at a discount store — and you're smiling so wide you can see all of your teeth. James has his arm slung around you and he's looking right at you instead of at the camera.

His expression shocks you. You've seen hundreds of photos of the two of you together where he's got this look on his face, the one that you know to be love. And in the photo you've just found, one of the first day you met, he's looking at you the same way. Like he's in love.

“Darling?” he calls. “Did you find it?” he wanders down the hall, fully dressed, and you turn to him.

“Yes,” you say, breathless. “James, why do you have this in your jacket?”

“Hm?” He slides his hand over your hip and leans in to look, face brightening when he see's what you've found. “Have you not seen this before? I suppose I've kept it in there since Lily gave it to me.”

You just stare at it.

“God, it's so obvious I was gone for you,” he sighs.

You turn your head so you're looking at him, so close you could count his eyelashes. “You were?”

“Darling, I was utterly ass over tit for you from the start. In love the second you opened your mouth.”

“Don't be silly, James.”

He looks offended. “No, it's true! I remember the whole thing. I was late and you'd been freed up from work at the last minute so we didn't have partners when Lily said to make teams. And you looked at me and said, 'You better be good at this, because I am.' And I said, 'I will win you this if it's the last thing I do.'”

“Which was a bit dramatic,” you mutter.

“And you didn't even tell me your name until we won.”

“That is how it went, I suppose. You really fancied me because I was a bit overcompetative?”

James snorts. “Come on, love, is that really so hard to believe?”

You look at the picture again. It isn't, considering you were similarly smitten that night, but it's still a bit like a fairy tale.

“No, I guess not.”

“I mean, who wouldn't fall in love with you at first sight?” James presses a kiss to your temple. “You're funny —” he kisses your brow “— sweet —” your nose “— lovely —” your cheek.

“Okay, okay, okay,” you say, shoving him off. “We need to finish getting ready, James, or we'll be late.”

He bares his neck for you. “Blood me up, baby.”

You laugh, slip the photo back into his jacket, and drag him back to the bathroom. “You're so weird.”

“And you looooove it.”

“You're the one who carries that photo round all the time!”

Just saying it makes your heart swell. It's a small thing in the grand scheme of your relationship. James shows you he loves you all the time — in his words, his actions. The way he looks at you. How he always buys your favorite flavor soda at the shop when he sees it. The way he knows how to wake you from a nap without startling you. His touch in a crowded room and his gaze when he senses you need something.

So, yeah, a photo in his jacket pocket is nothing, really. But he clearly looks at it often and thins about that first night.

You lean in and kiss him without warning. He makes a surprised noise but leans into it, hand cupping the back of your neck. Maybe it's alright if you're a little late.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

[pupkashi]

Can I get the prompt “pulling them closer when a cool breeze hits you both outside” (i think from lost water?) with fushiguro megumi?

hi friend i hope you enjoy this :3 <33 i set this around fall time i hope that’s okay ! :]

megumi had told you to bring a jacket, telling you that by the time you’d both arrive to the pumpkin patch it would be colder than it was.

‘gumi it’s not gonna get that much colder! plus i don’t wanna ruin my outfit’ you pouted, he only rolls his eyes, grabbing his jacket and slipping it on.

you were trying you best to hide your shivers, not wanting hear him say ‘told you so’ with that stupid smirk on his face. the two of you strolling down the rows of pumpkins, snapping pictures and giggling as you tried to find the perfect one to take home.

it’s when a colder breeze comes through that you’re shaking a bit, megumi almost instinctively pulling you into his side, blushing a bit when he realized how tightly he was holding you.

“sorry” he mumbles, his shy smile turning into a knowing one when he realizes that you weren’t budging. “are you cold babe?” he teases, your nose turning a bit pink as you scoff, reluctantly pulling away from his warm body.

“i told you i wasn’t gonna get cold” you quip back, crossing your arms across your chest, thankful for the little warmth the position granted you. “this pumpkin looks great!” you smile, trying to tear megumis gaze from your shivering face.

“mhmm, maybe that’s the one” he smiles, his eyes still on you. he knows you won’t admit how cold you are, not when you’re stubbornly trying to prove a point.

“great let’s go home!” you grin, already taking the pumpkin in your arms and walking away when your boyfriend stops you.

“we haven’t even gone to the corn maze!” he’s smirking when you shiver a bit more, holding yourself a bit tighter. “unless you’re too cold to go?” you’re narrowing your eyes at his words.

“course not, in fact it’s a little warm” you sigh, megumi rolls his eyes at your words, another cool breeze rolling through that has you wrapping your arms against yourself ever tighter.

“you’re so annoying” he laughs, shrugging his jacket off and placing it on your shoulders, pulling you into his side and taking the pumpkin from your hold. “i know you can barely feel your fingers” you’re about to open your mouth when he cuts you off.

“don’t worry baby, you didn’t ask for my jacket, i just felt like giving it to you” you’re pouting at his softly, you wanna have a smart comeback, you wanna take the jacket off to prove a point.

but it’s so warm and it smells like him and now you can stay for the corn maze and the fair games.

“let the record show i didn’t even say i was cold” you mumble, still close to his side as the two of you enter the corn maze, smiling up at him as he pulls you even closer to him by the waist, stopping at a dead end and looking down at you.

“no you didn’t, you’re too stubborn to ever say that” he grins, pressing a kiss to your cold cheeks, “don’t worry i won’t tell” he’s laughing a bit as he kisses your nose.

“you can have it back im fine no-” you begin to shrug the jacket off stopping when his hands cup your cheeks and his lips meet yours, smiling into the kiss when you tug at his shirt a bit.

“how about we finish the corn maze get some hot chocolate and okay some fair games?” he suggests, slipping his somehow warm hand in yours.

“okay” you smile, face warm from the kiss, giggling when you notice how red his nose looks.

he’s holding you a bit tighter when the wind blows again, clenching his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering, “you should’ve brought a jacket gumi, it’s cold out” you giggle, loving the way he’s turning to you with a faux annoyed expression.

“let me take my jacket back then” he says, making a move to tug his jacket off you. but you’re running away from him before he can, laughing as he chases you, turning all the wrong corners before trying to distract him at dead ends, cheering when you both finally reach the exit.

megumi’s grabbing you by the waist, picking you up and spinning you around as you laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead before walking hand and hand to the hot chocolate stand.

“gumi?”

“yes baby?”

“where’s the pumpkin?”

his eyes go wide, darting from your face to the corn maze, his cheeks are flushed and his ears burn from the blush on his face.

“i let you borrow my jacket” he defends, a shy smile on his face when he kisses your cheek.

you can’t be mad at him, not when there’s hundreds more pumpkins to choose from and you have the pleasure of megumi helping you choose one.

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

The one where the game is too easy. Or The Twenty Fourth Installment of the SKZ!Pack Prequel Series.

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, OT8, SKZ!Pack, SKZ!abo, Poly!SKZ, Omegaverse, Pack!Prequel, SKZ!pack Prequel, Prequel Series, Skz Imagines, Skz Reactions, Skz scenarios, Bang Chan, Lee Minho, Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix, Han Jisung, Kim Seungmin, Yang Jeongin, Seo Changbin, (Y/N), Fem Reader, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, OT8 x you, OT8 x reader

Genre: Fluff, Light Smut

Title: Make It Beta

“Wait, that was entirely fucked up.” 

You push Minho back from you and he hovers, hands on either side of your head, staring down at you as your face twists into disgust. 

He arches a brow. “You’re just now realizing that?” 

“Well, no-” You protest heatedly, your words lacking a little bite as he trails his fingers down your bare skin once again. “-but I’m just now having time to process how truly fucked up it was.” 

Minho smirks and cocks his head, and you hate how pretty he looks at this moment. 

Pretty and dangerous. 

“I needed to test my theory. And I agree with you, sweetheart, it wasn’t my best work, but I had to improvise in the moment.” 

You glare up at him, even as he grins and ducks his head back down between your thighs. 

“You’re seriously so-” Minho’s tongue licks, long and slow, across you, and you suddenly lose all train of thought, the words dying out on your lips. 

Your fingers bury themselves in his hair, and you arch your body up into him, chasing the high of his mouth on you. 

“God, fuck-” You groan out, squirming beneath Minho’s weight, his teeth grazing along the inside of your thigh as he pulls back. 

You whine pathetically at his sudden absence, wordlessly begging him for more, but he ignores you, leaning over you, palms planted steadily on either side of your head, staring you down with a serious expression, eyes dark and feral, even as his face remains smooth. 

“You don’t get to say God’s name when we’re fucking, sweetheart. The only name that’s allowed past your lips is mine. God’s not the one in between your legs.” 

The rough, low timber of his alpha voice has a shiver running down your spine, your body flashing hot all over. 

Minho pumps a finger into you, slow and leisurely, and you bite down on your bottom lip hard enough to taste copper, resisting the urge to whine between your lips. 

Instead, your chest rises and falls with a breath, and you work up your most innocent, sickly sweet smile. 

“Yes, sir.” You quip back, and the flash of something predatory, bordering on wicked amusement, in Minho’s gaze at your snarky words tells you he knows exactly what you’re doing. 

“Mm mm.” He gives a shake of his head, a disapproving tsk clicking off the end of his tongue. “Not good enough.” 

He moves his fingers again, and your body arches against your will, begging for more, even as the brat inside of you rears its ugly head at the challenge. 

Minho smirks, and you hold his gaze, managing to get out in a somewhat level tone, “What, you don’t like when I call you ‘sir’?” You arch a brow tauntingly, and a slight smirk to match his own flickers across your lips. “Binnie usually loves that one. What about-” You make a thoughtful face, and then grin up at him, sharp and goading. “-’alpha?’ Yes, alpha?” 

Minho’s lips quirk with something akin to dangerous amusement, and he slides in another finger without warning. 

You can’t hold back the gasp that slips out of you this time. 

“Try again.” 

You’re panting now with his increased pace, and struggling to choke out your words, and god dammit, the smug look on Minho’s pretty face tells you he knows he’s already won. 

He slides his fingers out and leans over you once more, hands planted on either side of your head, his gaze swirling dark. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Cat got your tongue?” His lips twitch and a flash of sharp, white canine has your core clenching. His clean hand goes into your hair, tilting your head back commandingly to meet his gaze. “No? Then be a good kitten for alpha and behave.” 

You nod desperately, no more fight left, you just need-need him, need Minho, need his body on yours-and reach up to tangle your fingers into the thick locks of his hair, tugging him down to press his mouth to yours. 

At the same time, he slips a hand back between your thighs, and you immediately mewl with need into his open mouth. 

“Minho, fuck-” You pant out, chest heaving, brushing his with every breath. 

His eyes flash, a dangerous gold, and a smirk curves up the corner of his mouth. 

“Good girl.” He praises in a low growl, and you whimper in response.  

You know he can feel how wet you are for him already, his fingers slick against your inner legs as he pauses, considering you for a moment. 

His smirk grows wider. 

“You know, I rather like the sound of my name on your lips, sweetheart. Sometimes you’re too mouthy for your own good, but it’s nice to know that insufferable mouth of yours is good for at least two useful things.” 

“Fuck you.” You bite out, but it holds no venom, and the words are way too breathy and verging on a moan to be considered threatening. 

Minho chuckles and slides between your thighs with a knowing, amused look and a flash of dangerous teeth. 

“Oh you will, sweetheart. But right now, you’re going to be a good girl and wait your turn.” 

His head sinks between your thighs, and your fingers tangle into his thick hair once more, and you hate to admit it, but Minho’s name really does sound great as a moan. 

*****************

When you and Minho reemerge into the living room, the betas are sitting on the couch together, Jisung showing something to Seungmin on his phone, laughing quietly. 

You sit down beside them and sling your arm around Jisung’s narrow shoulders. 

“So. I guess everybody else is kind of preoccupied.” Jisung glances up from the video and instantly wrinkles his nose, making a face of disgust. 

“Gross. You smell like Minho.” 

You let out a little disbelieving laugh and glance in the other alpha’s direction, who doesn’t even bother to look up from whatever he’s doing on his phone. 

Fine. You’ll be offended for him. 

“I thought you liked how Minho smelled!” You exclaim, ribbing Jisung in the side, as he gives you a little glare and rubs at his offended ribs. 

“I do!” He protests, still wrinkling his nose dramatically, even going so far as to cover it with the palm of his hand, which you promptly swat away. “But not like this!” 

You stare at him, open mouthed. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Seungmin leans around Jisung to catch your eye, an exasperated look washing across his features, before he deadpans, “He means you smell like fucking.” 

“Oh my god.” You roll your eyes, throwing your hands in the air. “Seriously? Are you in the fourth grade?” 

“No.” Jisung pouts, crossing his arms over his chest, glaring at you, as he snuggles back further against Seungmin, who gives him a little pat on the shoulder in support. “Fourth graders aren’t allowed to say ‘fuck.’” 

“I was.” Minho pipes up dryly, rather unhelpfully, from the opposite corner of the room. 

“You’re the exception.” Jisung throws out, without really looking in his direction. He keeps his glare level on you. “You know, noona, I can’t really decide what offends me more. The fact that you and hyung were off kanoodling while Seungmin and I were here worrying, or the fact that you didn’t even think to invite me.” 

“Dude!” You exclaim hopelessly, letting out a little laugh that verges on a scoff. “Being around you right now is torture! You literally smell so much like Jeongin it’s making my alpha feral, and Minho was the easiest, closest stress outlet.” 

Minho glances up from his phone at that and gives a wry little smirk. “I think that’s the sweetest, nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, sweetheart.” 

“Still.” Jisung visibly pouts, slumping back into the couch. 

You sigh, letting out a long breath, and try not to notice the hints of cinnamon and yeast still clinging to the beta sitting beside you. 

“Sungie.” You try, and he turns away from you with a humph, arms over his chest, glare avoiding your gaze. 

You grin a little, and lean over, butting your head against his chin until he has to notice you. 

“Sungie-” You wheedle, pitching your voice up, until you see his glare and hard expression finally wavering, his lips trying to twitch upward. “I’m sorry. We should’ve invited you, okay? Tensions are high and I wasn’t thinking clearly. Forgive me?” 

Jisung is still for a moment, and then he sighs, finally removing his arms from his chest and turning to face you with a glare that holds less bite than before. 

“Fine. But you owe me. Big time.” 

“How about-” You nuzzle your nose into his throat, scenting him lightly, and you feel him start to relax against you. You glance up at him, and meet his dark, doe eyed gaze. “-I start right now?” 

Jisung narrows his eyes. “I’m listening.” 

You bite back a smile, and raise a hand to twirl one of his dark curls around your finger. 

“How about, we go back to my place and make showering a group activity?” 

Jisung’s eyes spark with interest, though he fights to keep his expression impassive. 

“Can Seungmin come?” He asks, glancing back at the other beta, who has lost interest in the conversation, scrolling through his phone. 

“Well, yeah.” You immediately agree, pushing yourself up, until you can meet his mouth with yours, his plush lips parting beneath your own. Your voice drops to a whispered purr. “‘Group’ implies more than just the two of us, Sungie.”

Jisung swallows hard, and your eyes follow the movement, before he glances once more over his shoulder at the other beta and asks in a slightly strangled voice, “Minnie, you wanna go back to noona’s and shower with us?” 

Seungmin glances up, his expression indifferent, as he gives a little shrug of his shoulder. 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Jisung turns back to you with a shrug of his own. “That’s all the enthusiasm you’re gonna get from him, noona. But basically, that’s a hell yes.” 

You laugh and stand, tugging Jisung, and then Seungmin, up with you. 

“Perfect. Let’s go.” 

*******************************

“Okay, my turn.” 

You focus on the way the suds of the shampoo foam beneath your fingers as you massage Jisung’s hair as he talks, your hands buried up to the knuckles in his thick, ebony curls, tight and heavy with water. 

He looks thoughtful for a moment, leaned back against you in the small space of the shower, and then he grins, snapping his fingers as he announces triumphantly, “Okay. Got it!” His grin morphs into something slightly more wicked. “Who is most likely to end up on Korea’s Most Wanted? Chan-hyung or Minho-hyung?” 

Seungmin looks exasperated, rinsing his own shampoo beneath the running stream of water. “Hyung, these questions are supposed to be hard.” 

You laugh and smear a streak of shampoo down Jisung’s cheek when he pouts. 

“Minho. Obviously.” 

Seungmin shakes the excess water out of his hair and switches Jisung spots so he can rinse, leaning back against you, the warmth of his naked, freshly washed body comforting against your own. 

The beta lets out a sound that borders a snort. “Yeah, no offense, hyung, but your boyfriend is fucking scary. He’d murder someone just for looking at him wrong.” 

Jisung grins, his tightly shut eyes crinkling, as he washes another wave of suds from his hair. 

“Yeah, you’re right. He’s fucking hot though, so it all balances out.” 

You give a little half shrug in response. “Men who can kill you are always hot. I don’t make the rules.” 

You give Jisung a grin as he opens his eyes, and Seungmin glances between the two of you as if you’ve lost your minds. 

Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh and slowly shakes his head. 

“Sometimes I worry about the two of you.” 

“Ah.” You coo, tickling his sides, even as he swats your hands away, and lean in to press a sappy, sloppy kiss to his cheek. “You’re so sweet, baby.” 

“Shut up. I hate you both.” 

Jisung emerges from the water with grabby hands, smooshing an unwilling Seungmin between the two of you in a sandwich sort of embrace. 

“No you don’t, Minnie. You looooveeee us.” 

Seungmin swats irritatedly at the other beta, but doesn’t make a move to leave the sudden close quarters situation he’s found himself in, belying the truth beneath Jisung’s teasing words. 

You rest your chin on top of Seungmin’s head and snake your arms around his waist, taking Jisung by the hips and pulling him tighter against the two of you. 

“Okay, my turn.” You announce, settling against the cool wall of the shower, taking most of the relaxed, cuddling betas’ weight. 

Seungmin reaches for the body wash, and begins to gruffly rub some of the floral scented soap across Jisung’s bare chest. 

You don’t comment on the way his hands linger on the other beta’s defined pecs, but by the smug look on Jisung’s face, you know he’s noticed too. 

“Just don’t make it stupid. Or easy.” Seungmin grumps as he continues to lather, and Jisung makes a face at him. 

“Your words hurt me, Minnie. They really cut me to the core.” 

“Shut up.” Seungmin grumbles, moving to remove his hands from Jisung’s skin, but the older beta is too quick, looping his fingers around his boyfriend’s wrists with a smirk, keeping his hands firmly against his chest. 

Seungmin makes a noise of annoyance in his throat, but you don’t miss the slight pink flush to his cheeks, as after a moment, he silently resumes his scrubbing. 

“Okay.” You bite back your grin as you watch them. “Who’s most likely to say ‘I love you’ first between the two of you?” 

Seungmin’s hands go still on Jisung’s chest, and Jisung gives you a wide eyed stare over the other beta’s head, his lips slightly parted. 

You swallow hard, and push down the sudden nervous butterflies rising in your stomach. 

The steamy shower begins to fill with the scent of wisteria. 

“I-” Seungmin starts to say, his mouth open and closing a few times, as if your question has short circuited something in his brain. 

You give a breathless little laugh. 

“Okay, I’ll admit-” You admit quietly with another nervous chuckle, swallowing again, as you allow your hands to idly play with the hair at the base of Seungmin’s neck in an anxious sort of movement. “-that was a trick question. It’s me.” 

Jisung is still staring at you, and Seungmin is completely still against you. 

You force the words out past your lips, even though something inside of you is balking, reminding you of how this went the first time.

But this isn’t the first time. Or even the second. And not even close to the last. 

“I-” You take in a deep breath and exhale the words. “-love you.” 

Jisung’s eyes are so wide and dark that you feel you could get lost in them. 

He lets out a little breath, and his plush lips seal back together once more. 

“You-” He continues to stare. “-love us?” 

“Yeah.” You give a little nod, and try to ignore the fact that Seungmin still seems to be frozen in your arms. “I do.” 

Jisung gives a shocked little laugh, and his eyes light with something warm. 

“You love us.” He repeats, as if to make himself believe it, and you feel something warm and final settle into the pit of your stomach at the acceptance, and reciprocation, opening up his features the longer he ruminates. 

You glance down at the beta against you, still silent and unmoving.

“Min?” You question softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

He shifts, clearing his throat. 

“That was a really stupid question.” He murmurs hoarsely, clearing his throat again, as he finally moves, shifting his gaze past your own. “You were supposed to come up with something hard.” 

You grin, because with Seungmin, that’s as close to an acknowledgement, and acceptance, and reciprocation, as you’re going to get. 

“Sorry.” You apologize giddily, a little laugh of relief slipping past your lips. 

Seungmin humphs, and pulls away from the two of you, a light pink dusting his cheeks as he turns to shut off the water. 

“You two suck at games. I’m gonna have to teach you a thing or two.” 

Jisung matches your wild, wide grin above the other beta’s head. 

Laundry sneaks its way in between the wisteria blossoms, and underneath it all, a ginger laced ember begins to glow.

“Can’t wait, Minnie. Can’t wait.” 

****************

“Do you think Roy is the top in the Royza relationship?” Jisung muses sleepily, his head on your chest, your fingers carding lazily through his hair. 

“No.” Minho replies back immediately, not even bothering to look up from his phone at the anime that’s currently playing on the TV quietly in the background. 

“That man has definitely been pegged.” You add on, reaching over Seungmin’s reclined form to grab another handful of popcorn from the bowl. 

“And enjoyed it.” Seungmin agrees with a slight nod, adjusting his glasses, the lights from the TV flashing across the lenses. 

Jisung snuggles in closer against your side, and you bury your nose in his hair, breathing in the smell of detergent and clean laundry. 

Ginger spices your nose as Seungmin shifts on your other side, his arm tossed lazily across your waist, his fingers subtly stroking the arch of Jisung’s cheekbone, the slope of his nose. 

Your phone vibrates, but you’re too comfortable and cocooned to even bother to search for it. 

Behind you, Minho rolls to his back, jostling your head out of its position of comfort, using him as a human pillow. 

You’re about to complain, when his phone vibrates as well, and he holds it above his head, squinting his eyes against the brightness of the screen. 

Suddenly, for some reason, nerves prickle across your skin, and your wolf raises its head. 

“(Y/N).” Minho says in a low voice, and you glance up at him, careful not to move and disturb the dozing beta lying on your chest. 

He turns the phone screen for you to see the text message scrawled there. 

Minho’s expression is serious, his eyes dark. 

Inside, your heart bottoms out of your chest.

“Chan needs you.” 

********************************************************************************

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[trashpanda66]

"Communicate"

(Pickle x gender neutral Reader) (SFW)

[So this is my first Baki fic and my first fic on Tumblr. I'm still really new to both of these so if anything is weird or messed up, please just explain how I can fix it. THERE WILL BE A PART TWO! Love y'all. @rottmntrulesall

Life is a very interesting thing, isn't it? You can think that you have everything all figured out, that there's nothing left in life or in this world that can surprise you or knock you off your game. But life always has a curveball hidden just behind the corner, waiting patiently for the day that you don't have your bat ready to swing. Unfortunately for you, you didn't have your eye on the ball today.

You had a lot of experience with animals of all kinds. You grew up in a forest in the countryside your whole life with your family, so encounters with animals happened quite often. From gators in your back yard that you'd give a good bath/scrub to before guiding them back into the swamps, to paying attention to the number of coyotes howling in the woods so you could know when the panthers came back through and cut the canines' numbers down. The herds of deer would just walk around with you when they were in the area, snakes would cuddle up to you for your warmth, and you had a few wild hawks that would come to you for food and comfort all the time. All of these things together made others think that you were some sort of animal tamer, that you could control all of nature's beasts with a wave of your hand and a command from your mouth. It was a cute idea, but it was entirely wrong. In your years growing up in the forest, you had learned how to communicate with the animals. "Look at the ground when you're around deer so they'll think you're a grazer like them, direct eye contact and/or bared teeth are a challenge to fight, a turned back is a prime opportunity to attack, and show any opponent your side to express that you can fight but would prefer not to." These were just some of the lessons you learned as you grew up, but it was the language of the animal world, and you were determined to learn it. Over time, you mastered this unspoken language and earned the respect of the wildlife around you. You didn't control the animals, you simply spoke to them in their language.

You were in Japan for a vacation, rather than work for once. You were enjoying your time there, going to different sites and experiencing the wonders of the land when you suddenly got a phone call. It was an unknown number, but your instincts told you to answer the phone rather than ignore it. With a sigh, you answered the phone call. You were called to Mitsunari Tokugawa's fighting ring to, in his words, "help take care of a wild animal". The man on the other end of the line refused to explain any further than that, instead just repeating "I promise to pay you plenty for your help if you come as soon as possible".

And that's how you ended up here, in an illegal fighting ring, staring directly at a fight between an 8 foot tall caveman and some new upcoming fighter who wanted to test his mettle against the dinosaur killer. You felt a tug on the side of your jacket, causing you to look to the elderly man who called you here in the first place. Tokugawa had a solemn look on his face as he finally elaborated on why you were here.

"His name is Pickle. The main problem is that he keeps eating the fighters who lose to him." His eyes shine with hesitation and fear, as if he's concerned that you'll run off without helping once he finishes explaining everything. His tired old eyes drift back to the arena, catching sight of Pickle as he gives an open palm slap to his opponent and sends the young fighter flying out of the arena. He swallowed down a lump in his throat before continuing.

"I need you to go down there and stop Pickle from eating that fighter in there. I've watched him tear apart some of the world's best fighters, all of them being men that I admired greatly! It's because of him that some of my favorite fighters can no longer return to this ring and others had to give up fighting completely. For now, all I need is that you make sure that fighter in there goes back home mostly intact." The small old man shakes as he talks, seemingly convinced that you're going to escape the moment you get a chance. I mean, who wouldn't? He was sending you into a situation where you could lose parts of your body at best, and your life at worst. But you didn't respond. You stared into the arena, your eyes following every move made by the gigantic ancient human. You could see it in the way his muscles flexed and relaxed, the way his eyes opened and closed lazily, and in the way his facial muscles were mostly lax. You could see it clearly where no one else could.

Pickle wasn't taking this fight seriously. While the young fighter was pouring every ounce of his strength into this match, the caveman had yet to even go halfway. Like a wolf playing with a pup, Pickle was handicapping himself just to give his opponent confidence. The caveman didn't want the game to end anytime soon, but the young fighter was growing more and more weary with each passing second. You were in no rush to get to the bottom of the pit because as far as you could see, Pickle was more than happy to play with and not hurt the smaller fighter. As you neared the entrance of the arena, you caught sight of something that sent you straight into action.

In a foolish attempt to gain victory, the young fighter took aim for Pickle's family jewels. The hit landed, causing Pickle to scream and hiss in pain before backing away from the fighter. Said fighter was staggering around on his own feet, exhaustion and fatigue taking over his entire body as he struggled to simply stay awake. And then you both heard it.

A growl. Then you saw it.

Pickle was on all fours, his entire body lifted up and tense, ready to pounce. Pickle wasn't playing anymore.

You sprinted into the arena, throwing caution to the wind as you jumped in front of the caveman. You turned your back to the massive fighter, baring your teeth and shrieking at the smaller fighter. You lifted your arms and opened your stance, making yourself appear bigger to both men. While the young fighter was confused and dazed by your display, Pickle understood.

You, despite being even smaller and weaker than either of the fighters in the pit, were siding with Pickle against his opponent. Even better, you trusted the prehistoric man to not attack you while you were distracted, a trust which is not lightly given in nature. You were protecting the warrior, you were fighting for the fighter, and your actions did not go unnoticed. Suddenly you leapt forward towards the weary fighter, wrapping your small hands around his head before knocking him to the ground. You didn't give him a chance to speak before you ordered him to go limp and close his eyes. It wasn't difficult for the exhausted brawler to obey your words, passing out at just the right time. Hurriedly you rolled the both of you over on the ground, making it appear as if the younger fighter had gained the upper hand in his "altercation" with you. It was entirely accidental on your part, you had just meant to get the unconscious fighter into a better position where you could sling him closer to the exit of the arena, but you didn't get a chance. Suddenly Pickle was standing over the both of you, his hand outstretched behind himself as his whole body twisted into delivering a bone shattering slap to the exposed fighter. You started struggling underneath the younger fighter who was much heavier than he looked to get the caveman's attention and stop him from delivering his final blow, but Pickle saw your struggle as the last efforts of a warrior who will lose the fight against their opponent, furthering him into putting as much force as he could behind his strike.

If there is communication, then there must be miscommunication as well.

The caveman's hand connected with the ribs of the knocked out fighter, sending his unconscious body rag dolling across the arena and into the stands. Welp. At least the young fighter is no longer in the ring. You start to calm down, your eyes fluttering shut slowly as the adrenaline starts to wear off. It was somewhat peaceful, the bright lights were almost good enough to mimic the warmth of the sun as your own fatigue started to catch up to you. It was almost perfect napping conditions. And then you felt a slightly leathery hand cup your cheek softly, which was then followed by a mildly damp nose pressing gently against your forehead, blowing out soft puffs of hot air against your hairline. Your eyes fly back open, expecting to witness horrid fangs the moment before they're buried in your flesh, but instead you're met with a curious sight.

Bright meukow cognac colored eyes peer down at you from behind long, greasy black hair. The giant man is peering down at you, his head blocking the intense lights and giving him a shimmering halo. The caveman's massive hand was gently cradling your face, angling your head towards his and allowing him to check you over for injuries. As far as he knew, you had just taken on a challenger who was strong enough to actually hurt him, and had he not interfered when he did, you would have become the young fighter's next meal. Pickle's eyes filled with tears, his admiration of you flowing from his brandy eyes and dripping onto your face. You knew you couldn't win against the caveman's opponent, yet you still protected him. But there was another reason for Pickle's tears, one that you recognized almost too well.

Pickle doesn't respect anything that can't fight. Pickle doesn't befriend anything that can't fight. But if his opponent can actually put up a good fight, Pickle will bond with them. He'll see them as a companion, an equal, someone worth being in a pack with. But there's one problem; the nature of his time demanded that he eat anything he defeated. Even if he befriended his opponent, even if he loved them with his whole heart, he had to defeat them, and he had to eat them. Because if he didn't, then he'd be the one being consumed. It was eat or be eaten, kill or be killed, and Pickle was determined to survive. No matter how much he loved his enemy, he'd only have that one battle with them, that one bonding moment with them before he had to kill them.

Until you strolled into the arena. You proved your strength by taking on the fighter who managed to injure Pickle, earning the caveman's respect without having to fight him yourself. Pickle didn't have to eat you, because you didn't lose to him! You could be his first companion! The first member of his pack! Finally. Finally Pickle wouldn't have to be alone anymore!

But Pickle could be happy about his new potential pack member later. For now, he needed to finish checking you over for injuries.

You couldn't help the nervous giggle that escaped your lips as the giant caveman skirted his massive hands over your entire body, pressing his nose to anything extra sensitive and sniffing. You let him pick you up and move your joints carefully, testing the ranges of your body just in case anything got hurt in the scuffle. So far, it seemed everything was alright! No injuries accounted for, no discomfort from you, so everything was going great! Pretty soon, the caveman would let you go and you'd probably be free to return to your vacation. Once Pickle was certain that you hadn't been injured in your supposed "fight", he set you down gently on the ground in front of him, gauging your reaction to his presence. You sat in front of him cross legged, your eyes half open as you leaned back and exposed your torso to him. You were telling him you trust him. Pickle immediately began to reciprocate your trust, exposing his neck to you as he used his hands to scuttle closer. Once he's deemed himself close enough to you, he begins to lean forward. You could sense that you were safe with him, that if he wanted you gone, he would have handled that himself long ago. As such, you began to lean forward as well.

Pickle placed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and taking in a shuddering breath. You had to physically stop yourself from gagging at the stench emanating from the giant man, but you closed your eyes and bit your tongue, letting the prehistoric man continue his little bonding ritual. You felt that same massive leathery hand rest against the side of your face once more, though this time he wasn't attempting to move your head. He was just holding you gently, seemingly waiting for you to do something. With an internal sigh, you begin to lift your hand to hold the side of his massive face. The only thought that went through your mind before your small hand touched his dirty skin was 'I hope this isn't some kind of mating ritual'. The moment your hand made contact with his face, Pickle's eyes flew open. Upon seeing that your eyes were still closed, he gently tapped your face. Your eyes opened and met with his once more, the two of you sitting in a position that makes you almost look like lovers. Slowly, his massive hand drifted down from your face, causing you to mirror him and sink your hand lower than his face. Once his hand stopped on your shoulder, you placed yours on his big shoulder, never once breaking eye contact. Pickle smiled to you, showing his fangs before hiding them slowly, so you reciprocated. Finally Pickle pulled his head away from yours, sitting up a bit straighter in front of you. He closed his eyes happily before making a little chuffing noise at you, to which you giggled and finally spoke to the caveman. Though your sentence was in the language of the modern humans, Pickle understood your words.

"Hello there, Pickle. I'm glad we're friends now."

[azulsluver]

Bully!au with a cunning mc?

Oh how the tables turned

tw. yandere, bully!characters, manipulation, mentioned violence + public humiliation.

Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle ||

From what I am getting at, reader this time can stand up against the bullies. During their time spending with Ace and Deuce, they noticed the way they've been a little distant and leaving backhanded comments. Perhaps reader has been in these types of situations, so they knew better than to entertain the duo by pouting and complaining. Instead, let them have a taste of their own medicine, being sure to catch onto their words in case it sets Deuce off. He's such a hot head. Call out on Deuce's bullshit, corner his feelings and get him to side with you. Ace would be left to fend for himself, so used to having people agree on his terms, he's gotta pick a side to be in the league.

People may not realize it, but Deuce is so easy to manipulate in this au. But he's too far deep into his delusions and selfish desires to repent, thus why it's best to catch on to the signs and take the wheel. Deuce is pathetic in your hands, separate him from Ace, make excuses to keep him company and busy while Ace stays from the side, he is the main reason why Deuce acts this way towards you after all. It's preventable, to say at least, but Ace won't back down so quick.

You have to play the game right, or else you'll fall like a stack of cards.

Ace is good at gathering troops into his plans, he gets to fling those around if they aren't much use to him. You'll catch on pretty quick however, understanding why Ace decided to have everyone turn their back on you. Because he's interested. You make Ace second guess himself, what was special about you to begin with. Could it be the fear of rejection, social image?

You want to peer inside that silly head of yours, glaring from across the room. And you noticed, the way his posture straightens as his eyes make contact with yours, teeth biting his lower lip as sweat cling to his neck. Ace loves the attention.

Riddle and Cater could be out of pure spite. You're good at something that they want.

After being told numerous times by Cater that he'd call the fashion police every time you two would hang out. He expects you to not take it by heart (100% wants you to), through gritted teeth and crumpled knuckles, giving him a confused expression to lay off. If Cater wished to create an image of himself that'll falsely inform others, then you might as well play it his way. Fooling Cater by pretending to be the air headed friend, you listen well to your elders, people slowly recognize you by the littlest of things that can make you stand out. Associating yourself with Cater meant you had been influenced on what you should or not do with him.

In fact you enjoy Cater's expression, when someone comes to say hi to you and not him, or mention your story of something you did last week. Shrugging your shoulders as you bat your lashes, Cater could barely hold himself from strangling you. He can see what you're doing, you aren't as dumb as he thought you'd be.

Clicking his tongue, Cater would want to cut you off from his social life for good, but you'll be a reminder to him that he has to do better. If you can easily take down his persona, just how willing were you to do more than just tease him for taking advantage of an innocent person such as yourself.

Riddle has been through some sort of public humiliation, and you've kept that to the back of your mind. He's high and mighty, he knows what he wants, and he gets it one way or another. You and Riddle would be rivals at most, some form of twisted love he's created for himself, for you, that you're perfect. But so, so disgusting.

He doesn’t wanna focus on or getting in a relationship, his bad habit of being a neat freak has caused a toll on him. Making it worse the longer he indulged in this unhealthy behavior and of, although majority of the characters start off light during their bullying. When turned a blind eye is where evil sets in, growing rapidly once they realize how good it feels to have someone bellow them. Riddle, per say is victim to this trope.

You have to push yourself to him, grab his attention and prove him that you are worth the respect. This goes with intelligence because he’s somewhat attracted to those who know how to use their knowledge to hood use. That’s the point, make use of yourself to show Riddle that you’re someone on his level. This can go two ways with him being your rival or friend.

Don’t be seen as vulnerable around Trey. It’s what started for him to prey on you, with no clue on how the world work to little no friends. At first Trey was your average normal friend who helped you at times need, sometimes it came with a price. But then he got greedy, expecting more than taking advantage of your naivety.

Trey is a little tricky to figure because he doesn’t open up about himself a lot. You have to find weak points that doesn’t involve hurting his loved ones. However you can easily deceive him by playing coy, keep him in line with his morals (once he gets comfortable there’s no turning back). I wouldn’t say he’s easily influenced but he hopped onto the train when it did come to bullying you, I guess he took some form of pity but that was to mask his sadistic tendencies. Trey does try to control his urges of said “temptation”, but he gets off to the feeling of someone needing his help in dire situations.

Which means you can be buddy buddy with Trey just make sure not to trigger any opportunities for him to get to how he is in this AU. At least he gives you free snacks.

[txtscenarios]

jealous hueningkai /

rating: explicit

an: was gonna turn this into a fic but i think it's best like this! thank u @hyukalovie for putting this idea into my brain <3 gender neutral reader to the best of my ability

kai doesn't get jealous often, and as his partner, you're appreciative of that. he is kind, always trying to be respectful of your feelings, and your space.

besides, he's away often (his career comes first and foremost), and he's grateful for how supportive you are of him despite his busy schedule. he tries to give you the same energy in return.

but there are moments in time; brief, flittering things, when his stomach twists unpleasantly as you giggle at a text on your phone, or fall into beomgyu's side-hugs a little too easily.

they're not much, not big enough to even make a fuss over, but they're there, stewing.

so when he wakes up one morning after the two of you spent the previous night cuddling in his bed, kissing lazily, touching, only to hear beomgyu say that you left in a hurry, he frowns. his eye twitches, barely. slightly. you aren't supposed to have any plans today– you'd told him so against his throat last night, quiet like a promise.

he texts you a question; where are u?

your answer, having lunch with an old friend! <img. attached> does not soothe him the way he anticipated it would, because he recognizes the person leaning into you, beaming at the camera. an ex– from your high school, maybe. but an ex nonetheless.

he leaves you on read. showers, brushes his teeth. he stares into the bathroom mirror, brows pinched, and sighs at himself. he's not like this, is not a jealous person, but you're having lunch with your ex, who is just as attractive as kai physically. he's not a jealous person, but you're wearing that shirt he likes you in, the one that makes your waist look good, and the necklace he bought you for your birthday last year. he's not a jealous person, but his stomach swoops and his throat tightens, and he unlocks his phone to send you a text; come over when u can.

you respond with a frowny face, and then, no emoticons...are u okay?

he doesn't reply to that, either, instead going to sit on the couch, futile attempts to beat beomgyu at video games just pissing him off more. his head isn't in the game, and beomgyu takes one look at him after his third loss in a row and declares, "alright, everyone round up, we're going out to lunch! except you," he nudges kai with his shoulder, "because you clearly need time alone."

when the dorm is empty, quiet dredging into his bones, kai starts to get antsy. there's been no word from you, no indication that you'll be arriving soon. he can't text you again; that'd make him look desperate. he has to be patient.

he starts pacing the room, unable to keep still.

what if you're linking up with this ex because you missed them? what if they missed you, or worse, still have feelings for you? if they confessed, would you go back to them? would you consider it?

he worries his bottom lip so hard it starts to bleed, so lost in his thoughts that he almost doesn't notice the front door knob turning.

when you step through the door, he freezes. you've got a little smile on your face, cheeks pleasantly flushed from summer's heat. you kick your shoes off, barely looking at him as you tap away on your phone, and–

he reaches you in one, two, three strides. you startle, phone clattering to the floor, and he uses your surprise to back you up against the door, boxing you in.

"kai?" you ask, soft. worried. "are you alright? you seemed...upset in the texts."

he mulls over what he wants to say. he doesn't know how to put his feelings into words, isn't able to properly express the jealousy and possession brewing in his stomach.

so, he grabs your chin gently between his fingers, tilting your head back so that you're forced to look up at him.

"you went out with your ex and didn't tell me," he says, careful, calculated. probably colder than what you're used to, but he's trying not to let his emotions rule him, and this is the best he can do.

"i put it in your calendar weeks ago," you say quietly, pouting. "i forgot it was today until i got a text this morning. i didn't want to wake you."

the revelation cools his skin a little as he realizes you weren't intentionally keeping anything from him, but the urge to be closer, to make you realize that you're his is still there, burning bright and hot at the tips of his fingers.

"mine," he murmurs, quiet, eyes falling shut. when he looks at you again, you're frowning, brows pinched. "you're mine," he repeats, louder this time, firmer.

you still beneath him, lids fluttering. "oh," you breathe, "you're jealous–"

he kisses you before you can finish your sentence, mouth mashed to yours, teeth clanking. you gasp against him and he swallows it up quickly, tongue slipping past your lips. you're struggling to keep up, taken aback by his urgency. he knows that this is probably a lot to deal with, knows that he usually isn't like this.

he pulls back to look at you, panting from the kiss, and asks, "are you okay?"

you nod, once, jerky. "yeah, just– are you mad at me? i don't-"

"not mad," he shakes his head. his fingers twitch, thumb and pointer holding your chin. he wants to hold you close, touch you the way that only he's allowed to, take you–

he says, "i need you, right now. is that alright?" he's always going to ask first, always going to make sure you're on board.

your pupils grow large, swallowing up your irises, and you nod. whisper a dry, "yes." and that's all the permission he needs.

he dives in, mouthing at your neck, teeth finding your skin. he bites too hard, laps and licks to make up for it, fingers curling round your hips all the while.

he's hard against your stomach, pressing close, closer, and he makes quick work of your clothes, leaving you bare in front of him. his cheeks are warm, burning red at the sight of you, and he smooths the tips of his fingers over your chest, down to your tummy.

he kicks off his sweatpants, hoodie following. when he's in his boxers, cock straining against the material, you instinctively reach down to palm at him, but he's quick to snatch your wrist, pinning it to the wall.

"you just stand here and look pretty," he tells you, low. "i'm gonna do all the work, gonna make sure you know you're mine, okay?"

you're breathless, chest rising and falling fast as you nod. he smiles, soft, a little bit wicked, and hikes one of your legs up to his hip, holding it in place.

with his free hand, he twists at one of your nipples until it's stiff and puffy and flushed. you writhe against him, hips canting forward. he knows what you're asking for silently. he wants it as well.

"open," he orders, fingers prodding at your lower lip. you let your mouth fall open, and he swoops three inside immediately, long and lithe, pressing down against your tongue in a way that nearly makes you gag around him.

when he's pleased, cheeks ruddy, he slides his fingers free, moving to press them against your opening. he considers sliding in all three in one go; knows you could take it, but he's not that cruel. he starts with two, sliding into you easily, twisting as they press against your walls.

making you feel good is at the back of his mind. he wants to please you, but more than anything, he needs to be inside of you. needs to feel the point where the two of you connect.

he makes quick work of stretching you open, adding a third finger after a couple of minutes. you writhe against his hand, subtly pushing down to get more of him, clenching around his fingers when he scissors them just so.

his own cock is hard, leaking precome through his boxers and making your stomach sticky, and it's when your fingers slide through his hair as you mutter a heady, "please," that he snaps. can't take it anymore.

he doesn't bother kicking his boxers off all the way; doesn't have the patience. he reaches down, freeing his cock, and holds tight to your thigh to keep you in place as he lines himself up to your entrance.

the stretching was hasty at best, and he's bigger than average, maybe– he doesn't know, but you always seem to struggle to adjust. this time is no different. he pushes in past the initial tightness, head of his cock velvety smooth against your insides. he doesn't stop there– keeps going, going, until he's bottomed out and his chest heaves as he tries to calm himself down.

your eyes are pinched shut tight, clinging to his shoulders, fingernails leaving crescents into his skin. he doesn't ask if he can move because he knows you're still adjusting, knows it takes some time, but you give a little nod and say, "move, kai," and he stops thinking. doesn't ask questions anymore.

he thrusts once, shallow. testing the waters. when you don't ask him to stop, he pulls out halfway, pushing back in deep. a sound works its way up your throat, small and wanton, and so he pulls out all the way, only the head of his cock left inside of you, and pushes in hard. fast.

you gasp, jerking up the wall at the force of his movements. you clench around him, so tight and hot.

he can't control himself anymore.

he grabs your other leg, hoisting you up so that your feet dangle, back pressed against the wall. with you as leverage, he thrusts into you as fast as he can manage, cock dragging thick and heavy along your insides.

he grunts, lost in the feeling, sweat beading at the back of his neck. he's so deep, goes so far, head of his cock bulging your belly when he angles himself just right. you just take it, letting him use you, and he buries his face in your neck, a string of curses falling past his lips.

by his feet lie the shirt you wore to lunch with your ex, the one he likes you in so much, the one he tells you you look good in all the time. his stomach knots up, throat tight, and he bites down hard on the curve of your throat, leaving teeth marks behind as he fucks into you.

"mine," he says, rough. he clears his throat, looking up at you. "you're mine," he repeats. his hips kick, cock drilling into you as hard as he can manage, and he knows the both of you will be bruised come the morning. "you can– fuck, you can go out to lunch with whoever, but you always come home to me." you moan, nodding fast, and his cock twitches inside of you. "you only let me fuck you like this, okay? only me."

"only you," you agree. your hands slide up, slinking into his hair, and you pull at it. you know the pain gets him going, and the more you tug at it, the harder his thrusts get.

his fingers hold tight to your thighs, keeping you in place. he moans, loud and clear and high against your neck, your shoulder, your cheek as he pushes in, in, in.

"you're gonna let me come first," he tells you, no room for argument in his voice. "you're gonna let me fill you up until my come is dripping down your thighs, and only then are you allowed to finish. do you understand?"

you nod, head thrown back as you lose yourself in the steady rhythm of his hips, but he wants an answer; wants your voice. with his hands full of your thighs, he can't very well use them, so instead, he rams his cock in, hard, as deep as he can get it, hips rolling.

you cry out at the sensation, too full, fingers scraping at his scalp.

"answer me," he tries again. "i said, do you understand?"

"i understand," you rush out, breathy and quiet. "please, kai, keep going. need you, need your cock–"

he groans, head falling forward, cock jerking inside of you. his arms are hurting, legs cramping, so he gently lets you down, sliding all the way out of you. the sudden cold enveloping his cock is torture, and he's quick to gently urge you to the floor, back pressing into the hardwood as he hovers over you, arms boxing you in on either side.

he slides back in easily, your heat accommodating his size perfectly now.

like this, he's able to dig his knees into the floor and push into you just the way he likes, hard enough that you slide along the floor. he holds to your hip with one hand to keep you in place, cock thrusting in, out, in, out, faster, harder, deeper until he feels like all he knows is your hole, the way it holds tight to his cock, and the tight heat within you.

"'m close," he tells you. you nod, eyes blurry with tears from the overwhelming pleasure, and you keep clenching around him more and more, ever tighter. he fixes you a warning look. "you aren't allowed to come until i finish. don't even think about-"

"i'm just so close," you tell him, voice raw. wrecked from moaning. "kai, i can't–"

he tsks, head tilting to the side once. his thrusts slow. "if you can't listen, then you don't deserve to be fucked, do you?"

he pulls out swiftly, cock falling free, and you cry out, tears spilling down your cheeks.

"kai, no," you sniffle. "come back, i can-"

he shakes his head, left hand coming to cover your mouth, silencing you.

"getting fucked is a reward, love," he says. "i told you not to come until i did, but you were having trouble controlling yourself. so, we'll do this the old fashioned way."

you want to ask what he means, but his hand is still clamped over your mouth tight. he moves up to his knees, and takes his cock in his right hand, fucking into the ring of his fingers.

you're left to watch, unable to take your eyes off of him, unable to speak as he pleasures himself. his hand twists, palm catching the crown, thumb digging into the slit on every upstroke. he moves his fist fast, so much so that the movement blurs.

"close," he tells you, voice strained and rough and low. you whine, hips canting up towards him, and he moves to press one of his knees atop your thigh, pinning you down. he fixes you with a glare, half-hearted, and says, "don't move. 'm gonna come on your pretty tummy, okay?"

his hips rock forward, cock pushing up into his hand as his movements speed up, becoming more erratic. his stomach flexes, twitching, and precome spills down his fingers sticky and clear.

"fuck," he whispers, sharp. his cock twitches within the circle of his hand, and he thumbs at the head, the slit, pressure tightening as his stomach twists with pleasure. "fuck, i-"

all the air whooshes from his lungs in a second, and he's breathless, silent as he comes ropes of white, shooting from his cock and landing haphazardly on your belly, your chest, your thighs. he works himself through it fast, and then slows once the feeling is too much. he comes more than either of you previously thought was possible. leaves white dripping down your sides, and pooling in your bellybutton.

once he's finished, breathing ragged as he sucks in air through his mouth, he wastes no time in swiping three fingers through the mess of come on your stomach, and pushing them back inside of you.

your back arches, a sob falling from your mouth as you're left to do nothing but take what he has to give. his pace is brutal, more so than it was with his cock, and though his fingers aren't quite as thick or long, he knows exactly how to twist and curl them to have you falling apart around him.

he moves down, mouth finding you, tongue lapping at your entrance as his fingers slide in, out. he puts himself to work, taking you in his mouth, tonguing at your sex until your caught between riding down on his fingers and pushing up into his mouth.

he lets you use him, lets you tangle your hands in his hair and turn his head this way and that, whichever way you like. his fingers never cease; rhythm impeccable even as he's multi-tasking, and you thank your lucky stars for his musical talent.

it's when he slides his pinky in alongside his other fingers, the stretch raw and sharp, that you feel your orgasm sneak up on you as if it were waiting in the shadows for the right moment to strike.

he hums against you, tongue still working tenfold, giving you vague permission to finish.

you gasp, sharp, holding his head in place as your hips roll up, up, into his mouth. your thighs twitch, stomach flexing, and you come hard, come so much that your eyes white out and fuzz over. he merely takes it, lapping at you, swallowing everything you have to offer without so much as batting an eye.

when you're finished, sensitive and spent, he keeps going, fingers flexing inside of you, mouth sucking at your pleasure. you whine, nudging him with your thigh, and he moves back to give you some space, fingers sliding out of you.

he looks down at you, back pressed to the floor, chest heaving as you catch your breath. you're covered in his come, backs of your thighs and your ass already bruising from his thrusts into you, his hipbones sharp against your skin. you are messy and sticky and beautiful, and he feels his heart swell in his chest. feels his throat tighten, just a little.

"let me clean you up," he whispers, so soft you almost miss it. you grab hold of his wrist before he can leave, a question in your eyes. "i'm not mad that you went out to lunch with your ex. you're allowed to be friends with whoever you want, i just– i got jealous. wanted to make sure you remembered that i love you, and that what we have is special."

"well, i'll have these bruises for the next week or so to remind me. after that," you tease, low, "i might forget."

kai grins, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple.

"well," he says, soft. smiling. "i'll just have to make sure they never fade, then."

and that's more than okay with the both of you.

an: not betad as usual! /

[tj-dragonblade]

[FLUFFBRUARY FICLET] Vogue

Rated: M Word Count: 756 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff with added heat, human AU, photographer-model roleplay

For my dearest @staroftheendless - happy birthday! The stars aligned and I managed to bang out this little scene, built on today's Fluffbruary prompt and featuring not-a-shaved-panther human!Dream just for you ❤️

Fluffbruary Prompts: Day 21: photography pepper truffles Day 22: key silly quest

Summary: Dream comes home and Hob greets him with a camera

On AO3

"There he is!" Hob exclaims, and whisper-yells to simulate crowd noise, camera flashing as the door to the flat opens. Dream pauses on the threshold, caught off guard, keys still in hand, and then his expression shifts as he takes in Hob, shirtless, snapping photo after photo. He smiles, slow and sultry, tosses his head and runs a hand through his hair, shakes it out as he shuts the door and sets his keys aside. He pauses briefly on each move, posing, letting Hob get every shot like they're on the red carpet, and Hob plays it up, crooning directions in between.

"Yeah, that's it, give me lips—" Dream pouts, full and rosy pink, framed by his three-day stubble, and the camera flashes. "Beautiful, gorgeous, yes. Give me flirty, playful—" Dream hooks a finger under the knot of his tie and tugs it loose, flicks open the buttons on his collar, smile coy, eyes a simmering sapphire blue under his lashes. "Love it, sweetheart, you're a natural," Hob praises, clicking away. They've gone from imaginary red carpet to imaginary private studio in two seconds flat but that's really not the point here, is it. "Lose some layers, let's relax a bit, yeah?"

Dream, bless him, manages to make the process of removing his shoes and socks while still standing look sexy, somehow; Hob makes sure to catch his bare feet with their ebony toenails in at least of couple of shots. Dream shrugs out of his neat slate-grey blazer next, turning and giving a coy come-hither gaze over his shoulder as he tugs it off his arms and casts it aside.

"That's right baby keep going, you're doing great," Hob offers, halfway between his photographer-with-questionable-ethics persona and genuine praise. It's harder to keep up the role the further they get into it, but he knows Dream has fun with these silly little games and so he does his best. "Show me something dirty, now, something sexy." He's backing down the hall as Dream advances, heading inevitably for the bedroom.

"Hmmm," Dream purrs, thoughtful; then, eyes never leaving the camera, he brings his wrist to his mouth and unbuttons the cuff of his sleeve with his teeth. His other hand is busy with the buttons down his front; he switches and continues, repeats the cuff-unbuttoning on the other arm.

"Perfect," Hob leers, backing into the bedroom, snapping pic after pic, "keep it coming, make me, uh, make me forget my own name here—"

Dream lifts his arms, shirt hanging open, cuffs undone, and rakes both hands back through his hair with a moan. His eyes are closed, lips parted, head tilted back; the loose tie around his throat is a slash of deep burgundy against the black of his chest hair and the white of his skin and Hob loses his breath for half an instant at the sheer compositional beauty of the sight, grateful that he's already got his camera in action.

He is so fucking blessed, to get to call Dream his.

Dream lifts his head, rolls his shoulders, drops his hands to his belt and meets Hob's gaze through the camera lens again. He undoes the buckle and pulls the slim leather free in one swift motion, drops it lazily behind him as he enters the bedroom. He flicks open the clasps on his trousers, draws the zipper down just enough to tease, then palms himself in one hand while the other snakes up to pull his tie completely free. He gives Hob another second to take photos while he's gripping his crotch and then he turns, steps over to the bed and falls gracefully back onto it. His hands are above his head; he winds the tie loosely about both wrists and then holds the ends in his fist, a token show of restraint. His shirt is wide open around him, dusky pink nipples on display, the dark hair on his chest trailing beautifully down his abdomen into the open fly of his trousers, where he is visibly aroused.

Hob stares, lifting his gaze from the viewscreen on the camera, achingly hard himself and losing the thread of his character entirely. "Fuck me, you're gorgeous," he breathes, snapping a few more photos. He can't help himself.

Dream smiles, sultry, decadent, and arches invitingly against the sheets. "Put the camera down, Hob," he purrs, flexing his fingers where his hands are 'bound' above his head. "Your model has worked hard, and would like to be ravished, now."

Hob is only too happy to comply.

= Drafted: 2/20/24 - 2/21/24 Posted: 2/21/24