#don’t at me about how the pictures are all not square in their little lines i did NOT do it in a good program

[mildmayfoxe]

lately

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (13)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: the elections distracted me! This should have been up ages ago 💙 Anyhow, look at our boy pout up there. Darling never stood a chance.

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Darling gets closer to making her choice.

The holiday is already shaping up to be your most memorable one yet, and it’s only halfway done. 

Between all the commotion in the press about Ewan’s film, the lively spin-the-bottle game last night, and your… boys being more brazen in their affections, it doesn’t matter that you’re still half-limping and that one gorgeous blonde girl is testing the limits of your patience—Mallorca is one for the books.

Half of your vacation crew decided to head out into town for the afternoon, allowing you to see more of the local scene. Bethany, Phia, Luke, and Elliott have ventured off to see some shops moments prior, promising to rejoin the group with loads of goodies. So you walk the cobblestone streets with Tom and Freddie on either side, the lads promising to catch you should your ankle ‘betray you and make you faceplant on the street’. 

Because, as Freddie put it, they “can’t have the show’s rising star with a blow to her money-maker,” pertaining to your lovely face. 

You were able to finally remove your fracture boot that morning, after a long-distance call to your doctor, but you still have to slightly drag your left leg as you walk.

“Mate, if you could hurry up a little, maybe we can see more of the town,” Tom remarks with a cheeky smirk. He’s had an arm looped around yours the whole time, ever on the lookout. 

“Sure, let me just use my incredible powers of self-healing. Maybe we can check one of these souvenir shops if they’ve got a bionic leg on sale,” you deadpan, fighting hard to stifle a laugh. 

The fledgling weeks of spring bring a steady warmth to Mallorca. The sunlight is bright yet tempered as it casts its glow over the cobblestone streets, illuminating the quaint storefronts and cafes that line that town square. It’s a picture-perfect afternoon, so long as you don’t turn back to Ewan and Louise who are trailing a bit behind. 

But your curiosity wins over, and you see Ewan smiling politely as Louise gestures animatedly, completely absorbed in her tale. You immediately realise your mistake, a pang of something—guilt, longing, confusion… and jealousy, because who are you fooling—tightening in your chest. You quickly turn back to Tom and Freddie, who are too busy scheming to notice your reaction.

“So, do we let Ewan suffer, or do we intervene?” Tom asks, tilting his head toward the pair.

You can only shrug. “I think he’s handling it. It’s probably better to give them some space.” The truth is, you know Ewan well enough to sense when he’s at his wit’s end, and even though he looks like he’s about to throw in the towel, you don’t want to complicate things further. 

Who are you to deny Louise some quality time with your good buddy Ewan Mitchell? He is a stand-up guy, after all, and all of you are friends here. It’s a casual day out, nothing but a good time. 

And… you do need some time to let his confession sink in. He has given the power to you, and the only thing left to do would be to choose him.

You love him, you love him, you love him. 

So the choice should be easy, but why isn’t it?

Freddie smirks. “Space, you say? You mean you’re hoping he’ll finally snap and make a break for it?”

“Maybe,” you admit with a small smile. “Can you blame him?”

The three of you linger by a cafe, chatting to your heart’s delight. You catch sight of Ewan glancing your way, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. Hey, he mouths, staring you down until Louise nudges him, and he has to shift his focus back to her. 

“Honestly, though,” Tom continues, “what’s the deal with him and Louise? He looks like he’s drowning over there.”

“Maybe she’s finally wearing him down,” you say, half-joking, but you’re aware of how often Ewan gives too much of himself sometimes, especially to someone like Louise. The boy’s just too sweet and polite to say no. 

“I give him five minutes before he either leaves or starts shouting for you,” Freddie chimes in, his eyes dancing behind his sunglasses. “It’s a safe bet.”

Before you can respond, Ewan’s voice rises above the clamour of the street. “Actually, that’s not what I meant—”

“I can’t believe you thought that!” Louise interrupts, playfully punching Ewan’s arm, her tone a mix of disbelief and enthusiasm. “But that’s what makes you so unique! You always see things differently.”

What’s unique is the expression Ewan sports as a reaction, akin to a deer about to be hit by a Jeep.

“Unique?” Ewan repeats, a note of incredulity in his voice. He shakes his head, his mouth falling open, like he’s trying to find the words. Louise leans in closer, mentioning something about how cute he looks when confused. 

Well, she’s not wrong there. You have to hand it to her—she’s persistent.

“Why are we just standing around?” Tom suddenly says. “Let’s get some drinks. We need to fuel up for the gossip you owe us.”

“I’m in,” you say a bit too quickly, desperate for a distraction. You motion toward a quaint nearby bar with a bustling atmosphere. It seems like the perfect refuge, far from the intensity of the current situation. The bartender greets you with a grin, and Tom takes charge, ordering a round of brightly-coloured cocktails that seem to match the vibe of the holiday. 

Tom gives you a sly look over his glass. “So here we are, eh?”

“Here we are,” you nod, sensing something coming round the corner. 

“My god, this cocktail is amazing!” Freddie gasps dramatically, oblivious to the look you and Tom are sharing. “I must know what’s in this… Is that gin and… and what?”

“I myself would rather know,” Tom begins, leaning forward, “about the truth behind all the drama. The are-they-or-aren’t-they of it all. My missus has also been bugging me about it. All she talks about is you and your Ewan.” 

Freddie’s grin is huge as he raises his glass. “Bloody hell, cheers to that then! I know there’s something brewing, but no one ever tells me the details. What is this, a fight to the death? May the best Targaryen win? Lucky girl you are.”

Tom snorts. “Or may the right man win. Which, to be honest, is not Matt in this scenario.”

Freddie’s jaw drops in mock horror, clutching his chest. You may take the lad out of classical theatre for a while, but you can’t take classical theatre out of the lad. “Excuse me? Matt is a national treasure, he’s mature and reliable, and he throws a fabulous party. Might I mention how highly he speaks of you?”

Tom shoots him a scornful look. “Reliable. How riveting. Look, I love the guy, but Ewan’s practically half of her soul—”

You groan. “Can we not turn this into a debate? I’m actually trying to keep things simple now.”

“Simple,” Tom repeats, one blonde eyebrow arching. “Darling, nothing about this is simple, especially not since Ewan isn’t bound to that ridiculous PR setup anymore. Are you going to pretend that it doesn't change things?”

Freddie waves a finger. “It doesn’t have to change things. Matt’s good for her. I mean, they’re actually happy, and you need someone solid, love. Someone who isn’t going to fling you around emotionally, from the very little that I’ve heard.”

Tom rolls his eyes. “Of course, you’d think that. You get all your goss from Liv and she basically adores Matt.”

Freddie clutches his glass defensively. “Well I know for a fact that Matt is fun! And steady! You don’t need fireworks all the time to make something work.”

“But fireworks are the whole point, you know?” Tom insists. “You can’t reduce a relationship to sensible compatibility and call it love.”

“Love can be practical too,” Freddie says, looking at you. “Wouldn’t it be nice to just…breathe? To not have to worry about how he’s going to handle things every other minute?”

You wince, half-convinced by Freddie’s logic, but then Tom’s voice cuts in, softer, more serious.

“Sure, she could breathe,” Tom says, “but let’s not forget who actually takes her breath away.”

It hits you, the truth you’ve been dancing around with both of them.

Freddie gives you a sidelong look. “Alright, love, confession time. Say Ewan was still bound to that PR relationship, do you really think you could have handled not being with him? Watching him essentially be with someone else?”

You swallow, glancing down at your drink. “It would have hurt, but I would have had to handle it.”

Tom keeps the interrogation going. “And now? What would you do if he does end up with someone else? Louise seems to have her claws in him.”

You let out a huff, your next words decisive. “Look, if she can take him that easily, then he’s all hers.” Because that would mean all those heartfelt phrases about being so in love with you aren’t true. 

That’s the reasonable part of you. The other, less savoury part wouldn’t hesitate to get your own claws in Louise if she swoops in to take your man, petty catfight style.

“But see! See here,” Freddie exclaims in glee, “We’re talking about Ewan and she’s already stressed. She needs a break from the drama, Tom, and Matt is like… an oasis.”

Tom rolls his eyes but doesn’t let it go. “Sure, an oasis that leaves her wishing she were somewhere else half the time.” He sighs, his voice softening. “Look, Matt’s lovely, but he’s not the one. He’s not the one who can turn your whole world upside down, and I know you two. I’ve seen you together, I’ve seen you apart, and trust me, you’re so much better together. Hell, it’s better for all of us too! I simply cannot deal with Ewan moping around again.”

You feel your cheeks warm as you consider his words. It’s almost dizzying, trying to compare the two men, as though they represent opposite sides of you, each offering something you desperately need. They’re both right, in different ways. With Matt, there’s a sense of stability that you haven’t felt before. He’s steady, he’s sweet, and he genuinely adores you despite all of the tangled strings that have bound you to Ewan. 

But with Ewan… you want him, love him, with an intensity that is almost all-consuming. It’s the kind they write songs about, the kind that drives hearts crazy. 

Freddie drops the dramatics, his voice sincere when he speaks again. “Darling, Tom’s got a point, but just… be honest with yourself. What do you really want? Because whatever you decide, it’s your heart on the line. And you know, we’re here for you, no matter who you choose.” And then, as if with the flick of a switch, he turns his flair back on. “God, you could choose me, just so you don’t have to deal with this dilemma of yours anymore!”

You let out a breathy laugh, all the tension you’re feeling dissipating. “I just might!”

Tom mirrors your laughter. “Now that’s a dangerous idea. But hey, life’s short, right? You don’t have to have it all figured out right this second.”

Freddie grins, raising a toast. “To being a beautiful mess.”

You clink your glass with theirs, watching in amusement as they both begin bickering again over who’s really the better choice. As the debate drifts over to which drink to order next, a quiet but unmistakable presence makes its way to your table. Ewan stands behind you, his hands resting on the back of your chair. 

“I’ve been looking for you guys,” he greets calmly. 

Freddie doesn’t hesitate to take a playful jab. “Ah, Ewan! All by your lonesome now? Where’s your lady?”

Ewan perches on the last empty chair on your table, catching your eyes. “My lady’s right here,” he smirks, and he says the words with such ease that your cheeks heat. Everyone would benefit from taking lessons in the Ewan Mitchell School of Charm. “Fancy a walk, darling?”

You quickly glance at Tom and Freddie, whose raised brows practically tell you that they’re going to be chattering about this as soon as you’re out of earshot. “Try not to miss me too much, boys,” you wink at them, letting Ewan help you out of your seat and whisk you away. He offers his arm to you for support, and the two of you fall into stride, allowing the buzz of Mallorca’s streets to fill the quiet between you.

“So,” he starts, “I sure hope Tom and Freddie didn’t give you any trouble.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you smile, your tone lowering as you decide to tease him a little. “We would have invited you over, but you seemed to have plenty of… entertainment yourself.” You playfully wag your eyebrows at him, and he makes a show of groaning and turning away.

“Don’t remind me, my darling,” he groans. “I was so close to faking an illness and making my escape.”

You chuckle at his apparent distress. “Poor Ewan. It must be so hard being adored by a beautiful girl, isn’t it? Wait, where is she again? Did you scare her off?”

“Phia came to my rescue. They went walking by the bay or something, I don’t know. And about being adored, it only matters to me if it’s by you.”

You’re about to lean into a joke and call his bluff, when he adds, “Well, you… and my mum.”

“I thought so,” you giggle, his eyes holding yours with a familiar sweetness. But then his gaze is snagged by something behind you. 

“Is it just me, or does that cat look suspiciously like Sansa?” Ewan points to the front display of a rustic souvenir shop, and you immediately see a plush black cat with curious amber eyes.

You gasp softly, your hand tightening around his bicep. “I did leave Sansa back with my neighbour in London, right?”

“Are you sure? She’s right there, darling,” he plays along, grinning. “I think I’d recognise my daughter when I see her.”

“Your daughter, huh? The most you have right now is visitation rights.”

“Wait here, baby,” he presses a kiss to your temple, leaving you leaning against the wall across the shop. He disappears inside, emerging just moments later, the little cat plushie already in his hands. His expression is tender as he passes it to you. “Here. Figured you could use a bit of home.”

You take the little black cat, heart swelling at the sweetness of his gesture. “Thank you, Ewan. She’s perfect.”

He’s all smiles, his dimples deepening as he nods in response. 

You hug plush Sansa to your chest. “Now I wish they also had whippet plushies, so I can give you a piece of home too…” 

Ewan’s gaze softens, and he shifts slightly, his gaze dropping as he gathers his thoughts. “Darling, I hope you won’t think I’m just trying to score brownie points here or something, given the current situation, but honestly…” He hesitates, but makes up his mind as his eyes meet yours. “If I wanted to feel at home, all I really need is… to be with you.”

Your breath catches, and your mind is too focused on what you’ve just heard that your hold loosens around plush Sansa, causing it to nearly stumble out of your hands. 

“Ewan,” you say softly, your voice laced with an affection you can’t quite dampen. “You don’t play fair, you know that?”

He chuckles, a little self-conscious, his hand reaching for yours. “You know me, darling, and you know how I feel about you.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles, and the touch is light, almost reverent.

“So, no Sansa needed, huh?” you tease gently, trying to keep things light even as the weight of his words lingers. 

His smile returns, a little shy, a little playful. “You got that right. But maybe we don’t have to tell Sansa about this.”

You’re about to offer a witty rejoinder, when a cheerful shout slices through the air. “Ewan!” It’s Louise, her voice loud and undeniably eager, and you find yourself dropping Ewan’s hand. 

And either you’re not in her line of sight, or she just didn’t bother calling out to you too. What a delightful girl.

“Oh,” Louise finally acknowledges you. “That’s a nice… toy you’ve got there.”

“It’s a plushie actually,” you mutter dryly, wiggling plush Sansa in the air.

Ewan snorts at your deadpan expression, and much to Louise’s obvious annoyance, he drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you snugly against him. “I got it for her. It’s almost an exact replica of her cat, isn’t it, darling?”

Your eyes widen at his purposeful cheekiness. The lad has finally had enough of another girl trying to get a bite out of him. “Well, yeah…” you stumble on your words, “It does look like her.”

Louise pouts. “What a nice, friendly gesture.”

Ewan chuckles to himself, not letting her mood dampen his spirits. “I think it’s rather romantic.”

“Hold on,” Louise responds, appraising you with a raised eyebrow. “Aren’t you dating Matty?”

“Uhhh—”

“There you kids are!” Phia materialises out of thin air, an angel in disguise.

Oh, you could just kiss the very ground she walks on.

Everyone makes their way to the pool area the next afternoon, the group scattered all around the lush backyard of the villa.

Matt lingers outside your door, waiting for you to finish changing. He leans casually against the railing, his gaze drifting downstairs to Fabien and Elliott, who are hauling crates of beer toward the poolside. He whistles and shouts out a playful, “Save me some, lads!”

“Waiting on your woman, Romeo?” Elliott sings up at him.

Matt waves them away, spinning around to face your door. As he waits, his mind drifts back to a conversation he had with Liv the evening before. She’d seen right through him, spotting the quiet insecurities he tried to keep buried and urging him to go all in with you, to show you what he couldn’t quite put into words. And so, he decided he would; he’d pour everything into showing you just how much he cared.

He has the advantage in that he hasn’t hurt you the way Ewan has in the past, and he has absolutely no intention of doing so, not when being with you feels like the easiest, most natural thing in the world. 

To him, you are like the human equivalent of a shot of espresso, a musical laugh, a jolt of positive inspiration. He’s always felt this, but one night, many nights ago, this effect that you have on him became amplified.

And suddenly, you are all he sees.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way, especially not after you finally open the door. You don a forest green bikini that leaves little to the imagination, with a sheer white wrap tied loosely around your waist. 

Matt lets out a low whistle, walking up to you with a slow, playful swagger. You roll your eyes at him when he unapologetically draws his gaze over your bare skin, but he can’t help it.

You look so ravishing that he wants to push you back inside the room. As stunning as your bikini is, it would look even better off.

To hell with the pool.

“What do you think?” 

He has roused from whatever grey temperament he was stuck in, now that he’s had his espresso. “I'm a goner. Absolutely done for.”

“Flatterer.” You shake your head at him, taking in his broad, bare torso. “Well, you don’t look so bad yourself.” 

He smirks, his large hands kneading your waist. “I'm the luckiest man on the planet, and this is you after an accident, you say? My love, you're a vision in green.”

“You like the colour?”

“Mmm, if I didn't like you in it, I'd cause a fuss about how you're playing for the other team, my Alyna.” He swoops down and kisses the crook of your neck, the spot he is aware would tickle, eliciting a soft giggle out of you.

“I could never,” you say, swatting his arm. “They were just out of black bikinis at the shop.”

“Black... green... we both know you look the best without either of them on. I mean, we did establish that six times in one night, remem—”

“Matt!” you squeal, eyes wide and scandalised. He feels smug, because he made sure you would never forget that night. “You're such a dog. Come on, let's join the others. I can’t wait to finally dip my toes in the pool.”

He is one step ahead of you the whole time, paying special attention to your bad ankle. He knows he’s being too careful when you eye him strangely, but he doesn’t care. “I got you,” he says.

“I can walk, you know,” you huff. “I’d have been down here ten seconds ago if it wasn’t for you going all Mr. Protector.”

As you reach the final landing, Phia’s voice rings out, “Hands off my woman!”

“She’s got a point.” You tilt your head at Matt, lips pulling at the corners.

“Have I? I was just kidding,” she shakes her head, before mumbling under her breath. “I'm not Ewan.”

Matt huffs out in response, trying not to let it get to him. Phia takes your other arm, deaf to your protests. It’s silly, because they’re both aware that you can probably fend for yourself, but not if they have anything to say about it. 

Fabien, Elliott, and Harry are manning the grill out on the patio. Some of the ladies are cozying on their sun chairs. Ewan, Luke, and Freddie are smoking on a bench under a canopy. And Thom Yorke serenades the whole scene, the speakers emitting ambient music.

Matt’s always loved a good European excursion, but this one might be his favourite yet. Thanks to the girl who lets him fuss over her despite her feigned annoyance.

Your fingers dig tighter into his arm as the two of you lower into the pool. He relishes the moment and allows the ebb of the water to push him closer to his girl.

“Hold on to me.”

You roll your eyes, but wrap your arms around his shoulders anyway. “I'm fine, Matthew. My ankle’s almost healed back to normal.”

“Almost is the keyword there, my love. We can't take any chances. So... hold on to me, beautiful.” The late morning sun is a blanket comfort as you float on together, your laughter ringing out as he flaps an arm on the water and splashes your face. 

From the sidelines, Freddie lets out a loud, teasing whistle. Matt responds with a triumphant fist pump, turning to give him a cheeky grin. 

That might have been a mistake because his eyes landed on Ewan, seated comfortably to Freddie’s left, a cigarette burning low between his lips. His eyes are obscured by dark sunglasses, but he’s clearly surveying the scene unfolding in the pool with an air of nonchalance that doesn’t sit well with Matt. 

He would have expected Ewan to jump in the pool as well and make a show of laying a claim on you as he had before. But no. The younger lad just sits, and watches, the makings of a smirk pulling at his lips when Matt makes eye contact.

Since when has he been this self-assured? Perhaps you’re to credit for this renewed sense of confidence? 

Are you slipping away from him, and back into Ewan’s arms? 

Too many questions, and not even the pleasant haze of Spain can shake the anxiety out of him. 

But then, Liv strolls over, positioning herself in front of Ewan, blocking Matt’s view. She bums a cigarette from one of the guys, and as she turns, she gives Matt a subtle nod—a reminder of her advice from last night. Just show her, she’d said. Show her you’re all in.

Thank the heavens for Olivia.

Turning back to you, Matt softens, brushing a lock of hair from your face. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, feeling his doubts fade as you meet his gaze, eyes bright with laughter.

“Enjoying yourself there?” you ask sweetly.

“What’s not to enjoy?” he replies, his hand tracing slow, lazy circles on your back.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you glare like that before.”

“I was not glaring.”

“You so were, Matthew.”

“Oh, yeah?” he murmurs, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. Before you can react, he dips underwater, reemerging just inches from your thigh, where he plants a quick, teasing kiss that makes you yelp.

“Wha—Oh! Matt! Get up here!”

He surfaces, grinning, his arms winding around you again as he pulls you close. Your laughter mingles, echoing across the pool as the rest of the group cheers and jeers good-naturedly.

Just as Matt’s about to pull you in for another kiss, a loud shout breaks through the calm. 

“Cannonball!” Tom’s voice echoes from the villa, and before either of you can turn around, he comes barreling out, sprinting at full speed. With a triumphant yell, he launches himself off the edge, arms and legs splayed out like a human starfish.

The massive splash sends water arcing high, soaking you, Matt, and everyone within a ten-foot radius.

“Always one to ruin the moment, Tom,” Matt jokes.

“Had to make sure you two didn’t get too cosy,” Tom shoots back, swimming closer and clapping Matt on the shoulder. 

It’s all in good fun, sure, but then Matt catches Tom shoot a quick wink at Ewan, a flash of understanding passing between them.

So that’s how it’s going to be? Game on. 

It’s the penultimate day of the Mallorca trip and the group has rented boats to paddle out along the stunning coastline. Only 2 people are allowed per vessel and some pairs have already formed—Phia and Phoebe, Louise thankfully pulled away from Ewan by Bethany, Harry and Freddie…

And then there’s Ewan who strides over to you determinedly. Matt is a half-step behind, his expression expectant, but Ewan is quicker. “I’m with you today, darling,” he says, his tone leaving little room for question. His hand finds yours, warm and grounding.

Matt’s eyes flicker with disappointment but he’s never been one to kick up a fuss. He gives you a faint resigned shrug, then turns to Liv. “Guess that means you and I are a team then.”

Liv rolls her eyes playfully, pushing her sunglasses up and swatting his arm. “Don’t sound so thrilled. But I promise I won’t make you row the entire time.”

Matt’s smile softens as he looks at her, his earlier disappointment slipping into something more relaxed. “Fine, but I’m claiming the right to judge your rowing skills.”

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent rower,” Liv insists, taking her spot at the front of the boat and casting a teasing glance at him. “You, on the other hand…we’ll see.”

As you and Ewan push off into the water, he throws a glance back at the others, and a spark of mischief lights his eyes. “Think they’ll survive?”

You laugh, settling across Ewan on the boat. “I think it’ll be a surprise if Tom’s boat doesn’t capsize.”

Soon enough, everyone’s boats are spaced out on the clear, serene waters, and there’s nothing but the occasional splash of oars, the birds squawking high above, and the warm glow of the horizon. Ewan rows steadily, having doggedly refused your offer to help, and every now and then, his eyes flick to you, a soft smile never leaving his lips. His gaze lingers, like he’s committing your image to memory.

As you watch the world, he watches his world.

“Feels like another reality out here, doesn’t it?” he says, his voice barely above a murmur.

You nod, watching the sunlight dance across the water. “It really does.” You pause, glancing over your shoulder to see Liv and Matt, already in animated conversation. “It’s nice to just… forget everything for a while.”

He smiles, tilting his head. “Anything specific you wanna forget?”

You smile back. “Everything, really. The pressures, the expectations… wondering what everyone thinks or wants.”

From a few metres away, Matt’s voice carries over the water, cutting through the quiet intimacy of the moment. “I’m just saying, Liv, you don’t have to prove anything. You can let me row.”

Liv laughs, her voice filled with playful defiance. “Matt, I am fully capable of handling this. Maybe it’s you who should be taking notes.”

“Oh, I’d hate to step on your expert skills,” Matt teases back, before throwing a glance your way, his gaze lingering a bit too long before he turns back to Liv, who seems blissfully unaware of his momentary distraction.

Ewan notices it too, and his grip on the oar tightens ever so slightly. But he says nothing, keeping his focus on you as he rows further along the shore.

He steers the boat around a small bend, his voice low. “They’re good together, don’t you think?”

You turn, following his gaze. It’s a simple, easy dynamic between them, one you know you’ve seen before, and for a moment, a pang of something unnameable twists in your chest.

“Yeah,” you murmur, a touch distracted.

Ewan catches your gaze, his eyes searching yours. “You seem… surprised. Or maybe… jealous?”

You laugh it off, shaking your head. “Not at all. It’s just—”

But before you can finish, a sudden splash interrupts you. Harry’s boat has tipped over, both he and Freddie flailing in the water, their laughter filling the air as they try to right themselves.

Bethany, a few feet away, doubles over, her laughter carrying over the waves. “Oh my god, Freddie, I told you to sit still!”

Harry, sputtering as he surfaces, grins. “Guess I got too excited.”

“So I was wrong,” you turn to Ewan, smirking. “It’s not Tom who capsized.”

Ewan just laughs, then adds slyly, “Here I was wishing it would have been Matt.”

After the boats return to shore, you’re all tired and exhilarated, the sun higher in the sky as you make your way up the beach. But the peace is short-lived. Fans, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, begin to gather along the shore, their voices excited, cameras ready as they shout greetings and ask for photos. The relaxed energy shifts as each of you is drawn into the swirl of attention, questions flying as you try to keep up.

A fan steps in close, slightly shaking in her nerves. “You… and Ewan?” she asks, the question open-ended but its meaning clear.

You chuckle awkwardly, caught off guard, opting to just wrap an arm around her shoulders as she takes a selfie with you. 

But the fan is relentless, her attention shifting to Matt, who’s standing off to the side with Liv, his gaze directed toward you even as he signs another fan’s poster. “What about him?” she says, grinning.

Ewan’s arm slips around your waist protectively, pulling you closer. “She’s with me today,” he says confidently, not minding the possibility of this fan taking to the internet after this encounter, with proof of her ship actually being together.

Ewan doesn’t care; he has no reason to hide how much he wants you. Not anymore. If his fans want a crumb, as he often reads online about him, then he’s going to give them a whole feast. 

With you as the main course in the Ewan banquet.

As the day comes to a close, you find yourself resting all alone in your room, stealing the group introvert mantle right under Ewan’s nose. Everything that has happened during this vacation plays in your mind like a montage, and somehow, it all feels like it’s building up to a grand finale.

But before you can lose yourself completely in your thoughts, there’s a soft knock at your door.

You groan to yourself as you walk over, but your protest dies as you find Ewan standing there, holding something behind his back.

“Hey, you,” he greets you with a smirk that’s more mischievous than usual. “Got a minute?”

Your heart skips a beat — it’s always been that way with him, that instant flutter, even now after everything. “Sure. What’s up?” 

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he says, his grin widening at your raised brow. He steps into your room, pulling whatever he’s hiding behind his back.

When he finally reveals it, you blink, eyes widening. “You... bought these?” You can’t help but laugh.

Two brightly coloured superhero masks — one Spider-Man, the other Spider-Gwen.

“Yep, I saw a costume shop that had Carnaval masks… and these too, apparently,” Ewan says, looking pleased with himself. “I thought it would be fun. We’re getting away from the villa tonight. I figured we could use these. You know, masks for our incognito date night.”

It had taken one quick scroll on the internet for your group to discover that the paparazzi trailed everyone around town today, and Elliott even annoyingly revealed that he might have seen one or two of them lingering outside the villa’s premises. 

Vultures.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “Wait, you’re serious? We’re wearing these to our… date? Wait, why are we going on a date?”

He shrugs with a playful glint in his eye. “Why not?”

You hesitate for a second. It’s such a ridiculous idea, but in the best possible way. He’s always had a way of pulling you out of your own head, making you feel like there’s no right or wrong way to just live in the moment. 

Or maybe he could propose anything—anything at all—and you’d be beside yourself if you refused. It’s how you and him ended up having copious amounts of…. casual lovemaking, months after breaking up.

“Okay,” you finally say, “but only if you promise not to laugh when I look completely ridiculous in it.”

“Never,” he says with mock solemnity, holding out the Spider-Gwen mask for you. “You’ll look amazing. Trust me.”

As you slink past the gates, the masks make you feel more than a little silly, but also oddly liberated. It’s like you’re in on another secret with him, something just for the two of you.

You look at him, smiling as you adjust the mask. “This is insane,” you say, your voice muffled behind the fabric.

Ewan smiles back, clearly pleased with himself. “I know. And it’s perfect.”

“Are you sure this isn’t just you practicing for an audition for yet another Spiderman reboot?”

He only playfully shoots air webs at you, his adorable pew-pew noises audible under his mask.

You chuckle softly, your heart warming at the sight of him. “So, what now? You’re just going to walk me through the streets like this?”

“Of course. You ready to go on the best secret date of your life?”

You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Lead the way, Spiderman.”

The walk isn’t long, just enough to enjoy the quiet of the night and the unexpected adventure of it all. When you finally arrive at the restaurant, you stop dead in your tracks, blinking up at the building in front of you. It’s perched on the edge of a cliff, offering a breathtaking view of the bay below. The warm glow of the restaurant spills out onto the street, and you’re immediately struck by how beautiful its facade is.

You look at Ewan, your surprise written all over your face. “This... this place looks amazing. How did you find it?”

“I have my ways,” he says, grinning. “Come on.”

He leads you up the stairs, and you both remove your masks as you enter, giggling to each other. You’re met with a homey, rustic atmosphere. There’s a dim light from lamps perched on the posts, the soft murmur of conversations, and the smell of fresh food in the air. It’s everything you didn’t realise you needed tonight—calm, peaceful, and more than a little romantic.

“I booked a private table for us,” Ewan says softly, glancing around for the waiter. 

The two of you are escorted to a table on the balcony, overlooking the bay. The moon reflects on the water, casting a silver glimmer over the scene. For a moment, you just sit there, both of you silent, taking it all in.

“Ewan, this is incredible,” you say, your voice quiet but full of admiration. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Ewan smiles, reaching across the table to take your hand. “You don’t have to say anything. And I promise this isn’t some ploy to get you to speed up your decision-making. I just… I just wanted you to have a night where you could forget about everything else.”

He leans back slightly, his eyes studying you with that gentle familiarity, like he’s waiting for you to say something more, but he doesn’t rush you.

You glance down at the simple sundress you’ve been wearing all day. You didn’t have time to change when Ewan mentioned the surprise evening out — there was no real thought given to a perfect outfit. And yet, as you sit here now, across from him in the warm candlelight, you don’t feel the usual self-consciousness you might’ve once felt. 

You feel more beautiful than you ever have before, because he sees you as the most beautiful person in the room. In any room.

“I don’t know how you do it,” you say, looking at him. “How you make everything feel so…” You trail off, unable to find anything adequate. 

His lips curl into a knowing, half-smile. “I feel the same about you.”

And you might not know it yet, but this night is when you choose him. 

Under the unprecedented rainfall, later on, you will realise that you never truly had to choose.

It’s always been Ewan, all along. 

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @onlyrealjoy @hotdismylife @thepurplecrown @just-fics-station @clarkysblog @urmomsgirlfriend1 @misfitbimbosblog (continued in comments ... )

Some notes in the margins...

I have no notes. The red mirage is still at play as I type this. Please distract me in the comments 🥲

The next chapter wraps up this trip :) We also might have a bit of Liv's POV...

Then it's back to LA or London, depending on who darling opts to go with 💛

[therossgarden]

I am so so so so so TIRED to see people fatshaming two perfectly healthy girls because they have round faces. It’s disgusting.

The actresses of Mai and Azula are on point for their roles. Hell, if they were chosen there must be a reason, it’s not like there’s no Asian actresses out there they could choose from.

People can’t accept that Azula can have a characterization beyond “crazy and sadist sicko”. She’s a perfectionist. She’s an asset to her father. She’s jealous of Zuko’s birthright and of how it might take what she has away. Those are things that OG Azula too had. The only difference is that we actually see it in season one and have a background on her, rather than writing it in a rant. And what has been added only makes her a more complex character, given the change in the family dynamic as well.

And Mai? The actress is talented, she delivers a good Mai, and does justice to the character. She’s 17 and at the beginning of her career, of course it won’t be perfect. She gets to grow. Thing is, you guys won’t let her, because a square jaw scares you so flipping bad that you feel the need to shame her for it.

Everyone is a body positivity advocate until a girl with a rounder face shape is cast as a character in a live action you are NOT forced to watch? Seriously?

I’ve seen so many people on the internet calling them all sort of names, fatshaming them, insulting their work without even focusing on the acting. And I’m like, what’s to fatshame there? Let me tell you: nothing.

If I have to put it through your thick head like this, so be it. Even though I hate talking about and comparing bodies.

This below is a picture of Azula’s actress.

She has the face card, she has the jawline, and she has a fit, enviable body. And you still have the audacity to “fat-shame” her?

These two pictures are in costume. Again, face card and an enviable body. She even has the expression for Azula. You see a girl with a rounder shape of face and will automatically go “no she’s too cute to be Azula!!” Dude. No. When she will actually deliver as the crazy girl we know, she will devour. She will, and you all will switch back because that’s what you are, slimy switchers.

And now, onto Mai’s actress, a very beautiful girl with talent and looks. She is literally so pretty, and you dare hate on her? You dare shame her for how she looks? From what I’ve heard she’s a minor, too, so this makes you 100000% more slimy and undeserving of any sympathy in my book.

This is her, this is the girl.

She’s literally so pretty. Maybe she hasn’t got the same facial structure of Mai, but she delivered all her lines she had in the little screen time and with the discutibile scenes she was given. She was good. But you see a square jaw, a rounder shape of face, and are immediately triggered.

And you can’t even use the stupid argument of “she’s fat”, because this is literally her.

A very normal, very healthy young woman. Not as skinny as OG Mai? So what? She’s still a fricking thin girl. Nowhere as “fat” as you haters make her to be.

I shouldn’t have to explain common sense and basic decency to grown adults, and yet here we are.

This is honestly so frustrating. In the year of 2024 you can’t possibly justify insulting girls like this, with no shame. It’s absolutely idiotic and shows very a big lack of brain cells. I see you, haters, behind your device, with your insecurities and shame for yourself, laughing at two girls who made it farther than you ever will. You can critique the acting once you’ve seen it in full potential. Until then, shut your tramp up. This is very small dick energy of you.

I don’t see why I should treat you with kindness when you are so eager to make this kind of jokes about pretty and in shape girls you are very obviously jealous of. Go touch some grass, incels.

[pennyellee]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

title: champagne confetti pairings: heartthrob!jk, yandere!jk x fashion employee f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: 14K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 release date: 24.1.2024 23:00/11 PM CEST - 17:00/5 PM EDT

summary: You, a determined fashion designer, find yourself entangled in a collaboration with the irresistibly charming and egotistic heartthrob, Jeon Jungkook. Will this partnership remain strictly professional, or will he make the lines blur?

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, unprotected sex, jk is selfish af, jk is delulu, oral (fem and m receiving), spanking, implied cum swallowing, creampie, soft yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, choking, rough sex, pussy pounding, bruises, manipulation, gaslighting, strong language disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

author's note: so, ehm, this story got way outta my hands, it was supposed to be a goddamn rom-com with enemies to lovers trope - i wanted to build around the character trope of Rachel Green from Friends because she is my favourite character of all times, what i wanted to build around was how Rachel was offered a job at Louis Vuitton but it was in Paris - that was supposed to be the whole plot (with slight changes ofc), well and somehow it went in a different direction. Nonetheless I really enjoyed writing this fic and i hope you'll enjoy reading it as much. See you on the 24th chummers, love you! 🩵

“I know you took it,” you said, crossing your arms on your breasts. The heels of your black leather boots echoed in the apartment when you turned to face him.

“Took your breath away by that heated kiss, sexy, certainly. Otherwise I did not take anything.” Jungkook scoffed, crossing his arms defensively. The tension in the room was palpable as you square your shoulders, refusing to back down. You blinked twice at his cheesiness. The tip of your tongue moved to rest on the bottom of your upper teeth, your smile spreading on your face. The chuckle came out of you so naturally, laughing at his ridiculously ridiculous behaviour.

“Don’t play dumb, I know it was all you. You malicious sabotaging petty boy—” You retorted, articulation perfectly clear while the words laced with underlying frustration and anger.

He sighed, weariness settling over him. “You think I stole your portfolio to sabotage your career? You’re giving me too much credit, love.” Here he comes.

“I said nothing about my portfolio, Jungkook.” You said playing with his name on your tongue. A tense silence hung in the air as he considered your words, clicking his tongue, clearly annoyed and you were just getting started.

“I managed to figure that out. A drink?—” He offered, shrugging her statements of like snow in summer whilst he moved to the small bar that was a part of his spacious living room.

“I don’t want a drink, Jungkook. I want it back now,” you replied, your tone cutting through the casual offer. The anger in your gaze intensified, fuelled by the frustration of dealing with his nonchalant attitude.

“Let’s talk, baby.” He gestured towards the living room, as if trying to usher you into a more comfortable setting for the impending confrontation. He knew this was just a little shower, the real storm was still far away, giving him space to prepare.

As you moved, you couldn't help but notice the contrast between your demeanour and his. While your arms were still crossed defensively, his posture exuded a calm confidence that irked you further.

You took a seat on the edge of the sofa, not willing to fully settle into the illusion of camaraderie. Jungkook, on the other hand, sprawled onto a nearby chair, the picture of nonchalance.

“I need that portfolio to get a job because a certain someone has to be bitchy and sabotage my whole career because his big ass ego cannot take rejection. Give it to me,” you fired off, your words sharp and accusatory. He leaned back in the chair, smirking.

“Those are very bold words, Y/N. I would prefer to think of it as a wake-up call for you, not sabotage.” Your incredulous glare only intensified.

“Are you fucking serious Jungkook? A wake up call? You’ve just jeopardised everything I’ve worked for, and you’re calling this a wake up call?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze locked onto yours.

“I can get you a better job.”

You scoffed. The audacity of his response fuelled the simmering anger within you.

“You can’t get a shit, so give it back to me, and I’ll be on my way,” you requested.

Jungkook’s smirk remained, an infuriating mix of arrogance and nonchalance.

“No,” he said, smiling. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, the frustration reaching a boiling point. He leaned back, seemingly unperturbed by your rising anger.

“What do you mean no?!” you shot back, your voice sharp.

“You were about to make a decision that would have consequences beyond your imagination. I had to intervene.”

“What the fuck are you on again?” Jungkook’s gaze remained fixed on you, the intensity of his stare almost unnerving while your voice went an octave higher. Your frustration reached its peak, and you stood up, pacing the room as you ranted. You were breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself.

You needed that portfolio, it was a collection of years of a work and your best work to be specific. The lousy new version won’t get you a job at no high-profile fashion brand and you cannot afford to go lower than your last position.

“Alright—” You said defeated, turning yourself to face him again, you put off your black leather jacket and fixed your low ponytail, slumping back to his sofa. Spreading your arms on the backrest and cross your legs.

Jungkook took a moment to breathe in the sight before him; he was throbbing for you.

“—what do you want?” you asked. He leaned back further into the chair, putting his masculine tattooed arms to rest on the back of his head, showing his abs from under the white tank top he is wearing.

“What do I want?” he mused, as if contemplating the question but he already knew.

“Spill it out.” You barked and he chuckled at your eagerness. He got up from his seat and dangerously slowly walked towards you.

When he reached you, both of his arms pressed to the leather of the sofa inches from you, caging your body. Your breath stammered as you looked at him towering over you, the golden chain around his neck hanging.

“Firstly, I want you to be my good girl, apologise for being a brat the other day and admit there is an “us”. Secondly—” he whispered seductively, closing the approximate distance while doing so. He was right in your face, looking over at your lips evidently he was controlling himself to not attack them. He invaded your personal space. The sudden shift in atmosphere left you breathless, and you could feel the heat radiating between you.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to succumb to the intoxicating energy he exuded. “I won’t apologise for any shit, now secondly?” You said while trying to hold your horses. You hate to admit your pussy was clenching and leaking under his gaze. He was attractive, and no one could deny that.

His fingers grazed your cheek gently, a teasing touch that sent a jolt of electricity through your body. You swallowed hard, trying to maintain a semblance of composure.

“I want these feisty little plump lips wrapped around my thick cock—”

.

.

.

read here

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @pamzn - @jaedayy - @mylyus-blog - @vanillacupcakefrosting - @jjeonjjk7 - @darkuni63 - @jeonaraathedreamer - @urlovelily - @kissyfacekoo - @looneybleus - @btspurplesky - @seokseokjinkim

ps: lemme know if you want to be additionally tagged! 🩵

lots of love, 𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

[luminoustarlight]

As Fate Would Have It | Chapter Three

Lines are beginning to blur between you and Anakin.

◂ chapter two ▸ chapter four

rating: mature | pairing: dilf!anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 5.2k | read on ao3

warnings: alcohol, age-gaps, body image insecurities (anakin), sexual fantasies/content, swearing, a little bit of mean anakin

“Tell me everything! Is he everything you thought he’d be? Totally dreamy? All stoic and boss-like? Oh, what does he smell like? Expensive?” 

Your best friend has barely taken off her shoes before bombarding you with questions about your first day working for Anakin Skywalker. You give her a welcoming hug before taking her hand and leading her into the living room. “Come on, I’ve already opened a bottle of wine.” 

Two empty glasses stand next to a middle-shelf Pinot Gris on your coffee table. Sabine takes it upon herself to pour the wine and pulls the granny square blanket from the back of your couch over her lap. She looks like she’s settling in for a bedtime story. 

“Okay, I’m ready. Lay it on me.” 

You situate yourself on the opposite end of the couch and slip your legs under the blanket. You take a small sip of wine before attempting to answer any of Sabine’s questions. Your first day at Skywalker Enterprises went by in a blur. Meeting your boss was not at all how you imagined it would go. It was all so clumsy. Anakin seemed more like an embarrassed school boy than the confident CEO you were expecting. He looked like he saw a ghost when he saw you sitting behind your desk. And then, in the car on the way to his house, he addressed your butt. 

“Let me know if your butt gets too toasty,” he said. It was so incredibly adorable because you could tell he let a little bit of his guard down when he said it. Obviously, he didn’t mean to. Because no sensible boss should talk about his assistant’s butt. Especially not when you’ve only just met each other. You found it endearing. 

But then, after the initial awkwardness faded and you continued talking to each other throughout the day, there was a sense of familiarity about him. The structure of his sentences when he spoke reminded you of someone. You’re just not sure who. 

“He’s not really what I thought he’d be like.”

“How so?” Sabine asks. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, unable to explain the stirring of feelings and emotions in your chest. “He’s… he was sort of awkward when we first met. Like, stuttering and fumbling over his words. Almost as if I made him nervous.” 

Sabine nods slowly with her eyes narrowed. “Go on…” 

“Well, that’s crazy, right? The fact that I could’ve made him nervous?” 

“Not necessarily. Look at you. You didn’t have a successful OnlyFans page for nothing.” 

“Yeah, but he’s in his forties,” you emphasize. You remind yourself of his age nearly every minute to remember how inappropriate it is to be attracted to your boss. Applying for the job was such a bad idea. What made you think you wouldn’t be attracted to him when you saw him in person? Your cheeks get hot as you think about him rounding the car to open your door once you got back to the office after dropping off his son’s pants at school. It was just a common courtesy, not a sign of interest. But damn, was it nice to be on the reciprocating end of something gentlemanly.

“And he’s a dad! I shouldn’t be making dads nervous,” you add. “I mean, I saw a picture of his wife at his house. She was stunning. Stunning, Sabine. High cheekbones, a nice straight nose, a gorgeous smile…” 

“Wait, he’s married?!” Sabine sets down her glass. 

“Widowed.” 

“Oh,” Sabine says sadly. Then her eyebrows perk up. “Oh.” 

“Don’t,” you hold up your finger. “Don’t give me that look. He’s my boss.” 

“But you like him,” Sabine sings. “And from what it sounds like, he likes you too.” 

You cannot let Sabine put the idea of Anakin Skywalker, engineering millionaire, having a measly little crush on you. Because it’s absolutely absurd. He’s him and you’re… you’re just a girl who was uploading videos of herself masturbating for money just last week. Not that there is anything wrong with sex work. It’s empowered you in so many ways, but it was time to find something a bit more steady and reliable. And less physically taxing, to be perfectly honest. 

“Sabine, be serious. I-” your phone pings with a distinct tone that makes you pause. 

New Message from Skyguy81 

“Oh, my God,” you say. 

“What?” Sabine asks. 

“It’s Sky,” you answer her while opening the message.

Sabine eagerly crawls on top of you to peer at your screen. “Sky as in Rich Guy Sky? Did you upload a new video or something? What did he say?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I haven’t uploaded anything since last Thursday. Get off of me so I can read his message.” 

Sabine retreats to her side of the couch as you begin reading to her. 

“I thought about you at work today. I thought about you more than I would like to admit. You have no idea what you do to me, Honey. No idea what I would do to you.” Your tongue feels like sandpaper and your heart is in the bottom of your throat. 

“Oh, shit!” Sabine exclaims. “You’ve got this boy whipped! Honestly, you should just keep making videos for him. He was your best tipper, anyway.” 

“He’s never… he’s never messaged me out of the blue before.” You chug down the last of your wine, thinking you may need some liquid courage for whatever conversation is about to unfold between you and Sky. 

“He wants you,” Sabine says simply. “Make it happen.” 

“I can’t just meet up with someone from OnlyFans. It’s an episode of Dateline waiting to happen.” 

Sabine rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so cynical.” 

“I’m not being cynical, I’m being logical,” you counter. You’d be foolish to risk your life by meeting up with Skyguy81. No matter how nice and genuine he seems over private messages. No matter how much money he has tipped you. There is no guarantee he’s not absolutely creepy and going to kidnap you.

Okay, so maybe you watch too much true crime. That’s why you have to balance it out with The Great British Bake Off. 

“I don’t know. I’m just saying,” Sabine finishes her wine, “you never know. He could be the love of your life.” 

You’re quiet as you contemplate the love of your life. Sabine is the romantic. You’re the realist. You have a hard time believing there’s one person in the world who you’re destined to be with. How do you explain Anakin losing his wife? Was she the love of his life? Is he not supposed to move on and potentially find happiness with someone else? None of it makes sense to you and it’s quite possibly because you’ve never been in love. 

And the image of the person who you might like the opportunity to love is entirely unavailable. 

.

.

.

It’s times like tonight when Anakin wishes he didn’t raise such inquisitive, curious children. Leia is simply chock-full of questions about her dad’s new assistant. When do they get to meet her? Soon. Is she old like Auntie Dorothy? No. Does she like vintage Disney movies? (Anything before 2010 is “vintage” to Leia). I don’t know. 

Luke, on the other hand, was very disappointed to learn that you were in the car while his dad dropped off a new pair of pants. “You made her wait in the car like a dog?” 

Anakin snorts. “I wouldn’t quite say like a dog, Luke. I was gone for less than five minutes.” 

“Did you at least roll down the window? So she could have fresh air?” Leia joins in on the comical idea of their dad leaving his assistant in his car like a pet. 

“That’s enough out of you two,” Anakin says through a grin. These 9 year olds, man. What is he going to do with them? 

Luke and Leia nod, going back to stabbing their dumplings with their chopsticks. 

“I have one last question.” Leia watches her dumpling precariously dangle on the edge of her chopstick. 

“What is that, princess?” Anakin asks.   

“Is she pretty?” 

Anakin’s pulse is going to burst. It’s a simple question- one that always seems to be on the tip of Leia’s tongue. She wants a woman figure in her life. Soon, she’ll be at the age that is easier to navigate with a maternal presence. Anakin is really not equipped to talk her through menstrual cycles. 

But it’s the nature of who his new assistant is that makes him feel so exposed. He can’t very well tell his children you’re the most beautiful woman he’s seen since his wife. And he definitely can’t tell them that you’ve been in his life not since this morning, but since three years ago when he downloaded OnlyFans. 

Anakin cleans the corners of his mouth with his napkin while he formulates an appropriate response. He’s kept his answers short and simple because if he thinks about you for too long, your figure seeps into his vision, your voice burns in his ears, and he’s unable to focus. 

He feels like such a sleaze for getting hard just by thinking about you. You are so much more than a sexual object. And trust him, he can’t wait to learn about all that makes you you. But morals be damned. He wants you desperately. 

“Yes, Leia. She’s quite pretty,” Anakin finally answers. 

Leia can’t help but dance excitedly in her seat. “I can’t wait to meet her.” 

“I could’ve met her today,” Luke mumbles. “If Dad hadn’t locked her up in the car.” 

Anakin is laughing now. “I have a feeling you are going to be bringing this up for a while.” 

After dinner, the kids clear the dishes and load what they can into the dishwasher. Meanwhile, Anakin does something either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. 

.

.

.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

I thought about you at work today. I thought about you more than I would like to admit. You have no idea what you do to me, Honey. No idea what I would do to you.

Now being 10 pm, it’s been 3 hours since Anakin— or rather, Skyguy81— sent you that message. 

And you still haven’t replied. But you read it. 

And the fact that you’ve read the message but decided not to reply makes Anakin feel so incredibly foolish. What was he thinking? What was he expecting from you? More meaningless flirting? 

Except now it’s not meaningless for him. He’s not sure if it was ever meaningless. But now that he knows who the woman behind HoneySuckle is, it’s completely different. You have a name— which he had to look up in employment records because he’s convinced he actually blacked out when you introduced yourself. You have passions and interests, favorite snacks, and a go-to karaoke song. He wants to know it all. 

And even though he’s going to see you tomorrow, he couldn’t resist the urge to message you on OnlyFans. But since you’ve opted not to reply to him, he’s now wallowing like a teenage boy. 

Ridiculous. He’s better than this, goddamnit! 

Finally deciding to stop staring at his phone, Anakin strips down to take a shower. It’s hard for him not to feel disappointed when he looks at himself in the mirror. Arguably, he’s still in great shape. He lifts weights at the gym at least twice a week, sometimes three if he has the time. He doesn’t have a beer belly, which he considers an accomplishment at his age. But he does have some extra fat around his love handles. He has sun spots on his shoulders from the countless pool days when the twins were younger. And then there are the undeniable lines around his eyes, which are incredibly prominent when he smiles. 

Anakin has never felt particularly insecure about his image before. He’s accepted that his body is not the same 20 year old body it once was. But there’s a new nagging insecurity in the back of his mind.

Is it good enough for you? 

Anakin turns on the water in the shower, needing to wash away all delusions of you and him ever getting together. As soon as he steps one foot on the tile, his phone buzzes. He grabs his phone off of the counter and his heart rate immediately ticks up. 

Hi Sky, I’m sorry for the delay. I had a friend over. Here’s a special little something for you ;) 

Attached is a picture of you on your bed, sitting on your heels with the thin straps of your panties pulled over your hips. You’re lifting an oversized t-shirt above your breasts, which also expertly hides your face. Right. Because you don’t know that he knows who you are. 

Still, the picture was worth the wait. It’s almost embarrassing the way his cock is already standing upright, the tip pressing against his lower abdomen. He focuses on your hard nipples, picturing himself enclosing his mouth around one of your mounds. He’s rolling his tongue over your bud while massaging your other breast. Your hands are in his hair and you’re anything but silent. You’re moaning his name, begging for more, whining for him to put his cock inside of you. 

Anakin is too preoccupied to even reply to you. He gets himself under the steady stream of hot water and grabs the base of his length. Now he’s picturing you on top of him, tits bouncing in his face while you fuck yourself on his cock. 

“Mmm, yes! Anakin, please. Feels so good.” 

Your hands are pressed against his strong chest for support. He loves you like this— in control but still pathetically needy for his dick. “How much do you love it?” he asks. “Tell me how much you love this cock inside of you.” 

You throw your head back when he slaps both of your ass cheeks. He grabs onto your flesh firmly and your cunt clamps around him while you proclaim it to be the best feeling in the world. “I love it so much, Ani. Nobody's cock feels as good as yours.” 

“Damn right,” Anakin grits. He holds your chin with a strong hand, forcing you to look at him. “This pussy is mine. You understand that?” 

“Yes, sir,” you moan as Anakin bucks his hips up, hitting deep inside of you. “Only yours.” 

“Yes, sir,” huh? That’s a new kink unlocked. Anakin presses a palm on the shower wall to steady himself as he cums. It’s anything from pretty. It happens suddenly and quickly, thanks to the vivid images he was creating in his mind. He bites down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning too loudly. But your name is rolling off of his tongue effortlessly. As if it’s always been in the recesses of his mind, just waiting to be said intimately and passionately. 

He tries to list off the hundreds of reasons why he should never utter your name in a less than professional manner while shampooing his hair. 

You’re his assistant.

You’re significantly younger than him. 

The power imbalance (see 1 and 2). 

That’s all he can come up with for now and it’s enough. Nothing good will come out of pining for you and fantasizing about you. It still doesn’t stop him from messaging you back after he gets out of the shower and settles in bed. 

Now I feel guilty for not responding sooner. Thank you for the spectacular photo. It is unfortunate that I had to take matters into my own, ahem, hands. I would have much preferred to have your help. 

You flatter me, Sky. Do I really get you that worked up? 

Impossibly so. 

When you said you thought about me at work… What exactly did you mean? 

To be perfectly blunt, you were bent over a desk with your skirt pushed over your ass. I was fucking you well and hard, with my name being the only thing falling from your pretty lips. 

Anakin lets out a heavy sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. Why does he keep putting himself in situations that result in an erection? He just needs to have a good fuck. Get it out of his system. Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. But under no circumstances will it be with you. 

I think I’d like that very much. 

Goddamnit. Anakin needs to stop while he’s ahead. While he’s not succumbing to jerking off for a second time tonight. This was a disastrous idea. Because now when he sees you at work tomorrow, he’s going to think about how you would like for him to fuck you over your desk. Except you don’t actually know that it’s him who wants to fuck you over your desk. 

Maybe in another life. 

Anakin leaves it at that. He puts his phone on do not disturb and attempts to get some reading in before going to sleep. He also prays for G-rated dreams. 

.

.

.

The morning fog of late November in Northern California is still hanging in the air when you get to work at 8 am. Anakin won’t be in until he drops off Luke and Leia which means he should arrive around the same time he did yesterday. It gives you an hour to go through voicemails, reply to emails, and brew a pot of coffee in the breakroom. 

Ben Kenobi arrives shortly after you, sharply dressed in dark blue slacks, caramel leather Oxfords, and a white collared shirt with small polka dots that match the color of his pants. 

“Good morning, Mr. Kenobi,” you greet.  

“Please, call me Ben. No need for formalities around here,” Ben replies. “You’ll soon see we operate very much like a family. There will be shouting and likely some name calling, but it’s all in the name of love for engineering and innovation.” 

“Got it,” you nod. “It’s just that Dorothy always called Mr. Skywalker by, well, Mr. Skywalker. And yesterday he didn’t tell me to call him otherwise.” 

Ben strokes his nicely groomed beard. “Interesting. Well, I suppose you can continue to address him as such until he tells you to call him Anakin. Which I’m sure he’ll do this morning when he gets in. Have you brewed the coffee yet?” 

“Not yet.” you stand. “I wanted to check messages first, but coffee is next on the list.” 

“Excellent.” Ben follows you into the breakroom. “How are you enjoying your time here?” 

“Well, it’s only been a day,” you remind him with a light lilt to your voice. “But it’s been good! Everyone I’ve met is super friendly.” 

Ben leans back against the counter, crossing his ankles and arms over his chest. “And you and Anakin? You two getting along? He’s not giving you too much trouble, is he?” 

You nearly spill the coffee grounds as you bring the spoon up from the container to the machine. “No!” you say a little too loudly. “I mean, no. He’s been very nice. Quiet, but nice.” 

“Anakin? Quiet?” Ben almost laughs. “I’ve never heard that word used to describe Anakin before.” 

“Oh.” you continue scooping grounds into the machine. How many spoonfuls are you supposed to put in? You’ve lost count. Maybe two more for good measure. You’d rather make the coffee too strong than too weak. Nothing is worse than weak coffee. “Maybe I caught him on an off day. He did seem a little weird when he brought me to his house. And then I sort of told him off in the car…” 

This gets Ben away from the counter and walking over to you. “You did what?” 

“Well, I mean, I didn’t tell him off per se. I just asked him to give me a chance. It seemed like he’d already made a decision about me and we’d only known each other for a couple of hours.” 

“Good for you,” Ben replies. “Anakin is headstrong but he can be reasoned with. If the reason is worth being reasoned over.” 

“Am I?” you ask. “Worth being reasoned over?” 

Ben appears to give you a once over and then nods once. “Yes, I’d say so.” 

“Thanks…” you say with uncertainty. Ben takes himself and his briefcase to his office, which is the next door over from Anakin’s. He leaves you alone in the breakroom with a dozen questions. Was Ben assessing your appearance? Surely not for himself. He’s insanely in love with his wife— the mayor. Then who for? Anakin? No. No way. 

The coffee has begun to brew— the nutty notes of Philz Philtered Soul bringing you back to your college days. There’s one in walking distance from campus and you and Sabine spent every finals week there chugging back Mint Mojitos and Mocha Tesoras. 

Those days were not that long ago for you. For Anakin, on the other hand… 

You shake your head, effectively shaking thoughts of Anakin taking any interest in you away. And why would he have an interest in you? He’s bound to have a list of more age-appropriate women he can bring home to his children. 

Stop thinking about it. 

But it’s so damn hard not to. A forbidden office romance with your boss who’s 20 years your senior? Yeah, it’s cliché and sort of sounds like the plot to a porno but it’s sort of fun, too. As long as you keep yourself in check, what’s the harm in pretending like he’s secretly in love with you and wants to take you home? 

.

.

.

When Anakin gets into the office, he doesn’t even greet you before saying, “Call Rose. Tell her to come as soon as possible.” 

So much for him being nice yesterday. Now he won’t even look at you. “Who’s Rose? What- what is the appointment for?” 

“You don’t need to know what it’s for,” Anakin snaps. “Just find Rose in your little phone book, call her, and tell her I need to see her immediately.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” you say while thumbing through the contacts Dorothy left behind for you. Without another word, Anakin goes into his office and slams the door. 

What the hell was that about? That was once again another awkward morning of Anakin slamming his office door after talking to you. You thought you left work on good terms yesterday. What changed? 

.

.

.

Rose Montgomery arrives 47 minutes after you call her. You hear her Louboutins clicking on the floor before you see her. Your eyes trail up from her long legs to her slim waist and perky boobs until you reach her face. Good Lord. She is strikingly beautiful. Her fiery red hair falls in loose curls over her shoulders. As she walks closer to your desk, you are drawn to her perfectly round green eyes. She’s like the real-deal Jolene from Dolly Parton’s hit song. Seriously, did she grow up being called Jolene solely based on her looks? 

“Aw, look at you,” Rose smiles down at you. “You must be the new Dorothy.” 

“I suppose I am.” 

“Aren’t you just the most adorable thing.” 

Uh… What the hell are you supposed to say to that? “I’ll let Mr. Skywalker know you’re here.” 

“No need,” Rose informs. “I’ll let myself in.” She begins to walk away with an extra sway to her hips. You want to hate her but she’s got such an air of confidence that you actually want to be a little more like her. 

“Oh, um, actually I’m not sure about that,” you come out from behind your desk. “He seems to be in a mood so I don’t want you barging in his office to make it worse.” 

Rose turns on her heels and purses her lips. “Actually, sweetheart, I’ve known him longer than you and this isn’t my first ‘appointment’ with him. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to go make his mood a little better.” 

Okay. Now you hate her. With that, Rose leaves you standing outside of Anakin’s office with a dumbfounded look on your face. Is that… is she… a booty call? 

All of the insinuations are there; from the air quotes around “appointment” to the way she said she’ll make Anakin’s mood better. Coupled with her outstanding looks, you’ve decided that Rose Montgomery is a friend with benefits of Anakin Skywalker. You trudge back to your desk and do your absolute best not to think about what’s happening behind your boss’s door. 

.

.

.

At the sound of his door opening, Anakin quickly closes his computer tab and turns off the monitor. He pulls his headphones off of his head and puts them in the drawer. 

Rose is none the wiser as she drops her Birkin bag on the table beside the chaise. “Ugh, who is that child you have sitting behind Dorothy’s desk?” 

“My new assistant,” Anakin answers through a dry throat. Rose sits herself on his lap and drapes her arms over his shoulders. She begins playing with the ends of his curls, which normally, he would enjoy. But he really just wants to get this over with. He draws down the zipper of her black dress while she kisses along his jaw. 

“She seems incompetent,” Rose says between kisses. “What is she? Like, 15?” 

Anakin twirls Rose’s hair around his fist and yanks her face away from his. This makes her gasp with pleasure, and despite his annoyance, he loves the reaction he gets from her. “I didn’t fucking ask you here for your opinion on her. Do not talk about her again. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Rose breathes. “Where do you want me?” 

“On your knees.”

.

.

.

When Rose leaves Anakin’s office, you can absolutely tell she and Anakin had sex. Did she even bother looking in the mirror or her phone camera before coming out? She avoids looking in your direction at all costs and knowing how awkward those walks of shame can be after a one night stand, you decide not to watch her walk to the elevator. 

You busy yourself in a filing cabinet until you hear Anakin’s door open again. You tell yourself not to look up because if you look up at him you might actually burst into tears. Which makes absolutely no sense to you but you feel that stinging in your nose and you’re trying to think of the time you got Panini because at least those were happy tears. 

Anakin says your name. 

Damnit. Get it together. You take a deep breath and plaster on a smile. At least he doesn’t look like he just had sex. His hair is combed back the same way it was when he walked in and his clothes are wrinkle free. “Yes, Mr. Skywalker?” 

“Would you like to go get lunch?” 

It’s only 10:45 but of course, he’d be hungry after having sex. “Oh, sure. What can I get you?” 

“I meant me.” 

You furrow your brows together. “Sorry?” 

“I mean us. You and me, together. Fuck,”  Anakin mumbles that last part. It’s like he loses the part of his brain that forms proper sentences when he looks at you. Think back to the car, Anakin. Things weren’t so bad in the car. Wait, yes they were. He told you to tell him if your butt got too toasty. 

You can’t help but smile as you start to see the Anakin who let his guard down in the car. He’s nothing like the Anakin who walked into the office this morning. “You want me to get lunch with you?” 

“Yes. If you would like.” 

You grab your thrifted black leather bag and your coat off of the back of your chair. “I think I’d like that very much.” 

I think I’d like that very much. 

That is the second time you’ve said that to Anakin. 

On the drive to the farm to table restaurant he suggested, he thinks about telling you the truth. That he’s Skyguy81 and you’ve been messaging each other for three years. Oh, and that he’s seen you naked. 

He weighs all of the pros and cons and all of the ways the situation could play out if he tells you. He decides the only way it’s going to end is with you quitting and never wanting to see him again. Telling you who he is is out of the question. 

Your face is buried in the menu, effectively blocking you from looking at Anakin. Your nerves are irritably on fire as you sit knee to knee with your boss. You go out to lunch with someone to talk. To get to know them. But you have no idea what to talk about with him. Either he’s super blunt or incredibly awkward and you don’t know what to make of it. 

Could Sabine be right? Does he have a crush on you? Do men in their forties even get crushes? 

“You are awfully quiet behind there,” Anakin finally says. “Are you hiding from me?” 

You slam your menu down nervously. “What? Oh, no. Just… looking at all of the options.” 

“I’m kidding,” Anakin chuckles. “If it helps, Leia likes the poke rice bowl. Luke likes the flatbread with artichokes. And I normally just get a burger.” 

“Wow, a 9 year old who likes poke? You’ve got some interesting kids.” 

“You have no idea,” Anakin replies bashfully. He really calms down when he talks about his kids. Maybe that’s your key to him. Keep him talking about his kids. 

“Well, I think I’ll try Leia’s favorite. Do your kids enjoy trying different types of food?” 

Anakin gives you a noncommittal shrug. “I suppose so. I didn’t raise them to be picky eaters. They eat what I eat. We had dumplings last night. They’re shit at using chopsticks but it makes for an entertaining meal.” 

You laugh along with him, feeling yourself relax the more you see Anakin relax. “I love dumplings!” 

“Yeah? We’ll have to have you over some time for dumplings, then.” Anakin doesn’t even realize what he’s saying until it’s hanging between you, awaiting your response. 

“That would be nice,” you admit. “I can’t wait to meet them. Of course, you know… if they even want to meet me.” 

“Are you kidding? Luke almost threw a fit over me leaving you in the car yesterday. And Leia… well, Leia gets excited about any new woman in my life. I mean, not that you’re my new woman, just you know, in terms of you being Dorothy’s replacement and-” 

You place your hand over Anakin’s without a second thought. And it’s more than just skin on skin. It’s electric. You resist the urge to pull away because the overwhelming feeling almost keeps you from saying: “It’s fine, Mr. Skywalker. I get what you mean.” 

Anakin is looking down at your hands and you wonder if he feels it too. Or if it’s entirely inappropriate to put your hand on his and he’s going to go back to being standoffish. You remove your hand from his and sit on it. 

“You don’t have to call me that,” Anakin murmurs. “Mr. Skywalker. I would much prefer you to call me Anakin.” 

You look up at him timidly. He’s being sincere. One corner of his lips are quirked up to form a sideways smile and your heart— your stupid, stupid heart adores it.  Perhaps there is harm in pretending like your boss is in love with you. Perhaps keeping yourself in check is going to be a lot more difficult than you thought. Because now that you’re on a first name basis with Anakin Skywalker, you fear simply being his assistant is not going to be enough.

◂ series masterlist ▸ chapter four (coming soon)

[jake-g-lockley]

Only for You (Steven Grant x reader)

Masterlist | Playlist

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, fingering, oral (fem receiving), protected p in v, popping someone’s cherry, dirty language, swearing.

Word count: 3.8k worth of filth and fluff, yay

A/N: I wanna lay on his chest fr (also his fucking hands just-) I’m fucking sorry but I just realized that I have never written Steven Grant smut, holy shit. Here it is, soft, first-time sex with Steven <3

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. “Don’t laugh Steven! I'm not scared of sex, I’m just saying that there are other things that I want in a relationship too.” you pout, elbowing Steven square in the stomach.

“It's not like I know how good sex is anyway.” You grumble as Steven chuckled.

You and Steven were curled up on the couch, a forgotten movie playing softly on your laptop. Your head was settled comfortably on his chest, a fluffy blanket over the both of you. If anyone had walked into Steven’s flat then, they would see the picture of your perfect version of a couple.

Except, well, you and Steven weren’t together.

You and him had been watching a movie when a particularly sexy scene came about and you moved to bury your face into Steven’s chest in embarrassment. Part of you had just wanted to stay there, all warm and comfortable but Steven had started to laugh, and is now prodding you slightly about your abstinence from the act of fornication.

He also had been nagging you about how you ditched your Tinder date to instead come to Steven’s flat bearing gifts of wine and chocolates.

“What are the other things you’d want then?” your best friend pushed on, sitting up slightly to close the laptop and place it on the coffee table before gazing down at you.

You shrunk slightly under his gaze, suddenly feeling shy.

Despite being the sweetest human being on the planet, sometimes when he was really into a conversation, Steven would have a sparkle in his eyes that made you feel slightly intoxicated. The first time that happened, you were surprised with the way your body reacted to him, in a fluid way, as if it was totally in tune with the nature that he had presented to you.

Forget sex. You had never been in a romantic relationship. In fact, Steven’s probably the first person in this big blue world who has been this close to you. You cherished him and held him oh so close to your heart, but that made you fall so incredibly hard for him.

But Steven was older, more mature and probably had more experience than you could ever uncover. Why would he want someone as inexperienced and young as you?

Instead you choose to avoid his eyes, staring at your hands that fisted the fluffy blanket.

“You’d think it's stupid.” you mumbled.

“Now, love, I never in a million years would think that. Come on, let's hear it then.” he urged, his hand finding yours for comfort.

You hold his hand in both of yours by his fingers, his hand comically bigger than yours. The weight of his hand in yours was reassuring and safe. You found yourself tracing his life line as you stared into space.

“I’d want them to dance with me in the rain even if both of us have two left feet. I’d want to go on long walks with them and talk about the stupidest things in the world. I’d want to hold their hand and run errands. I’d want them to sing me soft, made up songs, or read me poetry. I’d want them to make me smile even during my darkest days. I’d want them to just hold me in their arms and whisper sweet fluffy things. I’d want them to be my safe place, my comfort person. I’d want someone who can heal me, Steven.” your voice breaking a little when you got to the end of your list.

The both of you sat in silence for a while. You turned your focus entirely to the beat of Steven’s heart and the way his body was pressed to yours. You continued to toy with his fingers, brushing your thumb over a small scar over and over. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t want him to fulfill all that you had just said.

“Is that too much to ask for, or am I going to end up being an eternal virgin, eternally alone?” you laughed a little as you said it.

“Would you like me to try?” Steven whispered suddenly, the words spilling out of him in one breath.

At that very moment, you froze. You felt as if the world ceased to exist at the sound of his words.

Steven took a deep breath before continuing.

“You have already given me the opportunity to know you, in the best way possible, as your best friend. Darling, I’ll let you step on my feet while we dance in the rain. I’ll be your book of stupid facts while we walk around London aimlessly. I’ll never let go of your hand and I’ll sing you songs of my love for you and read you poetry about your pure beauty. I’ll make sure that beautiful smile doesn’t leave your face and I’m not a doctor, but I swear to you, on my life, that I’ll do my best to heal you.” He says as his free hand lightly runs up and down your arm.

“And I hate to be so frank, but I’m already holding you in my arms and I’m trying my best to whisper sweet things to you. Besides, if you didn’t feel safe, I doubt you’d still be slotted next to me holding my hand in yours.” He simply stated, as if he was proving a point.

You didn’t realize you were breathing rapidly until your eyes caught the movement of your chest. You licked your lips, attempting to say something back to Steven.

“Fuck.” was all that you managed instead.

“I could do that very well too if you like.” Steven said without missing a beat.

“YOU COCKY BASTARD!” You wriggled away from him and laughed, sitting up slightly to watch as a smile bloomed on his rosy face.

“You’d do that for me?” you whispered, the second the laughter died down.

“I’ll do anything for you, only for you.” He reassured as his eyes searched yours, bringing a hand up to cup your face. “I want to be the constant in your life, so, my darling, would you like me to try?”

“Yes, please.” You closed your eyes and leaned into his hand, before feeling yourself pulled close to him.

Your eyes fluttered open and you found yourself staring into dark orbs that you had constantly found yourself lost in on a daily basis.

“Can I kiss you and show you how hard I’ll try then?” Steven whispered, his eyes drowning you in his own sanctuary.

“Yes, Steven.” was the last thing you heard yourself say before you lost yourself in him.

Steven’s lips were soft and forgiving against yours as your mind scrambled to comprehend that you were having your first kiss. Your hand shook as you tried to find purchase, settling to grab Steven’s t-shirt. His nose slotted perfectly against yours and you could smell his aftershave and feel his stubble against your skin.

You could tell Steven was trying hard to take it slow but as you straddle his lap, he brought his hand to your hip to push you further into him. The friction made you gasp, allowing Steven to lick into your mouth, creating a symphony of sounds from the both of you.

The both of you stopped for air, but you couldn’t pull yourself away from him, choosing to breathe the air that he heavily breathed out.

“How was that?” Steven asked, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears.

“For my first? I couldn’t have asked for more.” you hissed slightly as Steven still kept an iron grip on your hip to push you against him, feeling the dynamic shift between the two of you.

You kissed Steven with all your last might and you could hear and feel a deep groan erupt from him as you pressed yourself against him, the wine you had edging you on. He kissed you back with equal fervor, as if he couldn’t get enough of you by the second. You ran your hands through his curls tugging them slightly causing him to whimper. You pressed yourself down on him, hard, realizing that you relished in the sound he made when you tugged on his hair. You could feel him, hard against you and a part of you felt absolutely victorious but the other part that was unsure slowly started to win over.

“I’ve never done this before, Steven.” you whisper as Steven moans, and you could tell that he was holding back from rutting his hips against you.

“That’s alright, love. Do you want to stop?” Steven says with a worried tone in his voice.

You gazed at Steven, at the state that you had put him in. His curls were astray and his lips were parted. Lust had blown his pupils wide open and you swear you could see a galaxy in them from your vantage point.

“No, I don’t want to stop. Not with you. Could you show me?” you plead.

“Let's take things slow,” Steven soothed you, slowly lifting you off him and laying you on your back. “I’m going to eat you out, love, but I need you to promise me that you’ll stop me if it gets too much for you.” he said while his large fingers hooked the waistband of the sweats that you stole from him.

Your face burned furiously at his words, not expecting the forwardness. You wanted to cross your legs and pull away but this was Steven. Your Steven. He would keep you safe.

“I promise.” You whispered back, your heart thumping in your chest.

Steven kissed your inner thigh, pushing your thighs apart to reveal your clothed cunt as you propped yourself onto your elbows to watch him make a mess of you. Your legs hung limp on either side of him, and you felt like a rag doll, absolutely powerless.

He started lightly marking your inner thighs, his tongue soothing out the evidence of his ministrations everytime your moans got a little too out of control. You swirl your hips, not content that your cunt wasn’t getting what it had been initially promised. Feeling a little bolder, your hands flew to his curls as you tried to direct him to what you really needed.

You felt yourself go dizzy as Steven’s fingers suddenly pushed your panties to the side, feeling your already dripping slit.

“Gods, you’re already so wet for me, darling. Such a shame that no one else will get to see how pretty this pussy is now that it's mine.” he mumbled as he trained his eyes to your core.

Blood rushed simultaneously to your face and clit, making you cry out loud at Steven’s lewd commentary.

“Steven, I-” you try saying but you choke on your words as he catches you off guard by pushing a digit into you, pumping it in and out at a slow pace, a vulgar squelching sound reaching your ears. He curls the finger without a hint of sorrow, hitting that one special spot that makes your legs turn into pure jelly, enlisting a shaky moan from you.

“You feel so soft, my love.” he says almost darkly, taking the finger out of you and inserting it into his mouth, eyes not leaving yours and your eyes widen, taking in every square inch of what you were seeing in front of you.

He lowers his head to you until his nose brushes harshly against your clit, sending a shock through your body. Your back arches back as you bring his face closer to you by his hair. Steven didn’t seem to be bothered by the way you were literally suffocating him, instead he lapped a broad stroke along your slit, tasting your juices straight from its source. Your knee jerk reaction to the pleasure you were having was to clamp your thighs together, but Steven was faster than you, holding your thighs open with light pressure, as he pushed his tongue inside you. You felt like you were drowning in a pool of delight as Steven continued to absolutely devour you.

“So much for going slow, Mr. Grant.” You thought as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

You loved it. Nothing you’ve tried on yourself has felt anything like this. You could tell Steven was studying the pattern of your pleasure, choosing to change tactics when your moans were more hollow and sticking to what he was doing when you wailed and pushed yourself against him. His name rolled off your tongue like a prayer more than a plea and Steven relished the way you spoke it under the change of circumstance.

“Bloody hell, baby, keep saying my name like that. Make everyone know that I’m yours.” Steven groaned into your core as he paused for a breath.

Without meeting much resistance, he pushes two thick fingers into you, covering your clit with his mouth and starts to pump at a steady pace. You brought a hand up to your mouth to stifle your cries of pleasure, only for the hand to be pulled back down by Steven. The steady stimulation of his tongue instantly pushes you up and over your breaking point. You felt yourself clench around his fingers as his tongue runs soothing circles around your clit.

“Gods, I can feel you squeezing my fingers. You like that, angel? Trust me, you’re going to like my cock more.” he says, directing his filthy words into your cunt.

You came with his name echoing in your screams, your body convulsing uncontrollably as Steven helped you to ride out your high. After cleaning out the remnants of the first orgasm that he gave you with his tongue, Steven kissed your thighs softly as you bathed in its afterglow. Your eyes focused on his face, a shy smile encapsulating his wet lips as a soft shade of pink danced over his cheeks and nose.

“That was amazing, Steven. Thank you.” You stretched your arms out for him and he obliged, letting you grab him by the t-shirt and pull him down for a kiss as you wrapped your legs around his torso.

You pulled him further down with your legs so that his body was flush to you, only to have his clothed bulge grind into your sensitive clit making you gasp.

“Shit! Sorry, love!” Steven groaned as he tried to pull himself off you.

You were having none of it. You kept him down and grinded upwards, grinning at the look that passed his face.

“Are you sure, darling? I just don’t want you to be overwhelmed.” he breathed as you ducked your head into the crook of his neck to kiss him.

He smelled like sandalwood and papyrus, twisting your brain with a desire you never knew you had in you.

“I know you’ll be gentle, I can take it.” you said clearly, wanting him to realize that you wanted to see and feel his pleasure too.

Steven searched your eyes only to have you stare back, full of silent determination, before cradling you close to him and lifting you up as he stood from the couch, as if you weighed like a sack of potatoes. Steven’s strength never failed to surprise you. You remembered the time he helped you move into your new apartment, how he lifted several heavy boxes at once without breaking a sweat.

He settled you down on his bed softly, and you knew from that moment on that he was dead set on being gentle with you. He smoothed your hair on the pillow and kissed your forehead before sitting down beside you.

“Can I take your top off, darling?” he asked, his large palm kneading your hip as you smiled up at him.

“Yes, please, bra too.” you said as Steven raised his eyebrows at your shy demand.

He did as he was told and wasted no time in absolutely worshiping you.

“You’re fucking beautiful. Why didn’t we do this sooner?” Steven groaned, letting his hands roam your bare body as his eyes sparkled like a teenage boy.

His mouth and tongue traced patterns on your skin that made you start whimpering. You could feel your arousal grow between your legs again as Steven captured one of your nipples in his mouth and sucked softly, releasing them with a pop, only to knead at your breast with his large hands.

“Need you inside me.” you breathed as he sucked soft hickeys onto your skin, hickeys that only he could have an access to.

He moaned at your words and looked at you with hooded eyes, before proceeding to take off his clothes one by one. Your eyes widened as Steven pulled his boxers off and grabbed a hold of his length. You’ve obviously watched porn before and you’ve never seen a more beautiful cock in your life. He looked absolutely perfect to you, soft trimmed curls boarding the hilt of his long and girthy length with a pink head that was leaking pre-cum.

Your breathing quickened as you watched him pump himself a few times before rolling a condom on. Kneeling in front of you, he grabbed the bottle of lube from his bedside and coated his palm before stroking himself again.

“Steven, you’re a god.” you heard yourself saying as you scanned his body that was literally sculpted to perfection.

“Fuck, Y/N, don’t say that, I’m not gonna fucking last with your words.” He says as he rubbed the tip of his cock along your slit, catching your clit and making you throw your head back against the pillow.

“In, now.” you punctuated as Steven tried to take his time with you.

With the help of the lube and your slick, Steven slid inside of you with relative ease, shocking you and himself with how fast he bottomed out. There was a sharp pain as Steven stretched you out, followed by the sweet sensation of pleasure that made you whimper with ecstasy. You had never felt this full in your life and Steven’s cock was pressing deliciously in all of the spots you had never thought you had. His hands held you down with bruising strength, allowing you to adjust to his length, and only started moving when you started to grind your hips impatiently.

He showered you with praises as he moved with slow fluid movement, his hand inching towards you for you to grab onto. Instead of lacing your fingers together with him, Steven pulled your hand towards him and pressed it gently at the lower part of your belly. You moaned at the feeling of his cock inside of you, the tip bulging through your skin. He pressed down slightly harder, getting off at the feeling of your hand massaging his cock from the outside.

“Steven, you’re too good to me. Feels so good.” you slur as he pushed on slightly harder and deeper.

Tears started to flow from your eyes as your free hand gripped at Steven’s biceps, your nails leaving crescent shapes in his skin as he started to speed up his thrusts. His hand on your belly leaves yours, only for his fingertips to end up on your clit, the action causing you to shake. From the extra stimulation and the way his cock speared you, your second release came faster than your first, blinding you yet again with its powerful waves.

You could feel Steven’s movements start to stutter the second you came, his thrusts getting sloppier as he chased his release. He folded his body over yours and with a few more solid thrusts to your cunt, he groaned into your neck as he spilled thick ropes of cum into the condom.

It took the both of you a few minutes of heavy breathing to gather your thoughts. Steven came to his senses first, slowly pulling himself out of you before taking off the condom and discarding it. He then slowly stroked your hair as your breathing became more labored before taking a bottle of geranium oil from his bedside and dripping it all over your spent body.

You smiled at Steven as he massaged the fragrant oil into your skin. He focused on the points of your body that were sure to be sore tomorrow and silently pressed out all of the tension you had in you. Your body felt warm and you had a buzz running through you as if you had just ran a marathon. He massaged a silent thanks into you with every squeeze of his hand and you just laid there and stared at the man before you, wondering what kind of miracle had allowed you to get to this point. You looked past him and squinted into his apartment, giggling slightly at where your underwear had ended up.

“Hmm, am I really that funny, baby?” Steven said before following your line of sight and gasping at the sight of your underwear draped ungracefully over Gus’s fish tank.

“Oops, sorry Gus, mate.” He said sheepishly, his face turning red. “It's alright, darling, he won’t remember it.”

Steven flipped you over gently and started massaging your back, pulling small hisses and moans out of you. He kneads your lower back with his knuckles, providing you with stronger precision that knocks the wind out of your lungs with pleasure as you sink further into the mattress. He skims over the globes of your ass, making you giggle again. Flipping you onto your back, Steven pulls you into his lap as he settles himself against the headboard, covering the both of you up with a blanket to provide you with some privacy. You cuddle close to him, feeling safe in the small cocoon that he had created.

“Do you always end … it with a massage?” you asked suddenly, the question creeping up into your fluffy thoughts.

“No, actually.” Steven says, sitting up a little. “This was the first. I remember how you would say that massages were your favourites and that you would get a weekly massage if you had some disposable income.”

You blink up at him, realizing that he had been listening to you all along. Your heart swelled with the awareness that you had found your perfect man way before you had even comprehended it.

“Thank you, Steven. I love you.” you say before you could stop yourself as an unknown emotion settled upon Steven’s face.

Horror pulsed through you, your cock-dumb brain still too foggy for you to think anything coherent.

“Shit, sorry, I mean we only just had sex a few minutes ago. This is so uncool-” you stutter before Steven places a finger to your lips.

“I love you too, Y/N.” Steven says, genuinely as a chuckle reverberates through him and into your heart.

You calmed down immediately with his confession, your face blazing as you kissed him, finally feeling at ease with everything around you.

“Told you I can fuck really well.”

“FUCK OFF, STEVEN!”

Tagging: @romanarose @mintpurplemnm

Reblogs are appreciated <3 love you all so so much *muah*

[elliott-the-creature]

My request requirements!✨

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What I do requests of:

Moodboards

Wallpapers

Banners

Userboxes

Pride flag/alterhuman flag/flag redesigns

Pfp (basically the image with line redraws on it and any little icons you want + pride flags if you want)

Id packs (names, nicknames, usernames, pronouns, titles)

Topics of requests I do:

Therian

Otherkin

Theriomythic

Physical nonhumanity/holothere/clinical lycanthropy/zoanthropy

Otherlink/copinglink/funlink

Plantkin/phytanthrope

Objectkins

Conceptkins

Elementkins

Aesthethickins

Divinekin (includes angels, demons, gods/goddesses, fallen angels, and other divine beings)

Placekin

Unnaturalkin

Celestial/spacekin

Fictionkin/fictionflicker/fictive

Otherhearted

Hearthomes

Pet regression

Age regression

Aesthetics

Objectum (sfw ONLY)

POSIC+

LGBTQIA+ identities (any and all identities, I don’t discriminate!)

Headspaces

And more! Feel free to suggest any more topics, I’m pretty open to any suggestions.

Topics I DON’T do requests for:

Anything nsfw (including kinks, paraphilias, nsfw objectum, and other sexual stuff)

Adult/adult oriented comedy cartoons (like family guy, the simpsons, south park, big mouth, bojack horseman, american dad, king of the hill, etc.). I find these shows to be often crude, gross, and overall unappealing, so please find another blog if you want to request stuff like this.

Harmful/mocking sexualities/gender identities (like super straight, dreamsexual, MAPS, animesexual, etc.)

DSMP stuff (or any minecraft smp stuff) (regular minecraft is completely fine though!)

Anything roblox or roblox related (it can be very hard to find pictures of characters to use for wallpapers/moodboards without using fanart, and I want to avoid fanart as much as possible, so I sadly can’t do it)

Harry Potter (or anything else made by or associated with JKR)

Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss stuff (basically anything made by and/or associated with vivziepop)

Countries or nationalistic stuff. You should’ve read my DNI/DNF before asking me stuff

Real people. I don’t feel comfortable making stuff related to real people (like artists, celebrities, youtubers, writers, etc.). That basically means no factkins; I’m factkin neutral but I don’t want these kinds of requests.

If you have any questions about whether the topic you want is ok or not, please dm me beforehand.

Things to add in your ask:

For moodboards

What the topic is (like if it’s a kintype, favourite animal, aesthetic, hearthome, object companion, etc.)

What the main subject is

What theming/colour palette you want

How many pictures you want

Whether you want a standard (regular square pictures) or fancy (different shapes for pictures) moodboard

Anything you DON’T want in your board

For wallpapers/banners

What the topic is (like if it’s a kintype, favourite animal, aesthetic, hearthome, object companion, etc.)

What the main subject is

What theming/colour palette you want

Whether you want symbols/extra stuff on it

Formatting of your wallpaper (like whether it’s a phone, ipad, desktop, etc. (saying what specific kind of device you have is best))

Whether you use tumblr for mobile or desktop (banner sizes change depending on device)

Anything you DON’T want on it

For userboxes

What icon you want

What you want the text to say (or a sorta vibe to what you want the text to say if you don’t know exactly what you want)

What kind of font you want (I use ibis paint btw so keep that in mind)

What you what the background/theming to be

What colour you want the text box to be

Whether you want stickers (a little png of a related object near the corner of the box) or not

Anything you DON’T want on it

For pride/kin flags

What flag you want

Whether it is a redesign or something new

What colour scheme you want

How many stripes you want (I mainly do 4, 5, 7, and 9 stripes)

What kind of icon/symbol you want

Anything you DON’T want on it

For ID packs

What the subject/theming is (aka what is the id pack about)

Whether you want me to prioritize a certain category (like if you want mainly pronouns)

What categories you want (I do names/nicknames, usernames, pronouns, and titles (basically *insert name* the *insert title*)). If you want all of these, just say “all”.

NOTE! due to me not being super into a lot of fandoms (or not even knowing anything about a certain fandom/series), more times than not, I’ll delete fictionkin id pack requests if it’s from a fandom I don’t know much/anything about.

.•°°•..•°°•..•°°•..•°•. .•°°•..•°°•..•°°•..•°•. .•°°•..•°

Please only request TWO (2) things per ask! And if you’re requesting only wallpapers, then only ONE (1) wallpaper request per ask.

Anonymous questions are currently unavailable. If you wish to remain anonymous, please just mention it in your ask, I’m happy to do so :)

Anything I make for someone is ONLY FOR THAT PERSON. You are NOT ALLOWED to use anything I make for someone for yourself. If you want anything similar, please send a request.

.•°°•..•°°•..•°°•..•°•. .•°°•..•°°•..•°°•..•°•. .•°°•..•°

↓ some examples of my works below! ↓

click here to go to my side account (I ONLY take requests from there)

Enjoy, and ask away! ✏️

[ariesqueencobra]

what we used to be | Xll

Pairing: Eli Moskowitz x Fem!Reader

Summary: Kreese begins slithering his way into Cobra Kai and you're not so sure about it. It only makes matters worse when your friend gets hurt and your boyfriend can't be there for him.

Warnings: swearing, kissing, slight bullying, mentions of assault and battery, mentions of stitches, play fighting, sparring, mention of a dick pic

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: This is when things start getting good!

Thank you to those who already reblog and comment, I see you and I love you all for it!

I don't consent to this work being copied, translated or reposted.

“You gotta understand, the Mogadishu in the ‘90s was a hellhole,” Kreese explained. “Warlords controlled whole swaths in the city. My team and I were charged with cleaning the place up.”

You sucked in a breath, only imagining the hell Kreese went through while in the military.

“How many warlords did you kill?” Eli asked, smiling as he took interest in the conversation.

“You keep track of every ant you stomp on?” Kreese questioned.

“Woah,” you and Aisha said at the same time.

“Badass,” Eli grinned.

Kreese began another story, your attention span dwindling as you couldn’t picture where Kreese was as he listed other countries.

“They were outgunned, we were outmanned. I tell ya, Rwanda was no joke,” he sighed.

“Don’t you mean Somalia?” Miguel stood up. “Mogadishu’s in Somalia, Rwanda’s a whole other country,” he pointed out the man’s mistake.

“Of course, Somalia. I spend so much time in the sandbox, it all just bleeds together,” he said, cautiously stepping around his next words.

You nodded, attempting to understand.

“Listen up!” Sensei ordered, drawing your attention to him. “I see we got some new recruits,” he scanned over the crowd. “Everybody fall in. In neat rows and lines,” he said.

You caught his elaboration, a big step up from your first day. You face forward, face slack but you were giddy inside, already catching a few girls in the class.

Sensei stalked between the students until he paused, talking to someone. 

You heard an older voice and turned your head to see a grown man was present. He wanted to learn karate. You sent a glance at Eli, interest piquing you.

“I thought my last group was pathetic but if you do what I tell you to do you’ll at least have a chance of becoming a fighter,” Sensei boomed. “But to do that, you gotta fight. So who has the balls to take on the champ?”

Silence filled the room. 

“I’ll take him on,” a girl’s voice spoke up. 

You turned around to see a blonde with brunette roots stand in the back, her aura radiated power and dominance. You already liked her.

“I saw your little demo at Valley Fest. You guys put on a good show, but can you actually fight?” She smirked.

Oh, you definitely liked her.

“That sounds like a challenge,” Sensei said, taking a few steps closer to her.

“I like a challenge,” she responded.

Your smile grew, glancing at Aisha who shared the same sentiment.

“Mr. Diaz, show Little Miss Hotshot here what Cobra Kai is all about,” Sensei ordered, turning around and walking back to the front.

Miguel nodded but hesitated when he approached her. “Look, are you sure you wanna-,” he didn’t get the chance to respond when she charged toward him, kicking him square in the chest. He chuckled before he got serious. “Game on.”

They began fighting, Miguel having to block most hits. This girl was intense and she managed to stay even with him. 

You could also sense the heavy tension between them. 

It was cute. 

She body-slammed him onto the mat before he swept her legs out from under her. He stood up, offering a hand. “My name’s Miguel.” 

“Tory,” she breathed, grabbing his hand before she flipped him over, pinning his head to the mat. “With a y,” she said.

You snickered, impressed.

After class, you were in the mini-mart, getting some snacks before you headed off for a date with Eli. Aisha sighed behind you, staring at her phone. 

“Let me guess, dick pic?” Tory walked passed her.

You laughed, grabbing your favorite candy from the shelf before you joined both of them. 

“No, my mom wants me to go to the beach club with her,” Aisha sighed.

You and Tory stared at each other before laughing. 

“That sounds so miserable,” Tory mocked. 

“It’s not that,” Aisha smiled. “This girl Sam’s gonna be there and she and I are not on good terms,” she said. “Anyway, I’m Aisha, this is Y/N,” she jutted towards you.

“Tory,” she smiled at you two.

“That’s a cool bracelet,” you pointed at the spikey one. 

She smirked. “This? It’s not just for show. Some creepy guy at the mall tried to grab me once, but I managed to block him and give him a gift he won’t ever regret,” she jabbed her arm.

“Absolute badass,” you said, amazed. 

“You seem like you know how to kick ass pretty well, why did you join Cobra Kai?” 

“I’ve taken a few kickboxing lessons but I always wanted to smash boards blindfolded,” she mocked. 

You laughed. 

“The secret is poking little holes in the blindfolds,” Aisha whispered. 

“Cool,” Tory said. She walked towards the front of the store before Aisha stopped her.

“You guys wouldn’t mind joining me at the beach club? It’d be nice to have some backup,” she said.

“I’d love to, but Eli is taking me out on a date,” you smiled.

“Eli?” Tory furrowed her brows.

“Mohawk,” you said.

“You’re dating him?” She was surprised by it. “Seems intense,” she joked.

“Keeps me on my feet,” you responded.

“Well I guess I can suffer through a day at the beach,” Tory smiled, turning to Aisha.

“Have fun you guys, but we should all hang out together soon, it’s nice to have another girl on the team,” you grinned at Tory. You left the two, paying for your snacks before walking out.

Eli was leaning against the pillar outside, putting his phone away as you approached, talking to Miguel about something that clearly wasn’t making the other boy happy. 

“What’s going on?” You asked enthusiastically, glancing between the two boys. 

They glanced at each other, Miguel sending Eli a look that was only understood between them.

“Just talking about Kreese,” Miguel sighed. “I don’t trust him,” he admitted. 

Understanding, you nodded, patting Miguel on the shoulder. “Hopefully he doesn’t stick around much longer.”

Miguel agreed before he walked back inside the dojo, leaving you with Eli.

He kissed you on the lips, wrapping his arm around your shoulders before making his way to his car.

~

“Tory can kick ass, she proves girls are stronger than boys,” you snickered, ducking under a tree branch. 

The weather was sunny, with not a cloud in the sky. It wasn’t windy so it wasn’t that hot. It encouraged a good mood that your conversation drifted into one in which sex was stronger. 

“Sure she beat Miguel, doesn’t mean shit,” Eli retorted.

“I can beat your ass any day of the week,” you scoffed, stopping dead in your tracks. 

He was pulled back by your resistance, his brows furrowed at your words. “In your dreams, babe, I’m stronger than you, it’s okay to admit it,” he sucked in a breath, tugging on your hand to pull you along. 

The dock on the lake came into view and you were glad no one was around. This made this moment even more perfect.

“You’re on,” you pulled away, shrugging your backpack off.

He looked at you confused before he realized. “Winner gets bragging rights?” He smirked

“Definitely,” you grinned, raising your fists. 

He did the same but you didn’t even give him a chance until you were swinging your first punch. He blocked it, swiping your arms out before he aimed for a kick to your stomach.

You reacted, blocking him easily. You threw another punch, distracting him and managing to sweep his legs from under him. 

The leaves rustled under him and as he rolled onto his back, you swung your leg over, hovering over him. He was taken aback, visibly gulping. 

“Told ya,” you hummed, hands pressed onto his chest. The shit-eating look you had in your eyes was swiped the instant he flipped you over, a yelp escaping you.

“Wouldn’t call a victory that soon,” he grinned, hands holding him up on either side of your head. “Better luck next time, babe,” he smirked, moving off you and offering a hand.

You frowned, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Does the loser get a kiss?” You grabbed onto his hand, your other wrapping around his forearm as you brought him close. 

He smirked, leaning in to kiss you but the next second, you grabbed him, throwing him over your shoulder and flipping him onto his back. He hissed in pain. 

You laughed. “Pucker up, loser gets a kiss,” you smirked, still holding onto his hand. 

A few minutes later you were now enjoying a tranquil day out on the dock, your leg crossed underneath you while the other dangled over the ledge.

Your stomach fluttered as Eli’s hand cradled your jaw, tilting your head to the side as he kissed you. Your hand rested on his wrist, the other pressed against his chest. No matter how many times you kissed him, you grew giddy, your face growing hot. It was a feeling you didn’t want to go away. 

“I think if we keep kissing, our lips are gonna fall off,” you snickered.

“Shh, I’ll take that risk,” he smirked against you, pulling you closer. 

The moment was beautiful but was cut short when your phone buzzed. This was the fifth time in the last ten minutes and you grew worried about who it was.

“Hang on,” you paused, pulling your phone out of your pocket.

“Just ignore it,” he brushed off, chasing your lips. 

“It’s Demitri,” you said, growing worried, knowing he only called for emergencies. 

Reading the messages he sent previously helped you relax, but seeing his urgency told you it was important.

“He’s probably only calling to bitch about something,” Eli scoffed, wrapping his arm around your waist to stop you but you pushed a hand against his chest. 

“Stop it,” you furrowed your brows, straightening and facing out onto the lake as you answered. “Are you okay?” You asked your friend.

“Eli didn’t tell you?” He asked.

“No, tell me what?” You furrowed your brows, sending your boyfriend a look.

“Your new Sensei attacked me in the dojo the other day, I had to get stitches,” he explained.

Your eyes widened. “He what?”

“Yeah, you heard me,” he said. “I thought Eli would’ve told you, but I guess I was wrong,” he sighed. “I wanted to let you know.”

“Yeah, thanks, I’ll stop by when I can, do you need anything?” You chewed on your lip, a feeling bubbling in your chest.

“I’m okay, thanks,” he said before hanging up.

“I told him to let it go,” Eli spoke up.

“Eli, our friend got hurt!” You exclaimed. “I knew Kreese had something off about him,” you said, thinking back to his slip-up at the dojo today. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve been checking on Demitri like good friends instead of coming out here,” you gestured around you.

His brows furrowed. “Demitri will be fine. Besides, why would you put him over me? I thought our dates were important,” he argued.

“They are but things happen, he’s our best friend,” your voice cracked. “You should’ve told me,” you stood up, walking towards your backpack.

“Why are you acting like this? He’s the one acting like a bitch,” he sneered, standing up and following you. 

You couldn’t believe what he had said. “No, he’s not!” You turned around to look at him. “You’re the one acting so insecure! I’m not choosing him over you and it hurts that you’d say that,” you huffed.

You hated that you were arguing again. It’d been a while since the tournament but you hoped you were past it.

“Babe, stop,” he reached for your wrist, pulling you back. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he sighed. 

“I don’t want to fight about this,” you breathed. “I just want to see Demitri and make sure he’s okay,” you gulped. 

He was reluctant but after a beat, he agreed. “Okay, I’ll drive you.”

~

Disappointment filled you when Eli didn’t want to come inside to visit Demitri. First, it was the “nerd shit” stuff at the victory party but being so insensitive when he was assaulted?! 

You were trying to understand why Eli was losing himself. It hurt you in more ways than you could imagine.

After his mother let you in, you made your way to his room. You found him sitting at his desk, playing a game and when you knocked on the door, he turned around, showing you the bandage on his nose.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know,” you went over and hugged him. “And I’m sorry for how Eli reacted, I didn’t think he’d be defensive about it.” 

He nodded, patting your shoulders as he moved to sit on his bed. “It’s not your fault, at least one of my best friends still cares about me,” he shrugged.

Your gaze dropped, knowing you couldn’t even argue it. 

“I’ll talk to him,” you said. 

“Didn’t you already?” He looked at you. “It’s obvious he won’t change his mind. I’m just a big pussy according to him,” he sighed, licking his lips. 

“I think Kreese is getting into his head. He hasn’t been around long but he’s already slithering his way into Cobra Kai. I gotta be honest when I say I don’t like it,” you frowned. 

Valley Fest was his idea, he punched Demitri, and now your boyfriend is getting swooped up into his ideologies. Sure, he was Sensei’s sensei, but you had a feeling he was trying to revert Cobra Kai to its original state. 

“At least you’re not getting assaulted because of it,” he spoke.

“I know,” you nodded. “I guess you’re not joining Cobra Kai then,” you stated the obvious.

He shook his head. “I’m thinking of joining Miyagi-Do,” he confessed.

Your brows raised in surprise. You knew if Eli heard of this or anyone from Cobra Kai did, they’d be pissed but all you could find yourself doing was feeling proud of him. 

“Their demonstration did seem pretty cool,” you smiled. “I think you’ll fit right in,” you beamed. “And I promise I won’t say anything to Eli.”

“Thanks,” he sighed out in relief. “What about you?” He asked.

“What about me?” Your face scrunched in confusion. 

“Isn’t Kreese one of your sensei’s now? Don’t you want to get out before it’s too late for you too?” His voice was filled with so much concern. 

“He’s not my sensei,” you shook your head. “I don’t agree with what he believes,” you said. “Besides, someone needs to watch Eli, right?” Your tone was playful. 

He agreed. “Sure, I guess. Until he turns completely toxic and takes it out on you,” he warned. 

“I’m strong enough to not let that happen,” you cocked a brow. “Miyagi-Do will make you strong, so don’t worry about Eli, I’m proud, okay?”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he smiled.

Later, he offered for you to stay for dinner, which you accepted. It was a nice distraction from the worry you held when it came to your boyfriend. You just hoped he’d change once you talk to him.

~

The next day at the dojo, practice ran like usual.

“The back thrust kick works like this,” Sensei demonstrated. 

“What about if your opponent attacks you from behind?” Eli asked.

“Excellent question,” Sensei pointed. “Sensei Kreese, you wanna take this one?” 

You frowned slightly, eyeing the older man. Where were you when he was appointed as a sensei? You weren’t sure about this.

“Certainly Sensei Lawrence,” Kreese said, uncrossing his arms and making his way to the front.

“The key to making this move is to trick your enemy into thinking you’re retreating,” he began. “But just as they’re letting their guard down, that’s when you strike the hardest,” he demonstrated the kick. 

You took in the lesson, but the glance you shared with Miguel told you all you needed to know.

[espinosaurusrexex]

Im not sure how this works but can I request Steve for the secret admirer bingo square if it's still available? I can just picture him being so sweet and thoughtful with notes and gifts or drawings. Thanks<3

Oh, this was such a cute idea! I don't know if I did it justice with the little piece I created. I hope you enjoy anyway. 💗

Secret Admirer (Bingo Game)

!BINGO ASKS CLOSED!

College!SteveRogers x Reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: fluffy, shy Steve, just very sweet

✨ college steve playlist ✨

A small knock on your dorm room door and another piece of paper slipped through the gap at the bottom of it. It wasn’t the first one you’ve gotten. It happened all the time, to be honest. Sometimes it was a note, saying something along the lines of ‘You look beautiful today’ or ‘You make me smile’. Sometimes it was little drawings, hasty sketches but laced with so much precision, you could really see the talent behind it. And they were all signed by ‘Grant’. 

It was super sweet, but the problem was, you didn’t know a Grant. 

The first time it had happened was a Friday, about two months ago. Wanda had picked up the paper on her way to the closet and handed it to you with a smirk. 

“Wo’s Grant?” She had teased with excitement, thrilled to finally see you getting yourself out there again. But her face had fallen when you answered with an equally surprised look on your face. “I don’t know who Grant is.”

By now, you had gotten used to the little messages you received almost regularly, even missing them a little when ‘Grant’ had not sent you anything that day. It was exciting to figure out the mystery of your secret admirer, as Wanda had proclaimed, you wanted to know who it was. Who wouldn’t, right? 

But you had no idea. And after another two weeks of Wanda obsessively searching for your secret messager, you slowly began to give up, just enjoying the little gifts and accepting the forever unknowing of this mystery. You made peace with it. And besides, it wasn’t like the people you wanted would want you back, anyway. There was this one cute guy in your elective class, Steve Rogers, but he was kind of ignoring you. And who would blame him, you’ve heard many people talk about how cute he was, he had plenty to choose from. The people you’ve seen him hang out with on campus were very hot, too. And super nice. But they never held anything more than small talk with you. 

You weren’t very lucky when it came to relationships and dating. Which was why it was so nice to have those little messages passed under your door from time to time. It showed you that you weren’t totally undesirable. Which you weren’t. There had been one guy that had asked you out last semester but he was a total weirdo. And then there was A girl named Yelena, but she just disappeared halfway through the date - said there was an emergency, well, you knew what that meant. 

So yeah, to say you were lost was an understatement. Which was why you resumed pining for the hunky blonde in your class that smiled at you from time to time. Today, you had said class again and after yet another uneventful lecture, your professor had asked each of his students to sign up for the fundraiser he organized this semester. And as you stood in line, someone suddenly tapped your shoulder. 

“You dropped this.” You turned and came face to face with Steve who was holding a pen out to you. You were frozen for a second, just looking into his blue eyes and fighting not to get lost in them. 

“Oh, thank you.”

“No worries.” He smiled and then looked away, almost shyly.

You turned back and made another step as the line in front of you got shorter. But your mind was racing, your hand clenching the pen in your hand as you thought about the tiny interaction with Steve. This was your chance, right? He was literally standing right behind you. 

You turned around again. “Steve, right?”

A small smile snuck on his face, his eyebrows raising slightly, “Uh... yeah. And you’re Y/N, right?”

“Yeah... hey I don’t want to come off weird or anything, but would you maybe wanna grab a coffee with me?”

“Now?” He asked surprised. 

 You laughed nervously. “Well, preferably after we signed up. I’m not standing in this line for fun.”

Steve chuckled as he bit his lip and it was the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. “I would love to.” 

Now you were smiling like an idiot as you turned around to hide the little fist bump in excitement. You would mess this up, this was your chance! You stood next to Steve as he leaned over the table to write on the sign-up sheet. 

“Do you have a favorite coffee shop?”

“Stan’s place is nice,” you mumbled with your arms crossed, glancing over the way Steve carefully signed his name down. 

“I’ve heard of it...” He said concentrating, but you were too distracted by the name he scribbled on the dotted line beneath yours. 

Steven Grant Rogers

Could it be? Your heart began to race as you saw the way the G curved on the page. It was engraved into your memory by now. This was the ‘Grant’ you had been seeing for weeks, scribbled at the bottom of countless messages. 

“Your..,” you began, but your throat felt dry. “Your middle name is Grant?” Your voice had done a weird squeaky thing at the end of your question, and when Steve stood up straight to look at you again, his smile faded. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah... I’m just a little surprised. I’ve been getting some messages lately.” You told him carefully. Curious as to what his reaction would be. It seemed as though Steve realized, at that moment, just what you had discovered. And to your surprise, the too-cool-for-you facade you had prescribed him fell off his body like a curtain. He was blushing, his hand immediately rubbing at his neck, but he couldn’t hide it anymore. 

Quite frankly, you didn’t know what to do with the revelation. Secretly, you had wanted it to be Steve. But at the same time, the person you had crafted in your head with the help of the notes and drawings, didn’t match the man standing in front of you. It was confusing and exciting, and scary, and nice.

“Uhm, I guess there’s no use to pretend anymore, is there?” He asked embarrassed and your heart fluttered. 

“I... I thought you never noticed me.”

Something hushed over his eyes then. It was gone as soon as it had come, but it made Steve look sad. “Never noticed you? You’re all I ever think about. I just didn’t know how to tell you...”

“Oh.” You smiled, willing your giddy heart to calm. 

You were quiet for a moment, and Steve was fidgeting with his arms, trying to place them somewhere else. And when he finally settled on holding his elbows in front of his chest, his biceps bulging and drawing your attention, he spoke. “So, about that coffee,” he pressed his lips into a line nervously, “can we make it a date?”

You bit your lip while chuckling slightly. “I would love to.”

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[legobiwan]

“Please don’t let me be alone.”

“I’m right here, okay?”

“You’ve shown me what love can feel like.” Mario and Luigi.

(Completely 100% platonic. That last one can be them talking about things changing for them in the romance department, and worrying that's going to pull them away from each other. Just as an example. )

I decided to take this in a slightly different direction, anon :)

So, a bit of context. This takes place pre-SPM, but there's some foreshadowing in there, so probably a month or two before that whole series of events goes down.

While I know Luigi and Mario talk, we have evidence that Luigi keeps some things from his brother, mostly related to his more negative emotions, as shown in the diary scenes of Paper Mario 64. I kind of run a little bit with this idea here.

As to what Luigi is looking for in terms of love...I'll let you all decide. I'll say upfront that this is written as a purely platonic relationship between Luigi and Mario, and I know exactly who I am thinking of in those last lines, but that's - literally - another story.

Very little editing has been done here, caveat lector and all that jazz.

Also, poor Morel. He's trying. Probably too hard. You'll meet him soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Mario!”

The owner of the squeaky voice toddled up the path towards them, his small stature unbalanced by the large guitar strapped to his back, the neck of which seesawed with every step.

“Hi, there!” Mario greeted, the Toad letting out a small oomph as he half-collapsed against Mario’s side, hands on his knees, his ruby-red vest soaked with sweat.

Luigi really hoped the kid wouldn’t keel over this time. 

“Do - “ Morel panted, taking a large swallow before trying again. “Do you have a minute?”

At this point, it was part of their routine. He and his brother would decide to run an errand in the town, maybe check out one of their favorite spots. Let’s pick up some cherry juice from that cafe or Hey, how about we go to that market and see if the new sports equipment is in, his brother would say airily, as if it was going to be a quick thing, an easy jaunt into Mushroom Square and back home before the mail came.

These days, it was never a quick thing. Not with his brother around, at least. What had been maybe a weekly occurrence had exploded into a near-daily even, the denizens of the Mushroom Kingdom stopping to ask his brother for a picture, or an autograph, or even a piece of advice in relation to plumbing, mechanics, or even relationships. 

As if being the hero of the Mushroom Kingdom made Mario some kind of expert in psychology.

Of course, this meant everyday chores that would have taken no more than ten minutes in Brooklyn bloated into an all-day activity, his brother unable to turn down the beaming faces and adulation of the Mushroom citizenry. In the end, Luigi had taken full control over the majority of the domestic duties in their shared house, if for no other reason than the fact he could get to the market and back in a reasonable amount of time.

No one ever stopped Luigi to ask for advice. Not usually, and if they did, it was quick and usually in relation to either his brother or, oddly enough, King Boo, whose name had become as synonymous with Luigi’s as the whispered commentary of “coward” and “oddball” that trailed him like toilet paper stuck on a shoe.

Most of the time, the Toads wanted to know what it was like being trapped in the painting, what horrors he saw there, if it was the afterlife, or something similar. Luigi had given up on trying to correct them after the first few times, giving out uninspired answers like “dark and scary,” which seemed to both placate the Mushroom Kingdom residents’ thirst for grisly gossip and align with their internal schema for who they thought Luigi was. 

It didn’t matter, in the end. He had saved his brother. Twice. The health and safety of everyone involved was more important than his ego.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from occasionally daydreaming about King Boo attacking the Mushroom Kingdom, just so Luigi could prove a point

“You know, Morel,” Luigi said, shaking thoughts of Toads screaming for his help from his mind, “we were on our way to pick up some - “

“It’s okay, Lou,” Mario interrupted with a brisk wave. “Shop doesn’t close for another hour and I’m sure Morel won’t take too much of our time.

Luigi was sure the opposite would be true, but far be it from him to be the bad guy and tell Morel to come back later. His reputation in the Mushroom Kingdom was dicey enough as it was - he wasn’t to exacerbate things by being mean to a teen Toad.

As Morel and his brother talked, Luigi let his thoughts wander. He nixed their shopping list, weighing the pros and cons of raiding the back of the cupboard for whatever dregs of food they had left. He wondered if Mario even remembered who Morel was, watching his brother make the appropriate gestures and smiling widely, that glimmer of recognition absent in his brother’s expression. He couldn’t really blame Mario, not for that. How many times can you be asked for an autograph or advice before all those faces blurred together? Even Luigi couldn’t always keep them straight, and he had a lot more time to quietly observe and register his brother’s admirers. 

Morel, however, was not to be forgotten. The last time he had accosted them, he had wanted to show off one of his many creative endeavors, this time an hour-long, abstruse interpretative dance performance that was somehow supposed to help with diplomatic relations at an upcoming summit between the Mushroom Kingdom and the Yoshis. 

Five minutes in, Mario’s eyes had glazed over. Ten minutes in and three pirouetting Piranhas later, Luigi found himself mentally running over a table for standard thermodynamic values in select substances. Carbon was always the hard one. Way too many possibilities.

Luigi bit the inside of his cheek, bringing his attention back to the conversation.

“So Mario,” Morel unsheathed his guitar from his back, pulling a crumpled piece of paper with multiple strikeouts from his pocket. “Have you ever liked a girl? Like, liked like?”

Luigi choked down a laugh. The Romeo of Room 312. That’s what he had called his brother back in middle school, who pined after a different girl every week. Vanessa Tuccio, Jackie Galagio, Stephanie Rizzo. None of them gave his brother the time of day, Mario still being in that awkward stage where he hadn’t made up for his lack of height with an abundance of muscle, his voice teetering somewhere between squeaky laryngitis and the hoarse, nasal tenor of a common cold.

By the time they hit high school (and Mario’s voice had finally dropped), that all changed, his brother doing pretty well himself in the dating department, at least as far as Luigi could tell. They weren’t as close those years, with he and Mario at different schools, Luigi buried in a mountain of chemistry and physics textbooks while his brother hung out with his jock friends at a ratty gym on 86th Street. 

But he had taken a nice girl to prom. Had had a few breakups, some of them Mario’s fault. All what Luigi assumed was normal teenage stuff.

Not that he really knew.

Luigi had tried dating a few girls in high school, girls with long hair, glasses, and a religious devotion to the periodic table. Nothing ever went past the clammy hand-holding stage and one very awkward kiss over a smuggled bottle of cheap wine on the Coney Island boardwalk, each girl in question giving him a polite brush-off after a week or two, only to attach themselves to some other guy who somehow seemed to know how to put the pieces of the puzzle together. 

Frankly, it was a miracle Luigi had lost his virginity at all by the time he graduated, his new-found, reckless courage bolstered by the death of his father and the whole shitstorm with the family business being ripped out from under their noses. He had barely finished senior year, whatever motivation he had once had to claw himself out of Bensonhurst and into Cooper Union whisked away once he was faced with the reality of being a seventeen year old orphan staring down a mountain of unpaid bills and a deceased father who may or may not have owed favors to the mob.

From that point onwards, he and Mario were focused on survival, on running a third-rate plumbing business out of a second-rate studio, Luigi elbows-deep in the guts of their father’s van more often than not, neither he nor Mario willing or able to shell out the cash for an actual mechanic. It was tenuous and relentless, and there was no way either of them had the energy or capacity to think about something as banal as dating when creditors and loan sharks were breathing down their neck every five days.

And then - their lives had been turned upside-down once again.

The concept of dating in the Mushroom Kingdom was laughable, and Luigi had resigned himself to a monastic existence while they figured out a way back to Brooklyn. There were so few humans around and it was clear from the outset that there something was going on between his brother and Peach, even if it had never advanced beyond hugs that lasted a few seconds too long to be called friendly and doe-eyed glances cast across the long tables of the the palace dining room.

Which left Luigi the odd man out, a situation he was overly-familiar with in this new world, his brother the famous hero of the Kingdom and Luigi himself an afterthought, at best. And sure, he had met a few other human women - smart, funny, beautiful human women who seemed to like talking with him, who, against all odds, found him genuinely interesting. 

But despite his brother egging him on, Luigi couldn’t quite find the motivation to try and turn that friendly flirting into anything more. Sure, Daisy was amazing and a force of nature. And Princess Eclair had been utterly captivating, to the point where Luigi wondered if she was some kind of enchantress. But for all of that, there was something missing, something he couldn’t quite make fit, a niggle in the back of his brain with his father’s voice, telling him to hit the gym, to put down his books and stop wearing those colorful socks or else he was going to get a reputation - the kind of reputation that ended with a fist in your face in a Brooklyn Heights Promenade bathroom.

There was something else, something more he wanted. But he was damned if was going to find it in the Mushroom Kingdom, and with the likelihood of them ever getting back to Brooklyn diminishing with each passing year - well, those monks didn’t have too bad a life, right?

“Okay, okay, are you guys ready?” Morel had sat himself on a small boulder, motioning for Luigi and Mario to follow suit. With his audience in place, the teen Toad strummed a few chords on his guitar, reaching up to adjust the tuning, then strumming again, then tuning, a process which took at least five minutes. Luigi was no musician, but even he was pretty sure Morel was just stalling at this point.

“Alright,” Morel sighed, breathy. “So, there’s this girl, right? And she’s really pretty. And I want to impress her, like, really impress her. She’s all into this band,” Morel’s face twisted, “Lion’s Mane and their front Toad is super cool and good-looking. I figure I can win her over if I show I can sing just as good as him, if I can write my own songs and everything! So here we go.”

Morel straightened, his small fingers digging into spaces above and below the frets. He took a large breath from his nose, held it, and then began play.

“Please don’t let me be alone.

I’ll talk to you on the phone.

I lose my spores,

When you walk on through those doors.

I’m right here, okay?

Right on the Mushroom Way.

It’s my time to say,

Chanterelle, you’re so swell!”

With a florid movement, Morel ran his thumb over the strings for the final chord, a broken set of notes that reminded Luigi of a dying carburetor he once tried to fix in his racing kart. Next to him, his brother’s smile was plastered on so tight Luigi thought his face might break in two if he tried any harder. 

“So what do you think, Mario? Do you think Chanterelle will date me?”

His brother’s eyes went wide, Mario’s smile growing even larger as he drummed his fingers on the knee of his pants. 

“I think,” Luigi offered, taking pity on his brother, “you put a lot of effort into this and Chanterelle will certainly be…surprised.”

Morel bounced up and down on his heels. “Do you think she’ll feel the love in this song?”

Luigi side-eyed his brother, who looked about one misplaced word away from bursting out in laughter. A small, vindictive part of Luigi wanted to pop the perfect persona his brother had cultivated, wanted the image of the hero be brought down to the level of the man he knew his brother was.

But looking at Morel’s shimmering eyes, the open admiration glowing from his small body - Luigi knew wasn’t going to do that to him. 

“You’ve certainly shown us what love can look like,” Luigi said, diplomatic. “And sound like.” Like you need a mechanic, he thought.

Morel punched the air. “Yes! Oh boy! Thank you! Thank you, Mario, you’re the best! I’m gonna go find Chanterelle right now!” The teen toad scrambled to get his guitar on his back, setting off in the direction of the Town Center, looking back every few seconds to give enthusiastic waves.

Mario let out a small laugh. “Thanks for the save, bro.”

“Eh,” Luigi shrugged. “I didn’t say anything untrue. He certainly demonstrated what love could be.”

“I just hope she lets him down easy. It’s a rough age for that stuff, human or Toad.”

Luigi hummed in response, looking out over the emerald-green hills that dotted the path to the Town Center. It was probably a rough age for that stuff at any age, trying to navigate love - to know another person and let them know you. 

“Hey Mario. While we’re on the topic, what about you and - “

“Still want to go to the market, Lou?” Mario asked, the slightest tremor of panic in his voice. Luigi had been trying, without success, to get his brother to open up about the whole situation with him and Peach had been trying to get him to shed the persona that was slowly taking over his everyday existence. Not that Mario was being mean or deliberately distant. He was still his brother, they still talked together, laughed together, occasionally cried together. But Luigi still couldn’t shake the feeling that things had changed. Something about the way Mario’s focus drifted every time they met up in Rogueport, or how he had come out of that painting the second time, vigorously shaking Luigi’s hand like he was running for political office. 

Luigi gave a silent nod, picking up his tote bag from the ground before following his brother’s lead, starting off in the direction of the town

Then again, maybe it was for the best. If Mario didn’t have to tell Luigi about his private life, then Luigi wouldn’t have to share his, wouldn’t have to get into the creeping insecurities and resentment that clouded parts of his existence in the Mushroom Kingdom. Wouldn’t have to explain that he didn’t know what love looked like, at least not the love he thought he was seeking, the part of him that craved understanding, with being known, unconditionally.

He had his brother. They were alive, healthy, and together. It would have to be enough.

[enjoythesilentworld]

Wille's Month - Friends

day 16! 💜 @youngroyals-events are yall tired of me yet lol

Wille and Simon are very good friends, indeed.

read below the cut or on ao3 (G, 1.5k) <3

The weather is so nice, and Simon looks so beautiful, with his late summer tan and still-damp curls from their shower that morning, that Wille barely notices the little bakery his boyfriend is dragging him into. 

As a last hurrah before the winter months, they’ve taken a trip to a random little northern town to swim and lounge and play house together. Technically, they already live together and had done so for a few years, but there was something so domestic about sitting in the backyard of their rented villa, sipping coffee in the morning. There was something, still domestic but in a different way, about being as loud as they wanted without having to worry about the neighbors. Making dinner in the big kitchen and shouting across the house, it felt like a window into the next many, many years they’d have together. The whole trip had been so easy, so calming, and Wille just loves Simon so much, and is so grateful they get to have this life with each other. 

A small bell on the bakery door rings as they enter and Wille is hit with a wave of sweet jam and crisp pastry. It’s a small space, but the owners have managed to cram a lot in. Bookshelves line the walls, filled with a mixture of books and picture frames and random art pieces. The tables and chairs are a charming mixture of woods and metals, all different colors and sizes. 

From behind the counter, a small old woman perks up, eyes immediately zeroing in on Wille. Her attire matches the maximalism of the bakery, with at least three different animal prints and several necklaces stacked around her neck. A large pair of square glasses sit on her tiny nose, partially blocking the heavy pink blush on her round cheeks. He braces himself, never knowing how people – especially older folk – are going to react to seeing their Ex-Crown Prince, and he can’t read her face. 

“Kronprinsen!” In a flurry of movement, at a speed truly impressive for such a small lady, the old woman pops up from her chair and rushes around the counter. She pauses only for a moment to give a small curtsy, like an afterthought, before rushing off to begin wiping down tables and straightening the millions of knick-knacks scattered around the room. Before Wille can correct her, she’s rambling, face drawn up in a serious expression, “I told Robert, I said, one of these days the Prince is going to show up and you’ll be sorry you didn’t clean up like I told you. Every day I tell him he needs to wash the windows– I can’t reach the tops of them except with the stool, so he tells me he’ll do it because he doesn’t want me falling off– But, here we are, years later, and he still hasn’t cleaned the damn windows!” 

Wille and Simon stop just inside the door, watching as the tiny tornado of a woman flits around the room, continuing to complain about ‘Robert’. She has a no-bullshit but almost whimsical manner about her that reminds him of Maddie. Realizing she may never stop, Wille gently interrupts her when she pauses to inhale between sentences.

“I’m actually– I’ve stepped down,” he says quickly, unsure how to break this news. “I’m just Wilhelm, now. Just Wille.” 

This makes the woman stop in her tracks. He tenses, expecting her to yell, but when she turns to him, she doesn’t look too upset. She simply looks a little curious.

“Have you? Why’s that?” 

“Um.” He isn’t exactly sure how to explain this, either. “I didn’t– It just wasn’t for me?” 

It comes out as a bit of a question, and it’s probably not the best response he’s given about the whole thing, but it’s been a few years now so people hardly ask him anymore and he’s out of practice. Simon gives a slight chuckle beside him at Wille’s fumbling, but the old woman doesn’t seem to care, just nods and approaches them. 

“Well, good for you. I don’t watch the news much, so I must’ve missed it.” She sticks out a tiny hand. “I am Ebba. This is my bakery. Been mine and Robert’s for decades, now, not that he does anything around here, the old fart.” 

As Wille and Simon shake her hand, they manage to introduce themselves quickly before she starts on another rant about the history of the building, and how she makes all the pastries and pies herself, and how any of the art and books are for sale, too, if they’d like. 

“Are you here for breakfast? Lunch?” Ebba totters back behind the counter. “What can I get for you? The scones are fresh, just took them out of the oven a few minutes ago. What are you two doing in town?” 

Noticing Wille’s astonishment at this burst of energy in the form of a 5’1” woman, Simon takes the lead, approaching the case and nodding intently as Ebba begins explaining every option. 

“These are all very beautiful, Ebba,” he says kindly, a bright smile on his face. Simon has a way with people that makes Wille feel like a bit of a dunce sometimes. It’s supposed to be Wille charming people, who is the former-royal and had actually taken classes in this, but something about the light in Simon’s eyes and the kindness in his heart draws people in. Ebba has not actually smiled yet, just spoken at them with an intense stare, but even Wille can tell she’s taken with Simon, offering him samples and answering all of his questions with excitement. 

“That one looks really good.” Simon points to a random pastry in the case, half-distracted by the sample of cookie he’s currently chewing on.

Noticing the small label, Wille cuts in, “That one has raisins, you won’t like it.” 

“Now, that’s a good friend, right there.” Ebba nods her head in approval. “My dear friend Susanna doesn’t like raisins, either. She does like this other one, though. It’s similar but without raisins, if you’d like to try.” 

Both men freeze. Wille opens his mouth to correct her, but she’s already grabbed a different pastry and is telling them more about her friend and how Susanna shares the bounty of her garden with Ebba so she can use the fresh fruit and vegetables in her pastries. He glances at Simon, who just looks back at him with a smile and a shrug. 

“She sounds like a lovely friend, Ebba,” he says when she hands over a sliver of pastry. “And you’re right, Wille is a great friend. He’s always looking out for me.” 

Simon reaches out and gives Wille a friendly pat on the shoulder, but then slowly slides his hand down Wille’s back and pinches the soft skin of his hip, saying, “He knows exactly what I like.” Ebba doesn’t seem to notice the drop in Simon’s tone or the way Wille’s knees buckle slightly at the look Simon is giving him, she just nods again. 

“How long have you two been friends, then?” 

“We met in school,” Wille squeaks out when Simon looks up at him expectantly, hand now having traveled a bit lower to slip into the back pocket of Wille’s shorts. 

“That’s nice,” she says. “You know, my son is also still very close with his best friend from school. That boy is like my second son, after all these years. Of course, they’re married now, but the principle stands. Lifelong friends are very important.” 

Wille lets out surprised chuckles at her words. As Ebba continues to tell them about her son and his husband, Wille leans over to whisper, “Do we not look like a couple?” 

Simon shrugs and smiles teasingly. “She must have missed your hard-launch speech all those years ago.” 

“Sounds like I need to put a ring on it, so people know you’re mine,” he mumbles into Simon’s ear, relishing in the goosebumps that break out across his beautiful skin and the tiny gasp that falls from his lips. Simon squeezes at his bum with the hand still tucked in his back pocket, and Wille has to swallow a yelp. 

Ebba continues to tell them tons of rambling stories, but eventually they manage to pick out a few pastries for an early lunch and tip her kindly for her time. Wille finds a cute ceramic on a shelf and buys that, too, which Simon rolls his eyes at. They wave goodbye, promising to come back and visit, and exit the bakery.

Wille holds out his new purchase, a well-crafted sculpture of two orangey-pink fish kissing, and giggles. “It’s us.”

Simon hums and wraps his arm around Wille’s waist, leading him down the street. “Friends don’t kiss like that,” he says.  

Wille steps in front of Simon, then gently grabs him by the chin and presses a lingering kiss to his lips. “Good thing we’re not friends.” 

.

“Are we not friends?”

“Simoooon.”

“I’d like to think we’re both, at the very least.”

“You know what I meant. Come here.”

[nitewrighter]

I think one of the reasons dc/warner bros like to push Batman (other than “cool/dark/edgy”) is ironically, it’s the easiest hero to sell toys of. As a character with no powers, he has to make do with tech, that means accessories! He can’t fly and doesn’t have super speed, ergo the Batmobile or batwing, or a bat jet pack! He needs different suits for different jobs, so that justifies variant figures! With other heroes, you’d just get the figure and that’s it. Why would the flash need a car? Why would Superman need power armor? If you’re old enough to remember, or research back enough, you’ll know the stupidity of the Superman mobile, or the just sad justice jogger. You could have a super figure’s eyes light up to show heat vision, but that’s about it. I guess you could have a green lantern toy line with construct accessories, but clear green plastic might be flimsy or too expensive, I don’t know. I’d think this was why they gave Wonder Woman a sword and shield, cuz they thought the lasso was lame, if not for BoYz DoNt LiKe GiRl HeRoZ! (Convo for another time, but even as a kid I hated that, and I was a boy)

So tldr, one of the reasons dc pushes bats is once upon a time they saw dollar signs at the idea of bat ji Joe.

Also the fact that you can make Batman Merch out of anything just by making it black and/or gray and just slapping a Batman logo on it--it's just probably a lot easier than finagling around other hero's color schemes.

Thinking about the Batsketball again...

But on a lore level, yeah, Batman is basically the "Cool Toys" superhero. You pretty much have every person in the DC universe commenting on how many "Cool toys" Batman has, or how much of a manchild having all those "Cool Toys" makes him. Like, I hate hate hate Frank Miller and of course I would fight him any day of the week, but the one thing All Star Batman and Robin had going for it was the GIANT BEAUTIFUL JIM LEE ILLUSTRATED BATCAVE PULLOUT MULTI-PAGE SPREAD. Like I need you to picture me in bed, giant glass of ice water on my nightstand, absolutely fucking miserable as I trudge through the worst fucking Batman characterization of my goddamn life, and then, AND THEN-- I go, "Oh, this is a pull-out," I carefully unfold it because library book, and then my jaw drops. I literally felt all the 8-year-old boy parts of my brain activate, and then you have young Dick Grayson's voice narrating it with five little words: "And it just. keeps. going."

A thing I really do like about all of Batman's tech and toys is they're all very tactile, and one of the things that's making Arkham Knight very fun as I'm playing through it is this factor of figuring out which of your little gadgets to use in which situation, and you're so proud of yourself when you figure out when the game expects you to use a certain gadget without the game cuing you to do so, or when you get a new gadget and then go back to all the parts of the map you previously weren't able to access without it (Baby "Square shape goes in Square hole" brain activation...) and the game also has very fun sound and vibration design and camera work to make using the various doodads feel very tactile even as it's happening in the game, but okay, let's take all those factors and pivot to Superman.

Superman doesn't have the Batcave, he has the Fortress of Solitude, and the Fortress of Solitude is not a Toy Chest like the Batcave is. The Fortress of Solitude is not a teenager's basement room to brood. The name itself is very intentional: It's Superman saying, "Yes, I save humanity, but I need breaks from it, I need a space to contemplate my work and my heritage, as well as get some distance from it for perspective, or else I will go fucking bonkers." And it's not just a house or a trophy room, either, it's a museum, it's an archive. I think about the Grant Morrison commentary about the bottle city of Kandor being a family heirloom like a snow globe or a music box--beautiful and yet distant, and that also sets a lot of the mood for the Fortress of Solitude: If the Batcave is a big toybox full of robot dinosaurs and a batarang target range and a lot of tactile stuff, then the Fortress of Solitude is a lot more, "You can look but please please please do not touch unless you really know what you're doing." You touch one crystal in the Fortress of Solitude and Jor-El's giant hologram head pops up booming 'KAL-EL, MY SON, THESE ARE THE PRECIOUS RECORDED HISTORIES OF OUR PEOPLE--' and you're like "Oh Jesus fuck how do I turn this off---"

One of the things I've come to really like in recent comics is how, as Superman has embraced having a family, that the Fortress itself feels warmer and more dynamic--Lois is using it as a space to research and write a book about Krypton, Kara tinkers with Kryptonian technology, Jon spent stints there as a toddler in Superman: Space Age, Krypto is there... It's actually kind of reflected how museums have become a lot more dynamic and kid-friendly in recent years. It's still clearly a space they all respect, but there's a much stronger element of enrichment than, "Look at this thing behind glass."

But anyway, yeah, Superman's stories are really more, like, fantastical than Batman's, so it goes to reason that Superman-play is more daydreaming and broad imaginative concepts while Batman-play is more physical and tinkering. So Batman in general is more likely to have lots of toys.

[briarberrythornedhart]

Aperture

A 1413 word Meet Cute from Eddie’s POV

His uncle had asked for one favor this weekend - just the one - to fix an awning on the trailer. It had fallen down during a bad storm over the summer and Eddie had sorta half-noticed but kept putting it off and putting it off and you know how it is...

He knew that awning and a ratty vinyl deck chair made Uncle Wayne’s favorite place to drink a beer and smoke and relax and see some actual goddam sunlight once and a while despite the vampire shift he worked.

He also knew Uncle Wayne shouldn’t be climbing up on any ladders and trying to fix things that Eddie could easily help with.

Anyway - it was Sunday afternoon and that meant he had to take care of it now or he would let his Uncle down and that would feel shitty.

The weekend was slipping away like weekends do.

Eddie got out the tool chest and he moved one of the sturdier chairs underneath the awning supports so he could look up and see where the problem lay. It wasn’t a complicated mechanism- a yard of dirty white vinyl attached by aluminum railing and held up on two sides by rusty poles. Ah! The grommet had torn out from one corner. This problem called for duct tape.

The air was heavy today with promised rain later - and the birds were quieter than usual. Everything was quieter than usual. The sound of Eddie tearing a strip of tape with his teeth carried far in the stillness of Forest hills park.

As Eddie stretched upwards to reattach the vinyl with his newly improvised duct tape fake grommet, he suddenly felt as though he was being watched. He scanned the trailer park from his chair-perch and saw the newest addition to the neighborhood staring (up) at him.

Eddie knew fuck-all about her except that she lived in a small silver airstream all by herself and had nice legs, usually shown off in some be-devilingly short sundress. Today it was cut-offs and just a tank top despite the crisp wind.

She was near his van. Her head cocked to the side and her thumb receiving a bite from between pretty lips.

He was used to being stared at at school but not here.

Eddie snapped out, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” before he could stop his mouth.

He was generally used to staring being a prelude to aggression. Detention, jock-posturing, someone calling the cops - anything along those lines.

“Sensible suggestion.” She agreed, nodding, “I’ll go get my camera, if you take off your shirt.” She pursed her lips in a little amused grin.

Eddie blinked in surprise. He was unusually at a loss for a clever retort.

She walked a few steps closer. “Film would be better - you in motion - you know? If only I had a super-8 hand-held or something...” She sighed this, and held up her hands - fingers forming a square so she was putting him in the frame.

Eddie got carefully down from the chair and shoved his hands down in his jean pockets, leaning towards her. “You want to film me? Does it look like I’m about to do something idiotic or slapstick?”

She walked around him, eying him up and down. “No - I’m just saying the camera would love you.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Eddie accused, he licked his upper lip and crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t you have anything better to do of a Sunday afternoon?”

“I’m not. I do not. But I bet it would be nice to... fuck....” Her eyes met his and her cheeks were redder than before, he saw her swallow, and she whispered. “... with you.”

She started to walk away.

“Wait.” Eddie jogged after her. “You can’t just... I mean you can, clearly - but why would you just say something like that and then walk off??”

She turned towards him but kept walking... backwards, “Maybe I am going to get my camera.” Then turned back towards her home.

Eddie stumbled in his stride, stopped to consider if she would come back- then followed her closer. “Hey... I didn’t say I would take my shirt off.”

“Won’t you?” She was wistful, she leaned towards him and brushed her shoulder against his.

“It’s kinda chilly today, I don’t know if you noticed?” Eddie looked pointedly at her clothes. Small, tight, summer weather clothes.

“Want something warm to drink? Warm you all up?” She asked, her tone all honeyed. They were almost at her door.

“Sure??”

She let him in and Eddie was immediately hit by a great smell. Apples and cinnamon. “Want cider or hot cocoa?” She asked.

“I’ll have what you’re having” Eddie was quick to say - because those are both delicious and he didn’t want to be greedy and say can I have some of both eventually(not together) - which was his initial thought.

The small cooktop had a pot on it, she lit the burner beneath it and the cinnamon smell intensified.

And Eddie looked around the interior of her home curious about everything. It was all fall leaf colors from the deep yellow shag carpet to the dark red curtains. He could see her bed - a nest of fluffy pillows and rumpled sheets and blankets. He considered taking a running jump into it to see what would happen.

She used a dipper to fill a big mug with the hot cider. “Do you want a splash of cinnamon whiskey in this?”

“Absolutely.” Eddie put her book back and took the mug, he sat on the long bench couch across from her kitchenette, He took an immediate swig and slightly burned his tongue. “Thank you. S’delicious.”

“Soooo... May I take your picture?” She asked and then sipped her own drink.

“I guess so? If you really want to? Weirdo.” He taunted.

She smiled over her mug. “Stand up.”

Eddie did so - getting into the center of the trailer. He watched her lift the couch seat - under was some storage space out of which she pulled a polaroid instamatic. She turned and aimed it up at him from a crouching position. She snapped a picture and then moved behind him, Eddie looked at her over his shoulder. “Are you done?”

“Are you?” She challenged.

Eddie started to take off his Hellfire Club shirt.

“Slower?” She asked. He could see her biting her smiling lips under the camera until she snapped another picture and placed the photo in the pile with the other one.

“You sure I don’t look...stupid?” Eddie asked - he was trying to take off his shirt slower but once it was up around his neck he just pulled it off and balled it up - wondering where to put it -feeling even more self-conscious. Eddies go to move for pictures is to pull a funny face. Including school picture day to his Uncle and the photographers combined chagrin. Eddie doesn’t do serious picture posing. Or whatever this is.

“You look hot.”

Eddie looked down. Shit - his underwear was showing. He tugged up on his jean waist to hide the pale blue cotton of underwear that needed a wash probably.

“I love your tattoos.”

Eddie looked down at his arms and made fists - flexed his forearms. Hear the camera click again. “Yeah? You don’t think they’re super scary or … trashy?”

“Nope.” She backed away from him towards her bed. “Throw your shirt at me. Overhand. Or curveball.” *snap* another picture of Eddie joined the others. And then another.

Eddie laughed “I have no idea how to throw a curveball for real. Like... is it sideways??” He chucked the shirt at her and she snapped another pic of him when the shirt landed at her feet. He picked one of the photos up and looked at his face. In the picture his brows were knit and his hands were on his shirt hem. “Did you want pictures of me looking very confused?”

“Am I confusing you terribly?” She asked. Pouting comically at him.

Eddie shrugged. He rubbed his arm over his bat tattoos. “I’m just wondering what you’re gonna do with all these pictures of me.”

“Oh - they’ll go in my bedside drawer.” She was sitting on her bed now - cross-legged. She beckoned to him.

Snap - and - snap - and another - snap. She documented Eddie approaching her. His nervousness was falling away. She was clearly into him. This was going somewhere.

He undid his belt - slowly. Half waiting for her to put the breaks on. But she didn’t.

She took more pictures and laid them beside her.

Eddie hesitated, touching the silver button of his jeans. “Is the camera gonna keep being... between us?”

She shook her head ‘no’, tossed her camera to the side, and tugged him by his belt loop into the bed.

[ramrage]

“fitting a square peg into a square peg” or “and they both were tops”

Chapter 4: one-way ticket (it’s porn!)

work rating: E

chapter rating: E

characters: John “Soap” MacTavish, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick cameo, John Price cameo

Tags: Sexual Tension, terrible flirting, Masturbation, First Time Bottoming, Fantasizing

part 1

part 2

part 3

ao3 link

The walk to Ghost’s office was short in a physical sense, but experientially, it went on for ages. Soap’s psyche was dry heaving the whole way, and between the footfalls and rasping shifts of fabric, you could actually hear the retches if you listened close enough. So yeah, that was the terrific journey that landed them back in square one. Two gigantic men, one tiny room—an office-cum-bedroom, apparently—, and a world full of possibility. That sort of thing.

You see, that whole world of possibility thing—it included the good possibilities, yes, but also the bad ones. Among the bad ones were the “eh, that kinda sucks” ones and also the “ah damn, my neck’s been twisted and i’m dead now” ones, so naturally Soap was wound a little tight. Sue him.

And Ghost, the fucker, standing there all puffed up and pissed-looking, taking up half the damn room, did nothing to calm Soap’s nerves. In fact, his psyche was dry heaving even harder which made it an absolute bastard to find the words needed to break the ice. This was all internal, though. On the outside, Soap appeared to just be…standing there. Waiting. For what, exactly, was anyone’s guess.

 “Fuck,” Ghost said, graciously breaking the silence. Unfortunately, his tone was undoubtedly negative. The word “exhausted” came to mind, bolstered by how he deflated like a burst pool floatie. He took a step forward into the already-limited space and began explaining himself. “I reckoned we’d have to discuss this eventually—“

Soap made to cut him off, to, y’know, cut to the chase, but Ghost held out a hand as if to verbally say “down, boy” to an overzealous mutt. Apt.

“save me the bullshit about the bullshit intel, Soap. You’re a terrible liar and you’re even worse when you’re nervous,” he said, raising his brows to send a nice, pointed glance Soap’s way. 

This was a lot for Ghost. A lot of words, a lot of emotion. Soap was almost impressed. He just needed to mention—

“If you got me alone to apologize, fuck. You don’t—” Ghost sighed. “Last night was on me.”

“Ghost, it’s fine,” Soap urged, sensing his in was right around the corner, was practically buzzing with it. Waiting his turn to speak was always a struggle, especially now.

Ghost scoffed before Soap had the chance to move onto Sentence #2. “Is it? I went fucking mute when shit didn’t go to plan”

“Okay, that was a little weird,” Soap conceded, “but what if it didn’t matter?” 

Ghost’s face screwed into the very picture of confusion as the question flapped around his head like a disoriented bird. 

“Like,” Soap said, widening his eyes for emphasis, “ really didn’t matter?”

That just left Ghost looking even more confused, and this time, a little pissed about it. “Christ, Johnny, throw me a fucking rope, what the hell are you on about?”

A bleeding spotlight might as well have ve flooded the floor, velvet curtains might as well have parted. Fucking showtime. Finally. Soap cleared his throat in preparation for the opening line.

“Alright, no more beating around the bush, then. I’ve got the hots for you, obviously ,” he added as a harsh aside, “and I was pretty fucking pumped to do something about it last night, and pretty fucking gutted that we didn’t.” 

Now it was his turn to hit Ghost with the “ down, boy” hand. 

“Not to sound desperate, but eh, who gives a fuck? I was willing to do what I needed to do to make this…” he waved his hands in front of his chest, juggling for the right word, “viable. Right. So uh,” Soap slapped his hands together in an attempt to distract himself from the blush that was cooking his face to medium-well, “I. Fuck. I—“

“Spit it out,” Ghost barked, sounding more desperate than angry. 

Well, now or never, baby.

3… 2… 1…

“I fingered my ass.”

The words tumbled out with the elegance of a drunken body falling down a flight of stairs. Less of a said and was more of a shouted . Well, it was more of a fi nal exhale of someone getting boa-constricted to death . 

Soap hadn’t the slightest how Ghost was taking the news. Sure, he had balls to deliver it, but not so much as to watch it land. Or miss. He didn’t plan on finding out until he was finished monologuing. With the key point out in the open, it was slightly easier to flesh out the details. 

“I meant it when I said I wanted you, and I thought maybe, if you’d only have me one way, I’d try it. So yeah, fingered my ass just to see, and as generous Lady Luck would have it,” Soap sucked an inhale— wait, this sounded familiar . might as well ride the wave—and carried on, “not only am I open to the possibility of you fucking my ass into next week, I’m actually gagging for it. This is all to say—”

“Soap.”

It was like the sound was ripped out of Ghost’s chest in a bloody fist. Soap finally looked up and heavens to fucking Betsy, Ghost was in a state. Wild eyes, heaving chest, the works. Ideally, probably, he was horny as sin, but furious wasn’t exactly out of the question just yet. It still wasn’t out of the question when Ghost surged forward, hand snatching out to fist the front of Soap’s shirt, to yank him close. 

“Are you telling me,” he said in a wrecked whisper, his stare boring holes through Soap’s corneas, “that you left my office, here, to go off and fuck your fingers just so you could fuck me ?”

“Aye.” Soap’s dick was moments away from tearing through the front of his trousers. “That’s precisely what I’m telling ya.” No point in denying it, not like he felt like he needed to.

—-

And his intuition was right. In a pleasing repetition of history, they were kissing just like the night prior, the same ferocity and desperation, but with certainty this time. 

Ghost’s hands bracketed either side of Soap’s head, thumbs stroking down the hollows of his cheeks like he was something precious, something Ghost would be damned to lose. “You’re out of your fucking mind,” he said with a voice full of awe. 

“Nothing new there,” Soap hit back. Fuck, his own voice sounded just about unfamiliar—lower and raspier than usual. He thought shit like that only happened in porn. Nah, your voice actually does go all sexy when you’re turned on beyond reason. And he was, holy fuck he was. 

He kissed Ghost for the first time just yesterday, but it still felt novel, still was driving him completely, absolutely mad. Fuck. The tongue that licked onto his—that was Ghost’s . The lips that kissed so rough, the teeth that nipped against him, the fucking breathy groans, they all belonged to Ghost and were all the more delicious for it. 

 

It was a heady thing, hooking up with the man you’d been pining for since you met him, and now that he had a taste of it, Soap reckoned he was well on his way to addiction. Yeah, he’d give up everything he had just to keep that hand pressed to the low curve of his back, to feel Ghost hard through his trousers, how he rolled his hips. The sensation was reason enough, but knowing who was making it all happen made it worth dying for. 

Just tasting tasting it was hardly enough—after the nonsense of the past 14 or so hours, he wanted to fucking devour it, get sick on it. He wanted to overindulge in everything. If he didn’t get a hand on or in him, fast, he was going to lose his damn mind.

The clothing was a notable impediment, so Soap led by example and pulled away for just a moment to tug his shirt collar-first over his head, glancing to see if Ghost was following suit as he unbuttoned the fly on his trousers. 

“C’mon now, Ghost. Catch up,” he teased, and albeit with a derisive snort, Ghost obeyed. What a good boy, Soap thought, or maybe they were just on the same page for once, because surely, the starved gaze Ghost dragged across his naked skin was mirrored in his own eyes. Hot, hot damn.

Soap had seen his fair share of fine bodies, and Ghost’s definitely was one of them, but none of them garnered such a visceral reaction. Lily-white skin— almost delicate-looking—pulled over the biggest, baddest muscles, marked over with scars and cut through at the arms with bulging blue-tinged veins. A marble statue, the prettiest thing on earth, but fierce. Deadly. The duality wiped all sense from his brain for a hot second and in a rare occurrence, he was actually speechless. 

He had seen that capable body work with such precision, and it was going to be his, at least for the night. A pathetic, unbidden moan was all he had to offer by way of assessment.

Ghost smirked, the aggravating bastard. “Was gonna ask if you liked what you saw, but I don’t think I need to.” 

Soap wanted to rip his head off and eat him alive.

Instead, he told him to fuck off and let his hands do what they craved to do, one at the base of Ghost’s skull, the other at his waist, both wrenching him in impossibly close for another kiss.

“Gonna lose the mask?” Soap asked, feeling how the smoothness of skin, pliable fat, and solid muscle layered together, so perfectly grabbable. 

Ghost pulled away, which fucking sucked, but Soap could manage if only for the thumb that took the place of lips, stroking against the lower, sliding smooth through spit. “Only if you show me.” 

“Show you what?” 

Surely Ghost knew what kind of damage he was inflicting when he leaned so close—because apparently they could’ve been closer. Didn’t feel that way—and whispered with heavy, humid breath right into Soap’s ear, “Show me how you touched yourself last night.” And that fucking look .

Soap’s mouth went dry. How the hell did he do that? How did he set Soap on fire with just his eyes? They looked so fucking hungry and Soap was more than willing to be eaten up.

“I want you to open yourself up for me again. Get on the bed.”

Hot and holy hell. 

The command was welcomed because lord knew Soap had any sense left to direct himself in that moment. He followed the orders— like a good boy— and waited until Ghost’s eyes were back on him before he peeled off his boxer briefs. Why pass on the chance to put on a nice show? 

And fuck if it wasn’t worth it to see Ghost’s reaction, his full reaction, unbidden by that fucking mask. 

Aquiline nose and high cheekbones awash in blushing freckles joined what he already knew—gorgeous, absolutely tortured brown eyes and soft, parted lips—to paint the prettiest picture he’d ever seen. Take a photo of it and paste it in the dictionary under “John MacTavish’s Type”, synonyms including “perfection” and “shit worth dying for”. Ghost’s face was delicate and rugged, just like his body, and fuck, it had Soap feeling shy , like he needed to collapse into himself and hide, but at the same time, he knew how he looked and wanted to fall open, offer everything he had for the taking.

Confidence and apprehension warred in his mind, but he opted for the former, staring down his nose at Ghost as he stroked himself lazily, like he wasn’t gagging to get himself off right and there. “Got lotion or something?”

“Nah, just this lube,” Ghost drawled, throwing the squeeze bottle onto the bed and doing a way better job of seeming nonchalant. “Hope it will suffice.”

Soap smirked, “God, you’re fucking obnoxious.”

The bed dipped under Ghost’s weight as he settled himself between Soap’s legs, drawing his hand firm up and down the length of them. “And so are you, making me wait like this.”

“Anticipation, darling,” Soap explained. With a concerted effort, his hands shook only slightly as brought the tube up to uncap with his teeth, and then to squeeze its contents onto his fingertips. Ghost had nice taste in lube—perfectly slick and heavy to ease the grip along the length of his cock. He went slow because under the weight of Ghost’s eyes, the simple touch of his own hand brought him dangerously close to spilling. 

He distracted himself. “I started with something I was used to,” he explained, addressing that puzzled look on Ghost’s face, “last night. To warm myself up.” The tactic was working like a charm, and he could feel himself relax despite his racing heart. “Nice lube,” he remarked. A very normal thing to say.

“I like it.”

“Use it often?”

“Yeah.”

“Must make things messy, though.”

“I like it better that way,” Ghost said, “Messy.” His voice was husky and strained, probably not from the exertion of palming himself over his boxers, but from pure, unbidden want. Soap could see the outline of him in stunning detail, even through the fabric, and fuck, he was huge. So much for distracting himself. Imagining Ghost tugging at that gorgeous cock, filling the room with heaving breaths and wet sounds had Soap in a special kind of hell. 

Emboldened by the knowledge that he’d soon have that for himself, Soap ran the middle finger of his left hand along his cock, getting it slick before pressing it against his hole.  

“That so?” he asked breathlessly. He looked to Ghost for a response, but the man was focused on the hand stroking slow and steady circles between his legs. 

“Fuck, put it in,” Ghost groaned. 

Not how Soap imagined hearing those words at the start of all this, but it sent a jolt through his core nonetheless. 

Ghost’s voice saying those things.

A desperate voice.

Ghost’s desperate voice.

Desperate for him. 

It was too soon, probably, but Soap slicked the rest of his finger and acquiesced anyway. The stretch was a lot, had him groaning around the discomfort, but he swirled his fist over the head of his cock—a bit of pleasure to cut the pain while he adjusted. 

Ghost cursed and squeezed at the base of his cock, holding himself off. Well, didn’t that just go to Soap’s head? 

“Fuck, tight little thing can hardly take a finger? I’m gonna ruin you.”

Please do.

“Let me see you then,” Soap urged, as if he didn’t already know that Ghost was packing. He needed to see all of it. 

The way Ghost’s abs clenched and stretched as he shifted to fully undress was nothing short of pornographic, but that headtrip was quickly subsumed. Writhing swathes of shadow collected in the dips of muscle, pooling along the handsomest v-cut to guide Soap’s eyes down. 

Fuck, why was his mouth watering? No fucking wonder Ghost walked around in the way that he did, unwavering confidence bordering on arrogance. He was experienced, competent, and had a dick straight from PornHub. 

“I think you’re right,” Soap admitted on a weak exhale.

Ghost huffed a knowing laugh when Soap quickly added another finger. 

By all rights, Soap knew he should be terrified. His first time and he’d be taking that ? But he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge—if anything, it spurred him on, forcing himself to relax around the stretch enough to manage a third. 

“Easy now,” Ghost chided, almost mocking. “I could watch this for hours.”

“Who says I’m rushing for you ?” Soap panted. He angled the pressure, bullying right into his prostate and what was too much quickly became not enough. This really was addictive, all of it—the burn just as much as the pleasure, syrupy sweet. He’d just about given up tempering out the pain with his right hand.

“So eager to get fucked? Careful, I’d hate to see you crying trying to take me.”

“Liar,” Soap shot back.

“Oh, come on now, Soap,” Ghost drawled with the same infuriating voice, “I want you to feel good.”

“And I want your dick in me. I’m ready.” He couldn’t wait a second longer, he really couldn’t. With a nod, he gestured for Ghost to come closer, “Don’t believe me? Feel for yourself.”

This would be it—up to that point, the only touch he’d received was his own. Watching as Ghost slicked his middle and index fingers, Soap fell completely, irreversibly drunk with the knowledge that Ghost would be inside him . Those cold fingers, foreign, pressed to his hole and he just about came right there. 

The gasp Ghost let out was almost shocked as he sunk in to the knuckle. “You weren’t joking,” he muttered, finding the spot he was looking for once the surprise passed, practically petting it. Better than Soap could, more an expert in this body than its owner. “Fuck, Soap.”

“Ghost, please,” Soap whined, because fuck his pride, fuck his ego, fuck everything. He was so, so close. “Please.”

That was all the convincing Ghost needed, it seemed, because after a flurry of motion, Soap cried out, the space between his legs lit white-hot. 

Mercy, Ghost was huge, impossibly huge, and Soap was going to die like this, twisting and writhing to distract from the sensation.

“Fuck, you alright?” Ghost asked, voice thick with concern, and bless him, he seemed to be making a concerted effort to not move in either direction, though it didn’t help much. His arms trembled where they were posted on either side of Soap’s head.

“Hah, fuck. Yeah, I’m good,” Soap hissed, manually forcing his lungs to breathe in-two-three, out-two-three. He shifted his hips, “I’ve had worse.” 

The near-scandalized look on Ghost’s face would have him hysterical if he wasn’t so distracted, “No, not like that, you idiot. I’ve been shot, stabbed. Are you forgetting you’re my first?”

Ha, apparently Ghost had, because he went stock still except for the pupils that expanded, eating up the rest of his eyes to leave something purely animalistic, like a shark.

“Fucking hell.”

Soap threw his head back and groaned, tugging at his flagging cock. He was fine. The pressure was easing up. “You can move,” he assured with a nod, and he meant it, “just be gentle as you deflower me.”

Ghost’s brows screwed together, eyes squeezed shut, and with an exhale, he eased his hips back, rocked them forward to press minutely deeper. “You can’t just—“ a punched out breath, “say shit like that.”

“Why?” Soap whispered, “like it too much?” 

“Yeah, I do. Fuck,” Ghost said, shifting his weight to sit back on his haunches. “Look at that, darling, you took me all the way in.”

Made sense. Soap could feel him in his lungs, but he still looked down and the sight, Ghost’s muscled hips pressed flush against him, how his own body stretched where they were joined, it knocked the breath right out of him. Soap had never seen anything hotter in his life, and it left him hard again, precum pooling at his navel. 

“Sitrep?”

���Fuck off,” Soap chuckled, jolting at the new sensation of laughing while stuffed full like that, “I’m solid.”

“I’m gonna move now,” Ghost warned. He looked so focused. It was almost sweet.

Fucking perfect. “Good before I kill you, eh?”

Soap should’ve known better than to mouth off, especially when he was so vulnerable, because Ghost took that as his cue to draw his hips back just to snap them forward.

Intense.

Fucking intense.

Not painful, just. A lot. It punched a high-pitched keen from Soap’s mouth, punched all words from his mind except for “more.” It slipped down his lips easily, flowed like spit.

“You’re fucking incredible,” Ghost praised between shallow breaths as he fucked Soap in earnest now, unencumbered by the arms wrapped around his shoulders, hanging on for dear life. “Sound so sweet when you’re getting fucked.”

Ghost was relentless, perfectly unlike Soap’s fingers in every way that mattered. The size of him alone pressed heavy against that sweet spot, had Soap moaning against each thrust, whining then when Ghost aimed against it. 

Soap was fucking ruined for it.

His fingers would never be enough, not ever again.

His fingers didn’t get him drunk like this, completely out of body but simultaneously more grounded than he’s ever been. His fingers couldn’t fuck him senseless, couldn’t wrench the most pathetic noises from his chest. 

Just Ghost, the fucking perfect piece of shit, glassy-eyed and flushed, lips bitten red, choking out the sweetest grunts. It was like he was made to fuck Soap into oblivion, every part of him. Even his fucking abs, slick with precum and sweat and lube, how they shifted against the length of Soap’s aching cock. 

“Ghost, fuck,” Soap managed, “I’m so close. I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah?” Ghost breathed, not slowing his pace even as he lowered onto a forearm, twisting his fingers into Soap’s hair to force their eyes to meet. “Come on then, come for me. Wanna feel it.”

That fucking voice, whatever it said, he’d do.

Someone was moaning—screaming, really—maybe he was, his voice another thing out of his control now, just like his vision, like his body that rolled, clenched and unwound as he drowned under his release. 

Ghost looked so utterly wrecked when Soap came to, sucking greedy breaths through his gritted teeth as his rhythm failed him. “Fucking perfect,” was all Soap could think, begging silently to feel what it was like to have someone finish in him, unbelieving that it’d be Ghost.

“Please. Need it,” he begged, hoping Ghost knew what he meant. 

“Johnny”

Hips slammed against his ass, stayed there, and fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Soap could fucking feel Ghost’s cock pulse, feel as it filled him up.

His fingers could never. 

Ghost collapsed on top of him, heavy, heaving and sweaty, and Soap hoped the weight would crush him to death.

PART 5

[tragicfrabricofdreaming]

Dark Hearts .7

Summary: Cori Douglas has lived a somewhat quiet life in mystic falls. Despite a few slip ups, she has managed to fly under the radar with her best friends. That is, until her junior year when two new mysterious men roll into town and shake everyone up, including her best friend Elena. What will Cori find out about these mysterious men and about herself? Mostly follows the storyline of tvd show but may take some creative liberties.

“She swore vengeance on all men with dark hearts.”

― Lisa Papademetriou, Siren's Storm

This is the conclusion of season one! I hope you've enjoyed so far and I'm currently working on season two. I'd love to know how you are liking it so far and if you have any thoughts on where this story is going!

“Look at you all retro.” Damon approaches his brother in the town square, dressed in his get up for the Founder’s Day parade. 

“What are you doing here?” Stefan asks, unable to hide his disappointment at the appearance of his older brother. 

“Why wouldn’t I be here? Bonnie deactivated the Gilbert invention, Isobel is gone, and it’s Founder’s day!” Damon announces excitedly, “I’m here to eat cotton candy and steal your girl.” 

Stefan doesn’t find that amusing,  “Don’t start with me, Damon.” Ever since the whole Isobel saying Damon was in love with Elena thing, things had been, well, tense. 

“Oh, you started this with the whole ‘Im insecure, leave Elena alone’ speech.” Damon reminds him, “I’m enjoying that.” 

“As long as you heard it.” 

“What?” Damon asks loudly, cupping his hand over his ear as if to say he couldn’t hear Stefan. Again, stefan does not find this amusing, “You have no sense of humor.” 

“Actually, I have no sense of Damon humor.’ He corrects. 

Damons sighs, holding his hands up in defense, “Hey, look. I get it, I get it. I’m the better, hotter, more superior choice and you’re scared that now Katherine is out of the picture I’m gonna turn all my attention to Elena.”  He muses, “But don’t worry, Elena is not Katherine. “

“You’re right,” Stefan agrees, “She’s not.” 

Damon and Stefan look out across the square just as Elena is approaching in her period accurate dress. Ironically in this moment, she looks strikingly like Katherine. Upon noticing their looks she pauses and gives them a little curtsy, smirking at the two brothers. Just as they’re watching each other, Cori comes running up to Elena, dressed in way more period appropriate clothes–a blue sundress and little white cardigan on top. She obviously wasn’t riding on the float with the rest of the Miss Mystic Falls court. Elena glances over her shoulder and smiles at Cori, muttering a quick thank you as the taller girl takes some hair pins out of her bag and starts fixing Elena’s hair. 

Stefan looks from his brother to Cori, a small smirk tugging at his lips, “Plus, I think there might be someone else you’re turning your attention to.” 

Damon tears his eyes away from the two girls who were now giggling at something Cori said, “Who? Miss back talk?” He scoffs, “Even if she was still speaking to me, there’s no way. Not my type.” 

Stefan shrugs, “Maybe that’s a good thing.” He says before he leaves Damon where he’s standing and makes his way over to the two girls just as Cori finishes pinning Elena’s hair back. Damon watches as he greets Elena with a peck on the lips and gives Cori a quick wave before the happy couple is swept away by Carol Lockwood to get on their float. Left alone with no one standing in their line of site, Cori and Damon lock eyes with each other across the square. Damon smirks and wiggles his fingers in a suggestive wave as Cori rolls her eyes before making her way over to him, the slight breeze blowing her curly hair into her face and forcing her dress to flutter in the wind. 

“Hey, kid,” Damon says as she meets him, smirk still plastered on his face, “Why aren’t you getting on the float? I seem to remember you wearing a very nicely fitting dress to that Miss Mystic Falls shindig.” 

“Yes, one that was quickly ruined by her brother’s blood bender.” she reminds him, “I think they let me out of it because of the, you know, trauma.” She shrugs, tucking her hair behind her ear to keep it from continuously blowing in her face. “Besides, it would be pretty pathetic to be standing up there without an escort.” 

“I thought you asked someone.” Damon raises an eyebrow. He seemed to remember her sister mentioning that she had worked up the courage to ask a boy from school, one that Damon immediately sought out in the crowd at the pageant, you know, just to suss him out. 

“Yes, but I don’t think his new boyfriend would want him standing up on a float with a girl in front of the whole town.” Damon nods slowly, realizing what she was implicating. “Anyways,” Cori sighs, “I came here to tell you that you’ll be happy to know I forgive you.” She announces, holding her chin high like she was presenting some prestigious award to him. 

He smirks in amusement, “Do you now?” 

Cori nods firmly, “Yes,” she says, “I decided being angry at you was boring and I wanted to be able to bother you again so…you’re welcome.” 

“In other words, you missed me?” He takes a step closer to her, only an inch left in the space between their two bodies. 

Cori scoffs, shoving his chest playfully, “You wish, babe.” She rolls her eyes. After a beat, the serious tone returns to Cori’s words, “No one has ever cared enough about my feelings to…do what you did.” 

“What? Grovel?” Damon asks like he’s embarrassed about how he acted the other night. 

“I guess so, yeah,” she shrugs, “Typically the person I’m mad at will just ignore me until I decide to not be mad at them anymore.” Times when she’s been mad at her friends for something it would turn into her apologizing for “acting weird” or “icing them out” or she would just pretend like it was something else going on completely and they would always act like they didn’t notice her being weird in the first place. 

“Savor it, it won’t happen again.” He teases, making her rolls her eyes. “So, since we’re all friendly again, want to watch the parade with me? We can make fun of everyone together.” 

Cori snorts, “Tempting,” She nods, “But, I’m watching all the festivities with my dad. It’s kind of our thing.” 

“Disapointing,” Damon sighs, grabbing a stray curl of her’s and tossing it over her shoulder. He doesn’t miss the blush that creeps up on her cheeks, “Maybe I’ll see you around, then.”

“If you’re lucky.” Cori calls over her shoulder as she makes her way through the crowd to where her dad is waiting for her. Damon finds himself smiling and shaking his head but a big part of him was relieved that his apology had worked on Cori. 

“There you are,” Her dad wraps his arm around her shoulder and guides her toward the parade route, “Everything okay?” He glances over her shoulder to Damon who was eyeing them as they walked away. 

“Yeah,” She smiles at her dad, “Come on, I want some cotton candy.” she tugs on his hand. 

Founder’s Day in Mystic Falls was one of Cori’s favorite days of the year when it came to town events. It was like 4th of July on steroids and some of her favorite memories with her family happened on Founder’s Day. But, something about this year seemed off, especially once the sun went down. 

Her dad had gone off to meet the mayor before the fireworks display since he was supposed to be sitting on stage to represent the Douglas family, Cori was going to take her seat in the few rows reserved for the rest of the founding families just before the display. But first, she wanted more cotton candy before the stand closed for the night. 

As she was waiting in line, though, someone came up besides her and grabs her arm, “You need tog et out of here.” Damon starts to guide her away before she can even protest or process what was happening. 

Cori stutters a little, stumbling on her feet as she walks beside him, “W-What are you talking about? What’s going on?” She asks, looking around frantically like she’ll be bale to spot what the urgency was all about. 

“The tomb vampires are here,” Cori’s hard drops in her stomach as they come to a stop at the curb, “they’re going to kill the founding families. You need to get out of here before that happens.” The color drains from Cori’s face as she looks at Damon and realizes he’s not kidding. The council still thought that device was going to work but Bonnie had magicked it’s ability away so when all of the vampires still remained standing…they were going to kill everyone. 

“M-my dad,” she gasps, looking across the crowd toward the stage, “I have to get my dad.” 

Damon squeezes his hold on her arm briefly before he loosens it, “Okay, hurry up and get him but you both need to get out of here before the fireworks start,” Cori nods absentmindedly but Damon grabs her face in his hands and forces her to look at him, “Do you understand, Cordelia?” He demands, “I need you to get far away from here.” 

Cori nods, locking eyes with him as she wraps her fingers around his wrists, “I will. I promise.” 

“Okay, good. Go.” He taps her shoulder and watches her run off in the crowd toward the stage. 

Before Cordelia can make it to her dad on the stage, she runs into Bonnie, “Cori–” Bonnie tries to grab her but Cori is still on go-go mode. 

“I can’t talk right now, Bonnie, I have to get to my dad–” 

“They won’t hurt him.” Bonnie tells her but it doesn’t seem to register. 

“The tomb vampires are here and since the device won’t take them down they’re going to–” 

“It will take them down,” Cori turns to Bonnie just as the mayor is introducing the fireworks display. Cordelia’s eyes are furrowed as she looks at her friend, trying to decipher what she could possibly mean. And then it hits her, “I couldn’t do it, Cori.” 

“Bonnie, you didn’t…” she wrenches her hand out of Bonnie’s grasp, “They’re going to–they’re gonna kill them all, do you not get that?” 

“It’s for the better, Cori! They’re dangerous, I know Damon has manipulated you into believing he’s a good person–” 

“Actually, Bonnie, he’s just actually been a good friend to me lately. Unlike a lot of people in my life.” Bonnie’s face drops, shocked by her words, “I know you’ve been going through a lot, Bonnie, but I have too and ignoring my calls and texts isn’t going to help either of us.” Before Bonnie can respond, Cori spots Damon crossing the street toward Mr. Gilbert’s old practice. She looks from him, to the stage where her dad was currently sitting behind the mayor, and back to Bonnie who was watching her worriedly. 

“The device will stop the vampires?” Cori asks her friend, only wanting an honest answer. 

“Yes.” It’s barely out of Bonnie’s mouth before Cori makes her choice and takes off after Damon. If the device was going to take down the vampires then she wouldn’t have to worry about her dad being murdered. Damon on the other hand, thought that the device was unstable and was currently walking into a death trap.

“Damon!”  She shrieks. Her white tennies smack against the pavement as she runs to catch up with him, “Damon, wait!” Her shouts are futile and she knows he’s choosing to ignore her since not hearing her was out of the question for the supernatural creature. Damon continues into the building and Cori continues barrelling towards him. She’s a few feet away from the door when the fireworks going off and just when she’s closing in on the door Damon just walked through, two strong arms wrap around her waist and yank her back. 

Cori gunts at the force of the grip and pushes pathetically against the arms. The tan trousers and shirt were unmistakable as a sheriff deputy’s uniform, “Let me go!” She growls, her feet leaving the ground as her assailant picks her up to move her. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sweetheart.” She didn’t recognize the voice but it was obviously male. He smelled like axe body spray and cigarettes. “I can’t have you interfering.” As the fireworks blaze on mere feet away, other deputies begin carrying incapacitated vampires to the building, the other townsfolk blissfully unaware. She struggles harder against the stranger’s grip and someone emerges from the building, immediately noticing them. 

John Gilbert. 

“What’s going on here, Bigsby?” John asks, his question directed at the man holding her hostage.

“I caught this one trying to follow one of the Salvatore brother’s inside,” Bigsby answers, his hot breath brushing against her ear, “I caught her just in time, didn’t I, doll?” Cori struggles harder. “What should I do with her?” 

John’s eyes search her’s as if he’ll find the answer deep within them. Cori knew enough about the man to know that he was slimy, distasteful, and couldn’t be trusted. Which is why him putting together this whole plan didn’t surprise her one bit. He reaches up and grips her jaw between his fingers, forcing her to look him in the eye for a long, agonizingly annoying moment before he says, “I’ll put her with the others in the basement, she already knows too much.” Cori’s heart drops to her stomach. 

Even the Bigsby hesitates but he doesn’t lessen his hold on her, “But, she’s not like the others. The device didn’t work on her.” 

“No,” John says, dropping his hand from her face and reaching for something tucked into the waistline of his pants, “but if she’s anything like that aunt of her’s, she’s something much worse.” 

Cori only manages to see a glimpse of the handle of his gun before it’s colliding with the side of her head and plunging her into darkness. 

Disoriented and in pain, Damon tries to make sense of his surroundings as he rouses from his vervain induced sleep. All his limbs felt like they were asleep. He could barely move. Every ounce of strength he could muster went to moving his head around to try and get a better look around the room. In his blurry vision he notices two figures pouring something all over the various bodies and all over the ground. Damon sniffs the air. Gasoline. They were going to burn them alive. He notices that one of the two figures is John Gilbert who was now being stopped by one of the other vampires gripping his leg. “Anna,” He vaguely hears John say. He then turns to the other figure down there with them and says, “You can head on up. I’ll take it from here.” They obey and leave John alone in the basement with the poor, unfortunate souls of Mystic Falls’ vampires. 

As soon as the other person is gone, Anna tries to get up but she’s too weak. John reaches behind his back and pulls out…a stake. Damon’s eyes widen, “Please, no!” Anna pleads before John plunges the stake into her heart. He pours more gasoline onto her body and leaves a trail of it up the stairs as he climbs them, stopping at the top to spark a lighter. Within seconds, the basement is engulfed in flames and Damon Salvatore feels as though his luck may have just ran out. 

Just then, a groan to his left causes him to turn his head. Expecting to see the face of another vampire sentenced to die here, his cold heart leaps in his chest when he sees Cordelia Douglas stirring from the spot on the basement floor just a few feet from him. His joy is replaced with confusion and then with terror becuase the basement was burning quickly and she was stuck down here. “Cori,” He whispers, attempting to access the parts of his brain that would allow him to move closer to her. She turns her head toward him but her eyes are still screwed shut. That’s when he notices the giant wound on the side of her head. They had knocked her out and placed her down here to die. But why?

“Cordelia,” Damon grunts, managing to scoot a few inches closer to her, “Hey…” He reches his hand out across the floor, straining with effort as his fingers briefly touch hers. She moves slightly again but doesn’t open her eyes, “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here.” He wasn’t sure he could make it out of the basement himself but he would die trying to get Cori to safety. Damon rolls onto his side, attempting to get a better look of the room when he sees another familiar face. 

“Mayor. Is that you?” Mayor lockwood is sitting up groggily from the ground, looking at Damon with the same amount of confusion. 

“What are you doing here?” Mayor Lockwood asks Damon. 

“I’m a vampire,” he bares his teeth in the least threatening way he ever has, “what’s your excuse?” He asks. The mayor sits up in shock and scoots away from Damon in fear, “No, really, the vervain didn’t effect you, you’re not a vampire, what the hell are you?” 

Sadly for the mayor, he scoots so far back that he collides with another vampire who was just arising from his induced slumber. “Mayor Lockwood!” He says, almost excitedly. Before Mr. Lockwood can make a run for it, the vampire reaches around and grabs his chin, pulling hard until the Mayor’s neck snaps and he slumps to the ground. Dead. 

Despite the satisfaction of the biggest douche in town lying dead next to him, Damon quickly shifts his attention back to the girl laying beside him, especially when he hears her small voice say, “Damon?”

He turns to look at her again, seeing her slowly lift her head up from the ground, her fingers touching the blood dripping from her forehead, “Hey, there you are,” he groans, “sleep well?” 

She clenches her jaw, sitting up on her elbows, “I’m going to kill Elena’s uncle.” 

Damon can’t help but smrik, “There’s my girl,” he pushes himself to his hands and knees, slowly and carefully, “Any chance you feel well enough to book it the hell out of here?” He looks around, noticing that the fire rages on but it’s still a good distance away from her body. 

“I think so,” Cori squints against the brightness of the flames and starts to crawl towards Damon, “come on, let’s go.” 

He shakes his head as she approaches, “You can’t take me with you, kid.” He looks at her out of the corner of his eye, “You’ve gotta go on your own. Now. Before the fire gets worse.” She reaches him and places her hand on his shoulders, attempting to pull him up. 

“Shut up, Damon,” She grunts, “Nows not the time for your hero complex.” She pulls on his shoulders again, only getting him to sit back on his knees. 

“Cori, you can’t–” 

Cori grabs his face in her hands, forcing him to look in her eyes. “I’m not leaving you.” She says. And she means it, he knows that she means it–knows that she would burn down here before turning her back on him. He doesn’t know why, though. Why would she sacrifice herself to keep him from dying down here alone? She wasn’t even supposed to be down here in the first place. Why him? Why would she choose to save him? She holds his face tighter and Damon swears he sees her eyes start to glow. In the heat of the fire, he begins to feel a rush of cold flow through his body, starting at the place where her hands rest on his face. It’s like a bucket of water was being splashed over his head and spilling out on the floor around them. The flames dulled around them in a circle but Cori didn’t seem to notice, still looking at him with suck intensity she could start her own fire. “Get. Up.” She growls at him, sliding her arm under his and finally yanking him to his feet. 

Damon watches in amazement as he walks with Cori. Not only at the strength she exhibits by leading him to the steps, but by the way the flames seem to part in front of her. He can’t even feel the heat of the fire as they make their way up the steps, a large beam falling to the ground behind them, blocking any other victims from escaping. Cori groans when they’re about halfway up the stairs, noticing the closed door. “God, I really hope that door is unlocked.” Damon hoped the same. 

Both of their prayers are answered when the door flies open and standing on the other side is Stefan. With a new burst of strength, Cori helps Damon up the rest of the steps in record time, ignoring Stefan’s shocked face as she passes his brother off to him, “Take him, please.” she grunts, falling to the floor at the top of the stairs. The flames surge behind them, engulfing the basement entirely. They barely made it out. 

Stefan uses his hand not supporting Damon to help Cori to her feet, “Come on, this way,” He pushes her in front of them, pointing in the direction of the back exit. The trio spills out of the back door, Stefan and Damon catching their breath and coughing up the smoke in their lungs. Cori was seemingly find despite just the need to catch her breath. 

“Cori?” Elena places her hand on her back and helps her stand up straight, “What the hell were you doing in there?” 

“You uncle,” She huffs with a hand on her side, “tried to kill me.” 

Stefan is up and standing in front fo her now, “How did you get through the fire? You were halfway upthe stairs before I even got the door open.” He glances at Bonnie then, knowing that it was her spell that allowed him to open the door in the first place. Before that the door had been too hot for him to touch. So how did Cori, a seemingly normal human, carry his brother through the flames? 

Cori shrugs, her throat so dry she struggles to swallow, “I just…walked.” She says simply, “It didn’t feel that hot, probably adrenaline or something.” She sighs, “God, I am so thirsty.” 

Bonnie walks up to her, wrapping her arms around the taller girl to support her as she guides her away, “Come on, lets go find your dad. You need to get looked at.” 

Cori turns to look over her shoulder as Bonnie leads her away, looking for a certain blue-eyed vampire to make sure he’s okay. But there’s no one there besides Stefan, Elena, and a few firefighters who were starting to show up to put out the fire. 

Damon was gone. 

[late-to-the-party-81]

The best laid plans...

AN: This silly little fic was written for @buckybarnesbingo Square C5: A picture of Bucky waiting against a wall, holding a gun. I hope you enjoy the sass and crack. Thanks to @drabbles-mc for cheerleading and beta-ing

Dividers by @firefly-graphics. Moodboard by me, with robot image by Rafael Amarante 

Master list| BBB Master list

Summary: Bucky and Nat had a date night planned, but you know what’s said about best laid plans?

Relationships: Established Bucky x Nat, Established Sam x Steve, Cap Quartet friendship.

Word Count: 2.4k

CW: Crack, Sass, Snark, Flirting, Innuendo, Swearing, Robots being smashed, a bad-guy getting his come-uppance, Sam and Steve are like a pair of horny teenagers, Bucky is done, Nat is always right.

Bucky came to a halt a few feet from the bunker entrance, his back pressed to the smooth, grey concrete with his assault rifle held in his right hand. Snowflakes swirled around him.  

This was not how he’d intended spending his Friday, but here he was. The bad-guys never had any respect for his plans, the bastards. Or rather his and Nat’s plans. Not that they’d had anything major organised, just a quiet night in, the pair of them, the cat’s, a box set, some wine and some blini’s. Maybe a little ‘something-something’ later on, if he played his cards right.

But, here he was, in the freezing cold - and god-knows he hated the cold for many legitimate reasons - waiting for the signal from Nat, before the pair of them stormed in to save Sam and Steve from whatever-the-fuck mess the pair of them had managed to get themselves in to. If Bucky recalled the briefing notes he’d skimmed over on the way here, it was robots of some sort. Which was better than aliens, and a one hundred percent improvement on wizards. That Strange guy gave him the willies, despite Tony’s assurance that his cough friend was on their side. He still wasn’t sold on Howard’s son’s judgement, despite the years that had passed since the ‘Siberia Incident’.

Robots, though - he could handle those. To steal a line from Bruce, with robots he could “smash”, and not feel bad. Not that he felt bad when he punched aliens. Or wizards. But robots were like Nazi’s. Not sentient in Bucky’s humble opinion.

He did briefly wonder how Steve and Sam had managed to get themselves captured, but that knowledge would wait for later. They’d probably got distracted from the mission because they were making out or something equally as stupid. They could at least keep the PDAs to a minimum in the field, like he and Nat did. Although he did get it - Steve could let himself be seen now, in a way he hadn’t been able to back in the day.  And Bucky wasn’t blind, Sam was an attractive man, even if he did act like a cocky dickhead about it ninety nine percent of the time.

“Stupid Steve and stupid Sam.” He hadn’t even realised he’d muttered under his breath until a slightly tinny voice sounded in his ear.

“Be nice, Yasha. They are our friends after all. Even if they did ruin our date night.”

Bucky’s lips twitched upwards at Nat’s admonishment. “Can you blame me, malyshka? I was looking forward to a night-in with my best girls. All cuddled up together, all cosy. Maybe a bit of kissing, a bit of…”

“Okay, cool it lover-boy. I don’t think Al and Liho would be appreciative of your kisses.”

Bucky’s smile broadened and he let a bit of ‘40’s’ into his voice. “Is that your way of saying that you would be?”

“I plead the fifth.” He could hear the smile in Nat’s voice. “Now, get ready. I’ve almost reached the East Entrance. We need to breach together.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, glad that Nat wouldn’t be able to see.

“Not my first time out, Natalia. Just because Steve likes to go in without a plan and Sam seems to have adopted his technique, doesn’t mean I’ve lost my sense of strategy. I’m ready on your mark. As always.”

“The way it should be. But James, don’t roll your eyes at me. You know how it annoys me when you’re passive aggressive. Now…breach!”

Bucky pushed away from the wall and kicked in the door. He rolled through the opening, coming to a halt on his knees, gun raised. 

There wasn’t anyone or anything there.

“No bogies here, Nat. You?”

“Nothing. It’s suspiciously quiet.”

Bucky rose to his feet and slung his rifle over his shoulder.

“I’ll work myself toward the centre and meet you there. First to find our disaster gays buys pizza.”

He heard Nat laugh over the comms, clear and unaffected. “You always make it so easy for me, kotenok.”

“Only because you’re easy for me.” Bucky couldn’t help but tease her. He could imagine the faint pink blush dusting her cheekbones about now. She was probably doing that cute nose wrinkle too.

“Bucky!” Nat hissed, but her tone didn’t hold any real censure.

“Okay, okay. I’m all business now. I promise. See you soon.”

Bucky pulled one of his knives from its sheath, gave it a cursory flip to check the balance, and then made his way toward the next door. If there was anything behind it, it would know Bucky was there - he hadn’t exactly been quiet when he’d come through the first door. He placed himself on the hinge side of the door, noting that this one opened towards him, and with a steadying breath, he pulled it open.

Immediately, laser blasts peppered the space Bucky would have been standing in if he’d opened the door like a normal person. He observed the rhythm of the shots for a few seconds, then rounded the door, his knife flying forward from his hand. There was a satisfying thunk, followed by a crash as the robot landed on the floor. Bucky walked towards the pile of metal, taking in its form as he pulled his knife from its ocular sensor. Why mad scientists had to mimic human biology by putting the CPU in the most obvious place constantly baffled him, but at least it made it easy.

He didn’t have long to ponder though. He heard a whirring noise and looked up to see four more robots bearing down on him. Sheathing his knife, Bucky unslung his rifle, holding it in his right hand. With his left he picked up the late robot to use as a shield. He felt the impact of the laser blasts, and peaked around the metal shell to aim his weapon. He squeezed the trigger, letting off three bullets at a time, and kept moving forward. One of the robots wouldn’t go down, so as Bucky approached it, he decided to use the one he was holding as a bludgeon. There was the screech of metal on metal, and the fizzing of wires as they broke, still sparking, then there was a pile of twisted steel on the floor. He opened his comms.

“Everything okay, sweetheart? I’ve had a few tin cans to deal with over here.”

“Doing fine, baby. Hang on…” Nat went silent for a moment, but Bucky knew it was just because she was concentrating. He heard the high-pitch whine of her Widow’s Bite deploying, followed by a hollow clang sound and then she was back. “How many have you taken out?”

Bucky looked around him.

“Five.”

“Ha! Six. I’m winning.”

“Malyshka, our competition isn’t about numbers, remember?” Bucky drawled, letting a small amount of condescension into his voice.

“Yours might not be, but mine is.” God, he loved this woman. She challenged him everyday and he couldn’t get enough.

“Always gotta be the winner, huh?”

“No ‘gotta’ about it. Just ‘am’, kitten.” He could see her smirk in his head. She was probably coyly twisting a lock of hair around her finger as she spoke as well. “Now, I gotta get into that next room.”

The comm line went quiet again and Bucky smiled to himself as he thought about all the ways he was gonna worship her when they got home. After he’d torn a strip off Steve and Sam for being idiots. However, he had to find them first.

He wasn’t surprised to discover more robots as he entered the next area of the bunker. They weren’t too difficult to deal with, especially considering how frustrated Bucky was feeling. A couple of laser shots grazed his jacket, the burning leather smell filling his nose unpleasantly. A replacement jacket was definitely coming out of Steve’s pocket.

Six more robots lay in a sparking, dented mess on the floor, but he just walked around them, moving forward. It was only a minute until he came upon a bulkhead door, the mechanism for opening it on his side. Bucky could also see that the door was dented, hit from the inside in what he assumed was an attempt to open it from the other side by someone exceedingly strong. It would take a lot to deform it like that.

“If you’re not behind this door, Steve”, Bucky muttered under his breath, “I’m gonna kill you.” He reshouldered his rifle and grabbed hold of the bulkhead wheel. It was tightly closed and the metal groaned under Bucky’s hands as he turned it. “Fuck Sam and fuck Steve, idiotic, stupid idiots.” He didn't know exactly what he was going to find when he got in there, but he wasn’t too worried. They might have some scrapes and bruises, at the worst be unconscious, but they were tough and no two-bit robot maker was going to get the best of them. Not for long anyway. 

The catch on the door fully opened and Bucky pulled it ajar. He slipped through but came to a dead halt at what he saw. This was definitely not what he expected to find. In fact, he was so taken aback that he didn’t notice the door swinging shut behind him, until he heard the clunk.

Sam and Steve leapt apart. Steve’s short blond hair was sticking up all over the place, evidence of Sam’s fingers having been threaded through it. Both their lips were kiss swollen, and their chests were heaving. Steve pulled the shield across his lap. Sam just used his hands to cover his crotch.

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut. “Really, guys? You get stuck in the lair of a mad robot inventor, so you just end up making out like teenagers?” Steve flushed, his ears going bright pink, but Sam just gave Bucky a grin.

“What can I say, man. Stevie boy can’t keep his hands off me, even when we’re in mortal danger.”

Steve shot Sam a glare. “It wasn’t like that. We tried to get out, but the doors were too thick, and glass didn’t want to break either.” Steve waved over to the far wall, which was half glass, and appeared to have some kind of observation room on the other side. There was a door in that wall too, as equally as dented as the one Bucky had come through, giving credence to Steve’s story that they’d at least attempted to get out before getting bored and starting to get handsy with each other. “We knew you’d come when we didn’t check in, so we were just waiting. But you’re here now.”

“Unfortunately, though,” Sam drawled, “Because you let that door shut behind you, we’re now all stuck.”

“As long as you two don’t start sucking face again.” Bucky made a gagging noise.

“No chance of that, Bucko. Don’t you know that cyborgs kill the mood,” Sam fired back.

Bucky raised an eyebrow and cocked his hip. “Nat doesn’t seem to think so.” He held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers, the vibranium plates clinking and servos whirring. “In fact she…”

“...Would most likely kill you for having this conversation.” Steve cut him off. “And speaking of Nat…”

Steve pointed into the observation room, where the door into it had burst open and a man in a white lab coat and goggles was staggering through it, a very angry Russian redhead sat atop his shoulders. Nat rained blows down onto the man's face before doing her patented twisty thing where she spun herself down and hurled the guy across the room by his neck. He crashed into a table which had various electronics and tools across it, and didn’t get up. Nat, of course, landed on her feet and tossed her hair back. At that moment, Bucky didn’t think he could love her more.

Nat walked over to the control panel, a swagger in her steps. She peered down at it for a few moments and then pressed a button. The door to the side of the glass opened with a creak and Nat sauntered over and pushed it further open.

“I win, kotenok.” 

Bucky reached in a few long strides and, in an uncharacteristic display of public affection, wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her close.

“How do you figure that, sweetheart? I was obviously here first, and we haven’t done the final count of robots dispatched.” He smiled down at her and brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face.

“But I took out him,” she jerked her head in the direction of the felled robot creator, “and you got yourself trapped in with Dumb and Dumber over there. I think that means I can rightly claim the win.”

Somewhere behind them, Sam shouted out “Hey!” but both Bucky and Nat ignored him.

“You think, do you? I’m not sure I agree.” Bucky’s lips twisted up into an amused smile and Nat reached up and bopped her finger against the tip of his nose.

“Of course you don’t agree. You’re always wrong, Yasha. Now, let’s get home and you and I can try and salvage the rest of date night. You owe me a pizza.” She slipped effortlessly from his hold and spun away. Bucky looked over his shoulder at Steve and Sam and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say ‘what are you gonna do?’ and followed in her wake, picking up their unconscious captive and throwing him over his shoulder on the way.

They got outside and as they neared the two jets Bucky looked over at Nat, silent communication passing between them. She jogged towards the jet they’d arrived in for their rescue mission and Bucky peeled off toward the one that Sam and Steve had used. He jogged up the ramp ahead of his friends, and as he reached the top he pressed the ramp close button and dumped the robot maker on the floor.

“Um, Buck… What are you doing?” Steve called out to him through the narrowing gap. Bucky grinned back. “It’s only a two hour flight back to the compound. Surely you can wrap your legs around your boyfriend for that long.” He shot a wink at their outraged faces as the ramp closed and then whistled to himself as he made his way to the cockpit. 

Childish? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely.

Bucky sat down in the pilot’s seat, put the headphones on and switched to his and Nat’s private comms channel as he started the jet up.

“So, malyshka, what do you want on your pizza?”

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