#he's a tricky one to get a hang of | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

batsplat · 5 months ago

Note

quick follow up to this bit

was also reminded of this valentino quote

He speaks about my shoulder like he was the best shoulder doctor in Melbourne Hospital.

what WERE they cooking

(I can't like. prove this because obviously we simply do not have solid 'evidence' for casey's thinking here either way, but given this is a speculative post about how I'd narrativise these rivalries.... do think the screenshot above is basically my theory for why casey had a thing about valentino's injuries. to such an extent that valentino picked up and commented on it! after laguna and throughout 2009, there were various waves of discourse about casey having been 'broken' by valentino - first due to casey's dip in form in 2008, then because he had to take some time off in 2009. the fact that it was an invisible illness that he himself could not explain in a sport that is all about the big, glaring obvious injuries - one that was treated as a sign of mental weakness, something he was ALWAYS susceptible to being accused of... very much the opposite of valentino's shoulder and leg in that sense, which was way easier to explain and was immediately taken seriously. my suspicion is that for casey, it was about not being extended the same grace as valentino was, being frustrated at how much leniency valentino was being granted when casey was always being harshly judged. of course, valentino (in classic demented rider fashion) was if anything downplaying the severity of the shoulder injury and only admitted after it was more or less healed that he'd been terrified by how long the recovery period had dragged on and had feared he would never be the same rider again. casey's lack of empathy on this count is completely justifiable and he does also obviously have a point, but it's still an interesting part of his character. it's what makes the rivalry with valentino so very interesting - there are lots and lots of ways in which valentino directly made casey's life miserable, but then there are other ways in which valentino's mere presence, his existence, someone whose treatment casey could compare his own to, that also contributed to casey's hatred towards him. firstly by getting more empathy than casey did and the general injustice in how the sport was 'always' on valentino's 'side' in a way it never was for casey, secondly by having this reputation of 'breaking' rivals that... well, y'know, valentino was presumably more than happy to be the beneficiary of the whole thing, but it's not like this was actually a line he spread himself, including with regards to casey. he didn't have to! it's kinda just... an awful coincidence that casey's 2009 absence was always going to be treated with suspicion and he HAPPENED to have a rival with valentino's very specific reputation?? the perfect storm! which gets you to this odd point where... if anything after that casey is the main instigator in terms of the sheer vitriol of the rivalry - but it's built on years of seething resentment that valentino at times almost seems taken aback by... and then reciprocates with interest because of course he does. because that's just how valentino ticks. fundamental lack of understanding for each other!! valentino kinda accidentally being casey's perfect foil!! casey having a million Legitimate Grievances against valentino but still somehow managing to project 85% of his other issues with the sport on valentino too!! they're soooooooooooooo. so!!)

if you were to direct a motogp movie (or make a one season of television) what season or rivalry would you make it about? and more interesting what artistic liberties would you take? it doesn’t have to be a straight up biopic bc imo those are often boring, instead it could be something like velvet goldmine (1998) aka fictional characters whose real life counterparts are pretty obvious, veering in like rpf territory. anyways👀

did you know. one time this guy put a curse on this other guy. and he never won a race again

anyway, look, I do feel like by this point that's the BORING answer from me, but obviously it's where my mind first went. I'm not sure I'd actually want it out there in film form because by now it's badly enough remembered that it's like, my cute little niche story, and I think there's something fun about the Wider World even within the motogp fandom not exactly getting how bonkers the whole thing was. (I know other humans have canonically watched motogp 2004 but I swear even journalists have forgotten some key key details and it's kinda annoying but also fun.) bold words from someone who's been blogging about it!! weird gatekeep-y instinct. but basically my job here is done as far as outreach is concerned - I wrote a very long post, now I get asks about it twice a week that allow me to think about it some more with the four other people who care, perfect balance. that rivalry doesn't need to go mainstream!! the whole point of it is that it's kinda cruel but narratively pleasing that it's gone under the radar, because it's another sign valentino won. but obviously, I cannot literally make a film about this, so the hypothetical repercussions I think maybe we can put aside for a moment here

okay I came back to this bit of the post after I increasingly got into of the spirit of coming up with dumb ideas, but it did make me flesh out what I'd even WANT from something like that. I'm with you anon, a lot of biopics are boring!! if you want to just know what happened, please just literally go and 'watch the races' and 'read books' like what are we actually getting here. you kinda want to give it a purpose for existing, right, a way of portraying real/mildly fictionalised events in a manner that is also taking some kind of stance on the material AND is doing stuff you can't do 'in real life'. thing is, look, you could make 2006 into a film, and I'm sure it'd be perfectly nice because it's fundamentally a solid underdog story (well, inherently winning a title with repsol honda is NOT being an underdog but you can write it that way), but also what are you doing beyond just telling people what happened? I feel like that generally about single seasons, they're not really doing anything for me. I was also turning around the biaggi/valentino rivalry in my head in part because that's the one valentino gave as his answer for 'rivalry he would turn into a film' (marc big wet eyes sitting right next to him), but like. a film about that rivalry from valentino's pov is fundamentally not something I'm interested in. you have all these isolated very memorable moments that make it work as a rivalry, like you can absolutely spin them into a dramatic yarn that goes through the genesis of their conflict to middle finger gate to punching gate to assen + donington + sachsenring + phillip island 2001 and it's basically *insert rousing music* successful coming of age. at most you can lean into the fact valentino became successful at being a dick. like idk it's fine but also what's the point? valentino is challenged in a sports context by biaggi, he's challenged because he realises his words have consequence and the press actually reports the words he says to journalists (the horror), but he is fundamentally not challenged on a personal level. that's the entire point, right? it's the ultimate comfort zone rivalry - biaggi is a dick who it is quite easy to hate and also reacts poorly to valentino's initial provocation. the animosity escalates and it is inherently fun to beat him. valentino is mean to him, but it's not like he even really crosses any lines to beat him. like you can make it into a film, and if you twisted the material a little bit you could make it satisfying, but I don't want to!

now the way the writing process of this post worked was that I was going to breeze through a bunch of non-sete/valentino rivalries and explain why I think some of them don't work for our purposes here, but then I ended up writing myself into changing my mind. so my take on the biaggi rivalry is that actually, you CAN make it work but it has to be from biaggi's perspective. basically, I think you've got to amadeus it (a web weave I have been thinking of making at some point btw). so,,, it's a meditation on talent and how unfair it all is, maybe minus the bit where salieri poisons amadeus (I know that doesn't happen in the film) or dresses up as amadeus' father to, y'know, make him write a requiem on his death bed. and it's not amadeus in that HERE, the clown prince gets a happy ending! but it's more like, in thematic terms, I think you have to zero in on this bit. biaggi didn't have parents who shoved him on a bike when he was three years old, he didn't have parents who were invested in his motorcycling career (or even necessarily particularly invested in him), he started the sport late and discovered that, yes, he did have a prodigious amount of skill in it - but one that he started honing far later than valentino did. he approached his career with a sort of grim resolve, surly and irascible and not interested in making friends with any of his competitors but very, very good. he goes away from the race track and dates all these models, he irritates fellow riders, he's not part of the gang and he's happy about it. he's very successful! four 250cc titles, wins his first ever race in 500cc at a time when doohan was very much winning everything. he's also just like,,,, an interesting and spiky enough character it's not hard to make him come alive

but then of course you have this gradual emergence of the amadeus character, the one who challenges his established position in the court of,, well... motorcycle racing, and also as the guy italians rooted for! and valentino's obviously, y'know, in so many ways the exact opposite from biaggi, and he's super young and cheerful and lively and is doing all his silly celebrations and is being a bit camp and goofy and treats motorcycle racing as a party (you really want to lean into the culture clash here, like in amadeus it's because you have stuffy austrian court vibes but here it's because everyone is having their bones broken every two minutes and just how... kinda grim a lot of motorcycle racing was). and he's also this innocent! yes, he insults biaggi, and yes, in retrospect we know valentino is kinda evil, but at the time he was a kid with a big mouth who was a little taken aback by how that biaggi feud sort of escalated beyond what he'd actually intended it to do! and biaggi just, hates him. and I think, sorry to the real man max biaggi here, but you've got to play with how once they're actually competing with each other, it's miserable how there's just this unbreachable gulf in talent. like, whatever biaggi does he cannot win! he isn't going to defeat valentino over the course of a full season! which is depressing and horrible and CRUEL, because there's this inevitability to the whole thing... and also! because valentino doesn't DESERVE it. and you don't have to go full salieri pleading with god to explain how god could give this CLOWN all this talent, but it's kinda the same vibe! how is it valentino, who is constantly just having a laff and canonically maybe wasn't the biggest gym-goer in the paddock and is just generally seen as, y'know, a bit of a dandy, this foppish clown who everyone loves and who doesn't have to work hard to be good - how is he the one who is winning so much!! it's miserable and unjust... and I think how you portray this is that you really emphasise the kinda, repetitive nature of the defeat. like, I think you probably want to make this into a non-linear narrative where all this biaggi backstory is communicated somehow but you don't just start it when he was born or whatever - you start it in 2001 when they're competing for a title and already hate each other. and then you heavy on the time loop vibes. the whole cinematic language and all that other shit should emphasise how all these weekends are structured in exactly the same way and if you're losing to this one guy, all these different weekends can start feeling the same. it bleeds into each other, it feels inescapable, you're trapped in this narrative you can't change... worst of all, you even return to the same places again and again - like play with that! biaggi keeps coming back to where they had the fist fight, to where valentino first insulted him all those years back. you play up the disorientation and the misery of it all, plus biaggi canonically gives us all this kinda messy freudian shit to play with like how he was dating 'valentina' and his relationship with her was falling apart because of how miserable valentino was making him. it's all there!!

ANYWAYS the way you conclude this story is!! welkom 2004!! so again we can artistic license this a little bit and, uh, ignore sete (though I do also think it's fun if you lean into biaggi being displaced as a rival and staring at them being friendly and happy with each other from the outside) - but the key bit is that valentino is finally making the big error. biaggi wasn't winning titles on a yamaha, since he left yamaha has gotten worse, now valentino is making this big mistake out of his own hubris. language of cinema that shit and make everything brighter and more hopeful.... the time loop is finally over, biaggi has escaped, this year will be different!!!! everyone in his circle agrees, valentino is fucked. step off the plane at welkom (pre season testing didn't happen in this universe) and it's literal dawn of a new day... staring out at the sun and finally, biaggi can move on, can live a new and different life. anyway. obviously we all know what's coming next - you have this big dramatic climactic race where biaggi throws himself at valentino again and again and again and he comes so close to winning it... but he doesn't. and you have valentino living his best life, being delighted, but the film is focusing on how like,,, we're bleaching the joy back out of biaggi's life, how actually he's returning to what he already knew. and it ends on the podium, with the camera focusing on biaggi on that fucking second step or zooming in or whatever (idk how cinema works) and it just finishes on this shot of biaggi dead-eyed in a bleak world, trapped again for eternity aka until the end of the 2005 season. done!! I'm not sure this is quite what valentino had in mind, but. well. that's how I'd do it

this is from the pushkin play from 1832 not the 1984 film but like. low key pushkin already kinda nailed the essence of sports rivalries in the 1830s and we just have to acknowledge that sometimes

right. so the casey rivalry is where I'm going to go completely off the wall. skip this bit to get to the slightly saner stuff. this is also one I fully admit to sometimes playing around with in my mind anyway, but. uh. I'm gonna be taking this one in just. well. places. I do have a vision here but I also don't quite know how to explain it in a way that doesn't make me sound like I've lost my mind, but well if you're still reading this then that's on you. so lemme get this out of the way: the classic sports biopic formula would work well with casey. if I had to point to a single rider I would sports biopic-ify, it's casey. so you have all this kinda,, obvious adversity that's easy to get across, and it's a narrative you can follow chronologically without too much trouble. you've got all the childhood stuff, the australian racing club not letting him join them, the move to britain, the rising through the ranks, it's also this very biopic-friendly 'nobody ever believed in him apart from like three people' stuff. and the premier class is also narratively satisfying, from the rocky rookie season to the kinda shock success to then all the lows of 2008 and 2009 and the physical ailments and the anxiety and then the switch to honda and the title and then him deciding to retire... that's all good stuff! you can absolutely biopic-ify it! gun to my head and sure, I can walk you through exactly what bits of his life I'd focus on and put in what order and so on, and I think ultimately you could make a very good sports biopic from that

[some mild gore to follow in this next section]

but also. thing is. that's fine. it's just not where I want to go here, because again I feel like at that point you can also pick up his autobiography and just read it - because what you're basically doing here is just filming that. and I get how this stuff works, you're bringing the story to a wider audience, you can show stuff in a different way in that medium etc etc, and that's all great but also I don't care about bringing stuff to a wider audience. I care about doing fun stuff in my brain. so what I'd actually do here is just, basically, go in the exact opposite direction and ditch all the realism. genuinely, ditch the live action stuff, we're going animated - what I'm interested in here is stuff where we need to be able to fully suspend our disbelief and lean into some surreal shit. I'm not going to bury the lede here: my idea is that you take that thing where casey said he hated how ducati was ruining the bike by letting valentino's yellow encroach on it and, basically,, just go all in on that bit. like come on, that is so singularly visually evocative, it truly captures a lot of what's going on thematically in that rivalry. (see also x and x for the most relevant casey posts.) casey sees valentino as the malevolent force, this infection! he associates him strongly with a specific colour, one that can be sickly or unnatural or just... evil. malignant, malicious, malevolent, all the m words. to casey, valentino is a personification of everything that is wrong with the sport. valentino is literally the walking manifestation for so many of his issues, from the dangerous riding to the lack of respect to the lying to the cult of personality to the obsession with image and the media to the backroom games to the politics to the injustice of how different riders are treated differently, like!! he's literally all of that! this is a topic for another post, but this plays out in a lot of kinda, weird and funky ways where it's a two way street and sometimes when casey talks about motogp you go 'actually I think that's just valentino?' (btw he also does this about 'europe' right I don't think those are europeans you hate casey that's literally just valentino) and sometimes when he talks about valentino it's kinda? this feels like it's about a little more than the bloke himself? and basically, right, I think you need to take this to its natural conclusion where casey used to admire him and look up to him and want to emulate him on track and then gets disillusioned when valentino's worshippers turn against casey and casey is the one to bring valentino down to earth and... listen, I think you need to play around with valentino being a literal god. and I think you need to have casey stab him to cover up the yellow on the ducati with blood

okay. look. the idea here, right, is that we're basically making the subtext text, and just digging into that process of 'bringing valentino back to earth', of taking on a god and having the audacity to succeed, and also treating valentino as this sort of. infection in his own mind. the bike is literally being infected!! casey may have left the ducati but he STILL has some fidelity and love for this project, those were his people he worked with, and now valentino is coming in and just twisting everything around himself!! but also I think how this functions is that, okay, so you have all this normal stuff that's the actual 'plot' in the 'real world', but the ISSUE with the real world is that there's a lot of stuff that just. isn't possible there. like the thing casey wants in that rivalry but is never going to have is... a captive audience. a big problem casey has in that rivalry is that he doesn't get the chance to actually say a lot of stuff to valentino. he starts using the media more and more and plays the game on valentino's level, but there's still this disconnect where mr straight talking is the valentino rival who valentino never really blanks or freezes out like... there's a disconnect! there's valentino the person, who casey never quite figures out how to just straight up hate, and then there's valentino the character, the racer, the rider, the god who casey DESPISES. but when they're doing small talk at pressers and podiums, casey doesn't get to talk to that version of valentino! he just talks to valentino the person, who obviously isn't literally a different person but is also not going to explain to casey where he's coming from, is he, and also isn't someone who casey can explain to where HE is coming from. and that gulf... it does bother casey. I don't think he can quite verbalise why either, but there's just... this creeping tension. I think it'd be easier for casey if valentino really were more of a caricature, just kinda a dick in all walks of life. and there's just these canonical hints of that... the way casey talks about how he's sure valentino as a guy is fine, but he never knew valentino like that, the whole 'I'd like to go with valentino for dinner to tell him where I was coming from in that rivalry' thing, like!! it's there

so basically EYE think what you should be doing is using the wonders of storytelling to actually. embrace that element. and just leave realism behind now and again. valentino is a god, he is literally worshipped, he's part of this pantheon that casey is trekking to reach. casey is brave enough to take him on in combat, he is the first one who is truly able to draw blood. he sees how valentino isn't just a god of joy or battles or speed or the SUN or any of that other stuff - he's a disease, an illness, a god who is also a false prophet... the worship never quite goes away, because who ever truly gets rid of their valentino rossi complex, but casey eventually is given the chance to face a chained valentino and kinda,,, ritualistically publicly humiliate him using the ducati as both this sick thing that has to be 'cured' and this symbol of valentino's failure. I'm sorry, visual language goes brr here, like chain him up, do weirdly eroticised torture idc!! (psst psst valentino's fucked up shoulder also extremely goes brr here, casey low key a teensy bit weird about valentino's injuries? his thing after the 2010 leg break where he goes 'why's everyone making such a big deal about this other people break their limbs too' and then after 2011 jerez immediately asking whether valentino's shoulder is okay in just a very obviously passive aggressive way. literally he opens with that, valentino isn't using it as an excuse or anything, for some reason it's already on casey's mind and I would politely contest it was out of genuine concern for valentino's wellbeing!! it's just kinda? I'm so compelled by it? I suppose it is kinda about how valentino's suffering gets taken more seriously than his own? how those absences are received differently by the motogp world? idk I find this fun because casey does know this is one thing valentino can't really be blamed for himself, so it just slips out a bit? but yeah, casey + valentino's injuries, nobody's talking about it but I sure will, let casey get weird and mean and a teensy bit sadistic about valentino's injuries in an artistic manner.) crucially I like animation as a medium here because I think it's easier to lean into surrealism when you don't have to hand hold the audience so much through the suspension of realism, also there's just some imagery you can do in cooler ways through animation where in live action it may just look. weird. (I think you can also do one of those things where you have a live action film with only those specific bits animated but also... why? it just feels like in live action you need more 'justifications' for things, like am I saying casey is having some weird hallucinations and is losing his mind? no I just want to have weird vision sequences ffs.) the colour stuff!! valentino/casey is big on the colour coding as a rivalry, to the extent casey is even, y'know, drawing attention to it in the literal text!! yellow and red are banger colours, valentino is big on imagery himself with all his sun + moon motifs, it's kind of all there to make the easy next step to kinda zany surreal imagery. ritualistic stabbing works better in animation, you can kinda get the blood to like. drip down and overwhelm the yellow illness that's slithered out across the bike

and. AND of course what this entire set up allows you to do is.... give them an opportunity to talk. they can't talk in real life! casey CAN'T give him his real thoughts on anything, and fundamentally valentino can't either. they're opponents. they're strangers who chat sometimes. it's not just that they aren't friends, it's that fundamentally they cannot be friends - because their ability to do their actual jobs depends on a certain level of professional distance. valentino of course does have a decent read on casey, and vice versa, because when you're figuring out how to defeat someone then (if you're valentino) you're looking to play the rider too. valentino's entire approach depends on focusing in on his rivals and attempting to throw them off, to make them unravel. he's watching casey closely!! the entire journey of casey's first three seasons in the premier class essentially becomes like, this god of their world focusing in on him. figuring him out. trying to gnaw away at him. obviously, animation also allows you to go big on the panopticon-y imagery which is kinda fundamental to their rivalry, because of their fundamentally oppositional stances to 'performing' for the ever present cameras where there IS a little bit of common ground in they have both struggled with it. but valentino isn't going to ever say that to casey! casey isn't going to open up to valentino! so if you give them,, you know, a different arena to express themselves, where casey actually has this external figure to talk to (as he's like, cutting him open I guess) whereas valentino actually is put in a position where he's allowed to respond, where he can taunt casey a little bit, where he can interrogate casey's approach and also the similarities between the two of them and how casey has been forced to become a little more like valentino to challenge him... because the thing is, right, valentino is so big on message discipline with his rivals and has completely stopped talking about that rivalry post mid 2013 that, first of all, you have this complete imbalance in who's been telling this story for the past decade, but second of all you kinda don't have a sense of what valentino would respond? idk!! I think this is mainly fun as a thought exercise for me specifically but also I do think it's kinda, digging into some of the bits that make this narratively work as a rivalry, how valentino in this rivalry is actually just kinda... removed. like he's not really emotional about it!! at most he's a bit bitchy, but even that just feels about The Game. it's the most extreme in this regard followed by jorge - but with valentino's other feuds you kinda... see a bit more an unguarded moment, see something a little more real there. the casey rivalry feels so uncomfortable precisely because valentino is a little... inhuman in this one. I mean, if you want to have valentino as some kind of cross between a deity and a monster in any of his feuds, this is the one. casey's just an obstacle to him. idk don't you think casey kinda wants to chain valentino down and stab him and make him see casey a little more... well, I think he should want it and I think it'd be fun to see and get them to talk to each other. ugh and also all the implications of making the faith vs non-believer elements more literal... casey the heretic!!!

there's some obvious stuff here you'd have to figure out, like 'how do you make this work as a narrative even to people who aren't familiar with casey stoner at all' and 'who the fuck do you think the target audience is here' and 'you do know this is not the kind of thing that would ever be made, right, go back to the casey stoner sports biopic like a sane person' but!! I do think it's material you can make work if you're just,,, efficient and smart in how you're actually telling the 'real life' version of the rivalry. also in my head this is. idk. an animated limited series not a film, which then brings in other stuff like 'episodic structure' because I'm fundamentally opposed to tv shows that think they're films. and look, I'm not going to write an entire film script treatment here, I just think a good writer can figure this stuff out. blood on the ducati is the framing device for everything else, simple. lots of animated floating eyes I reckon, first casey is watching valentino and then valentino is watching casey and the whole world is watching them... and it does bleed into real life just a little, where you're wondering whether casey is actually imagining/dreaming this stuff or valentino is or if they both know it somehow... you can get away with more ambiguity in animation. anyway, if you do want more thoughts on this one specifically for whatever reason, let me know because this one I do actually have more on

also laguna 2008 is a bit tortoise and the hare coded if you really think about it

[end of gore]

so. on to jorge. hm. the thing about jorge is that he was kinda writing a coming of age film in his own head, so like - yes, that's what you do go for? you can play it straight and follow how jorge has cast his rivals, or you can pin the whole narrative on the fact that jorge has cast them - the kinda artificiality of the narrative, the way jorge is this storyteller who isn't being recognised as much as he thinks he should be, isnt adequately appreciated. the way there's this three way discourse between what jorge thinks the story is and what the public thinks the story is and actual. you know. reality. I think this is a bit more light-hearted, like you know how the best stories about teenagers take their emotions seriously but also let them be kinda silly? because young people are silly! jorge was silly! he's got a lot of CHARM because he's so cocky and naive and full on and intense and awkward and kinda off-putting and tactless and a bit all over the place and so painfully, painfully young, like he's a good protagonist because that's a KID. but also, obviously there's also a lot of extremely not light-hearted bits of his story - everything about his father, his manager... idk this one's another one where, I don't just want to make it a generic sports biopic, and I'm trying to figure out the clear narrative arc here? I mean, you can point to the end of 2010 and really lean into him choosing victory on-track over popularity off it. the problem with 2010 is that it does not work as a dramatic season, yeah sure with the magic of biopics you can hack at it to shit but also. idk. what are we getting out of it. I think for narrative purposes you want to maybe narrow in, and end it at the end of 2008, with the switching of the numbers this kind of moment of emancipation? but also! this feels like we're straying a bit too far away from the fun sports elements and I don't want to REALLY suggest all the ways in which you could mine jorge's personal trauma in a jokey tumblr post, so I'm gonna move on from this one

the problem is 2015 just straight up doesn't work as a jorge-centric narrative, except in a very kinda comic way that leans into how absurd his role in that season was. 2012 as a season is a bit... y'know, it's fine. okay it's mostly terrible, but that's fine too. but it doesn't have a great narrative hook. which kinda leads you to the problem that I do think the valentino rivalry is more... juicy from jorge's pov, because for valentino, jorge is just kinda? an obstacle? idk he's more normal about it, it's just his job to destroy the guy, you know how it is. but also 2009 does work better narratively from valentino's pov, like it's the build up to catalunya specifically you can dramaticise... idk though, I do love catalunya but my heart isn't really in this exercise because I think valentino isn't really being... challenged here? it's a title fight where he's fundamentally using a set of tools he's already perfected, to beat a guy he doesn't really give a shit about. when the italian press is down on him pre catalunya, it doesn't spark any genuine self-doubt - it's just a handy source of extra motivation. there's no epic highs or lows that season, not real ones. and yes I know I was talking about making valentino who gets stabbed repeatedly to cover up an infection a moment ago, but that reflected real EMOTIONAL truths!! I'm committed to thematic fidelity more than I am to literal fidelity

genuinely I think the best way to tackle jorge is with the jorge/dani parallel journeys... what, film? tv show? maybe show actually - you don't have one coherent narrative Statement per se but you're constantly charting those journeys in reference to each other, really rooting it in their respective points of views, no neutral detached cinematic language like I want everything to be very much written to be from their eyes!! going from one to the other and back again. and you're charting these different journeys, right, and how they both captured different flavours of like... emotional successes and failures. I think it's actually about failure, yeah, about having to accept there's something you can't have and might never be able to get - whether that's universal love or a premier class title or whatever - but Actually, that might not be the end of the world. and during this process, they go from being enemies to tentative friends!! guys who realise they can maybe actually understand each other better than they thought!! this real moment of interpersonal connection. you have all these media narratives and the managers and so on and the fact they're competitors as these built in reasons why they've just been pitted against each other from the start... but y'know, again, it is also just a bit about maturing, about being able to set that aside, about making your peace with defeat and failure as an element of growing up. you can't win everything, maybe there's something you really really really want and you're just not going to get it, but at the end of the day it's kinda... yeah. self-acceptance. idk this is the nice one

so with marc you can go several different ways here I guess, and again he's also perfectly decent sports biopic material, probably second to casey in that category like yeah sure do the comeback story. but also, we do already have a very good self-produced documentary about what he thinks the narratives of his career are? idk this is also just a personal taste thing, I'll leave him to doing all the injury stuff himself, I don't have much to add there. we'll get to the obvious one in a second, but I was trying to figure out if there were other places I massively felt like you need the cinematic touch. and, again, the 2013 season is obviously very exciting!! but also, you have it covered in.,,,, multiple documentaries, I don't feel I have a take their either? his rivalries with dani and jorge aren't really substantive enough to sustain a bit of cinema. dovi... I mean, what are you saying there? what's the arc? I feel like if I tackled dovi, I'd go somewhere else and really go all in with the ducati stuff, and make it a bit more... you know, stark, stripped back, basically just the emotional component of how much he gave to that project and how he managed to beat away one rival after the next and how it all ended up falling apart in a kind of anti-climactic way? he's also good sports biopic material, but in a way I think the marc rivalry is the bit of his story I have the least to say on. so eg, 2017 is a dramatic season, but he's also kinda fine after it? he always knew it was a long shot, he tried his best and he got really close and then he lost. you can't amadeus it because dovi isn't (fictional) salieri. basically, I think what I'm saying here is that dovi is too well-adjusted to feature in this post. though I'd totally watch a film about his 250cc seasons, like it's a bit annoying because HE is the underdog who loses both title fights to jorge, but it'd still be kinda fun idk. I wouldn't really know what to do with the material but if someone made the film I'd absolutely watch it

right then. the thing about sepang 2015 is... yeah, sure, of course you can do it, it already exists as a narrative but... yeah, what are you adding!! idk I always think when you're adapting something, you kinda need to have a reason for it? I mean, what are you doing that's not already there in the footage? idk maybe this is just a sign of having been a fan of this sport for one too many years but to me the idea of sepang 2015 can get a bit boring (or maybe just repetitive) where I need a new TAKE on it to really get into the idea of fictionalising it. like where's the auteur's touch y'know, what can I still add to this!! but it also needs to WORK for someone who is new to the story, which kinda just makes you want to tell the story straight.... y'know the story is strong enough and COMPLICATED enough to stand on its own and it IS good but I don't really have anything interesting to say beyond 'yeah sure that'e be neat'. I can't tell you why, but I also don't think the casey approach quite works here? the idea of providing a framing device with which valentino and marc can actually talk to each other... eh. don't like that. hm. okay wait actually I just turned it around in my head for... a while and I think I've got an idea to make the worst motorcycle racing film of all time. so, my central stupid film-making gimmick here is just. centring the fact we're completely reliant on a few guys and what they're telling us in making up our minds, and our removal from that story and the imperfection of their perceptions and so on. so I think you kinda make a point of... not actually showing the motorcycle racing? like, you always show it by showing other people watching it, you're showing the tv screen rather than the actual racing. even in the cinematic medium, you're centring the theatrical aspects, where you drill it down to just a few characters. valentino. marc. uccio. marc's fuck ass manager. maybe a crew chief or two. keep it limited though, all the others are kept at a distance - you're constantly focusing in on the same few characters. and very early on you basically just like... get them to fourth wall break by telling you, the viewer, with their actual words how racing works for them, what meaning they take out of it - and again it's this remove because we're never allowed to actually feel the racing for ourselves (no helmet cams), and it sets up that as the tragedy unfolds, again and again we're just hearing from them what happened. it's all zoomed in on how claustrophobic the entire situation is, like doing the race direction room after the sepang 2015 is perfect for that kind of thing, and crucially they're only ever addressing the audience because they can't address each other. but fourth wall breaks also obviously draw attention to artificiality! I realise they are very much like, lame gimmick central, but also are these men not inherently about lame gimmicks... idk it's basically the same story but at least it feels like a kinda interesting way of telling it. kinda trite, but cinema allows you to get to the point and let valentino actually play with the camera... so literally take it into his own hands and lead it around and tell the story from his point of view. and you can play with how they do both change in what stories they think they're telling, how they're constantly revising their own stories, how their stories completely clash with each other... like. make them literal narrators. that's my pitch

so. one interesting pattern that has come up with my approaches to these rivalries is that with the exception maybe of the 2015 stuff, I feel like I'm more naturally inclined to treat valentino as a narrative device and centre his rivals. a big part of this is that valentino is a fantastic narrative device. he's kinda. this looming presence in every narrative in this sport where you can just sort of use him as a sort of way to poke away at all these other riders. the monster everyone loves who you are trapped with. BOO!! he's gonna eat you! which is fun! but ALSO, crucially, several of these rivalries aren't that emotionally challenging for him!! again, with casey right, he wants to beat him, but he's not having a crisis of faith over losing to casey. he thinks casey is annoying, he wants to beat him because he wants to win. valentino is casey's foil, but casey is not valentino's. valentino makes for an excellent personal antagonist to casey, but the reverse just isn't true. casey isn't forcing valentino to reexamine his approach except 'ramping up the levels of being a dick on-track' - like, yes, that's a serious competitive challenge, but also valentino is very comfortable in his own skin in that rivalry. sure, you could have valentino have some kind of massive revelation about the casey rivalry, but like. he doesn't in canon. he changes his behaviour towards casey in pretty predictable ways depending on what the relationship demands from his perspective at any given time. there's nothing more there

now, obviously you know where I'm going here. there IS a rivalry where you can make the argument he changes as a result of it, there IS a rivalry that tips him over the line and makes him to do stuff he hadn't done before that, there IS a rivalry that happens to coincide with a period of his competitive life that challenges him both personally and professionally. now, look, I have already talked about the sete rivalry. you know what I think about this rivalry - and if you don't, I really already have told the story here and here and here and here and also here. I think this works perfectly well as a narrative in its own right, and it's one you can tell from either perspective... but you kinda need both. I think again you probably naturally lean towards starting it from sete's perspective and that first proper meeting (I mean, idk if it is their first actual meeting, but it's the logical obvious place you start this story) with sete giving valentino advice during his first 500cc test and valentino just, y'know, ignoring him and being a cocky shit and then crashing. so you get to see sete being kinda exasperated by the whole thing. also, obviously ibiza is like, a key framing device here, like it's the most obvious in-your-face way of tracking their relationship with each other. I don't actually know how often they partied there together, but it must have been at least twice and if the commentators are to be believed it must have included 2003. artistic license and you can add one or two more times, but mainly you want to focus in on 2003 onwards right. so you've got this 2002 one where it's, y'know, high point of their friendship and in the name of narrative efficiency, you establish here that sete is looking to make the honda switch. the emphasis is on how valentino has been winning everything but on the flip side you're getting the first insight into his discontent. and there's a bit of a vibe of, what could you possibly have to complain about? like you are winning so much? so it's late one night where they've had this slightly unguarded alcohol-fuelled moment of genuine vulnerability but in the end it's actually characterised by how... unsubstantial the link between them is, because they wouldn't talk about this kind of thing with each other and they might both be similar in some ways but also don't gettttttt each other. it means you can return there as a location in 2003, where you've just had sachsenring and valentino's dramatic loss but they're still partying together and it's like. obviously In The Air that not everything is quite right... their relationship is already gradually altered and twisted because you're introducing this element of actual stakes and competition (obviously in 2004 they do NOT spend that time together, as far as we know anyway, and you can show them being very much not together at ibiza as a very obvious Oooh Things Will Fall Apart and maybe already haveeee)

and I do think basically I've already said what I think the themes here are,,,, several times by this point, so I'm not going to belabour the point. I think all of this fundamentally works as a narrative with like, minimal massaging and rearranging of the elements for dramatic effect. it's all there already, everything from sete's arc with the [insert non-tasteless way of covering a real life tragedy that fundamentally alters the course of sete's career] and how that leads to sete becoming the challenger and how he does want to win and his eventual downfall. with valentino, you have the element of liberation and self-discovery and... well, growing into your own but also kinda having the narrative drawing attention to how 'growing into your own' can involve becoming a fully realised character who is essentially quite cruel? you have this kind of... build up, right, towards this moment of revelation, where you lay bare who these two people actually ARE at sepang 2004, and then again at jerez 2005. valentino has gone his own way, he has freed himself from the chains of honda, he has embraced individualism and the chance to define himself and his own legacy and stand on his own two feet and not rely on the strongest bike or all this stuff within honda where they chose him as their flag bearer, for better or for worse... like he comes to his own here! he takes the step from 'great rider' to 'legend' because he gets to this dramatic moment of stepping into the unknown, he takes this massive risk that could have cost him so much, and it ends up elevating him. but it also puts him under duress, and in that moment he reveals himself - whatever sete did or did not do at qatar 2004, EVEN IF sete did all that shit, what you are left with is valentino vowing to ruin this man. valentino uses sete to make himself 'better', to fuel himself as a competitor. valentino turns sete into a tool in his own story. and again, thematically you've got all this stuff about how sete was managing the image of the rivalry and how valentino took advantage of that - how sete needed it to remain respectful and valentino was completely willing to abandon that. like, you have two protagonists who really are similar in quite a few ways, who think they have this shared understanding with each other, but when it comes down to it? they end up being super painfully different

now I can go on about this and how to play it straight, basically, you can just do that rivalry and I think it'd be cool and fun and very easy to arrange in a good narrative way. BUT I've kind of already. done that. like I don't want to suggest a film that is basically a nicer version of my tumblr posts. so I want to take this in a slightly different direction, and I think what we need to consider with this rivalry is this: what if you made the curse literal? basically, what's always kinda charmed me about this rivalry is that the curse should not work and all the misfortune that befalls sete after that is so comical that it's kinda... what do you do with that? and the answer is you just lean all the way in. my pitch is this: what if valentino sells his soul to the devil?

so, you know faust, right, and you know the bit at the start of goethe's faust where god and mephistopheles are basically making a wager over how corruptible this one human is. and faust is like... he's kinda disillusioned, he feels that everything he's dedicated his life to in academia is fundamentally hollow, gets very close to committing suicide. and faust has gone a bit new age-y, gotten into all this mystical shit and he's got this pentagram that ends up preventing mephistopheles from leaving his presence in their first meeting... and basically what the devil can give him is like, the chance to attain some true pleasure, and for that faust is willing to bet everything - so if faust can just have that, then maybe eternal damnation is worth it. and look, I'm not going to summarise the entire plot of faust here and it does go off the wall a bit with all the gretchen stuff, but the point is you have this version of the devil who is fundamentally a cynic and is attempting to win an argument with god by making this human succumb to his own nihilism. and what faust basically does is like, abandon his normal life where he's trying to live by normal virtues and goes off on this journey with the devil. and there's this little moment where mephistopheles,,, pretends to be faust and takes on the role of an academic adviser (you know how it is) and seduces this random student away from the word of god and sends him down a wretched path, which ends with this bit:

like, a big part of faust's tragedy is supposed to be about... well, hubris, of the relationship of god to man, of no longer being afraid of the devil... and obviously, this is all framed very much in terms of religion, but at the end of the day it's also about, you know, having purpose - faust is living a life that no longer has any meaning to him, all of his knowledge and studies now no longer fill the void inside himself. his nihilism opens the door for mephistopheles, and is what makes him willing to accept the devil's terms. now, and I am so very sorry to goethe here, I think we have some material we can use here to explore the valentino/sete rivalry. obviously, you can't do a one-to-one, you need to get rid of some of like, the depression and all that - there were times when valentino was feeling 'a bit low' in 2003, but not 'faust thinking everything he'd done in his entire life was pointless' low, yeah? also, unless you want to do a real long view here and even then it can't really be justified, there obviously isn't really a 'tragedy' here from valentino's perspective. like, he wins! this isn't valentino's tragedy, it's sete's! I was being a bit facetious when I said he was 'selling his soul to the devil', and you can kinda parse mephistopheles' motivations in different ways depending on what flavour and what interpretation of him you're dealing with here. you don't 'damn' valentino, you essentially just turn him into a tool of the devil!

so, this is how this works out in my head: the devil works more broadly as the manifestation of competitive impulses, the kind of 'how far would you go to win' question as a bloke who shows up and literally talks to the characters about it (magic of cinema). he's also engaging with valentino feeling like his victories no longer having meaning, with being disconnected from honda and from the entire culture there and just feeling like he's going through the motions. there's this element of like... opening the door to what is essentially a journey of self-actualisation, bringing him closer to being a 'god' but also allowing him to fully come into his own and become himself. to win on his own terms. I reckon ibiza is my preferred narrative device where the devil talks both to sete and valentino there (separately), first literally as a mysterious stranger and then... maybe not? he's talking to them at times of their lives when they're not at ibiza and it's not happening there in the physical world and they both end up kinda having to confront they're dealing with some potentially malevolent supernatural entity. but the important elements of the devil is that a) he's not going to do anything the humans don't actually ask for themselves, and b) everyone knows he's following his own agenda and you should be careful of the requests you make of him. so it's kinda like... essentially, the backdrop of this rivalry unfolding is they're constantly being challenged to decide what lines they're willing to cross. which culminates at qatar... and maybe you do have sete making like. a teensy mistake. a teensy error in judgement, one that is both real and deliberate but he could not have known would get that reaction and instantly regrets. and valentino, who is I think inherently sceptical of the devil coming to offer to help him and maybe does crank out the pentagrams (remember, the whole point of faust is that he was too arrogant to be scared of the devil, or one of the points anyway), in a moment of fury does decide - no, actually. I will take that step. I will curse sete. now the thing is, dramatically this is a teensy bit tricky because when you're talking about being damned by the devil, usually the consequences are a bit more severe than 'not winning a motorcycle race again' (yes, you can get into how sete did also seem genuinely cursed after that, cf his ambulance/bus crash situation, but again we are flirting with being in poor taste in this tumblr post). but the thing is, right, you have to lean into the silliness here! qatar 2004 is inherently silly, a CURSE is inherently silly, like real life is already silly here! you have to engage with the people where they are, and for these athletes all this shit is so heightened that the emotions are full on. like, valentino would've sold that guy to the devil! and to him not winning another race is basically the worst thing that can happen

so, obviously, you get to do the actual curse stuff. curses are inherently campy fun, the devil doing curses is campy fun, getting valentino rossi to crank out the pentagrams is inherently campy fun. you get to play around with this, right, like you know that bit in the brno 2005 race commentary where the commentators are talking about how valentino might as well have a little radio to talk into sete's helmet to remind him of how sete had fucked up at the sachsenring. OBVIOUSLY obviously obviously it is just so... idk scrunchy and fun to have this idea of valentino becoming a malevolent enough force to literally do that.... like damn the commentators did kinda eat with that?? ughhhhhh do you ever think about sete leading the qatar 2005 race for most of the way???? like that's SO fucked up because you literally have articles from about the race going 'hey maybe sete can break his curse' and then the commentators are talking about curses having one year expiration dates but obviously they!! do not!!!!! there's one race where sete goes off track and the commentators are talking about how valentino will surely have smiled into his helmet like that's so fucked!! it's so fucked!! but idk I think basically you have all this creeping curse-y stuff and devil stuff and then you get this twist and then it just becomes misery zone for sete until you sort of. compress the timeline and have him retire without getting into what happened at the end of 2006. and valentino just relishing in all his very worst emotions. and you've got sete who was the better man after jerez 2005, who took the high ground again and again and again and it did NOTHING for him.... and then he's cursed and his career is finished and the devil has had his fun getting mixed in with mid noughties motogp. and now obviously this is inherently kinda dumb and corny and silly but it's the devil!! mephistopheles to me is allowed to get up to dumb shit sometimes, let him have some fun!! idk I like curses being literal idc

I think the obvious critique here is 'this doesn't really feel like it gets the message of faust'. which, yes, is true - and obviously the way narratives are structured, a satisfying resolution isn't 'well selling your soul kinda slaps, actually'. and my statement to respond to this argument is as follows:

this is essentially canonically what happened. valentino DID do something kinda evil and it DID work out 100% for him and it DID kinda slap. at least when you add in the devil, you're making explicit the bit where it is a little bit bad. also, is sports not inherently about selling your soul for success... the story of valentino and sete is essentially about how we are twisted by competition, how pretending that we don't wish ill to our opponents is inherently dishonest. it is about lifting a facade for something that is already inherently there in the souls of men. this is obviously inherently a deeply cynical stance, but this is also a deeply cynical story beyond all the fun battles and camp dramatics. the devil is a cynic and he is basically the point of view character of goethe's faust - he's the one who is positioned closest to the audience. sports is all about living out some of humanity's worst instincts in a relatively low stakes setting, which means we get a free pass to have fun with a deeply cynical story that goes 'maybe selling your soul to the devil is fine, actually'

do I stand by this stance? not really, but the whole fun of storytelling is that sometimes you can just be kinda mean. I think goethe would get it... you can tell which character he enjoyed writing the most

the OTHER way you can do this is centre everything around qatar 2004 as like,,, the mystery box element...... okay look I have now made two posts that go WAY too deep on the 'what really happened' element but I do loveeeeee the whole thing like I would just make a film about that very end of the season and we show it from all these different angles as different characters narrate what happened... like fuck all the riders I want to hear from whichever mechanic used the scooter... the gresini mechanic who gave evidence to race direction.... various honda higher ups the crew chiefs like this is jb vs juan martinez it's war!!! obviously you still have the same emotional/thematic hooks as the general rivalry does but idk I would have a LOT of fun figuring out how to structure that, I loveeee mysteries... maybe I'd write it as a mockumentary yeah..... this one's just fun

anyway. a lot of stuff going on in this post, huh! you can probably tell I didn't edit this much. my classic tell when I edit my tumblr posts is I remember how 'paragraphs' work. unfortunately all I have energy for are like. a bunch of rants about things in my brain. I think when tumblr tells you that you've reached the maximum number of characters per paragraph and you need to figure out where to put a break, it's probably a bad thing? on the whole, my stance is I don't have anything AGAINST mildly fictionalised versions, but for me I'm always more of a.... well I want to take advantage of the full specificity of the events as they happened or just come up with a completely original story. kind of person. I know this ask probably wasn't looking for my 'what if you bled out valentino as he's strung up above a red motorcycle' vision but yeah. with a lot of biopics I'm always a bit 'well you could just read about this couldn't you' like I need stuff to take some kind of a stance on the material it's using... all my stuff takes a stance. that's all I've got. obviously all these stances mean that basically none of these things could ever be made. and I know what I said above but if they called me up to write the casey stoner biopic script treatment, I would also do that. if you've actually read to this point, give me a shout - you're a real one and I love you

#spec tag #casey's power is such that after half a decade of having weird hang-ups about valentino #he finally got valentino to have weird hang-ups about him #like sometimes u get these comments where ur like... huh casey doesn't this feel. a bit much. like this is a bit much #and then valentino sees it and goes????? wow FUCK this guy. and then they just keep doing it. like adults #this is the thing right. if i'd broken my leg and the main things one of my two biggest rivals says about me in those months is #a) 'the race in britain was so much nicer because that guy's fans weren't there :)'#and b) 'idk why everyone's making such a big deal about this guy being immediately fast on his extremely premature return'#'it's just a leg break he probably only lost some muscle mass'#i think i'd probably also be a bit ?? especially since the rivalry really wasn't THAT bad before 2010 it really wasn't!!#but then by 2011 casey managed to completely fry valentino's brain and it just goes off the CLIFF like it is so!! undignified!!#it's funny because it's definitely the rivalry valentino got over the quickest #but in terms of sheer hit rate of insults. like just raw frequency. when they were going at it. this ranks number one in vale feuds!!#(btw a big GLARING tell that the marc thing is weird and special is that he is *right* on the opposite end of the spectrum)#(like i think this can be tricky for people to clock but it's actually Notable how little day to day conflict those two had post 2015)#and obviously casey's still not over it. which again is DEEPLY understandable but also a littleeeeee bit funny (love you casey)#the way he still yaps on about jerez 2011!! a racing incident in the wet!! like it is kinda... well yeah. funny. when you contextualise it #idk it's just cute to me how they had completely different experiences of that rivalry #to the point where they just don't Get what's going on for the other guy. they just don't get it!!#hitherto unknown levels of 'what is this guy's PROBLEM' it's so!! they're so!!#this is how you get casey talking about wanting to explain his pov of the rivalry to valentino over dinner. this is how you get that #and it still wouldn't work!! isn't that amazing. they're going to go to their graves being vaguely baffled by the other guy's deal #//#brr brr #i put all my best analysis in tags for a read more x2 post. this one's for the real ones. all two of you #casey has a shorter sample size of a career to work with but do NOT get it twisted that is my number one girl!! my beautiful sister #my poor troubled neurotic paranoid delicate prodigy conspiracy theorist magical girl anime protagonist #casey would have an aneurysm if he read those words but is that not. the point #luminous yellow tag

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 4 months ago

Text

Four to Tango (poly!Mates Bat Boys)

Pairing(s): Rhysand x Reader, Cassian x Reader, Azriel x Reader

Warnings: foursome, smut, just a reason to create smut where three gorgeous fucking men rearrange your organs, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v, never ending orgasms lol, overstimulation, all three of them are utter teases, polyamorous mates, no jealousy, rhys loves to watch his brothers fuck you stupid, my emotional support bat boys, i desperately need them rn, foursomes are hard to write ngl 🫠

Words: 5836

Summary: Three of them at the same time? You may not make it out alive.

Life before your three mates had never consisted with as much sex as it does now. In fact you were a virgin when you met the Illyrian trio. Not for lack of trying to get into a relationship. There were other concerns for you to attend to that distracted you from finding a partner.

Then Azriel literally fell into your lap. Followed by Cassian descending from the sky while laughing at the other who was blushing furiously and trying to scramble off of you with a string of apologies. Rhysand, with a flap of his wings touches down to the ground with an entertained grin. Until his violet eyes noticed you. Really noticed you. Almost reading into your soul.

Had it really been only four months since then?

Thinking about it had you blushing into your pillow. Four months of mind shattering orgasms and lavished with never ending affection. You must have really been good in your past life to receive these three as a reward.

Rhys shifts beside you. Voice husky from sleep but practically purring when he wraps his arms around you. "Seems like its been longer than four months, huh?"

His palms flatten against your midsection. Warmth immediately spreading across the plane of your skin. You wiggle closer to him and in reply, Rhys buries his face in the juncture of your neck. His lips pepper small kisses along the soft skin of your jugular.

He took turns with Cassian and Azriel as to who spent the night with you. It was only fair. You told them that you cared for them all equally and it didn't matter to you. You'd accept whatever they could agree upon without there being any jealousy.

Rotating was tricky in the beginning. Giving them each the same amount of attention to prevent feelings of being left out. And maybe you were starting to get greedy with their love because you couldn't help but feel incomplete without the other two when you were in one's bed.

Your inner musing catches Rhysand's attention; seemingly waking him up. The arm laying on top of you is removed when he sits up. Did you unintentionally offend him with your thoughts?

"Would you be interested in all three of us here?" He questions.

You turn to address the high lord of the Night Court. Beautifully and sinfully sexy the way he leans on his elbow to gaze at you. Tousled black hair shifting across his brow. What an alluring sigh the made. Tattoos and scars marking the smooth surface of his tan skin.

"All three of you in this bed?" It had been done before when you wanted to cuddle with all three of your mates. Rhys' bed nearly broke, not large enough to support two extra heavy frames.

"More than that." Rhysand's thumb brushes a stray hair out of your face. The depth of his tone had a warmth shooting down to your core. Thighs press together, you melt under his attention. "All three of us feasting upon you. At the same time." A growling undertone hits your ears. Your breathing becomes shallow as he holds your gaze.

You gulp, mind already racing when you whimper out "A-All of you?"

Rhys reads each and every one of your dirty thoughts, his lips curling sinisterly. "Can I take that as a 'yes', love?"

A furious blush overheats your cheeks and the tips of your ears. "I-I. . . How would that even work out?"

He leans in and nips at your already burning shell of your ear "You leave that to us."

Ever loving to tease you, he leaves with that promise hanging in the air. Claiming he had work to do but that he'd see you for lunch. For a while you lay in bed, thinking of the dark glint in your mate's eyes.

Surely, all three of them would be way too much for you to handle. Each of them were terrifyingly well-endowed. Especially Azriel. It took several tries to get more than the head of his cock inside of you. In the end he had to ease it in slowly over several dates until you could fully sheath him.

It became your hyperfixation throughout the day. As you went about the House of Wind to when you were out in the town market.

When you bump into Mor back at the townhouse, she manages to make you squeal on what Rhys had brought up earlier that morning.

Mor lets out a low, impressed whistle. "You have got to be the luckiest female in all of Prythian. What are you sweating about?"

"I can barely handle one of them at a time, Mor. I fear they'll kill me. Death by cock. I don't want that on my tombstone."

"Death by cock doesn't sound too bad." she hums but it turns into a snort when she catches your distressed expression. "Quit fretting. They'll take good care of you."

Chewing on your bottom lilp you knew you probably came off as silly to her.

Mor's hand caresses your upper arm. In a short amount of time, Mor had become the big sister you never knew you needed. She became your confidant and would keep all of your secrets; take them to the grave if required. "They're dumb males but they love you. Never in a million years would they ever dream of doing anything to hurt you."

That was clear to you since day one. The Cauldron destined all three of them to be your mates for a reason.

And it could be fun.

Who were you kidding, you knew it would be fun. Having sex with them individually always reduced your bones to pure pudding. They were overly generous lovers. Always making sure you climaxed first. Treating you not like a queen but a divine entity to be worshipped. Their faces, your thrones.

Talking with Mor did you good. You felt absurd at your previous concern. This would be the experience of a lifetime. Getting to love all three of your mates at once had you giddy.

After Mor leaves, you're constantly checking the clock. Almost lunch time. That meant your boys would be home at any minute. Your heart felt like a energetic bird in a cage, banging against its bars in desperation to get out.

You debate going upstairs and changing your underwear to something sexier when you stand to head toward the stairs, that's when the front door opens. Poking your head out from around the corner, you confirm it to be your boys. You were still getting used to the feeling of the mental connection that connected you to your three mates. Cassian and Az are in the middle of a conversation behind Rhysand when the trio walks in. Rhys grins at you before grabbing the attention of the Illyrians who stop their chatter.

Never one to be subtle, Cassian struts past them and pulls you out into the entry hallway. He swoops down to capture your lips with his, picking you off your feet unintentionally. His kisses always took all the air out of you, making your head delightfully light and floating. Cassian's eyes hold specks of glittering gold when he returns you to the ground.

"Welcome home." you breathily greet him. You swear Cassian puffs his chest out like a proud parrot every time he can get your vision to go starry with his kisses.

"You should've moved in a long time ago. I like coming home to you." Cassian's voice is smooth, deep as if purring.

Rhysand chuckles at your swooning thoughts toward the general. "Easy Cass. Get her any more riled up and we may not make it to the bedroom in time."

The cool caress of Azriel's shadows slithering up your legs accelerates the 'lub dub' of your chest.

"Aw, am I exciting you princess?" The general gets an immediate reaction when he picks up the scent of your arousal dripping from between your legs. Dark delight curls Cassian's lips.

Rhysand and Azriel appear to smell you as well. Hunger straightens their backs and their pupils blowing out. Azriel's serpentine shadows squeeze the fat of your upper thigh, another prods curiously at your clothed pussy, asking for permission inside. "Now sweetling, you wouldn't want anyone to come upon us and ruin our fun. Be a good girl and head up those stairs."

"You heard him." Rhysand reinforces Azriel's command when you hesitate, your face beet red. His chin tilts up, gesturing to the staircase on your right.

They looked like three wolves before they pounce on the poor unsuspecting lamb. You go up the stairs on wobbly legs. Every inch of you tingled with anticipation feeling the heat of the boys at your back. They're basically panting behind you, forced to watch the sway of your hips and ass as you go up one step and then another. Its a race to the bedroom door. You're the one to twist the knob, but its the flat of three palms against the door's smooth frame that shove it wide open. Cassian scoops you up, the ground slipping out from under you.

Cassian twirls you around before settling you down on the mattress like the treasure you were. If he possessed a tail, you bet all the riches in Prythian that it would be wagging fast. His lips are placing kisses all along your exposed legs, having flipped your dress skirts up. You uncontrollably giggle when he reaches the upper insides of your thighs, so close to your core.

You catch Rhysand's dark chuckle, the door closing shut follows after.

"Impatient as ever, Cass." Azriel comments and moves to one side of Rhys' bed while Rhysand stalks toward the other.

Hovering over you with his hair tickling your face, Cassian smirks and gifts you one last kiss before allowing you to sit up. With your three mates in front of you, you couldn't help feeling a little shy. Individually, you'd become sexually confident with them. But to have three pairs of lustful eyes all focused in on you. . .

You fidget and squirm, feeling the space between your legs flutter. "S-So. . . how is this going to work?"

"Nervous?" Rhysand reaches his hand out to gently stroke a lock of your hair.

"A little. I mean, to have the Night Court's high lord, general and spymaster all together is a bit intimidating. But I trust all of you." You grip Rhys' hand and move it towards your lips to kiss his knuckles; swearing that you hear him sharply inhale as you do so. You spoke the truth when you said you trusted them. They had you feeling confident and bold with the lavish amounts of love that they bestowed you with each day. How they made you feel like you could take on the very world itself as long as they were by your side.

Letting go of Rhysand's hand, you start to undress; overtly cognizant of their heated stares. Fully naked, you decide that Azriel's been so patient in waiting for attention. He grins when you crawl onto his lap and cup his jaw to pull him into a fervant kiss. His wings twitch and the shadows that perpetually clung to him push you closer against his form. In the background, you hear Rhysand and Cassian shuffle around. You wonder if they'd talked about this often.

"Oh, we have." Rhysand grins. "Many times. Sweetling, you have no idea the of the plans we've devised."

Azriel bites your lip in the moment making you gasp. Those powerful hands of his grip your ass tightly, forcefully moving you in a grinding motion against his hardening cock. Not caring that a smear of your arousal shined on the fabric of his pants.

"All the ways we can absolutely devour you."

Behind you, sharp teeth graze your shoulder making you squirm even more on Azriel's lap.

"The delicious thing that you are, it was necessary to. . . coordinate our moves." They move from your shoulder to your neck.

Your moans are unrestricted, they simply go directly into Az's mouth. He greedily feasts on them, tendrils of shadows softly gliding down your calf and to your ankles.

Now, Az.

You're not spared even a second before you're flipped around. Azriel takes hold of your wrists, splaying you out in front of Rhysand and Cassian. Their tattoos free from the confines of their shirts. And of course their well endowed shafts were already hard.

Rhysand is on his stomache, creeping closer to your pussy lips to brush his mouth against it before nuzzling with the tip of his nose at that little bundle of nerves that had the muscles in your thighs twitching. Teasing at first until his tongue lazily toys with it.

Azriel has you completely restrained. Nowhere for you to run or hide.

Fingers rub along your labia that was coated in your slick. Rhysand uses his fingers to gently pull your lower lips apart.

Your hazy gaze falls on Cassian who is gently stroking himself. He sends you a wolfish grin when he catches you. "Feel good, princess?"

All you can give out in response is a kiltered mewl. Rhysand was making his circles larger and larger around your clit. The tip of his finger starts to tickle at your entrance.

"A-Aahh-" Head lolling back, it falls against Azriel's shoulder. He's kissing the length of your neck, definitely leaving love bites.

Inch by inch, Rhysand inserts his index finger in you and ever so gently begins to curl his finger from inside of you. It's featherlight but enough to send an electric jolt through you and up your throat. Between your legs, Rhysand is constantly changing his speed and pressure. You squirm when Rhysand easily slips another finger inside of you and picks up his tongue speed on your clit.

You're trying your best to gyrate your hips to a near grind against Rhysand's face but Azriel's pesky shadows simply wouldn't allow it.

"Please!" You moan with another pathetic thrust of your hips.

Rhysand's lips smirk against your pussy.

"What do you say, general? Should the high lord let our well mannered lady come?" croons Azriel as he nips at the soft spots on your neck.

The tip of Cassian's cock is blushing with the most perfect bead of precum like a pearl. His lips curl in a smile when he catches your pretty eyes staring at him. He makes a show and swoops his thumb over the tip of his cock, dilated pupils observing how your mouth unconsciously opens with want to take in Cassian's member. And he would love to shove his cock down your throat, but that would have to be another time.

Instead, Cassian chooses to cock his head in scrutiny. "Too soon, don't you think?"

You desperately shake your head in disagreement but behind you Azriel laughs. "You're a cruel bastard aren't you?"

Shrugging indifferently before turning a wicked smirk your way, Rhysand returns to teasingly feasting on you as you squirm to shove your pussy closer to his mouth. He reduced his tongue strocks to pathetic kitten licks that had you wanting more.

Replacing Azriel's hands was the cool grip of his shadows as his hands now grip your tits. Scarred finger pads toy with your nipple until both are erect. Between your legs Rhys continues running the flat of his tongue up and down, dealing little rolls of the tip of his tongue against your clit occasionally. Just enough to keep you on the edge.

You're a whimpering, moaning mess. Half lidded eyes are barely able to make out the now fuzzy image of Cassian as he strolls to your other side. He puts one knee on the bed and leaning on his hands for support, he bites at your free tit that isn't being tortured by Azriel's loving pinches. His mouth latches on instantly.

Focus all over the place, you're lost in your own heady bliss and while you were denied your orgasm, your whole body was trembling from your mates' individual actions.

When Rhysand sits up, you nearly scream in frustration and pull at your shadowy restraints. "No!!"

They laugh at you and the bucking of your hips against empty air. You find yourself being manhandled once again, your tummy pressed against the mattress with your ass high in the air. Instead of Azriel's cock springing in front of your face its' Cass'.

Not needing any instructions, you take him into your mouth. You feel Cassian twitch against your tongue.

"See what a good girl she is, Cass? Come on. She deserves to come." the High Lord runs his hand along your flank, giving the globes of your ass a small squeeze. "Accidentally" slipping his thumb past your pussy lips.

Just to show Cassian what a good girl you were, you swallow more of his girth down your throat and hum. The vibrations that jolt up his cock has Cassian jerking his hips with a groan and threading his fingers into your hair. Rolling his head back, Cassian feels the walls of your throat tighten.

Through the warming of his face, Cassian trains his eyes back on your face.

"I think to sweeten the general up, perhaps our good girl should make the general come." You barely hear Azriel's smooth voice over the pounding of blood vessels in your ears. The entirety of the bottom of your face is covered in your own saliva and Cassian's precum. Your breathing was labored as you even struggled to inhale through your nose. Determination burning you up from the inside as you enjoy Cassian's cacophony of moans. Fueling the inferno in your core that has you wantonly feverish.

Obscenities made up of wet gagging noises coming from you and Cassian's own erratic growls fill Rhysand's master bedroom.

If anyone were to walk by outside-

"Don't think of that." Lightly scolds Rhysand. "There is no world except for the one in this room." His tongue licks from your clit to your perineum making you shiver and moan with your mouth full of Cassian.

There's a tug from Cassian's hand in your hair, pulling you back to the present matter at hand. He grinds his hips against your face. You're more than happy to forget about any sense of decorum or shame.

Your thoughts please Rhysand as he practically purrs against your pussy before he starts a full on make-out session with your lower lips. Your pitiable moans that send pleasurable quivers through Cassian's cock was enough to have his grip tighten in warning before shoving you off. Immediately follows the ribbon of cum shooting from his tip

"F-Fff-Fucking good girl" Cass' tone sounds like a curse but his red cheeks and heaving chest told you plenty. In a appreciative gesture, you run your fingers through the tantalizing streak of his happy trail, skating over the ridge of his cum gutters and up the mountain of abs.

It's all you can do as Rhysand spears that exquisite tongue of into your pussy while also stimulating your clit.

Alright, the general has spoken, sweetling. I'll give you a big reward.

Rhysand makes sure to keep his hands attentive to your messy, wet pussy when he pulls his face away. From the mess you left on his hands, Rhys uses it to coat his cock and and gently taps the tip against your entrance.

All the while Cassian brushes a few strands of hair out of your face before cupping it in his massive, callused hands. He always held you like you were a fragile egg. Intently watching every twitch of your face as Rhysand slowly pushes the blunt end of his cock into you. Inch by inch, he sheathes his member; like a sword with its scabbard. Your mouth parts, forming a soft 'o' shape as you feel your gummy walls accommodate his girth. For even Rhysand its a snug fit but being patient rewards him. Strong hands keep your hips in place.

Need to make sure I stretch you out a little before you take Az.

You're surprised you have a bit of your whits with you as you numbly think Where is Az?

"I'm right here, princess." Azriel sits on the bed once again, this time matching everyone else's nudity.

Again you're taken aback by how truly lucky you are when you gaze at Azriel and Cassian with half-lidded eyes. Cassian was already at half-mast in a matter of seconds thanks to the way your tits bounced when Rhysand fluidly slid his cock in and out. The powerful lines that composed their physique. Each muscle a testament to the trials and tribulations they have survived through. Your mates.

"Yes." He picks up his pace while swiping his thumb over your clit. "We're all your's sweetling." Heat radiating off of Rhysand makes your back start to sweat. Especially when he leans his forehead to press against your shoulder as he nearly folds over you, his thrusts becoming more animalistic as he neared the pinnacle of his own pleasure.

It's ridiculous how hard Rhysand can make you come. Overwhelming that your own small body could hardly contain it in your physical vessel. You can't help the tears that warm the backs of your eyes as you feel a thousand stars burst from inside of you. Stardust blurs your vision as your pussy walls clamp down on Rhysand mercilessly in your orgasm.

You're grateful that Rhysand solely is keeping you up. Your own body fails you as muscles spasm and every bare inch of you grows overly sensitive to Rhys' tightening grip.

Searing heat fills your core. The only sign that Rhysand has reached his climax as well besides the vicious bites he leaves all over your shoulders.

Your boys laugh when you face plant into the mattress, a heaving mess already and Cassian nor Azriel have had their fun yet. You will your arms to lift you up.

Red faced Rhysand takes pity on you and wraps one arm around your midsection to help you at least sit up enough to focus on the other two males whose chest are heaving just as much as yours'. Azriel's pupils have swelled till they took over his natural eye color. They'd look terrifying if it weren't for their raging cocks.

Well. . . the sight of those impressive members were slightly terrifying but also thrilling. Surprised when you felt your sticky pussy clench with need. Spoiled your cunt had become. Utterly spoiled by your three indulgent mates.

Cauldron grant you strength.

"Az and Cass will take care of you while I get you some water." Rhysand breathily tells you as he attempts to catch his own breath. You pout slightly when he moves to leave. He kisses your lips to placate the pout. "I'll be back. You'll be good. Won't you?"

"Always." You beam up at him. It has Rhysand melting, debating on staying and sending for one of the wraiths to fetch you water, but he knew you loathe the idea of anyone hearing your moans besides your mates.

With another promise of being prompt, Rhysand takes a second to at least put some pants on before leaving the room.

That's when Cassian unexpectedly pounces on you, pushing you back down against the mattress as you squeal your surprise. His lips are all over you, nips and kisses alike.

"Remember, we have to wait for Rhys." Azriel pipes up much to Cassian's chagrin as he shoots the spymaster a tampered down glare. While he's not too bothered with waiting, that doesn't mean he wasn't going to play around with you a little bit.

"Yeah yeah I know." Cass grins, his face leans down to hover over your tits before he takes on in his mouth. His teeth gently tug at your nipple making you warble. He hollows out his cheeks to give it a good suckle. "You'd probably do with a good tit sucking, Az." Comments Cassian once he removes his lips with a loud 'pop' noise.

"Then quit hogging them." Grins Azriel and pushes his brother's face away from your chest. Actually he nearly shoves Cassian off of you in his haste to latch his lips around your pert and abused bud. Imprints of Cassian's front teeth could be made out on the delicate skin of your breasts. Cassian doesn't put up a fight and watches Azriel swiftly clamber atop of you.

His giant wings block out the rest of the room, encasing you so that you could only focus on the spymaster.

He slithers down onto his tummy, his face making a slow ascent to your tits. Biting at the undersides, soft and tender and already baring red marks from Cassian's previous nibbling. Azriel's palm goes to cup at your heated pussy, still slick from your orgasm and leaking even more now with their touches.

You grind against his bare hand, absolutely drooling at the deep growl that rolls through him when you do so. Feel your lower lips spread against his palm, Azriel lets out another debauched groan that was now being muffled thanks to your nipple in his mouth.

Wrapping your arms around Azriel's head, you pull him closer to your chest and weave your fingers into his dark hair. In response his suckling becomes louder, the sensation shooting a thrill to your pussy. You coo praises with your head thrown back and your legs wrapping around Azriel's waist.

"Uh-uh sweetheart." Azriel lifts his face when he feels you trying to wiggle onto his cock. "Cassian has to stretch you out next."

"I've taken you before though. I can do it without any prep." Complaining, you're basically whimpering when Azriel peels himself completely off of you. You want to bite your tongue off for even saying anything.

"Looks like she's about to have a tantrum." Teases Rhysand when he opens the bedroom door to slink back in, but it was true. Azriel had worked you back up and now you were in need of another cock inside of you.

At least he's able to stop your pouting when you hands you water. You didn't realize how parched you were until the first splash of cold water hits your tongue. Guzzling it down, you're not paying attention to your bat boys having a silent conversation. One that you were not allowed in on.

Rhysand winks. Distracting you from Cassian sneaking up and lifting you high up onto his shoulders, smashing his face right into your pussy. Your fingers claw at his shoulders for stability as you feel yourself teeter to and fro.

"Cass!" Squealing, you can't enjoy his tongue fucking into you since you're doing your best to not fall.

Doesn't help when you can feel the vibrations of Cassian's low chuckle.

Its hard to forget just how powerful your mates are. Reminded consistently by their massive muscles. Cassian's hands never quivered in holding you up above his face.

You shiver and go slack jawed.

There you go.

Shadows help you to steady yourself on Cassian's hands, giving him your absolute trust.

When he's satisfied with how wet you are, Cassian slowly moves you down onto his lap. Each inch of him you took in, you let out sweet little cries. Lewd squelches emit from your singing pussy, Azriel and Rhysand watch with rapt attention at the general's cock splitting you open.

Your high lord nudges at his spymaster.

Azriel obeys and right in the middle of a cry provoked by a particularly hard thrust on Cassian's end, Azriel shoves his cock into your wide open mouth. The back of your throat is punched by the tip of Azriel's cock, enticing your gag reflex to choke you. Corners of your mouth ache when your lips have to widen even more in order to take Azriel's fat dick. Your eyes burn with dewey tears and a silver string of saliva dribbles down your chin.

Cassian continues to fuck you harder and your muffled cries has Azriel's spine tingling and his cock twitching in your mouth as his hips continue to thrust in and out.

Even with Cassian supporting all of your weight, you find your thighs trembling and hips quaking every smack of Cassian's pelvis meeting your ass.

Surprisingly, Azriel's own rhythm matched that of Cassian's. They really did plan this out. Impressive.

"We had to plan things out. You could get hurt otherwise." Rhysand replies. He couldn't explain the immense arousal it gave him to watch his brothers spitroast you. To watch the veins in your throat bulge and your red face streaked as pleasure induced tears slip down your cheeks. Quite the sight to behold and the most beautiful image in the world to Rhys.

The same time your head was bobbing, so was your ass as Cassian lets out possessive growls that outwardly had him appearing vicious. Cass' grip on your thighs told him otherwise, it was one of assured strength that he would not let you fall.

He knew you always thought yourself to be the lucky one in the relationship. Lucky to brag of your three strong mates that could rule all of Prythian's courts if they developed the taste for it.

In all honesty, they were the ones who felt like the luckiest bastards.

A mate wasn't something they ever thought would be bestowed to them. Blood trailed behind them. Brutal childhood years that physically and mentally scarred them for life.

You were their reward for all those horrible years.

And he couldn't imagine sharing you with anyone else but his lifelong friends that were basically brothers to him.

You're slapped across the face as another climax seizes control of your limbs. Spasming against Cassian's face that was now utterly demolished by your slick that gave his lips a shiny glaze.

You don't give Azriel an opportunity to pull his member out of your mouth before he too is creaming against your tongue. Thick, long ropes that coats your esophagus.

Abruptly, Azriel rips his cock out of your mouth as Cassian flips you onto your back and with one hand, holds your knee ditch in place and truly pounds into your pussy that had your tits bouncing uncontrollably from the velocity. He's smacking your wet, overly sensitive clit using the flat of his fingers. You shriek, feeling your back swallowed up by the mattress below you. Cassian could crush all of your bones and you wouldn't give a flying fuck in that minute.

With one last, devastating thrust, Cassian spills his warmth into you.

Giving yourselves extra time to come down from yet another post-coital high, Cassian slips out from you and gently places your legs back down. He pats your flank like you're a brood mare. "Atta girl."

Unable to conjure the energy to laugh, instead you wheeze out a scoff and half-heartedly swat at his arm.

He casts Rhysand and Azriel a teasing grin. "She's ready."

Azriel, your usually sweet and gentle Azriel suddenly has a predatory glint in his eyes. "Spread her."

Working together, Rhysand and Cassian grab hold of one leg each; parting them so Azriel can lewdly examine his prey.

"Look at this." Azriel hums and swipes his finger along the slit of your pussy, collecting a bit of Cassian's cum on his index finger. "Already stuffed. I wonder if my cock can even fit in there with both Rhys' and Cass' cum."

Despite your heated blush that made you dizzy, your lips quirk up. "The only way to find out is to try."

With all of the mixed liquids coating your cunt, it was pretty easy for Azriel to slide half of his cock into you. The rest he eased in with a few rocks of his hips. A growl that comes from the pit of his stomach is ripped out of Azriel, his wings flaring out when he takes you. His brothers continue to possess a secure hold on your thighs as their eyes focus in on the contorting features of your face.

The pressure of his cock is enough to pin you down. Overwhelming even but you'd taken his shaft before and you were determined to do it again.

In order to do so, you will your body into complete, ragdoll obedience that relaxes your entire body; even the death grip the walls of your cunt had on Azriel. It garnered him more wiggle room to start bullying his cock further into you.

Rhys actually breathes out a soft laugh "Wow. . . is that what being 'cock drunk' looks like?"

Cassian groans and using his free hand begins to fist his dick. "Cock drunk on Az's cock, princess?"

Unable to laugh, instead Az's lips twitched into a grin; one of his hands roam to stroke your cheek. You're thoughtlessly nodding along to whatever Cassian was saying. All you understood were the two words "Az's" and "cock".

For a second, you really do fear that Azriel will split you in half when his length pushes past the sensitive roof of your pussy and rams its head against your cervix.

Each love tap had your toes curling inward and your eyes rolling back.

Another?

Greedy girl. Do you even know how many times you've come?

You squeal, hips meeting Azriel's in perfect synchronicity. They can taunt you all they wanted. As much as they made you cock drunk, the three of them were completely pussy whipped.

In retaliation Rhysand gives your nipple a harsh tug. "You'll pay for that later, sweetling."

Exhausted was an understatement.

All four of you lay in a disgusting heap of limbs and collective sweat. Half of Cassian's body hung off the edge of the bed. He didn't mind. At least he was able to cool off even his foot was basically touching the ground and put a few inches between himself and Azriel. You lay between the spymaster and the high lord. Waters were retrieved after the fun was officially over.

Now you lay with your mates sated and unspeakably happy.

Your inner musings have Rhysand smiling. He turns your face toward him using but his fingers on your chin. "We live to make you happy." Rhysand languidly kisses you, enjoying the flavor upon your lips. A combination of everyone's juices. They would help you get to the bath. Eventually.

"I'm taking it the princess was satisfied?" Cheekily grinned Cassian.

You laugh though it costs your body to wince in slight discomfort. "Yes. If you didn't notice, I quite enjoyed myself."

Azriel nuzzles his nose along the length of your neck. Mentally you make a note that you'd have to visit the dressmaker so that they could alter your gowns to make them cover your neck and chest. Without context, many would assume the red marks all over your body was a sign of disease. Showing up to a professional meeting with hickeys all over your body wouldn't bode well either.

"Lets try double penetration next time!" Chimes Cassian.

Mother be good, these boys were certainly going to be the death of you.

@enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @a-courtof-azriel

947 notes · View notes

another-lost-mc · 8 months ago

Text

Shower Thoughts: Their bathing habits, with and without you.

Featuring: The Demon Brothers x gn!Reader

NSFW // Content: Domestic fluff and non-explicit smut. Sharing a bath/shower together; sexual and non-sexual touching; mentions of teasing, semi-public sex (showering together in the RAD locker room), penetration (Reader receiving).

A/N: Shaking off the rust. I blame the new Nightmare cards by the way. I wanted to write this for the OCs and figured I should show some of the others some love too. Like always, my fav bias is showing. (Most of Asmo's section is based on things that occur in the bath scene of Desperation.)

LUCIFER

Showering is part of his morning routine - he wants to look and feel his best, his pride won't settle for anything less. (Plus, it helps wake him up for mornings when coffee alone won't do the trick.)

Baths are a rare luxury for him. Ideally, he'll have the house (and your company) all to himself so he can soak in the fragrant bubbles without worrying about what his brothers are getting up to.

(The fact that they're not home and loose in the Devildom is just as worrying, please try to distract him.)

He's not against the idea of shower sex, but it can be cramped and awkward. He would rather tease you with gentle, lingering touches that leave you both a little hot and desperate before leading you to bed where he can enjoy you properly. He's surprisingly unconcerned about getting his bedsheets wet when it means having you naked and willing underneath him as soon as possible.

MAMMON

Mammon usually showers at night. He'd rather have the extra time to sleep in the mornings before class. If he has to work or has a photoshoot, he's definitely showering before bed - he and his bedding are a mess from sticky, gel-caked hair and the eye makeup he didn't remove properly if he doesn't.

He doesn't usually take baths - too boring, too slow - but if you like taking baths...well.

Whether he's in the shower with you or the tub with you, he's open for anything and everything you might want to do. Even an innocent suggestion for a romantic shower or bath together turns dirty quickly when his eyes and hands start to roam across so much exposed, wet skin.

LEVIATHAN

For a self-proclaimed otaku, his showering habits aren't that bad.

Sure, maybe before you came along, he spent less time worrying about his grooming and personal hygiene and more time worrying about his idols' stream schedules and pre-sale ticket dates for the various movies or concerts he wanted to see.

However, you're here now and you're important to him, so whether he wants to admit it or not, that changes things. If he wants you to hang out in his room for hours at a time gaming or binge-watching anime, both him and his room need to be in guest-ready shape.

He showers more often when he's been cooped in his room on the sofa or in his fashionable-but-not-functional gaming chair that makes his back sweat. Even a quick cool-off rinse in the shower is enough to leave him looking and feeling refreshed which is perfect - he hopes he can convince you to cuddle with him in his tub after.

Maybe it's his natural affinity for water, but he enjoys showering or bathing equally. It's tricky when most tubs aren't big enough for him to spread out with his tail out too, but thankfully they're big enough for you to fit in the tub with him which is just as good - better, even!

He's shy with you in the shower or tub. He prefers to stand behind you so he's not tempted to stare at your chest (or lower). No one touches him as gently or with more care as you do. And the way you run your hands along the scales of his tail or his neck...he's going to try and hide his twitching erection from you and hope you don't say anything if you notice it. He can't help how good you make him feel, but he's not always confident enough to return the favour.

If you want him to touch you, you'll probably have to explicitly ask him to - and wouldn't you know it, your hands resting on his while you guide them to move over your body is one of many acts of intimacy he ends up craving from you.

SATAN

He showers in the morning. He's one of the few student council members that wears his uniform properly and I think he wants the rest of him to look and smell good too.

He enjoys a nice bath once in a while. Maybe not as much as Asmo, but they're a semi-regular part of his routine. He can load up the bath tray with a book, even a cup of coffee or snack if he's feeling peckish that night; time passes in a blue as he soaks away some of the stress that burdens him. If you join him for a bath, he'd love to read to you or simply hold you against his chest while music streams from his D.D.D. nearby.

Showers are useful if he's in a rush, or maybe he just wants to rinse off the day's grime (especially if he was at the club or in a fight). Or perhaps he's not in a rush after all, judging by the way he ushers you into the bathroom with him and tugs at your clothing so you can join him under the warm spray.

Whether he simply wants to melt under your fingers as you work suds into his hair and across his body, or if your naked body so close to his is too much temptation to ignore, know that you're probably the only one who gets to see him - all of him - exposed this way.

ASMODEUS

It's no secret that the Avatar of Lust adores his private bathroom, with its high ceiling and numerous cupboards full of fluffy towels and bottles full of the most expensive haircare and body wash and massage oils that Grimm can buy.

His luxurious tub - if you can call it that, considering it's bigger than any hot tub you've ever been in before - is full of fragrant, crystal-clear water that Asmo adds scented oils and skin-softening potions to. No matter how long you bathe together, the water remains clean and warm (there's a handy spell for that).

Asmo loves the intimacy of pampering you and having you do the same for him. It's almost magical, the way he massages you with slow, rhythmic strokes as he washes you with beauty products he personally selects. He considers your preferences above his own so that everything he brings into the bath is scented with your favourite fragrant notes. If you share his bed that night, he can smell you on his pillow and sheets long after you've parted ways.

Naturally, once he's spent his time spoiling you with his tender touches and whispered affection, he's desperate to have your hands on him next.

Bathing doesn't always have to lead to more than soft, teasing touches. He's not against the idea - it wouldn't be the first time his fingers teased between your legs while he nuzzled the back of your neck and nipped at your ear - but this sort of comfort is like divinity to him. It's a sort of worship he offers you that he's offered no one else before, and no matter how much the outside world demands your attention (or his), this is one rare opportunity where you can truly be alone together.

BEELZEBUB

Beel's shower routine is fairly simple. 1. Shower after Fangol practice or games. 2. Shower after eating at a buffet-style restaurant. 3. Shower before bed if nothing else applies.

Of course, Beel learns that there's a certain charm to showering with you too. He used to complain the communal shower he shares with his siblings is a bit too cramped for his liking, and with you it's even worse, but that's simply a convenient excuse to press himself against you while he hardens against your back, or he cages you against the wall while his arms block everything else from view.

(The open showers in the locker room at the Fangol pitch are fun in their own way when post-victory showers with Beel turn frisky from giddy excitement and too much adrenaline to burn.)

Showering is simply a part of his routine, but like most things he does, Beel thinks they're more enjoyable when he can entice you to join him.

BELPHEGOR

Belphie's not necessarily lazy - he just prefers to spend his time and energy doing things that are important to him. It's not his fault if that very short list can be summarized as sleeping and spending time with you.

Sleeping is most comfortable when he's clean from the day's sweat and smells - the last thing he wants to do is ruin the attic's cozy little nest by crawling into bed smelling like anyone else but him and you. That means if he's going to shower before bed, he's dragging you with him if you haven't had one already.

Belphie might not be lazy, but that doesn't mean he won't use every trick in the book to convince you to touch him and pamper him as much as possible. He whines that he's too sleepy to fiddle with all the buttons of his RAD blazer, and he smirks like a satisfied cat while you huff at his ridiculousness and help undress him anyway.

(He knows you indulge him because you like it too - did you think he wouldn't notice the way your eyes roam his bare chest or the way your fingers twitch excitedly when you reach for his belt?)

Shower or bath sex is a bit messy and not as relaxing as he would like - the tiles are hard and cool against your back, it's hard to prep you properly in the tub as water sloshes against the sides and spills over the floor. It's inconvenient and not the sexiest experience in his opinion.

However. The shower is an excellent place to tease you with an innocent pout on his lips and a wicked gleam in his eyes. Lips trail lazily along whatever bare, wet skin they can reach while greedy fingers prepare you for something bigger once you're finally in bed together, moving together lazily in the sheets and putting off cleaning the mess until morning.

(And even if Belphie gets a little carried away in the shower as he stretches you with his fingers or his mouth, or possibly his cock if he's that riled up, the clean-up has never been easier.)

Read more: Obey Me! Masterlist

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cheriladycl01 · 2 months ago

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Kinktober 18/10/2024 Max Verstappen - Mutual Masturbation

Plot: You and Max too tired to actually do anything, decide that mutual masturbation is the way to go after a tricky race weekend.

Warnings: Kinktober, SMUT, mutual masturbation, fingering, handjob, 18+ Minors DNI

You and Max were a very clingy couple, it was rarer to see you not at a race weekend than to see you at one. You were always there supporting Max and cheering him on, and for the most part you guys had loads of energy interacting with fans and being helpful to the team.

However triple-headers normally took it out of you both, especially ones where it was far travel in between and maybe some time zone difference.

But you always supported Max.

You were there though his highest highs and his lowest lows and that just so happened to be today. A very low low. It was Max worst performance in his career. There wasn’t great communication, the car didn’t feel right and Max had struggled the whole race, not moving up any places from his Qualifying Result of P11.

He’d gotten no points, and ended up behind Yuki Tsunoda who’d defended from him brilliantly for the entire race.

When Max came out, after driving the car for 2 hours and all of the media commitments and team jobs he had to conduct afterwards you both got on his private jet pretty done with the day.

You got home to Monaco, and you were both really silent which was kinda rare for Max. Despite what most people think this man can talk for hours, especially to you when you are such a good listening and love the sound of his husky and burnt sort of voice when he spoke both English and Dutch.

You guys had a routine that was never changed no matter how tired you guys were once you got back from a race weekend.

Step one: Get the cases into the house.

Step two Part A: Max separates clean from dirty into piles

Step two Part B: You take the shoes and toiletries and dish them out to where they need to go.

Step three Part A: Max puts a wash on

Step three Part B: You take the clean clothes up and hang them in the wardrobe or fold into draws.

Step four Part A: Max hoovers, Jimmy and Sassy, and then your British Shorthair Lila have all been there moulting in the summer heat.

Step four Part B: You wash out the cat bowls and place down new food

Step five: Make dinner together

And that was how you always did it. You always each took those chores and got on with them. Usually you spoke to each other across the apartment while you were doing it but this time a comfortable silence was with you apart from the cat interruptions every now and then.

After that you guys let the dishes in the sink before alternating showering and getting ready for bed. You both climbed into the fresh bed with the nice sheets rather than the hotel sheets that regardless of the hotel rating always seemed to make you feel kind of odd.

Usually at this stage Max would turn on a film before fucking you into the bed, you clutching into the pillow that your face is smushed against while he thrusts in and out of you deeply.

But tonight with how silent the pair of you were it was obvious neither of you had the energy to fully commit to that.

“Schatz…” he says softly and you look away from the film he’d just put on opposite you bed, a classic you’d watched many times that was sort of just background noise.

“Mmmmmm? What is it?” You smile at him kindly, pulling the quilt up around you some more.

“Well, I just thought that maybe we could relieve some tension” he says still just as softly, a quiet hint to his voice. You almost groan not having the energy to get in top and ride him, which usually happened after these race weekends as his legs, back and arms were physically just as tired as his mind was.

“Argh baby not tonight … I know usually I’m more energetic but I can’t tonight” you say looking at him with a guilty look and he turns away with a flushed and embarrassed look on his face.

“Oh- okay” he says nodding and tucking the cover over him.

You guys sit and watch the film, you lean into him his arm loosely coming behind you as you naturally pulls yourself in closer to him. After the day of silence it was nice just embracing one another in bed.

“Hey I’m sorry I just have no energy tonight it’s not you” you say reaching out to hold his hand that’s above the blanket but knock against something hard causing him to moan out.

You lightly pull the covers away seeing him rock solid underneath. He tries to pull the covers back up, but your grip is strong.

“Max baby why didn’t you say” you try to stifle your laugh.

“Because your not in the mood and we’re both too tired” he sighs pressing his legs together and trying to alleviate the growing need down low.

“How about something else baby, it won’t take up too much energy from either of us” you whisper helping him pull his boxers down seeing his whole dick spring up and slap his bear stomach. He moans as the cold air hits him and you use your hand going up and down.

“Ah ah ah” he moans.

“Now you take over baby” you say and he does taking himself in his hand. Your hand goes into your underwear teasing your clit the way you knew you liked. Your fingers rub against that nub and you moan.

“Fuck Max” you moan and look to your left to look at him only to see him already looking at you. His eyes travel from your eyes down to where your fingers enter your dripping wet core.

You reach out a hand as you hear the fapping sound that Max is making with his fist tightening around his length and going quicker the more you moan.

“So pretty Schatz, fuck lemme see pull them panties off” he groans and you do as your told pulling them off and chucking them to the end of the bed. You spread your legs show Max your fingers thrusting in and out, a scissoring motion as you feel the spongey wall. You free hand reaches out gripping Max thighs as your mouth drops open, you repeating his name as you can feel the coil build up further and further.

His free hand reaches down and starts to rub circles on your clit as he tightens his grip on his own dick going faster than before.

“Fuck Schatz, such a good idea” he moans as before you know it he’s cumming, the stream hitting his lower stomach as his hips lightly lurch up. You cum shortly after him, the release making you relax back into the pillows.

“I think that should be our new go too” he groans, taking tissue from the bedside table cleaning himself up.

“When we’re tired?” You ask with a nod.

“Whenever, that was really hot” he smiles before pulling you into a kiss.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

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multimilfs · 1 month ago

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Agnes O'Connor x Fem!Reader: Beginning & End

Summary: Taking a late drive to get your mind off a few things, you get more than you bargained for from a not-so-routine traffic stop.

AO3

A/N: Wasn't sure how to tag this since Agnes is technically an Agatha... variant? persona? Also I didn't tag the Agatha taglist since this isn't technically Agatha? tricky tricky... This is basically just pure smut with a sprinkle of plot.. enjoy xoxo (also let me know if you want more of Agnes?)

Words: 6.2k

Included: Established relationship, Jealousy, Smut; choking, spitting, bdsm, possession, semi-public sex, car sex, fingering, cunnilingus, daddy kink, roleplaying, power dynamics, dom/sub, teasing, begging

Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix

You sigh as you lean into the leather seat. The music is loud enough to hurt, but you don’t turn the volume down, glad of the noise even if you don’t feel like singing along. Trees fly by outside the window as you drive.

A sign passes in a flash but you catch the number; 45. Your speedometer reads 55.

Making sure you’re alone on the road, you push it to 57 just for kicks. Even as the dark scenes on either side pass in a blur, the road ahead is clear. The moon hangs low and bright above, reflecting off the filled-in parts of the pavement.

The song changes and you sigh again upon hearing the familiar tune. It only reminds you of your wife; who should be home and in bed with you, but ended up on night-shift instead after hassling a suspect a bit too hard, canceling your planned evening.

Which leads you to driving the backroads between Westview and Eastview, hoping the journey will tire you out enough that you can sleep. Instead it lands you in the position of blowing past a hidden cop.

Just your luck.

You groan as you turn the music down and pull off the road into a flat area of grass. With the lights, you can’t tell if it's a Westview or Eastview officer at first. You have pretty good chances of getting off with a warning if it's one of Agnes’ coworkers.

But it’s not one of the regular officers. It’s the Chief’s car. You hit your head against the steering wheel. He’s been riding Agnes’ ass for months and will likely give you a hefty ticket just to spite her.

While you’re hitting your head against the wheel, there’s a knock on your window. You roll it down without looking, “Look, Chief, I know the deal. You can just write me a ticket and I’ll pay it tomorrow.”

“Oh, will you now?”

You pause.

Looking up in disbelief, “Agnes?”

“That’s Detective O’Connor to you.” Her face doesn’t change from the stern facade, “You were driving pretty recklessly back there. Have you been drinking tonight, ma’am?”

Subtly as you can manage, you check your side mirror to see if anyone else sits in the police cruiser. It wouldn’t be unlike the Chief to put Agnes through some insane test. No shadows lurk in the other car.

You drag your eyes back to Agnes. She’s waiting, still just as stoic, but you see the mischief in her eyes. Well, if she wants to play, why not up the stakes?

Tilting your head and smiling, “Of course not, detective. I’ve been a good girl.”

A split-second pause tells you she wasn’t expecting that. She licks her lips before the act slips back into place. She scoffs.

“That’s what they all say. Wait here.” Her hand pats the open window before she’s heading back toward the cruiser.

You watch her walk away in the side mirror with a grin. Her confident gait stirs something in you, always has.

For a split second you consider throwing the car in drive and peeling out of here. You’re curious to see what Agnes would do. You hope she’d chase you all the way home; that way when you get there you could finally have a taste of what tonight was meant to be.

You want Agnes painfully. Between work deadlines on your end and long hours on hers, you’ve been too tired to do more than cuddle, or some heavy kissing on a better day. You miss the connection that comes from baring yourselves to one another. And the orgasms, too, of course.

Agnes is back at your window, breathalyzer in hand. You make a split second decision.

“Please, detective, I can’t afford another ticket, and my wife will be so mad.” You plead, using that innocent, wide-eyed expression you know turns her on, “Is there anything I can do to… pay it off, per se?”

To her credit, she doesn’t crack this time, “Are you soliciting an officer of the law, ma’am?”

“No, of course not! Unless that’s what you want.”

“Step out of the car.”

The commanding note in her voice goes straight between your thighs. You open the door and step out, watching her brows raise at only the long nightgown you’re wearing. There’s a chill in the air that makes you shiver. Her eyes are drawn to your chest before she shakes away whatever is going through her mind.

While you’re enjoying the game, you do hope she’ll let you get back in the car soon. The cold is unmanageable without more substantial clothing.

Agnes holds up the breathalyzer, “Open your mouth.”

You do so without thinking. A blush races up your face. Agnes can’t help but smirk.

It’s not the breathalyzer that finds itself between your lips, but two fingers that settle on your tongue and press. You jolt at the pressure. Tears come to your eyes as you gag, but the weight of her fingers doesn’t ebb. You fight against your gag reflex to curl your tongue around the digits.

Closing your lips around them, you swirl your tongue like one would around a piece of candy. Even through blurred vision you can see how Agnes’ eyes darken. She leans forward, staring at your lips.

Her fingers move deeper, pressing harder, fucking your throat. You swallow around them.

You find your mouth and throat empty as Agnes pulls out. Her hand grabs your face before you can close your mouth and holds it open, fingers wet against your cheek. She grins meanly.

“Stick out your tongue.”

The second you do, Agnes spits in your mouth. You whimper. It’s humiliating and you feel yourself clench around nothing. You leave your tongue in the position she demanded, obedient as ever.

Agnes laughs, “Swallow.”

Humiliation, in combination with your startling need for her touch, forces the tears to spill over and down your cheeks. The sight of them seems to please her. She’s always loved seeing you thoroughly debased; loves knowing only she can break you down like this.

Partners in the past did try. Yet they would hesitate, hold back, believing they knew the limits of your desire instead of trusting you. A few would panic when they saw tears in your eyes and pull out of the scene completely. You often found yourself pretending; toning down your desires to ‘acceptable’ levels and leaving yourself unsatisfied to avoid that worried look in your partner’s eyes.

But you’ve never had to pretend with Agnes. From that first time, she went as far as she wanted, knowing that you were an adult capable of safe-wording if it was too much; it wasn’t. You had been dripping and needy the entire time. You had cried while she sat back and watched you polish her boots with your tongue, and had nearly come undone from the act alone. It was everything you craved—Agnes was everything you craved; trusting, dominating, cruel when it suited, and the most loving partner you’ve ever known.

You had vowed then and there that you weren’t letting her get away. And how lucky for you that she put a ring on your finger; the ring that is so much more than a symbol of love; but a brand, too, just as you desire.

“I wonder what your wife would think of you offering yourself up to me,” Agnes muses, “but you’re so eager for it, I can’t help but wonder if she’s not satisfying you properly.”

“Only you can satisfy me, detective.” You flutter your lashes.

That draws a real laugh from her. Something inside you preens. You lean forward into Agnes’ space, angling your head for a kiss, but she pulls back.

“Be that as it may, soliciting an officer is a crime, as is reckless driving.” Her hands reach for her belt, where her handcuffs rest in one of the holsters, “I’m going to have to take you in.”

Though the idea of being cuffed and fucked however she pleases excites you, you’re not entirely pleased with how your original plan was ruined. Agnes knew where the line was during interrogations and she crossed it. Knowingly. It’s safe to say you’re a little pissed she acted out.

A mean-spirited voice in your head considers pushing Agnes away entirely, leaving her wet and turned on for the rest of the night shift while you go home and find solace in your favorite toy. The rational part of you knows that no toy can replace your wife, and it’s her you want. You’re just not going to make it easy for her.

You fall to your knees before she can work the cuffs off her belt. She jolts at the unexpected change. You slam against the ground pretty hard and wince, but don’t dare stop.

Your hands find her belt buckle. Deftly, you start to undo it, “Please, I can make you feel good. I’ll do anything.”

Agnes raises her brows. She doesn’t stop you from undoing her belt or slowly lowering the zipper of her pants. There’s a tenseness in her jaw as she thinks over the request. Intent on sealing the deal, you move your hands from the front of her pants; instead leaning forward to place a kiss where they’d just been.

Looking up through your lashes, you beg, “Please.”

“Well, since you’re so eager for it.”

Ignoring the screaming in your knees, you shoot to your feet, capturing Agnes’ lips in a hard kiss. You attack with lips and teeth and tongue. At the same time, you slip your hand inside her pants and past the waistband of her panties.

She groans against your lips when your fingers play in her wetness. Your fingers ghost over her clit and you grin into the kiss. Two hands settle on your hips and shove, your back hitting the side of your car; it hurts for a moment before you’re once again lost in the feel of your wife, how she’s using her position to grind against your hand, the obscene noises leaving her throat.

Your clit throbs with every roll of her hips. It’s intoxicating that she’s just taking what she wants, using you as a toy to achieve her own pleasure. But the desire between your own legs reminds you of the end goal.

Agnes’ hips pick up speed, her usual low groans evolving into panting, high-pitched whimpers. She’s so close. You consider letting her have what she wants.

Moments before she can fall over the edge you pull your hand from her pants. Hands settling on her chest, you shove her back. She jolts and stumbles. Her fucked-out expression from seconds earlier shifts to confusion, then anger.

“What the fuck?” Agnes snarls.

“You’ve been bad, detective.” Still leaning against the car, you cross your arms over your chest, “Or should I say Daddy.”

Agnes stands straighter. There’s steel in her spine now, jaw taught as darkness comes over her expression. Amusement alights inside your chest.

Her hands begin to unravel the belt from the loops of her pants, “I’m going to paint your backside blue.”

“I don’t think so.” Your voice is hard. “You see, I had a lovely evening planned for us. Dinner, a movie, clean sheets for us to spend all night ruining. And we didn’t get to enjoy any of it because someone couldn’t control her temper. So you, daddy, are going to fuck me until I decide I’m ready to forgive you.”

“It’s cute that you think you’re in control, baby.”

Agnes steps into your space, belt in her hands. You stop her with a hand on her chest before she can get close enough to do anything.

“I am in control.”

“Those with the upper hand don’t usually have to state the fact.”

You tilt your head, “If you don’t give me what I want, you’re not going to touch me for weeks. I’ll fuck myself and all you’ll be able to do is watch. And I’ll stuff all the pairs of panties I ruin into your bag, your pockets… everywhere you go, you’ll be reminded of just what you’re missing.”

The smug expression slowly slips from her face. She tries to push forward again, but you’re unyielding; clenching your fist in the fabric of her shirt until she feels the subtle bite of your nails. There’s fury and a small trace of fear in her eyes.

It’s rare that you have the upper hand. Usually Agnes is twelve steps ahead of everyone—you included. But this time she miscalculated, and she’s going to pay for it.

“Your choice, daddy.”

She scoffs. Shaking her head, a few pieces of her hair free themselves from her low ponytail. They lay in and over her face before she blows them out of the way carelessly. She hasn’t been taking care of it, you can tell; and briefly, you consider if you can get away with commandeering her into taking better care of herself.

You likely shouldn’t push your luck. Agnes is going to punish you enough for this stunt, you’re sure.

The belt is tossed onto the ground a few feet away in a silent show of surrender. Her eyes are dark, churning with a mixture of fury and arousal. A brief moment passes where you wonder if you’re taking this a bit too far, but you shove it down; Agnes is an adult just as you are and will tell you if you cross any hard lines.

“Is the heat on in the cruiser?” You ask.

She pauses, taken-aback, “Yeah, of course.”

“Good. You’re going to fuck me in it later. But first—”

You open the back door of your own car as wide as it can go, just so you can perch on the seat with your feet still outside. With a smile, you open your legs wide. You hadn’t considered this outcome when you left the house for your drive, so your panties are relatively plain, but it doesn’t matter since they’re soaked through.

Agnes takes a step forward and you hold up a finger. She pauses. You point at the ground.

Her face goes red, “Not fucking likely.”

And then she’s on you. She’s holding herself up with one hand on the seat, the other dragging your face to hers. Her body rests perfectly between your legs. With a low moan, you roll your hips against her front.

Her grip on your face is painful. Thank god her nails are clipped short.

Agnes pulls away from your mouth to bite and suck at your throat. You throw your head back, still grinding up against her, moaning with abandon. The friction is nice but it isn’t what you wanted.

“I want you to eat me out.” You force out.

“I don’t care what you want.” Agnes growls.

“Oh? Well, I guess I should be prepared to handle my own orgasms for a while, then.”

As you say that, you stop grinding, and lay fully against the seat, one of your arms snaking its way down your front and between your thighs. You’ve only circled a finger around your clit twice before her hand catches your wrist in a punishing grip.

“Try it and I’ll tie you to the bed everyday when I go to work.”

“I made my terms abundantly clear.”

“You know what you forgot though, brat?” Agnes taunts, lips right next to your ear, “You’re too greedy to settle for your hand or your little toys. It’s only a matter of time before you get bored and come crawling back to me.”

“Maybe I’ll just crawl to someone else. Agent Vidal has been hanging around.”

A hand closes around your throat and you whine. She squeezes, your vision going fuzzy around the edges. You roll your hips.

“I’ll lock you in the house if you even think about it.” Her voice is hard, promising, “You’re mine, baby.”

“Prove it.”

That’s the wrong thing to say.

Agnes pulls back completely. Her hands leave you, the pressure of her body is gone. You look up and she’s standing just far enough away that you can’t touch her. You growl.

The look on her face is one you’ve seen a dozen times; the very same one she wears when you’re about to endure something you don’t like. But you vow not to let her have the upper hand. Not this time. This time, you’re going to make her bend.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” She says.

The words are like a bucket of cold water over your head. You don’t spend long dwelling on the threat, there’s no time.

Agnes is halfway back to the police cruiser when you worm your hand into your panties and bury two fingers inside without preamble. Despite being the source of your own pleasure, you jolt, back bowing off the seat. The moan that leaves your lips is exaggerated; pornographic.

“Oh, yes!”

You hear her footsteps come to a stop. You don’t dare open your eyes, not yet. The pleasure you’re experiencing is real, even if it is half of what it could be with Agnes’ help, but you have to keep up the act—have to make her jealous of your own fingers.

Though she hates to admit it, Agnes is jealous in all aspects of life. There’s a bit of healthy competitiveness worked in there that you can admire. Yet some days… some days she comes home fighting mad, hair a mess and muscles clenched tight as she recounts the events that made her that way. And lately they’ve all had the same person involved—

Agent Rio Vidal.

A loaner agent from the FBI, here to figure out some of the more poignant details of a murder on the Westview-Eastview county line. She’s confident and cutting and painfully attractive. Somehow, she knows how to push every single one of Agnes’ buttons, in work and play.

You’ve only met her twice and each time Agnes was an animal afterward. The appreciative glances and suggestive words made you blush—and though you won’t admit it, turned you on a good bit—while Agnes could barely hold herself back from attacking the woman. So possessive. So jealous.

You can use that.

The door on the other car hasn’t opened and you know she’s watching with rapt attention. You put on a good show, rolling your hips into your one hand while pinching at your chest with the other. You could get off on her watching.

Another exaggerated, high-pitched moan, “Oh, Agent Vidal!”

Though the woman is attractive, you can’t imagine anyone but your wife. Agnes doesn’t need to know that.

Strong hands grab your calves and pull you half-way out of the car. You squeak, eyes snapping open. Agnes looms above you and oh fuck you’re in trouble.

“You little bitch.” She snarls, hand coming to wrap around your throat.

You try to moan but she doesn’t give you that much air. Another deft hand rips your own from your panties, even going so far as to rip the fabric off completely. There’s the ghost of her fingers above your center. You roll your hips.

The sensation of loss and blurry edges is usually a huge turn-on; maybe it’s the intense change from oxygen to no oxygen, but you’re struggling more than normal. You tap her wrist three times.

Agnes pulls away completely. Her hand is off your neck, the other gone from between your thighs. You take in large lungfuls of air and feel your heart-rate slow just a little. A little whine works its way from your throat, though it’s mainly a result of the throbbing between your legs that’s still driving you crazy.

Your wife’s hands hover over you, eyes concerned, “Honey?”

“I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.” You assure, sitting up and kissing one of her palms, “The quick change just… startled me. I’m okay.”

“Should I… Do you need me to take you home?”

“Oh no, Agnes O’Connor, you’re going to finish what you started.” Spreading your legs offers an obscene picture of just how soaked you are, made even more tantalizing by the ripped panties clinging to your thigh, “Unless you want me to find someone else who can finish the job.”

It’s like flipping a switch.

Overwhelming is a word that could be used to describe Agnes in bed—smothering, even. She has a way of overtaking every single one of your senses at once. Your skin is on fire with her touch, with the faint strands of hair tickling your face. The scent of burnt break-room coffee clings to her jacket. You even taste it when her tongue invades your mouth, moaning obscenely against your lips.

You like being smothered, though. You crave it; aching for anything that will let you turn your mind off and just feel.

Agnes pulls back. Her breath is hot against your lips, “You’re such a brat.”

“Only for you, daddy.” You murmur.

A shudder passes through her at the name. Her grip tightens on you, near bruising. You moan.

“Where do you want me?”

“With your mouth between my legs.”

“Fingers?”

“Yes, please.”

Agnes chuckles, “So you do remember your manners. Interesting.”

You roll your eyes. To your luck, Agnes doesn’t see—if she had, you would have been punished accordingly. Though you realize things are a bit off-balance with your threat hanging in the air; any other time, Agnes would have you bent anyway she pleased, taking all she wanted until you couldn’t handle any more.

Being in control is… odd. Not unwanted, but odd. You have to be more aware of yourself, confident in every command that leaves your lips. You’re glad that this is Agnes’ preferred role even if you’re enjoying the change.

Lips kiss the inside of your thighs and you shudder. When she sinks her teeth in, you squeal, jolting at the change. Your hand falls to the top of her head.

“Not what I meant!”

“Oh, then what did you mean?” She taunts.

“If you don’t make me come right now so help me—”

The heat of her mouth on you is enough to shut you up. Her tongue drags up your slit with agonizing slowness. She teases at your clit for only a moment before repeating the slow drag, making you whine, pressing her head closer.

You feel the rumble of her laughter and god help you the vibrations feel amazing. Yet when you try to move your hips for more, her hands keep them pressed firmly to the leather seat.

Another threat sits on your lips that never comes to pass. With the last slow lick, she fastens her lips around your clit and sucks, hard. It’s painful and wonderful and your back bows off the seat, hands scrambling for anything to clench into. The weeks have been long and you know you’re not going to last.

“I’m going to come.” You force out.

She laughs again. That, in combination with her attention focused solely on your clit, sends you straight over the edge. You feel wild, unhinged as your hips move without any guidance from your mind, chasing the waves of pleasure that make your every muscle go taut.

But when the pleasure subsides, Agnes doesn’t stop. She pushes two fingers inside and curls them in that way you like so much. You clench around them, though you ache, not ready for more so soon.

“I can’t—Please, I can’t.” You beg.

“One more, baby. You can give me that, can’t you?”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

And you do. Her fingers know every inch of you well, her mind cataloging every spot that makes you whine, every move she performs that sends you over the edge. She calls on that knowledge as the pads of her fingers rub against that spot inside you with abandon until you can’t breathe, shrieking and moaning loud enough that you worry someone will hear you miles away.

The pleasure tenses your body so tight that you worry the muscles will never relax again. It hurts in that delicious way only Agnes can bring out.

When you do relax, she’s licking gently at you, collecting the flavor on her tongue and savoring it like a fine wine. You twitch. The hand you have in her hair pushes as you attempt to slide further onto the seat, away from her mouth.

“No more,” you beg, “please.”

“Am I forgiven?”

You laugh, breathless, “Not quite.”

You tug her up wordlessly until the weight of her is draped over you. It’s nice, comforting to feel her close. Her warmth helps fight against the cold biting at your lower half. Sighing, you bury your face in her neck, your hand coming up to lazily play with her hair.

Agnes accepts the touch. She traces little patterns on your hip over the nightgown, soft and quiet. You can still see the red and blue lights from your hiding place in her neck.

“Why do you have the Chief’s car?” You ask.

She scoffs, “Mine broke down three hours into the shift. Had to call the Chief and walk all the way to his house to get the cruiser.”

“What? Agnes, why didn’t you call me?”

“I wanted you to enjoy your night in, honey.”

You think about arguing, but you recognize the exhaustion in her voice, and decide not to push it—for now. It’s an argument you can save for later.

“So what was it, the battery? I thought we just replaced it.”

“I think the old girl might just be done for. We’ve had her for a while.” Agnes shrugs.

“But that’s… we brought Nicky home in that car.” You whisper, chest aching.

Another piece of your life—connected to your baby—that you won’t get to keep. Agnes tenses, her breathing growing ragged, and you feel terrible; she’s likely already thought about this the whole shift, spent all these hours remembering it alone. That’s why she didn’t call you—she didn’t want to drag you bag into the deep end of the pain, too.

You press a gentle kiss to the side of her neck. No wonder she took the first opportunity to play with you, she needed the distraction.

“I’m sorry, my love.” You murmur.

“Not your fault, honey. These things happen.”

She sounds less and less like herself with every moment. You don’t want to shove the grief aside—the grief counselor said that only made things worse—but this isn’t how you want to handle it; Agnes draped over your freshly-debauched form in the backseat of your car.

This is a conversation, a breakdown for home, where the two of you can take all the time you need to soak in the new loss. You need to distract her away from this.

“Will the force offer you one of their vehicles?”

“Yeah. They should.”

“Where did you break down?”

“By the bridge on Old Forest.”

Perfect.

“Let’s give her a proper sendoff, then.”

Agnes pauses. The look she gives you is questioning, as if not quite believing your suggestion, but she knows better—knows you’re serious about this.

“Alright.”

Which is how you find yourself halfway across town, on a back road with no streetlights, pulling off perilously close to a ditch. Agnes' car is unmistakable even in the dark—from the extra mirror on the hood reflecting the moonlight to the dent in the back bumper she never got fixed. You feel suddenly overwhelmed as you trace your fingers over the body.

So many memories, good and bad. Your late-night trysts in the back seat. Bringing Nicky home. The back seat full of his stinky sports gear. Agnes’ old case files winding up on the floor.

Agnes comes up and drapes her jacket over your shoulders. The warmth of her body has seeped into the cloth, now blocking out the chill in the air, “This might not be the best idea.”

You raise a brow, “Cold feet, detective?”

“Mine are nice and warm. Yours, however...”

She looks up and down your scantily-clad form with a worried furrow of her brow. It’s sweet, but not needed.

“I don’t think our plans will keep me anything but warm.” You smile, leaning back against the car while pulling Agnes close, until every inch of her is pressed against your front. Her hands settle on your hips as she kisses you with a softness belaying the vulnerability she still feels, “Unlock the car.”

“Honey—”

“Agnes, would you rather I went home?” You murmur.

“Of course not.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Beats me.”

“You know what I want?”

Using your leverage against the vehicle, you draw one of your feet up the inside of Agnes’ leg, careful to press every part of yourself against her. Her warmth radiates through her flannel and jeans and you smile.

She raises a brow, “I’m sure I can guess.”

“I want you to bend me over in the backseat of this car like you did that first time. You remember, don’t you? How pissed you were that I’d been teasing you for five dates.” You laugh at the memory, “You couldn’t even make it out of the restaurant parking lot.”

“You were so loud we almost got caught.” She recalls, voice low, gravelly.

“There’s no one around to catch us now.”

Agnes wraps one of her arms around your waist and uses it to tug you sideways, making quick work of unlocking the car. With the hand not on your waist, she opens the back door, and eases her jacket from your shoulders. She lays it out on the cold seats with the warm side up.

Not for the first time, you’re moved by her consideration of your comfort. It would be so easy for a partner to disregard the little things if it meant getting to the end goal faster; but not Agnes. You reward her with a long, slow kiss.

When she pulls away, there’s a fond little smile on her lips. She pats your hip, “On your hands and knees.”

You obey without question. Crawling onto the backseat, you’re reminded of just how confined the space of a car is. You have to keep your head bowed so as not to hit your head on the roof. It’ll be worth your while, but you know the two of you will be feeling the adverse effects of this choice for days.

Agnes follows and shuts the door behind her. She works her way into the backseat until not a bit of space exists between the two of you. Every inch of her front is pressed against you, draped over you like a warm blanket. You push your backside back into her crotch, teasing.

“I should’ve sent you home to get your purple.” You say.

“Be good and you can have my cock later.”

Warm fingertips trail up the back of your thigh until they snake under the hem of your nightgown. The soothing heat of her touch is lovely compared to the bite of the cold air. You lean into it.

“Yes, daddy.” You sigh.

Her body pulls away from yours and you turn, confused. A sharp slap to your backside makes your breath stutter, your core clenching around nothing. Your toes curl.

“Interesting that you want to be good now, when you’ve been testing me all night.”

“What can I say? I’m motivated by rewards.”

You’re satisfied that Agnes seems to be in the moment, rather than locked up in the memories in her head. Intent on keeping it that way, you lean back into her, arching so you can match her entirely. Her muscles go taut and relax and being able to feel it makes you ravenous.

Two fingers push your ripped panties aside and begin to drag up your slit, teasing. It should be noted that you are trying to be good for her, offering the control she takes to so well. You like to think she can tell, too.

When she slips her fingers inside you without torturing you further, you’re sure she knows.

You push back, desperate. You want more of her and bad. It’s as if the orgasms she gave you less than an hour ago never happened. Every muscle in your body quakes with the knowledge of what only Agnes can give you. And you want it so deeply that it threatens to bring tears to your eyes.

“Please.” You beg without prompting, “Please, more.”

A split-second hesitation belays her surprise, but she does slip another finger inside, stretching you even wider. You can’t stop how you move, nor the noises that come out of your mouth. You feel cursed with hunger only she can sate.

It’s this car, this backseat, and the memories here that are driving you so mad. It’s the life attached to it that you never thought you would get; a family, a future, a wife who loves you despite all the ugly parts others had run from. It’s the years you haven’t had to live out alone, the pain you’ve shared. It’s the fact that this act was once a beginning and now it’s an end.

Her lips press against the back of your neck, impossibly gentle, so unlike the role she’s meant to be playing. Something inside you breaks.

“Agnes—“ You choke out.

“It’s okay, honey.”

You let go.

You let go from holding yourself back—fucking yourself on her fingers until you shriek with pleasure. You let go of the ball of emotions in your chest, of hunger and pleasure and guilt. You let go of the pain and let tears spill over onto your cheeks.

It’s not the best orgasm you’ve ever had, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s a goodbye to this piece of your life. It’s an end. And it hurts just the same as it feels good to embrace the potential of something new.

Agnes holds you, steady as ever. You feel the dampness of her own tears on your neck.

You turn and lay on your back, welcoming the weight of her. You use your thumbs to wipe away the tears coming from her beautiful blue eyes.

“Am I forgiven, or do we have to go another round?” She asks.

You grin, not taking your hands from her face, “You’re forgiven, my love.”

“Thank god.”

Agnes drops her head until it rests on your chest. You laugh, extracting the hair tie so you can run your fingers through the length of it. Her arms wrap around you as much as they can.

She presses a kiss to your chest, over where your heart is. You gently work through a knot in between your fingers. The windows are clouded with perspiration. Beads of water reflect what little moonlight peeks through the trees. Moonlight or no, you know every dip and curve of your wife’s form, and could identify every part of her without sight.

The stale coffee smell has worn off, replaced by the faint undertones of the cologne she wears each morning. It’s deep and musky and comforting.

Maybe it’s the weight of her head on your chest in combination with the memories that makes you speak, “Have you ever thought about us trying again?”

She tilts her head so she can look up into your eyes without lifting from her resting place. Her brows are furrowed.

“Trying again?”

The weight of her beautiful eyes on you almost makes you change the subject. These conversations are so much easier without that layer of intimacy. But you’ve started something and you’ll be damned if you don’t finish it.

“To be parents.” You whisper.

“I’m a little past due on that, baby.” Her smile is self-deprecating.

“I’m not.”

“You never wanted to carry. I remember that much.”

“That was then.” You continue smoothing through her hair, “Now… If you want to try again, I’ll do it. I want to do it.”

You can’t decipher the look in her eyes. She doesn’t pull away, but she’s tense.

“We don’t need to decide right now. We have time.”

She nods, “Alright.”

“You’ll still be daddy, even if you aren’t my baby-daddy.”

“That was terrible.”

It doesn’t stop her from grinning, nor does it stop you from laughing. Something in the tension eases. You can’t lean down and kiss her like this, so you press a kiss to the pads of your fingers, and press them to her lips. She nips at them playfully.

The quiet is nice, but you can feel the cold settling into your bones. You need to be back in a heated car before you get sick.

“When is your shift over?”

“In a few hours.”

You nod, figuring out what time she’ll come home and how it fits into your schedule, “I have nothing after work if you want me to make good on those orgasms I owe you.”

“I look forward to it.”

It takes some time, but you and Agnes manage to untangle yourselves and worm your way out of the back seat. She sits, keeping you wrapped in her coat, until the inside of your own car is nice and warm. That earns her a few lingering kisses.

She trails you on the drive home before speeding off to do god knows what during the last few hours of her shift. And when you fall asleep—already feeling sore—an eagerness sets in your chest of what awaits. With an end, a new beginning.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha all along #agnes o'connor #agnes o'connor x reader #agatha all along x reader #agatha all along fanfiction #agatha harkness fanfiction #wlw #wlw fanfiction #nov2024 #multimilfswritings

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muwapsturniolo · 29 days ago

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𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 ᥫ᭡. c sturniolo

“I just-she left…”

✗ Angst, mentions of sex but no actual smut, cliffhanger

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

Love was a tricky thing - Bittersweet.

It could make you feel so whole and warm, like your life has meaning. On the other hand, it could break you down completely, as if you weren't worth anything.

This was something that scared Chris. He told everyone he had commitment issues, but they took it as he couldn't settle for one girl specifically, or he was scared of women. In reality, it was the idea of not knowing how your love with someone could end.

So when he dove head first into a relationship only for it to crumble right in his hands, he was distraught. It was so sudden, he thought everything was fine. He was happy, she was happy.

At least he thought she was.

"You're love is just too much Chris...I can't do this."

Her words hurt, they broke him.

He didn't understand how him showing how much he loved her was too much. Isn't that what girls want, for their partners to be open and loving?

After that night it was like she never existed, and it wasn't Chris's doing. The girl had deleted her socials, moved away from LA, and cut everyone off. He could only feel what was left of her, but he wasn't able to feel her.

He wished he knew where she went, what she was doing. He wished he knew how the hell she managed to make him fall in love with her, only to break him.

Did she ever love him?

He refused to be the type to marinate in his emotions, so he threw himself into his work. He forced Nick and Matt to film videos back to back, the brothers quickly becoming exhausted. He decided it was finally time to get his license and a car, hoping that if he betters himself she would come back to him.

But she didn't.

Everyone could see the change in him. He started going out more without his brothers, partying with Sam and Gnar. He'd come home with a different girl on his arm every night, and a bunch of money being spent from the joint account he shares.

That phase only lasted a month or so before Nick finally put his foot down, yelling at Chris and telling him to "Get the fuck over the breakup, she's not coming back."

"I know Nick I just....She left. She fucking left and said my love was too much! What does that mean? I-I did my best!"

He broke down, crying harder than he ever had in his brothers' arms.

"Why did she have to leave? Why won't she just come back?"

It seemed like after that, his whole personality and life did a 180. He grew quiet, no longer being the loud one. He was more snappy, staying in his room and locking himself away from the world.

When questioned about it, he told Matt and Nick that everything reminds him of her. The couch where they watched movies all night, the coffee shop she would force him to go to, and the overall energy of LA.

After a long talk, the three of them decided to leave LA. It seemed like a drastic change, but none of them were happy.

Matt never wanted to come to LA, Chris couldn't handle the memories, and Nick just wanted his brothers to be happy. So after a month of dealing with their management and trying to find a place back home, they finally were back in Boston.

Matt was happier, Nick was happier, and Chris was slowly doing better. He was eating more, laughing again, and even hanging out with friends. He still had trouble sleeping at night, his dreams filled with the memories he shared with her.

He'd wake up wishing that he spent more time savoring those moments instead of taking them for granted. He knew nothing lasted forever and yet he was naive enough to believe they would.

There was a specific night when he couldn't sleep, his mind silent as he stared at the wall. It irritated him, he was tired but something was keeping him awake. He dragged himself out of bed and went to the kitchen to find tea, hoping it would put him in a tranquil state, but there was no tea to be found.

With a sigh he slipped on his shoes and grabbed the car keys, sending a quick text to Nick and Matt, letting them know that if they woke up and he was still gone, he was just grabbing something from the store.

He planned on going to Walgreens, but on the way there, he saw a 24-hour coffee shop. It was small, the lighting giving up a warm glow that was already lulling him to sleep.

He parked the car and walked inside, the smell of the coffee grounds and lavender infiltrating his nose.

It reminded him of the coffee shop they would go to.

He stepped up to the register, looking at the menu for a second before ordering a large chamomile and lavender tea. It only took a second for the barista to hand him his drink, wishing him a 'good night' and telling him to 'be safe'.

With a brief smile he turns around, immediately locking eyes with her.

He could feel his heart fall to the pits of his stomach, his tea long forgotten and dropped to the ground.

"Hey Chris...."

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris girl #chris sturniolo imagine #christopher sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo angst #angst #christopher sturniolo angst #sturniolo angst

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sp0o0kylights · 1 year ago

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Eddie led a weird life.

This was something he welcomed, given half the things people thought were “weird” was just his fashion sense or preference for table top games.

Small potatoes to the larger things in life, really.

Of course, this was before he found out there was an evil version of Hawkins underneath him.

Now Eddie did things that would previously sent his old self into a fucking coma.

His friendship with Steve Harrington for example.

Dude saved his life and bridal-style carried him out of literal hell.

It’d have been rude not to be friendly with the guy after that, even if they weren’t both members of a very exclusive and bloody club, with trauma and secrets that really only a select few people would ever understand.

Sleeping over at Harrington’s half the week also made perfect sense, and Eddie will argue that to his very grave.

It turns out nightmares suck, and waking up screaming all the time sucks even more.

Something everyone involved in this entire escapade (and all the ones prior) knew.

Because more bodies means more eyes to look out for you, and feeling safe means you might actually sleep for an hour, they all got used to showing up at each other's houses at odd hours of the night.

Pulled one another out of nightmares and got comfortable with the fact that they slept better, together.

Steve’s house in particular is typically void of both adults and annoying freshmen, which meant it's the most comfortable place for a lot of people to crash together.

(Sometimes the annoying freshmen do show up and maybe Eddie is also a little weirdly overprotective of the whole Party now, and alright fine, he enjoys all their company, even Erica's--but who's keeping track?

He isn’t.

He’s busy arguing all this is perfectly normal.)

Sleeping in Steve’s bed is where things get a little tricky.

See, when it was more than just Robin and Eddie crashing at Casa De Harrington, they all sleep in the living room.

Steve drags out some fancy blow up mattress (an air mattress what the fuck) and changes the couches around and long story short his fucking living room is more comfortable than Eddie’s own bed has ever been.

But when it's just Eddie and Robin, they retire to Steve’s stupid huge bed, so large the damn thing takes up most of his equally massive room.

(“This isn’t weird right?” He’d asked Robin once, hanging his head over the edge of the bed while Steve did--whatever it was he was doing to his hair in the bathroom.

Robin, who was busy rifling through Steve’s drawers for a shirt to steal, stopped and looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Not unless you make it weird, Munson.” She’d told him, and well, that was all the permission he needed.

They slept together in tight groups, where it was easiest to defend each other in case of Upside Down fucking monster attack.

Case closed.)

Sleeping in Steve Harrington’s bed, without the buffer that was Robin Buckley, is where the lies started.

Because it was weird.

It was incredibly weird, and did guys even do this solo?

Eddie hadn’t. If one of Hellfire or the band stayed over, it was a strictly floor/bed/couch situation unless there were more than three of them, and that was within Eddie’s small ass trailer.

Sure they piled up if they had to, but it wasn't like it was with Steve. All tangled limbs and being right up in each others space, no pillow or blanket or anything as a buffer.

Hell, Eddie had woken up getting spooned or doing the spooning more than once, and no one said shit.

How Steve made it sound so genuinely normal was beyond him.

Not that Eddie argued about it.

Not the first time of the fifth or the twenty-fifth, and not even after Robin pointed out he was rooming with Harrington more than she was.

Because he just slept better, next to Steve.

(Steve apparently, felt the same.

Or must have given it kept happening.)

It wasn’t like Steve didn’t crash at Eddie’s trailer either--his parents had come right home upon hearing about the earthquake, and had been a bit more present after running into the joint forces of Jim Hopper and Joyce Byers in the hospital lobby.

Add in Wayne’s own Disapproving Stare (TM) and the town being up each other’s ass to try and keep it together, and suddenly Mr. and Mrs. Harrington were hanging out in Hawkins that much more.

(Steve seemed to think it was more to save face rather than because they actually gave a shit, which Eddie felt was obvious but he wasn’t gonna say it.

“They’re trying I think. They just--they’ve never encountered anything like this.” He’d said, a little frown line pinching his eyebrows together.

“Stevie, no one has faced anything like what we have. Your parents, on the other hand, are only dealing with what they think is the aftermath of an earthquake and plenty of people have seen those.”

Steve had sighed. Stared a little helplessly, like he knew he was making excuses but couldn’t help himself.

“I know, Eds. I know.”)

Them being home more meant Steve was at Eddie’s more--on grounds that Robin’s parents were fine with him hanging out but drew some kind of weird not--very--hippy line at him sleeping over.

Which was fine.

Great even, the Eddie and Steve had never slept better! Sucks to be Robin, who had to call up Nancy Wheeler if she wanted to share.

All this was, was trauma buddies being guy pals who were very comfortable with each other due to said fucking trauma.

Steve used to help Eddie take a piss for fucks sake, and according to literally everyone else involved in the Vecna related mess, this was their fourth go round with supernatural shit.

Chances of it all happening a fifth time seemed kinda high, even if the gate was supposedly closed and the psychotic meat puppet madman six feet underground.

Sharing was caring, and caring was not letting your new buddy you saved fight off monsters alone if they popped back up.

Plus he and Steve spent a huge amount of time together, almost as much time as Steve did with Robin.They were all in each other’s back pockets to the point that Eddie’s band was used to it, with Gareth even starting to make secret lover jokes about it all.

(The dick.)

They were just really good friends dealing with the shit life had dealt them. That was it, that was the whole ass story.

Eddie’s growing gay crisis aside.

So no. It wasn't all the time with Harrington that sent Eddie over the edge. Nor was it the bed sharing, rapidly dropping boundaries, or even the fact that Steve knew where Eddie kept his condoms (An accident Eddie wouldn't ever live down, holy shit.)

No, what sent him into an absolute, hair tearin' meltdown, was the day Steve woke up, rolled over, kissed Eddie right on the lips and then went to make breakfast.

No good morning, no how ya doin.

Steve just left Eddie there, clutching onto the sheets for dear life and mildly terrified he’d just hallucinated the entire encounter.

(Hell, maybe the whole thing was hallucinated.

Maybe he died in the Upside Down and this was some sort of sick version of the afterlife.

Eddie pinched himself, and when that wasn’t enough, bit his own knuckle. Both hurt, which was unfortunate, because death seemed preferable to dealing with life right then.)

Unfortunately for him, Steve did not run back into the room with a myriad of excuses, which meant Eddie had to experience the horrifying ordeal of getting out of bed, putting his clothes on and going into the trailer’s kitchen--because Steve hadn’t even had the decency to wreck Eddie’s life at his own house.

‘What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck--’

Heart galloping, Eddie put on his big boy pants--metaphorically and physically--before stepping out into the kitchen and confront his friend.

Who was cooking shirtless, without a care in the world.

It still took him a full thirty seconds to get his mouth to work.

“Hey Stevie? Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

"Hmm?” Steve replied. His eyes were hooded, hair mussed in a way Eddie knew only a few select people had ever seen it.

He looked half asleep, and proved it a second later when he reached twice for the one of the two mugs on the counter and missed entirely.

Eddie swung in, grabbing one and offering it out for Steve to pour coffee into, before swapping it out for the other mug once Steve was done.

Stayed in Steve’s space even as the former jock fussed with adding in milk and sugar and whatever else he was feeling, working up the courage to say something.

Anything.

“Uh, the--just now?” Eddie squeaked. He coughed to clear his voice, trying desperately to act normal.

Look normal.

Like he hadn't just been kissed by the guy he had absolute worst crush on.

Steve, bless him, didn’t tease him. Just shoved one of the mugs into Eddie’s hands and kept the other for himself.

Took a nice, slow sip, adam's apple bobbing and Eddie quickly averted his gaze, staring firmly into his coffee.

“What happened?” Steve asked a second later, sounding a touch more clear, and not at all like he was experiencing deep regret, or dodging the question, or even aware of what had happened.

Eddie had two seconds to realize that hell, maybe Steve really didn’t know, before his mouth once betrayed him.

“When you kissed me?” And motherfucker, for once, Eddie wished he would think before he fucking spoke.

(Wayne had always told him he'd come to regret it. He just hadn't thought it'd be like this!)

“Oh.” Steve said, very anticlimatically. “I didn’t realize I did that, sorry.”

Eddie's entire body twitched.

One long shudder, like it was rejecting the very words coming out of Steve's mouth.

“You didn’t,” He tried, voice dry and cracking. He realized his hands were shaking and promptly put his mug down before he dropped it. “You just--what, did that on instinct?”

“...Kinda, yeah.” Steve said and why the hell did he sound entirely unphased!?

Was this some kind of weird jock thing? Did the basketball team all wake up together and kiss each other on the mouth?! Did they think it was some sort of straight--guy haha joke, or fucking--Eddie didn’t even know what, because Eddie was too busy spiraling.

“Steve I’m gay.” He blurted out, mouth now firmly ahead of his brain.

He instantly wanted to take it back.

Grab the words with his hands, and cram it into his mouth.

Maybe Steve was only cool with it if he thought Eddie was straight.

Hell, maybe he fucking did it while sleep walking or something and Eddie was the one being weird about it, or he--fuck, really did imagine it and, and--!

“I know.” Steve told him, interrupting Eddie’s catastrophizing entirely.

“You know?” Eddie stared at him, feeling like the world had fallen out from underneath his feet. “How do you know!?”

He actually had a pretty good idea of how Steve knew, considering they were both friends with Robin, but while Robin was comfortably out to both of them, Eddie was not.

Had not in fact, even confirmed that he was queer to Robin herself, though he’d hinted at it plenty and shared more than one inside joke.

Didn’t think Robin had outed him or anything, but more that, well…

Steve was smarter than the kids made him sound, that’s for damn sure.

“Honestly dude? You’re not subtle.” Steve told him and at least he finally sounded serious.

Like this was a much needed conversation and not some weird tangent Eddie was on.

“The handkerchief, that triangle pin that you and Robin both have, the fact that you once jumped in my pool to get away from Dustin asking about you're dating life."

He rolled one hand in an etc. all gesture, before adding; “Also there was that time you and Robin got absolutely smashed on my dad’s whiskey and argued about who the hottest Rocky Horror actor was.”

Eddie’s mouth sprang open to defend himself, but absolutely nothing came out.

When had they even watched Rocky Horror together!?

“You kept insisting the guy who played Brad was hotter than the one who played Rocky, remember? I thought Robin was going to strangle you because she like, adores Susan Sarandon.” Steve continued, like they were having one of their playful little spats and not--not discussing Steve kissing him!

“You guys asked me to tie-break,” He added slowly, like he was trying to jog Eddie’s memory. “and I told you guys I thought both were hot.”

Which--oh.

Oh.

“Okay so you’re…?”

Not going to kill me is what Eddie intended to say, but Steve took it as another question entirely, and answered with a nod and a hum.

Which--okay.

Steve Harrington was bisexual, and also already thought he’d come out to Eddie.

He could roll with that.

That was not the problem, at all.

The problem was; “That doesn’t explain the kiss though?!”

Steve finally put his coffee down, huffing out exasperatedly. “I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t realize I did it, man. We share a bed a lot and I guess I wasn’t--I must have--”

And now, finally, Steve was getting embarrassed. A red flush spread across his cheeks and down his neck, vivid even on his tan skin.

He ran a hand through his hair, and Eddie knew purely from the sheer amount of time they spent together that it was a self-soothing action.

“I guess I’m sorry?”

It came out less as a question and more as an accusation-- which Steve himself seemed to hear because he immediately corrected it with a far less sassy and much more sincere; “No I am--I’m sorry.”

None of which answered why Steve had kissed him.

“You didn’t think I was Nance, did you?” Eddie asked, because apparently he just couldn't stop while he was ahead.

Maybe he should have died. It'd be better for both of them, considering he was doing about as good as kicking Steve while he was down.

Steve, the guy who had saved Eddie's life and was now one of his best friends and here Eddie was, dragging this out of him like a moron.

“No.” Steve said immediately. Reflexively, almost, firm and sure. “I am very aware you’re not Nancy.”

‘Let it go Eddie. Don’t make it weird Eddie. Just laugh it off and say okay--’

“Then who did you think it was? I mean you said it was instincts and like, I'm not stupid. I know I can be confused for Nance in the low light, it's happened before but--"

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“I didn’t think. I knew it was you." Steve interrupted. "I knew I was kissing you, Eddie."

Oh god, just kill him now.

Hell he'd even take a Vecna death! With all the gross gore and the shitty villain monologue!

"This morning I was tired, and I was sleepy, and I apparently skipped the part in my head were I asked you out and we were dating.” Steve deadpanned at him.

Eddie gaped, mind shattered and rapidly reforming.

It was like the universe was recreating itself, only this time all the stars had aligned and his wish had come true and some Disney director had taken control of his life--

“But I get it if I’m not your type." Steve was saying, because Steve was perfect.

And Kind.

And wanted to date Eddie.

"I’m sorry if I made things uncomf-mmphhh!”

‘Mmmph’ because Eddie had flung himself at Steve, face first, the second "I asked you out and we were dating" had finished processing.

(Which was alarming fast, considering he'd been struggling all morning.)

‘D--ff--ing?”

Steve laughed in his mouth as Eddie tried to talk while kissing, pulling away slightly and holding his chest back with a hand when Eddie tried to chase him anyway.

“Yes, dating. As in, would you, Eddie Munson, like to go on a date with me, Steve Harrington?”

“Yes.” Eddie’s mouth said.

At least this time it and his brain were on the same wavelength.

“Yes I very much would.” He put some weight into his lean, making it harder for Steve to hold him back. “I think you can tell, by the way I'm trying to kiss you. Which you are not doing."

He pouted, and refused to be embarrassed about his behavior.

Steve laughed, and he might have said something like ��God you changed up fast” except he had given in and let Eddie close again, and his words were now being swallowed down.

Eddie's life was weird alright, and now it was weird even by his own standards, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

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kujiba · 4 months ago

Text

【MAY THE LAND CONCEAL YOU DEAR GRACE】

୨୧ — ꒰ gn!reader | they/them prounouns | Sagau | cultish behavior

A/n: Heya! This is now a pov of what is happening to other nations across teyvat before and after the arrival of the reader! + Aether and paimon

Nations present: Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma

One / two / three / four / five

MONDSTAT, is where the creator had first landed and spreaded their blessings through the people's hearts and minds, of course. That did not exclude the archon of freedom himself, Barbatos.

Barbatos used to accompany (Name) through their vast journeys, being able to witness how life is formed within his own eyes, (Name) only using the palms of their hands that basked the people with warmth and comfort sending peace throughout the nations. He'd idolize and fanboyed over them for days and days without ever getting tired nor bored of talking, creating poets or songs just to spread their fame and story farther into the world of Teyvat.

Whenever (Name) requested someone to sing a melody for them, Barbatos was always the first to come knocking at their door with his iconic and trusty lyre he always held dear to him.

But now, their god had left and never came back for thousands of years. Barbatos, now taking the name of Venti would sit on a thick branch hanging off a tree and play a soft melody like he used to do countless days ago. He wanted to feel that comforting aura and vibe again while the tip of his fingers strummed the strings of his lyre, he wanted his god to be by his side forever till the sun would stop blazing, but now it likely didn't seem to happen anytime soon.

...

A blonde traveler and fairy came by today.

The Traveler helped resolve the issue with Dvalin and defeated some abyss mages behind the act, but alas. Good things would always come to an end since they left to go to the neighborhood nation, Liyue, ruled by the god of contracts, Morax.

Things come and things go, that was what Venti learned a long time ago from a dear companion of his. Yet, only after a few months of the Travelers departure, something new and unexpected came to his land.

A breathtaking person with the face of divinity along with an strong yet calming aura that seemed to heal any stressa a person had built up for years in a matter of seconds. That was just what Venti needed at the time since he was reminiscing of the past making him feel a bit down.

The winds were different today and Venti knew that, he felt an immense mount of nostalgia just by being at the presence of the stranger that was just a good distance away from him.

It wasn't just him that noticed it but some hilichurls, slimes, and other types of monsters curiosly went towards their direction but not too close that the person would be alarmed by the amount of monsters closing in on them.

But unfortunately his eyes didn't quite catch where the particular person went after that, much to his disappointment.

Just then, a papered letter fluttered down onto his thigh safely. Confusion crammed Venti's head while he tried to make sense of the letter that neatly laid on his thigh

"How weird"

He adjusted his sitting position better to a more comfortable and laid back one and then began carefully flipping open the letter to read it's contents on the paper.

Venti's eyes trailed along the words written on it and a sly smirk appeared on his face, An invitation to inazuma? Why not.

Liyue, had just finished a fight between osial and the people with the help of the adeptus. Of course, the main star being the infamous blonde traveler himself that took a big part in defeating the sea god.

"After all that fighting, Paimon wants to go and eat a whole buffet!" Paimon and Aether walked through the lively streets of Liyue with a relaxed attitude and vibe. Paimon chimed in "After this we'll have to go through Inazuma! But it would be tricky sinc- Traveler?" Paimon looked at Aether in worry, he had always been silent but today he seemed more down than usual.

"Is something wrong? Paimon will try and help!" Paimon reassured Aether to try and make the blonde feel better even for a slight moment.

Aether shaked his head and offered and forced small smile "It's nothing Paimon.. It's just, I still hadn't found any leads on my sister.." Aether grumbled to himself with bitterness occupied inside his mouth, everywhere they went somebody would be requesting help. It wasn't bad to help but for him to help people with such simple tasks who could do it on their own perfectly fine was.... Tiring.

Aether looked over to Paimon who smiled at him brightly, floating around him for a moment "Don't worry! Paimons sure there would be loads of leads to your sister! Teyvat is a pretty big world after all" Paimon placed both of her small hands behind her back and gave him a closed eyed smile. Soothing Aether a bit in the inside.

As Aether thought over his memories over the past months he stopped at a particular one. The conversation that he had with Amber when they were still at mondstadt. (referring to ch.1).

In the past, he would frequently feel someone taking over his body and controlling it, at first he was genuinely scared and terrified but after a while, he got used to it and didn't react when he randomly would wake up in a random area. It didn't cause him any harm since every time he did got his consciousness back all the monsters would be defeated and all would be left was loot for him to collect.

So why did he kinda felt something was missing after all this time? Was it because he didn't get possessed anymore? He must've gone insane then if he missed getting possessed.

But he had to admit.. It felt kinda nice, like someone was watching over him from afar and being his guardian...

Sure it would abruptly just take over his body in such random times that it would also caught him off guard, but sometimes he would wake up sitting down on a rock while there was a beautiful mix of copper and ruby at the sky before him.

Aether had mix feelings about this stuff, but he could confirm one thing inside his head; 'Whatever is out there is helping me out, Thanks.'

"Traveler are you coming or what!" Paimon shouted from a distance making Aether snap out of his monologuing "Be right there."

...

A youthful man with long silky brunette hair tied into a long low ponytail, he wore a brown and amber waistcoat that evened out his figure perfectly paired with slim black trouser, black dress boots and dark gloves. On his hand was a cup of green tea perfectly brewed to the right temperature where you could see little steams floating above the cup of tea.

The previous god of contracts who now took on the name Zhongli to mask his identity and blend along with the mortals residing at the Liyue Harbor. He brought his cup closer to his lips where he then blew off the steam and modestly took a sip, savoring the flavorful tea.

Infront of him was the relatively popular, Iron Tounge Tian who told and portrayed the numerous adventures and stories of the stone god to a crowd of people sitting down on a table.

Zhongli took one sip of his tea... And then another?

His amber eyes looked at the clear sky above, today wasn't that cloudy anymore after the fight with osial, aside from that there was something different and he felt it spread throughout every vein and bone inside his Body.

...

Morax was the complete opposite of himself in the present. In the past him and Barbatos would frequently fight over (Name), stating the other was spending way too much time with them. Their quarrel would mostly end with (Name) karate chopping the back of their necks so hard that they were in a coma for 143 days, both nations suprisingly not turning into a frenzy since (Name) multi tasked like a Chad and kept the people in line over the days Morax and Barbatos was unconscious.

In those days of course (Name) was not alone in keeping the people safe. Xiao, one of Morax's most beloved adeptus would be by (Name)'s side at all times, getting frequently flustered whenever they teased or praised Xiao since he would frequently save (Name) from any dangerous activities.

Morax had tried persuading (Name) into signing a contract of 'companionship' with him for eternity, But (Name) called out on his bullshit and told him what he wrote on the paper was like a marriage contract instead. This led Morax to experience the seven stages of grief, much to his disdain.

To (Name), Morax was an important companion to them, often helping and assisting them in their needs and teaching them ways they didn't knew existed inside the laws of Teyvat. But to Morax, what he felt was deeper and more complexed than what (Name) never thought to think of. Truly, he was a massive simp for (Name) only in the past (still is tbh).

But you should never get too attached to things that won't last forever. Morax's world crumbled before him when he had been informed that (Name) went missing and was never found, yet he refused to believe that. So for the past thousands of years he patiently waited at Liyue Harbor for their arrival, already planning on telling them a dozen of stories when they return back to his embrace.

And even now, as a mortal named Zhongli, he patiently waited at his usual spot where they would chatter for days non-stop, as if the world around them passed by so quickly that they couldn't grasp it in time.

Ah, his tea is running low.

Just as he was about to pour his cup to its fullest a snow white letter gently flew towards his tables direction. Zhongli acted quickly and catched the piece of paper in time out of instinct in his previous days.

Golden amber eyes inspected the words neatly written by pitch dark ink, his brows perking upwards by what was told.

"Huh, a request to meet at Inazuma?"

Zhongli muttered in a low voice, skeptical at first but then had a light bulb appear at the top of his head "Then... You must be there too right?, my dear companion."

Inazuma was a nation which locked away their people's freedom, ruled by the Raiden Shogun and their 'grace'. The people had believed that their 'grace' was the true one, not like the others who had been an Imposter all along. The two rulers had come to an agreement to proceed with the Vision Hunt Decree, where in people who had attained a vision would be immediately stripped away from its blessing.

And today was a special one. Their 'grace' had invited people around the world to join in a ceremonial festival, where people would savor the taste of their nation's meal's and drink to their hearts content, this joyfull festival was all thanks to their benevolent 'grace'.

This bold act was just to spread word throughout the world to further increase their 'grace' fame. Of course, their 'grace' never mentioned it to anyone but to themselves.

And like mice falling into a trap, less than a day Inazuma had been packed with various different individual's as they thought this was just a simple festival hosted out of the sweetness of their 'graces' heart.

And to their luck, a certain blonde traveler with his fairy companion had just arrived on boat. Their 'grace' had made sure to be on the Traveler's good side since they posed as a natural, distinguished tool for them to use.

Everything was going as planned for them.

...

So why did you have to appear infront of their 'grace'. you, who is the only true creator and God of this world stood before them.

Their grace...

No.

The Imposter looked at you dead in the eyes, as if saying 'why are you here?'. This wasn't supposed to happen, but you left them no choice, the Imposter had prepared for this kind of situation anyway.

A god can't exist if they're not breathing anyway.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm doing you a favor."

A woman wore a lilac colored kimono, her face having purple eyes and gradient light blue pupils, her braided hair reaching the same level as her calf which had a lovely shade of dark violet that becomes lighter at the ends. That woman's name is Beelzelbub.

Beelzelbub sat floating in her domain the Plane of Euthymia, created by her own consciousness. Her vessel the Raiden Shogun must be managing perfectly at Inazuma right?

...

Beelzelbub also known as Ei, couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong for a while now. She felt that something similar to a disaster was approaching on her doorstep, and she disliked everything about it.

Her plum eyes gazed at the voided sky above her, memories flooded into her mind one by one, each having a special place buried deep inside of her heart that she had hidden for a while now.

"I wonder if I continue to search through eternity, will I ever meet you again?" her words came out as a soft whisper, a message towards her grace that she deeply cared and valued for. Ei's mind was driven to many questions but all of them meeting a unfortunate dead end.

Ei was sorta like (Name)'s bodyguard hundreds of years ago, her along with Makoto would frequently visit their abode to tell tale's about youkai, the gods residing in inazuma and how Ei effortlessly massacred them all with her signature move, the Musou No Hitotachi.

But their grace didn't push her away or seemed even the slightest bit uncomfortable, yet instead they would encouraged her to share more of her bloodied stories, and that's what she loved about them. If purity was a person, then they must be standing before her right now.

Still, Ei wasn't exactly known as the 'sharing' type. She and Morax would frequently be on the verge of creating a catastrophe in their nation's whenever it came to who would get their grace's favoritism more.

But their target immediately took a huge turn when their eyes landed at Barbatos who was by their grace's side, yet he seemed to get a little way too close to their personal liking.

Their grace being a polite being didn't seem to mind Barbatos clinging onto them 24/7, you know who did mind the anemo archon's actions?

A pissed off geo dragon and a woman preparing to slice him in half using her blade.

Rumors had been reported that Barbatos body was buried but only left his head uncovered near Windrise as punishment for his actions towards their grace. A day after this took place their grace had personally came to save Barbatos and scolded the two archon's which left their expressions full of shame..

not because they were scolded but because they should've just thrown the anemo god into the abyss.

Ei softly smiled at the nostalgia hitting her hard, reminiscing the days were war had never took over and left countless of innocent lives taken. The uneasy feeling flowing through her body never leaving her mind, what could be the reason why she felt like something was wrong outside?

...

A certain someone had entered her territory, this feeling caught her off guard and slightly made her lose balance, it wasn't worry nor unease but a feeling she always felt when their presence was right next to hers.

"You'd arrived so soon? I would've waited more centuries for you."

Her feet touched the ground. It wasn't a doubt that they had finally came, she had secluded herself all this time to meditate and keep her soul away from erosion. But she couldn't help but wonder how would they look like now? It didn't matter either way.

Since she would love you no matter what form their grace took over.

...

【Follow my command】

Screams of terror engulfed the whole area with bystanders backing away from the body which oozed out a metallic crimson liquid, yet red wasnt the only liquid that seeped through their body.

A golden fluid mixed through with the crimson one, producing a beautiful yet horrid scene.

【You are one step away from successfully reincarnating.】

A/n: hehe... Orv.. Hehe

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miguelhugger2099 · 9 months ago

Note

HIII tehehe

so imagine this, miggy and wifey reader coming home from a date and reader is just giggling as she remembers him being kind to all the kids who came up to him wanting to play with him. and reader is just like 'what if i just gave him one instead'

miggy notices his wifey reader giggling to himself, mini fluff moment happens. then reader exposes herself and then

~smut~

Baby Maker

long overdue and was very much in the accidentally deleted category like everything in this ask was written it just needed an ending before POOF gone. so, a thousand apologies i could not say sorry enough nonie. i tried to write down everything i remembered so i could get it out as soon as possible. as always, if you're not satisfied, this ask can be rewritten for a third time Art: feminine.999 on instagram

After a long and tiring winter, Miguel was eager to take you out for a picnic date in the warm sun again. It was always a sweet reminder of your time as young lovers and just having the simplicity of being in each others presence along with some food. So whenever the time was right and the temperature was warm enough, Miguel would plan and whisk you away to the park at the same hill you two have decided would be your spot. "Miguel just hand me something." You smile at him and stick your hands out, the picnic blanket hanging lightly on your forearm. Miguel carries both the cooler and basket as well as your purse on his shoulder. He had only asked you to fold the blanket but you wanted to help so you held onto it instead while he insisted he had everything else. "Ah-ah." He says, shaking his head. "Tengo todo, mama. I'm okay." Obviously, he was. He could carry several more things if he wanted to but you felt really bad watching him. "Give me the keys then. I'll drive." You cross your arms. In truth, he didn't want you to drive- he's a little traditional when it comes to handling things on his own while you rested freely from responsibilities. But, he sighed and instead of protesting, he nodded. "Keys are in my back pocket." He pouts dejectedly. You found it cute and rolled your eyes. You reached around him to grab the keys from his pocket, giving a teasing squeeze to his ass which he jumped at. "Oye." He says with a playful warning tone, squinting his eyes down at you. There's a hint of a smile on his lips, as well as a spark in his eyes. "C'mon." You shrug and skip in front of him, pretending to be innocent. At the car, Miguel was finishing up putting everything in the trunk, massaging the palms of his hands to ease the strain of holding onto the handles of the cooler and basket. You place the blanket over everything, feeling Miguel kiss your temple and his hand sneaking around your waist. "Good?" You ask him, looking up and cupping his cheeks. Miguel leans into you, his hands on your hips to keep him steady. "Mhm." He hums as he looks back down at you. Miguel kisses your forehead then each of your cheeks before finishing it off with a long smooch to your lips. "Let's go home." He murmurs.

Before you could move, Miguel looks down after feeling something tap the side of his leg. A soccer ball rolled a bit before he skillfully rolled it under his foot and kicked it into the air so it landed in his hand. “Whoa!” A chorus of young high-pitched voices shouted in unison. A group of kids huddled by you two, marveling at Miguel. “How did you do that?” One boy gasps, his eyes lighting up in admiration. Miguel chuckles nervously, bashful of the attention of ten-year olds. “Ah–it’s a little tricky.” He hands the ball to a little girl and she waves it high above her head. “Can you show me?” She squeals and Miguel blinks, looking back at you. You covered your mouth to hide your giggles and smile. “Go.” You tilt your head at the group of kiddies and Miguel stumbles over his words but the kids already took your approval and began tugging on Miguel’s arm back to the grassy fields to play.

As you got home, you couldn’t bring down the smile on your face, cheeks hurting with how long you’ve grinned to yourself. You let out a couple of giggles remembering how the children flocked to him and how Miguel looked carrying two grown kids in his arms when his little team scored a goal. Not only had you felt warmth in your cheeks but in other places as well. “Why do you look like that?” Miguel asks after placing the bags down near the door. He’d organize things later. “Like what?” Miguel brings his hand to the side of his face and bunches his shoulders up, looking up at the ceiling with a mockingly dreamy sigh. “Like this!” You punch his shoulder and Miguel laughs, bringing his arms around you from behind and leaves little apology kisses along your neck. “I did not look like that.” You defend yourself. “Mmm, you did. You always look like that anyway. At least when it comes to me.” He mumbles against your ear, his breath tickling your senses and you squeal to move away from him but he just holds you closer. “So what is it this time? Was I extra good-looking today? Did I sweep my favorite girl, my wife, off her feet?” Miguel presses his lips on your cheek with a loud smooch. He couldn’t help teasing you a bit. “No, it was different!”

“Hmm, different?” “The kids at the park.” You feel Miguel pause and he lifts his head up and tilts it to the side after turning you around. “What about the kids at the park?” He asks, confusion swirling in his eyes. “You looked…good with them.” He huffs a quick laugh. “Okay?” “And I was thinking, y’know,” You giggle at the thought of Miguel picking you up, filling you up, carrying a baby–making him a father. He wanted to pick your brain. “What?” He squints down at you. “What if we had a baby?” Miguel’s eyes widened, blinking in surprise. “H-huh?” His voice went up an octave as his cheeks had gotten a little redder. You felt his hands tense around your hips and you secure your arms around his neck. “What if..I just gave you a baby?” You repeat in a hushed whisper. “With your help, of course.” You giggled and your flirting sent shivers down his spine. Subconsciously, Miguel’s eyes turn downwards to your stomach–imagining it swollen and growing with each passing day with just a few pumps of his cum. His eyes dilate and he feels the blood in his body rush straight down to his groin. “O-oh, God…” He groans, his breathing already getting heavy. “Are you sure? You want a baby? You want my baby?” He whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. You could feel his hands gripping your sundress. It fell just above your knees so Miguel was already sliding his hand up under it to feel the skin of your thigh, skin still a little warm from being in the sun. “Mhm, yes, please.” You whine, feeling the rush of arousal drench into your panties from hearing Miguel hold onto his last remaining self-restraint before he fucks you silly. At your plea, Miguel wraps his arms around you and pulls you up towards him to kiss you deeply. His lips devour yours, tongue slipping past your defenses to tangle in a dance with your own tongue. One hand pushes your head closer while his other hand runs down to grip the plump fat of your ass through the fabric of your dress. Tapping it twice, he signals you to jump in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist and he hurriedly enters the bedroom. Miguel falls on top of you, bodies bouncing on the mattress but it does nothing to stop Miguel’s desire for you.

Miguel separates from your lips, dragging his wet mouth down to your jawline and neck while his hands bunch up your dress at your waist. He brings a hand up to pull down the top half of your dress and begins to leave small love bites across your breasts before licking your nipple into his mouth. With your head rolled back, your fingers run through his hair, hips attempting to grind up for some friction but with his weight on top of you–you’re helpless. “Want me to make you a mama, huh?” He growls huskily, lifting his head up and using his fingers to flick and tweak your nipples so he could watch you screw your eyes shut and your mouth parted open as you moan his name into the air. “Want me to make you all pretty and swollen with my cum, hm? Fuck…” “Oh, God–Miggy..!” Your hands at his shoulders, arching your back off the bed and writhing underneath him in a desperate attempt to make him focus on your wet pussy. Miguel can’t help but play with your tits, groping them in his hands and squishing them. He pulls your dress further down, tracing your curves and worshiping them to engrave it in his memory. Your dress now on the floor, you lay bare with just your panties. Miguel presses down on the soaking patch between your legs and you shiver. “No me jodas, Miguel. Just fuck me.” You groan and buck your hips to grind on his fingers but he chuckles and pulls away. “Dale paciencia, mi amor.” He says even though he feels the same, his cock straining against his jeans and leaving a wet spot in his boxers from dripping precum. Miguel leans back down to kiss you, hands fumbling with the zipper and he hastily shoves his boxers and pants down his legs. Deciding he was also impatient, Miguel rips your underwear apart and he bites down hard on his lips to stop him from moaning loudly at the sight of your glistening folds. Mind cluttered with lust, you don’t even notice the tear but you do feel his hard cock rubbing between your puffy pussy lips. He sighs while he collects your slick onto his shaft, his leaking tip mixing with your juices. “Mmm, fuck yes…” He shudders, thighs flexing as his muscles tensed up. Goosebumps litter his skin and he looks down at your body. Sprawled nude on the mattress while you’re already looking fucked out of your mind when he’s barely put the tip in. His cockhead catches inside and he teasingly enters. His hand places itself on your stomach, pupils blown wide open.

“Qué pasa, mi amor? Te sientes bien? Ay, que linda eres...” He purrs as he pushes inside you. “Feel me, mama.” Each inch is slow and he makes you feel the growing stretch of his cock, veins pulsing against your throbbing walls–your cunt convulses around him to suck him deeper inside your warmth. “Mine, mine, mine. So pretty, you’ll look gorgeous when I fuck a baby into this tight pussy.” Miguel whispers against your neck. His cock twitches when you claw at his back, choking out your moans as your face flushes with a warm blush. He could feel his balls aching but he held back as best as he could. His palm feels his cock from inside you, poking through your stomach and his eyes roll back. Fuck, he’s deep. “Tell me you want it. Dímelo otra vez.” He moans, slowly rocking his hips in and out of you. Your mouth had been drooling since he teased your entrance with his cock, mind blank with nothing but the desire to be bred by your husband. With a weak and broken whimper, you begged. “Wan’ it,” You squirmed. “Breed me.” Miguel’s forehead landed on your shoulder, his body hunched over as his hand went to pull your thigh on his hip and slammed into you. You screamed and held onto him before he started pounding ruthlessly into you. You could’ve flown off the bed with just how fast and hard Miguel decided to pace at. He wraps his hands to your ass and pulls your bottom half up for easier access, dragging your wet folds up and down his cock. He pants, breathing shakily as his arms tense up–veins protruding and running down all the way to his hands. Miguel then lets go, grabbing both your legs and pushes them to your chest. He folds you in half, displaying your cunt to his eyes as his main priority. He bites his lip, grunting with every pounding he gives you. His knees dig into the mattress to anchor himself as he jackhammers his twitching cock into your warm wetness. The arousal gushing out of you and rolling down between your asscheeks and onto the bed. “You’ll be such a good mama.” He moans, curling his hips so his cock arches right into your sweet spot. Your cunt squeezes around him tightly, head thrown back while your nails rake his back in streaks of red, imprinting yourself on him. You’re a squealing mess, tears in your eyes and you could barely feel your legs anymore. Face morphed with pure ecstasy as you feel each drag of his cock empty and refill you over and over again. His bulbous tip nudges against your cervix and twitches against your velvety walls and your moans turn shamelessly pornographic-like. Meanwhile Miguel gets himself off to the thought of you creaming on his cock, his balls unleashing his cum straight into your womb and getting you pregnant. He huffs, ears ringing as his mind only focuses on breeding you. He thinks to himself that once isn’t enough. Just one measly pump of his seed won’t be enough to bear you with his child. He’d have to do it more than once. He had to see his thick load seeping out of your puffy pussy folds. He wanted to see you filled to the brim, pumped full to make sure you’ll carry. He wanted to see your belly grow, creating a being that was the perfect combination of you and him.

His mind spurs him on, mouth open as he spews his own moans and praising your tight cunt at how well it takes him. He’s pussy drunk, hips smacking and his balls slapping against you, his body pressing your legs tighter against yourself and ravaging himself into you with heavy thrusts. He grits his teeth when you scream and clench around him, pussy fluttering as you feel the release of an orgasm shoot through your body. Your legs quiver as Miguel holds onto you, eyes rolling back and drool escaping off the side of your mouth. Your cum drips into a puddled mess below you and Miguel’s orgasm follows right after you, drilling his cock until he’s balls deep. His cock twitches with each spurt of warm cum shooting out his tip, plugging into your womb. You take deep breaths but it seems impossible when Miguel keeps your legs up. His head is hung while he waits until your cunt milks every last drop of his seed. You weakly reach up and cup his cheek to catch his attention. He meets your gaze and you give a tired smile and pull him down for a kiss. Miguel eases your legs down and kisses you back. His hands rubs comfortingly around the dip of your waist. For a moment you feel at peace, a bliss of entering a new era with him. The peace lasts for just a moment. Miguel leaves your lips and twirls your body on your stomach, lifting your bottom half up so your ass hangs in the air. In the process, his dick leaves your warmth and it leaves you feeling empty. You gasp and grip onto the sheets, head turning to try and see Miguel. “‘M not done.” He mumbles. “You wanted me to breed you so I’ll fuckin’ breed you.” His words are slurred but his mind is made up. He angles his cock to your wet cunt again, smearing the combined arousal around with his tip as if painting on a canvas. Instinctively, you moan and wiggle your hips back, pussy swelling up with desire again. Miguel smirks and pushes back inside and the stretch is familiar and comforting. Shuddering, your pussy welcomes him back by squeezing tightly, sucking him in, and he hisses. “Uyy, fuck…” He sighs. He starts off slow, bumping you forward with easy and short thrusts, feeling himself slowly grow hard again inside you. Your eyes flutter close, face smushed into the pillow and drooling on the case of it as your body lurches forward. Miguel increases his speed, one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip to bring your ass back onto his cock. His balls smack your clit for added stimulation and it makes you jump from the electric pleasure zipping straight to your core. “Oh my God! Miguel!” You whine, heat flushing on your cheeks, Miguel’s dick reaching different places in a different position. The pain of sensitivity washes away, your pussy now craving the hot sticky liquid of your husband. Miguel looms over you, bending one leg to keep him steady as he keeps drilling deeper into you. His lips leave wet and sloppy kisses to your shoulder, panting and sharing warm breaths with you while your bodies buck up against one another.

“That feel good, mama? Hm?” He moans, burying himself in your neck while his hips snap up against yours, ass slapping and rippling with each thrust.

“Yes! Yes! Mhm!” Your voice turns high pitched, eyes glassy and unfocused while being bred like a bitch in heat. Still, you took pride in it to be the one to carry his child, to have him use your hole as his cumdump and take him however many times as long as you keep feeling like this. You’d gladly take him over and over again.

“You’ll give me another baby after this one, right mama?” He hums, tongue licking your neck and nipping at your skin. “Say you will, querida. Say you’ll let me put a baby in you again–we’ll have a big family.” He whines, humping your ass in quick strokes. “Say it, say it, say it, please, please.”

Miguel could feel himself getting closer. He could feel you getting close too with the familiar pulse and clench of your walls around his throbbing cock. His balls are wet with your slick, your wetness never ending.

“Yes! I will! Promise! Just–please!” Your words are barely audible with your face pushed into the pillow but Miguel is satisfied with your cockdrunk state. His cock engorges with the thought of a big family, you giving him as many kids as he wants and him watching it all happen once he spills as much as he wants in your willing cunt.

His hips go out of rhythm, he chases his high of impregnating you for a second time and his cock twitches violently before squirting ropes of cum to paint your walls white. He doesn’t stop pumping, wanting to feel you cream on his cock so badly even when the overstimulation makes him whimper.

With a cry of his name, your pussy pulses around him and you feel his previous load drip out of you to make space for his new one. The liquid trickles down your thighs and your shake as the orgasm is ripped out of you. When you stiffen, Miguel drags his cock out from you and flips you on your back again.

Barely giving you time to recover, Miguel lifts you up from the bed and your back makes contact with the cool wall. He holds you securely under your ass and you automatically wrap your legs around his waist once more. Your arms are around his neck, hands in his hair and Miguel captures your lips in a messy kiss. His hips rut into you to slide his dick back inside which resounds out in rapid smacks of skin on skin contact.

You’re bouncing on his dick, hair tangled and becoming staticy from your head rubbing on the wall. His thrusts slow to a stop as he focuses on making out with you, tongue dancing with yours and exploring your mouth with a low moan of pleasure.

Teeth clack against each other and you roll your pelvis to regain the friction. Pussy clenches around him desperately and Miguel lets out a guttural groan, separating from your lips to bite your chest. Your back lifts off the wall and you push your tits to his mouth, Miguel eagerly sucking your nipples and switching between left and right.

He angles up and up, feeling your walls slide on him like some silicon dildo. He gropes your ass in his palms, kneading and spreading them apart while your slick sounds out with a sloppy, dirty and wet mess. Miguel shoves you harder against the wall, pounding your body in rhythmic thrusts that bang loud enough for a passerby to hear. His back is covered with your nails marks.

You’re screaming, you’re so fucking sensitive but it’s just so hot how he just keeps going. There’s a fire that’s ignited in you–some sick form of pleasure that you get off on your husband pumping you full of semen. It gave you pleasure just how badly he wanted this–wanted you. You can’t help but squeeze around him, pussy unable to handle the bundle of overstimulated nerves so it spasms.

Jaw slacked and spit dribbling down your chin with your tongue lolled out your mouth–you can barely form a thought when Miguel’s fucking them out of you. You didn’t expect for Miguel to jump at the chance at having a baby but right now, it felt so worth it. His teeth bites at your nipple, tongue rolling around the bud and devouring it like you were the sweetest thing he’s tasted.

“Miguell…! I’m so–mmph!–fuck, I’m close!” You pull on his strands of hair and he lets go of your nipple. Miguel leaves his forehead on your chest, breath fanning your skin while he bucks into you. He cums first, his essence spilling out and dribbling back down on his cock and he grunts with annoyance. His annoyance doesn’t last long when you climax just a few seconds after with a squeal. You ankles lock tightly around his waist to push him to the hilt to keep the rest of his cum–old and new–plugged inside. Miguel shudders and moves you off the wall and back to the edge of the bed.

Miguel lays you down on the mattress with a huff of exhaustion, becoming sleepy after three orgasms. Still, he turns you on your side, lifting your leg up so he could slide in his cock between your twitching and sensitive folds.

You strangle out a whine, eyes blinking in a dazed haze. You reach around you to grip his hair and plead for mercy. You don’t know how you even lasted this long.

“Thought you wanted a baby. I’m making sure we’re having that baby.” He mumbles against your neck, humming when he sheathes inside you again. Your cunt spasms, fluttering and pulsating from overstimulation. However, Miguel is gentle this time.

He grinds behind you in easy thrusts. You feel your heart stutter in your chest, turning your head around with your mouth slightly parted, whining out your moans. Miguel kisses you, his hand gripping your thigh tightly to uphold it while his cock slips in and out of you. The evidence of his essence drips out of you and leaves a shiny coat and the milky white circle at the base of his shaft prominent from previous orgasms.

You weakly buck your ass back to go in time with his thrusting. You break from the kiss, string of spit connecting on your wet lips before you rest your head back on the pillow, heart thumping wildly. Miguel goes back to kissing your neck and shoulders.

“Asi es, mami,” He whispers huskily. “One more. Can you do that for me? Jus’ one more.” His hips roll in circles and his hand goes underneath you to reach around to your front, fingers finding your clit. He rolls it between his fingers and circles around it softly with just the right amount of pressure that he knows you like. Your hips stutter and feel another climax coming, but this time a little weaker than the rest.

“Mig…Miggy…” You whine and he shushes you gently. His fingers leave your clit and he rests his hand on your stomach, thumb rubbing up and down the small pudge of tummy where his baby will grow inside you.

“I know, mi reina, I know. I love you so much. I love you. I love you so damn much.” He whispers sweetly, Miguel kissing behind your ear. His words of affection make you whimper.

“I love you too.”

Miguel winds up cumming inside you for the final time, emptying out all of his energy and hugging you tight to his chest while you squeal and cum right after him. He keeps you close, putting your leg down and curling his arms around your waist to spoon you.

Your breathing slowly evens out, exhaustion catching up to you. Miguel pulls out, each drag shocking your nerves until he leaves with a wet plop, strings of cum connecting you both together until it breaks. He turns you around to face him and brings your head against his chest. You hear his heart hammering against his ribcage and you weakly hug him back. You feel full just like he told you he would do to you.

You can’t help but feel content, excitement blooming in your chest for the next chapter in your life with your husband. He's warm.

“We’re gonna be parents.” You whisper softly. Miguel’s lips kiss your hair and he lifts your face up to him. He continues to pepper your cheeks and forehead with kisses.

“We’re gonna be parents.” He echos. “Thank you.”

You couldn’t ask for a better man to start a family with.

A/N: me when i enforce my breeding kink miguel agenda

#nonie requests ˚ʚ♡ɞ��#requests ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader

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impishjesters · 1 year ago

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Touch starved Jax x Reader (SFW version)

warning(s): suggestive themes, nonsexual physical intimacy note(s): it's not mentioned but any physical contact is consensual, you'd immediately back off if he showed any real discomfort. A/N: I originally had a more NSFW version of this in mind.. but I decided to do a more SFW version for now with suggestive themes. I could be persuaded to do a more NSFW version though..

Jax has been stuck here for god knows how long, he’s met people who came and those who “left” and never got attached or close

until you showed up…

friendship has him confused and conflicted because it’s so much more handsy than he remembers offline

you’d been far more touchy than the others, holding his hand and pulling him along to wherever just to keep hanging on him

throwing your legs over his when the two of you were chilling, or even lying across his legs

climbing on him and then having the audacity to make him give you a piggyback ride??

Ragatha tried to warn you so many times in the beginning that testing him like that was a really bad idea

not that it stopped you, whether it was stupidity or bravery you kept touching him, and honestly? as much as it bugged him in the start, now he looks forward to it

no one says anything, but he kind of looks like a dejected puppy when you pull away from him after being glued to him for more than ten minutes

like to say the two of you were warm is a stretch, but it just feels warm ya know?

and the only other times he’s really touched someone or been touched was to shove someone, throw their arm around them, and yank them along. small stuff ya know?

so when you suddenly just drop into his lap one day and cuddle into him? he’s absolutely shook

if others are around when you do this be prepared to get chewed out later, but first, he’s gotta stop blue screening and actually remember the two of you aren’t alone

later though? oh, he’s gonna complain that you can’t just do that with others around, there might be a tiny argument but once it’s settled he’ll tell you to do it again…

if there’s this much touching and contact as friends..what about if the two of you were dating??

when that day does hit, Jax..is vastly unprepared

cuddling and hand-holding get cranked up from a 5 to a 12, even in front of the others (honestly half of them saw this coming? if anything they were grateful the two of you stopped beating around the bush already. except Kinger, he still seems confused every time he sees it)

the back and shoulder rides don’t change much except there’s definitely a hand or two sliding further up the leg (thumb stroking over your ankle or calf) or directly on the ass—what don’t blame him for enjoying the squish

the thing that really makes the difference from friends to lovers? kissing

(well okay there’s verbal change but this is about physical contact, that’s a whole other can of worms he’s unprepared for)

Jax has kissed before—just not while here…and sure his teeth might make things a lil tricky but the two of you are very quick to learn how to work around that wink wink

now Jax actually likes taking a break from following the idiots around to just laze in his or your bed with you laying on him or limbs tangled and just kissing. doesn’t even have to be on the lips, face, hands, arms, man has no limits (he's eating this shit up)

man is not ready for those little laze dates when they turn into any form of heavy petting… let’s just say he’s absolute putty in your hand..

#tadc #the amazing digital circus x reader #the amazing digital circus #jax #tadc jax #jax x reader

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targaryenluvs · 11 months ago

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— love, and other things

pairings: clarisse la rue x aphrodite!daughter!reader x luke castellan

summary: luke and clarisse attempt to ease you into the concept of you all hanging out, with one end goal, the three of you happily together, which you practically already are.

warnings: luke and clarisse r kinda oblivious, reader is loving this, fluff, worry, kisses n hugs, confessions, luke is lovesick, attackdogs clair and luke

a/n: part one here! since everyone liked the concept, here’s part two! based on the reaction i’ve toned it down, sorry to anyone offended ❤️

tags: @onlyreadz @iluvthemoonandthestars @yourmom2909 @quinnsadilla @littlemiss-fanficlover @shark1008 @prwttiestbunny @urbisexualfriend @symp4nat @dracoslovergirl @slaggylemon @readerreadereater @luv-mia @theworldscalamity @madelainelupin16 @63angel @lildippersblog @ella33 @mira-belcul18 @humongoustacosalad @yourfavmiki @karslyn @sincerely-silk @poppysrin @leahthesimp @yourestargir1 @a2004sworld @lafemmii @liballer @dxddyissue @ahh-chickens @hervegasbaby @love-swimmingwolf @chickenking067 @girl-how-tf-this-shit-work @chr1sgirl4life @dorcas4meadowes @greenlucky7 @zealousenthusiastcheesecak @jonmartinsworldfr @whoemj @dracoslovergirl @stars4salem @csifandom @livil589 @4cepink @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @abbofff @trinkettray @perseus-jackass @kyleebilinski @angelic-delilah @voidashh @craftypastadeanbailiff @jemsyg @babysharkdodorodododo @brook8xoxo @marsbars09 @babyzzlove @lorarri @jadahxx @slutcoresblog

it started off slow of course.

they didn’t want to bombard you with the idea, so they settled with hanging out as a trio more often. it was basically normal at this point. you’d always be hanging out with eachother, talking, laughing, it was great.

you loved having your girlfriend and bestfriend get along finally, being able to hang out with both of them. but the feelings you had stirred confusion in you, and you couldn’t get rid of them. you’d always find yourself debating whether or not you wanted to tell luke about how you felt, but then the guilt would start up again. you had a girlfriend.

luke and clarisse could tell you were acting oddly, but they couldn’t tell why. were you nervous? uncomfortable? it was practically driving them crazy, little did they know you’d finally worked up the nerve to speak up.

yourself and clarisse were sat near the strawberry fields, your head in her lap as you continued to rant about your favourite book. you looked around and realised that the two of you were alone, which was rare. it was now or never, “clair,” she hummed, looking back towards you, “i, can i tell you something?” you sat up, straightening your back, “i think, i think i like luke.”

clarisses heart had been beating in her chest the second you wanted to tell her something, at your words she smiled, luke was going to freak out. “okay.” your eyes were so close to popping out of your head. clarisses temper was known, on a bad day just crossing her path could cause you to have your head shoved in the floor.

and you’d just told her you have a crush on someone else and she was smiling at you. who on earth was this and what had they done to your girlfriend?

“okay? that’s it?” clarisse took your hands into hers gently, “luke likes you too, and i don’t mind it. i— i might like him too. we didn’t want you to be scared or pressured. if you want us all to be together, than that’s your choice. i’m not going anywhere, and if luke is your friend then he’ll accept it.” you sighed, and clarisse held her breath, “how is this going to work?”

for about an hour yourself and clarisse talked about how your relationship would be, what would change, and what would stay. overall, it was just loving an extra person. of course it would be tricky at times, but as long as you were together you could figure it out. now everything aside, it was time to screw with luke.

luke would walk you back to your cabin at night all the time, obviously today would be no different. but what he didn’t know was that clarisse was waiting inside. the idea was basically to mess with him and flirt, but his soft smile and gorgeous eyes attacked your heart.

climbing up the stairs together, your hand reached out for his, stopping luke promptly as he looked at you, “just wait a second,” he grinned, “are you trying to confess your undying love?” the giggle was quiet but heard as heat rose to luke’s cheeks, “well actually,” his eyes grew a bit as he laughed uncomfortably, “i do, well i love you yes as a friend but i like you a lot. i never really admitted it to myself let alone you, but i told clarisse and she told me you liked me back. even before the two of us began dating. i’m sorry for making you wait, it was probably torture.”

he squeezed your hands, “it was. i tried my best to be happy for you but all i could think about was how much i wanted to be in her position. and then out of nowhere, i realised how gorgeous she was. the two of you, i’ve never felt like this before.” you smiled, “well we can all figure it out together no?” you stepped closer to him, hands on his face, smiling at the evident blush, “can i kiss you?” he smiled, “please.”

the kiss is sweet, and everything luke could have wished for, he’d been waiting for so long and he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to let go. your hand reached to his neck, pulling him even closer, the door opening had you pulling back revealing a grinning clarisse. “i take it you didn’t go with the plan?” luke scoffed, “plan? what plan?” the two of laughed as you all made your way inside, “she was supposed to flirt with you and make you flustered. you are blushing so i wouldn’t say it’s a total fail.”

“so, what are we?” luke questioned the two of you, you shrugged your shoulders. clarisse laid down on the bed with you next to her, and on your right, luke. feet dangling off the bed and all staring up at the ceiling, “together, i think that’s all that matters.” clarisse replied as you frowned, “but what are people going to say?” luke and clarisse got up at the same time, anger filling the both of them at the idea of you being made fun of, not them, you. “if anyone has the stupidity to even comment on it, they’ll be in the infirmary for a month.” luke smiled, “no one’s going to say anything, because we won’t let them. don’t worry your head about it.” you smiled, kissing clarisse on instinct. “don’t third wheel me now.” luke smirked as you rolled your eyes, “clarisse is right there.” the two inched closer as you laid back down.

you couldn’t actually believe what you were seeing, yourself, clarisse and luke, in your bed, strewn about and happy. all interacting, all together. luke’s head was about to explode due to the fact that he had two amazing girls, all to himself.

the rest of the night you laughed and talked, your cabin siblings joining in as you all stayed up.

speaking about love and other things.

there’s been a lot of talk obviously and i understand where everyone is coming from so i toned it down and will continue to do so.

i’m sorry to anyone that was offended beforehand, i totally understand what you’re speaking on and what you think. to everyone who was excited for the previous version, please understand why i changed it. i love writing, but not at the expense of others.

- kira

#clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x fem!reader #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue x reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson x fem!reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson fic #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackon and the olympians #clarisse x luke x reader

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rafesbabygirlx · 2 months ago

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Meant To Be

Masterlist

Drew Starkey x BSF Reader

Summary: you and Drew have known each other a while you didn’t know he had feelings for you too.

A/N: inspired by the middle photo… naturally

Warnings: heavy make out, smut (a few positions, oral m&f receiving)

You’ve known Drew for two years, hanging out whenever you’re both free. You live in LA but work part-time in NY, so schedules can be tricky, but you make it work. You’ve flown out to support him at Outer Banks sets and premieres, including the season 4 one.

When you arrived, Drew and his dad met you for lunch at the hotel. You’re close to his family and the OBX cast, so you felt comfortable. As you finished your makeup, Drew, quicker than you, stayed and watched you, but you brushed off his lingering stares. You’ve had feelings for him but never expected anything, not knowing he felt the same.

After the premiere, neither of you wanted the night to end, so you found a quiet booth at the hotel bar. You talked about work and his upcoming Queer premiere. Before long, you were sitting close, smiling at each other. Drew finally said, “Feel free to push me away, but I need to get this off my chest.” Before you could respond, he kissed you. When he pulled back, you grabbed his hair at the back of his and kissed him again.

You stumble into your hotel. Never breaking the kiss. You pull his suit jacket off and he drops the strap of the dress of your shoulders. Kissing down your neck sucking on spot underneath your ear. You make your way over to the bed. He lifts you and tosses you softly in the middle of it.

He’s hovering over you giving you kisses on the neck again. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.” You smile, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. “You don’t how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

You kiss him deeply, traveling to his ear, nibbling on it, down his neck and stomach until you reach the waistline of his boxers. Looping your fingers over it pulling them down. You grab his cock eagerly, dribbling a wad of spit onto the tip and begin pumping. He sits up to get a better look.

Still stroking you being to lick the tip, teasing him. Tasting the pre cum sitting on top. He grunts and bucks his hips up at the feeling. You begin to bob your head up and down on his shaft. Moaning sending vibrations through him. He takes your hair in his hand. “That’s it baby girl, you know exactly how to make me feel good.”

You work faster as he grunts lowly above you. As soon as he’s close he pulls you into a kiss. It’s passionate and feverish. Like he’ll die if he stops. You lay back down and he slips your dress down your body. it was backless so you didn’t have on a bra. Leaving you in just your underwear that leave nothing to the imagination. “It’s almost like you planned this.” He takes a second to admire you before mirroring your actions from before ending at the hemline of your thong.

Yanking them off he dives right in. Licking up to your clit sucking on it while his fingers tease your entrance. Coating them in your arousal and sliding two in. He’s pumping at a racing pace mouth still on your clit. You are squirming and moaning. “Drew, please… fuck me already.”

He releases his finger putting them in his mouth as the other hand pulls his boxers completely off. He strokes himself a couple of times before lining up to you. He slowly pushes in, you’re so wet there’s no resistance.

“Oh fuck,” you say in unison. Pulling a giggle from both of you before you gasp as he relentlessly thrusts into you. You grab his biceps trying to steady yourself. “That fucking feel good baby?” His words make your eyes rolls back. “Oh my god, yes, fuck yes Drew!”

He wraps his arms around your head and you scratch harshly down his back. The chamber he created around you intensifies all the sounds in the room. Your skin slapping together, the wet sound of his thrusts going in and out, both of your moans. He kept whispering sweet words in your ear. “You’re so fucking perfect. You don’t know what you do to me.”

You feel the band in your stomach about to bust. “Come for me pretty girl.” You don’t need a second longer before you’re arching into him and coming. He follows right behind you. He lays down next you caressing your face and you fall asleep in his arms while he kisses your shoulder.

#drew starkey #drew starkey smut #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron #rafe smut #rafe x reader #my works ✨

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pluckyredhead · 1 year ago

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What the heck is going on in Batman/Gotham War?

I know a lot of people in fandom are confused and/or upset about what's been going on in Gotham War - why is Bruce acting like this, what is Selina doing, why are the Batkids taking sides. So I figured I would fill you all in on what's been happening in Batman and Catwoman since Chip Zdarsky took over with Batman #125, because it has been BONKERS and I have been enjoying the hell out of it.

Below, the quickest summary I can manage while still being comprehensive:

[Content warning: mental illness, abuse, suicide (...ish), LOTS of violence.]

The first arc, "Failsafe," starts with Batman and Robin (Tim, in this case) in pursuit of the Penguin, who is on a killing spree. In the very first issue, Tim gets shot in the neck. Bruce has to take him to the hospital, but first he has to strip him out of his costume and put him in civilian clothes to preserve their secret identities, triggering memories of when he had to do the same to Jason's dead body. There is LITERALLY NO PURPOSE TO ANY OF THIS EXCEPT WHUMP (Tim is back in action with a fucking BAND-AID on his neck very quickly), which is how I knew this was going to be good. Beat Tim up! Make Bruce cry about Jason! I want these men to suffer! (There is also SO much to be said about Tim's own Poor Mental Health Decisions throughout the entirety of Zdarsky's run so far, but that's for a separate meta post.)

Anyway. Bruce leaves Tim in the hospital and goes to confront Penguin, who turns out to be dying of mercury poisoning. He kills himself and makes it look like Batman did it, forcing Bruce to flee. (Penguin actually faked his death and is alive elsewhere under an alias, but that's not important right now.)

In the Batcave, a massive robot called Failsafe emerges. Failsafe attacks Bruce, who usually eats killer robots for breakfast, but he can't seem to get the upper hand on this one. Duke, Cass, Steph, and Dick show up to help, but Failsafe beats them all too, while Tim gets an injured Bruce away and to the Batcave.

In the Batcave, Bruce puts on a weird purple and red Batman costume and a new personality takes over: the Batman of Zur-En-Arrh. Now, Zur has a very complicated history going back to 1958, but for the purposes of this story, all you need to know is that when he was younger, Bruce decided it would be good to hang out in a sensory deprivation chamber until his mind created a secondary personality, Zur, who is essentially Batman without Bruce. Zur is pure efficiency who does not care about anything but the mission. He created Failsafe, for one purpose: to kill Bruce if Bruce ever crossed the line and killed someone. And right now, Failsafe believes that Bruce killed Penguin.

Failsafe nearly kills Tim, which Zur is okay with writing off as an expendable soldier's death, but this causes Bruce to take control of the body back because "Tim isn't my soldier...HE'S MY SON!" (Tim Nation, why are you not ALL OVER this story? It's catnip.)

Babs calls in the JLA (SuperBat fans, you will also want to read Bruce's adoring description of Clark when he shows up), but of course Failsafe has kryptonite, which it stabs Clark with. The League dumps Clark and Bruce into the JLA jet and distracts Failsafe while Tim flies Clark and Bruce to the Fortress of Solitude. Bruce tells Tim he's a good boy and jumps out of the jet and into the ocean so that Tim and Clark will be safe from Failsafe. He's rescued by Arthur, who takes him to Atlantis to heal. THIS HAS ALL ONLY BEEN FOUR ISSUES SO FAR.

Two weeks later, Bruce wakes up to discover that Failsafe has taken over Gotham. He teleports up to the JLA Watchtower on the moon to lure Failsafe there, then blows the Watchtower up, hoping to catch a ride on one of the Javelins. But Failsafe has already destroyed them, so Bruce RIDES A BOOSTER ROCKET BACK TO EARTH, OXYGEN MASK CLAPPED OVER HIS FACE. The whole thing has some powerful Scooty-Puff Jr energy.

The only tricky part is reentry, when Bruce starts to burn up - his costume is fireproof, of course, but his chin is exposed. SO HE TAKES OFF HIS LITTLE BAT-PANTIES AND PUTS THEM OVER HIS HEAD. I swear to god this happened in a real comic book and the entire "Bruce falls off the moon and survives" sequence is utterly delectable goofy nonsense and I truly cannot recall a time I've had more fun reading a comic book.

Anyway, Bruce lands directly outside of the Fortress, BECAUSE OF COURSE HE DOES, and runs inside to find Clark and Tim. While Clark keeps Failsafe distracted, Bruce and Tim program nanobots to inject compassion into Failsafe. I SWEAR TO GOD. They zap him with the nanobots, but Failsafe pulls a high tech space gun out of the Fortress and shoots Bruce with it anyway, apparently disintegrating him. Tim falls to his knees in the snow, weeping. TIM NATION, WAKE UP, THIS RUN IS CANDY FOR YOU.

But of course Bruce isn't dead! That wasn't a killing gun, it was a "zap you into another dimension" gun!!! THAT was the compassion!

So Bruce finds himself in a dystopian alternate Gotham, and I'll be honest, I didn't love this arc ("The Bat-Man of Gotham") as much as I loved "Failsafe," but it has its moments. In this Gotham, Bruce Wayne is dead, so Regular Bruce is like "Oh boy, time to Batman this place up." Also he's plagued by hallucinations of a skeleton version of Jim Gordon who is still wearing a trench coat AND A MUSTACHE. Like I said, it has its moments.

This Gotham is controlled by Arkham, and anyone who is diagnosed as "crazy" is locked up. A new villain, Red Mask, is in charge, and Selina and a Venomed-up Harvey Dent work for him. Bruce teams up with an orphan kid (of course) named Jewel and goes after Red Mask, who turns out to be some guy named Darwin Halliday and ALSO...the Joker. Well, he's the Joker who hasn't been Jokerized yet. But one time he breathed in some chemicals that let him see into the main reality of the DCU (???) and glimpsed Regular Joker and now he wants to build an interdimensional machine to mentally connect with Regular Joker across universes which he assumes will make him insane, NATURALLY.

Bruce attacks Red Mask, who sics a Venomed-up Ghost Maker on him. Ghost Maker cuts off Bruce's right hand. Bruce cauterizes it with an electroshock machine and ties some spikes on it (SERIOUSLY) and goes after Red Mask again. Meanwhile Red Mask mentally connects with an alternate dimensional Joker...but instead of it driving Red Mask insane, he's what drives the Joker insane. Desperate to become the Joker somehow, anyhow, he jumps into the interdimensional portal, and Morally Dubious Alternate Universe Selina kicks Bruce in after him.

Meanwhile, Tim is in full "I KNOW I SAW HIM DIE BUT HE'S NOT DEAD" mode, which: bless. So he teams up with Jon Kent, which...gosh, what an astonishingly boring duo. I love Jon, I love Tim, they're perfectly nice and normal around each other, I'm falling asleep. Anyway Tim fights Toyman for a while and then makes a VERY stupid costume where the entire torso is a giant light-up R, because "I want him to see that Robin is coming to save him." GET A THERAPY, TIM.

Bruce finds himself first in the Michael Keaton Batman universe, then the Red Rain universe, BTAS, Batman Beyond (yes I know they're the same universe but I guess he goes there twice), Silver Age, Kingdom Come, Gotham by Gaslight, and more. Adam West gives him a utility belt. The Dark Knight Returns Bruce builds him a robot hand.

Finally Bruce and Red Mask reach the end of the multiverse, which is a Gotham asteroid floating in space, surrounded by giant Jokerized sharks. LUCKILY BRUCE HAS BAT-SHARK REPELLANT IN HIS ADAM WEST UTILITY BELT!!! Honestly this whole arc was worth it for that moment.

Bruce knocks Red Mask out, but now he's stuck. He has a device from Batman Beyond Bruce to get home, but it's only good for one person, and he can't leave Red Mask there to die. Of course, that's when Tim shows up in his stupid giant glowing R costume and they hug it out, thereby fulfilling but also compounding all of Tim's issues since 1989.

Anyway things are fine now, right? Sure, Bruce is hallucinating that his family is on fire, and the Zur personality is not going neatly back into the box where it's been all these years, and he still has a robot hand (Damian, hilariously, immediately announces that he wants one too), but he's FINE. He is a little bit mad at Selina, because she broke out of jail (she was in jail because she killed her fuckbuddy because he was trying to kill Bruce), and also because she didn't tell him Penguin was alive and that would have stopped Failsafe, and also because Other Selina kicked into another universe. Selina, very fairly, is like "Well I'm not responsible for Other Selinas and also maybe don't build robots to kill yourself with and not tell anyone about them???"

THEN we got Knight Terrors, the summer event in which a villain called Nightmare caused everyone to fall asleep and, uh, have nightmares. Bruce, specifically, had a nightmare that he met an eight-year-old version of himself that vomited up a man-sized bat with a gun for a head. I laughed SO HARD. Bruce also had his body borrowed by Deadman for the duration of the event, so while he endured the psychological toll of nightmares like everyone else, he also endured the physical toll of everything Deadman was doing PLUS the mental toll of being aware of what was happening in the waking world even though he couldn't control his body. As soon as the event was over, he lapsed into a coma so that his body could get some damn rest.

Okay. Now we're up to Gotham War.

(I know, I know. But for all of you who are like "How could Bruce do this???" about Gotham War...*points up* THAT'S HOW. HE IS NOT WELL.)

Bruce awakens from his coma and IMMEDIATELY decides to Fight A Crime even though Babs is like "Maybe don't?" But he can't find any crime, which is...weird. His kids confirm that Gotham's been super quiet since he's been out.

Selina hears that Bruce is awake and is like okay, time to pay the piper. She calls all of the Bats to a meeting and explains that she's the reason crime has been down. See, villains like Joker and Two-Face always have goons, right? But what if the goon supply dried up because the goons have better jobs? So Selina has trained All The Goons In Gotham to be...cat burglars. No violence, no stealing from anyone who can't afford it. More importantly, no helping Scarecrow or whoever commit mass murder.

All of the Batkids are like "Hmm...I feel uncertain about this, but it's working...I don't know what to think..." except for Jason, who thinks it's hilarious and is instantly Team Selina, and Damian, who is staunchly Team Bruce. Bruce, meanwhile, is like "No! NO! THIS IS CRIMES, AND CRIMES IS BAD!" and Selina's like "I mean, robbing from the rich is basically a victimless crime" and Bruce screams, I swear to god, "MY PARENTS WERE 'RICH'!" Inexplicable scare quotes and all. I laughed so hard.

Anyway this is the basis for Gotham War and it is endlessly hilarious to me because everyone in the Batfamily is supposed to be a genius and yet not one single character has pointed out that:

There are jobs the goons could be doing that AREN'T illegal. It's not just violent crime vs. nonviolent crime. There are in fact many other jobs! I am POSITIVE Gotham needs construction workers and hospital orderlies. (Yes, I know it's hard for people with records to get jobs. That isn't addressed.)

Being Batman is SUPER ILLEGAL.

They are all so stupid.

Selina's plan doesn't even work, because one of her thieves gets killed by a rich person defending their home, and Bruce is like "See? This is why crime is bad!" and like...pretty much snaps. He's particularly fixated on Jason, even (rhetorically) threatening to kill him, which is when the other kids jump into the fray on Jason's side, all except for Damian, who like I said is firmly Team Bruce. (This makes complete sense to me, Damian has been dealing with severe trauma and isolation pretty much nonstop since 2018 and he and Bruce have finally made a tenuous peace, so I can understand why he wouldn't want to lose that.)

Also, Vandal Savage buys Wayne Manor. It's so random and SO funny.

OKAY BATMAN #138. Bruce has kidnapped Jason and injected him with a variation on fear toxin which will be triggered whenever Jason's adrenaline spikes, the idea being that Jason is no longer capable of killing - but in practice, Jason is no longer capable of even getting up off the floor, he's so terrified. I want to be really, really clear here: Bruce is like 90% Zur here, and the only reason he goes this route and doesn't kill Jason is because the remaining 10% that's still Bruce loves Jason and is trying to help him. He's just incapable of good or humane help because Zur literally can't do feelings.

Dick knows something is up and is sneaking around Bruce's Secret Other House We've Never Heard Of to figure out what it is. Damian attacks him to protect Bruce. Tim attacks Damian so that Dick can do what he needs to do, and handcuffs Damian to a parking meter:

THERE IS SO MUCH TO UNPACK HERE!!! TIM GO TO THERAPY! DAMIAN GO TO THERAPY! EVERYONE GO TO THERAPY!!!!!

Dick figures out what Bruce did to Jason (it's on the computer, for...some reason?) and absolutely loses his shit on Bruce, beating the crap out of him, which tbh is the only thing that felt off to me in this run because frankly I don't think Dick likes Jason that much. BUT WHATEVER.

Tim pulls Dick off of Bruce. Bruce leaves them both tangled in a net and flees as the cops approach. Zur's like "Good, fuck 'em" in Bruce's head, because the cops will expose Dick, Tim, and Damian's secret identities and Bruce will be free of the dead weight of a family, but the little bit of Bruce still in there throws Dick a batarang so he can free them all in time.

Then Bruce leaves. Damian is devastated.

I WILL NEVER RECOVER FROM THIS PAGE. Damian really thought he could have Bruce's love and loyalty if he turned on everyone else! Tim is going to be a therapy dog to a Wayne even if he has to settle for the one he doesn't like! That unresisting, blank hug made me SCREAM when I turned the page. Incredible. (Also the art fucking S L A P S, god bless you Jorge Jimenez.)

ALSO it turns out that Selina's second in command has been Vandal Savage's daughter Scandal Savage the whole time and they are turning Selina's cat burglar army into their own personal army WHOOPS. (This also feels very OOC for Scandal but at this point I trust Zdarsky with my life so let's see where things go.)

SO THAT'S WHAT'S GOING ON IN GOTHAM WAR. TL;DR:

Bruce is unhinged because he nearly died like 19 times in a week and it unlocked the smaller, meaner purple Batman that lives inside him.

Selina is unaware that you can get money legally.

Tim is going to have a nervous breakdown if he can't fix someone, ANYONE.

Damian needs a hug but ideally from someone he actually likes this time.

Jason is so scared.

THE END.

#batman #bruce wayne #gotham war #meta #i can't believe how long this is

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