#the ones with the big metal stars with their names in it

[tonycries]

SCREEN QUEEN! - G.S.

Synopsis. To see a movie or to make one? Four times Geto Suguru absolutely ruined you for the cameras, and the one time outside of them.

Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! pórnstar! reader, pórnstar!Geto, he is so DOWN BAD, exhibítionism, breéding, Geto’s tattoos, Geto’s PIERCINGS (d, tongue), THREÉSOMES, some Gojo x Reader x Geto, streamer!Gojo, vóyeurísm, Geto gets one taste is PÚSSYDRÚNK, mast. (Geto), oraI (fem + male rec.), spítting, p slapping, some Toji x Reader, PÚRE SMUT, húmping, matíng presses, semi-public, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 10.1k (woah)

A/N. Have a lovely week <3

“Ch-chin up, honey–” Geto’s drunkenly half-lidded stare sticks to you like a greedy second skin. And it makes him snicker, curling his thick fingers around your neck to force your glassy eyes upwards. “Let the camera see that hah- pretty face of yours.”

You mewl, batting your teary lashes up at his towering figure. Pretty glossed lips pressing the most sinful French kisses up his sensitive shaft, “Like this, Sugu?”

And god, that makes him throw his head back with a whimper. It makes him dredge up everything left of his sanity to remember those next few lines of his, praying that those babbling messes of his groans pick up on the microphones. 

“Y-yeah, got that right.” he jostles his muscular thighs even more heavily manspread, baring you with a sopping wet swipe of his angry tip against your pout. Poking the bulbous curve of his cool metal piercing just barely- “So you can listen, brat.”

Damn. Geto’s already sure he’d stumbled over his script a few too many times. Already sure he’d forgotten what the next scene was with how he was too dangerously close-

CUT!

Shit.

He had a feeling this would happen.

Because Geto Suguru rarely ever had to take multiple takes whenever he was filming - he was no novice in this business. Far from it, in fact. 

Bearing the title of one of the most-watched porn actors in history - and the five-time crowned winner of the most beautiful, as well - the audience loved him, and the directors loved him even more with just how many big, fat cheques he’d rake in easily.

And you?

That gorgeous newbie paired up with him today that was absolutely ruining him. 

“Sorry-” Your honeyed tone snaps him out of his syrupy reverie, and the little smile on your face is so innocent compared to just a few seconds ago. “M’still new to this, so I think it was my fault.”

Yeah, ruining him. 

“Not at all. S’cute.” Geto’s plastering one of his suave grins all across his mean mouth, and without a second thought, he’s thumbing away that translucent little splatter of precum at the edge of your kiss-bitten lips. Wetting the curvaceous pad of his thumb, “Besides, don’t worry yourself, pretty lady. I don’t think a uh- what was it- clan leader would stutter as much as I did.”

And oh, he wished he could sneak in a few more glimpses of your laugh, music to his ears. Wondering what it’d feel like to have it vibrate around his still rock-hard cock. But alas, swiftly, the director’s clapping a hand down on Geto’s broad shoulder. 

“Suguru- my star! What happened back there?” the older man bares him with a toothy grin that said it wouldn’t last there much longer if he made any more mistakes at today’s shooting.

It was the first time in years that he had to have a word of reprimand. And he wasn’t even fucking you today-

“Nothing.”

“Are we sure-”

“Nothing.” Firmer, this time, with a dangerous tinge that no other actor would dare have. His glassy eyes - still foggy from the slide of your tongue, still aching for more of it - fixate sideways on you getting your make-up retouched right beside him. Clearing his throat, “I won’t fumble next time. Promise.”

But shit, only a few seconds before the next take - the high-definition cameras rolling, the heady lighting fixated on the two of you - and he already feels like he’s about to lose it.

“Said you were a rookie, right? You sure about that, screen queen?” he’s leering a slightly-smug grin down at you, the curved edges of his lips twitching at that little industry nickname of yours.

He’d heard it here and there - mainly whenever Gojo was raving about you, but never did he think you would end up being so…so addictive. 

Of course, he’s going to brag to his best friend as soon as this is over.

You’re gifting him with a bratty huff, “I’ve only been making videos for a few months, y’know? So I’ve never had to have a blowjob scene with someone so-” 

And with a gulp, your syrupy eyes flicker downwards at his achingly hard cock - famed for just how massive Geto was. Already so creamy with a glistening coating of precum drizzling down his thumping veins, standing so thoroughly and thickly upright that it made your drenched thighs squeeze. Yearning to steal another taste of that furiously strawberry-blushed fat tip. “-so big.”

Shit, Geto could feel his fattened cock jolt already. 

Hissing, “S-save it for the camera, honey.”

“Okay! Take 2, Act 1 of 1 from Cult Leader Geto.” A ringing voice cuts through your saturated air, and he’s settling back into his poised seated position on that decadently throne-like chair, you on your knees. “ACTION!”

“Messing up such an important mission, hm?” Geto spits, stern voice targeting you at your very dripping core. Sear-like grip making your throat burn, fuming, “Y’know there’s only one way to make up for it, right, honey?”

Your lips wobble oh-so-adorably when he hits them with a splattering smack! smack! smack! of his painfully hard length. Making you mumble, “Wh-what do I hafta-”

And maybe because it was part of the script, maybe because Geto couldn’t last hearing another melodic note of your sweetened voice - he’s shoveling all girthy inches of his swollen cock past your velvety lips. 

Unapologetically.

Filthily.

God…it was so easy to forget all the cameras with your tongue.

Pressing the reddened curve of his weepy cockhead to nestle hot and heavy on your tastebuds, your jaw aches with the sheer weight of his hefty shaft throbbing away comfortably on your tongue. 

And you swear you can feel big, bulbous tears welling up behind your eyes with how every ounce of blood in Geto’s body comes rushing down into his steaming length. Expanding his rotund head to grow even thicker-

“Shit.” he gasps. “Shit shit shit shit-” Brows scrunching, drooling maw falling slack. Every muscle in his hulking body bows to hunch forwards in his chair, until your tight throat was choking around the thick curve of his swollen tip. One attractively tattooed hand splayed out firmly on the back of your head, “Take it- y-yeah, take it why dontcha? If ya wanna make it up to your leader.”

God, he didn’t know if the cockdrunken way you were nodding was even real - but it made him groan just the same. 

Sobbing out a swelteringly hot squelch! of syrupy precum that drips teasingly down the already-messy walls of your mouth. “Heh, maybe ya can even be my s-second-in-command with a mouth like this.”

And he’s giggling out in an almost hysterical way, head throwing backwards when his powerful hips rut up in slow grinds. Back and forth back and forth- that have your now-puffy lips stretching around so widely around his fat cock. 

Struggling. Shit, he’s the biggest you’ve ever had.

Geto already knew his agent was going to be on his ass for veering just the slightest degree off the script.

But he didn’t care about that right now.

How could he? Not when the drag of your tongue was swirling around his steamingly hot girth in languid swivels, over and over fighting to trace every one of his prominent veins thumping angrily inside your mouth. 

You whine at the saccharine sweet taste of his precum shooting down your throat in wet sputters, “S-Sugu-”

Fuck. 

Geto hears himself whimper a pathetic noise as soon as you’re tugging yourself off of his leaky cock, pressing wet peck after peck up the underside of his messy shaft. It’s glossing in glinting lip-prints that he half-wishes he could tattoo. Slipping and sliding to sloppily plant your mouth along the bawling divot at the very end of his rosy pink head. 

“Mhm–” he’s drawling, movements as slow as gliding through molasses when one of his strong legs comes to circle around your body. Muscles flexing so tight that if he angled just right he could squeeze that pretty throat of yours. He bites his lip, “Suck on my ah- tip- c’mon, gorgeous. Heheh, yeah gimme a pretty peck, why dontcha?”

With a smug smirk, he’s guiding through trembly digits to thwack! thwack! thwack! his thick hilt in wet splatters across your lips. Only to figure out that he didn’t even have to bother.

Because your sweet mouth was so ravenously reattaching back onto him, starkly raw lips glissading down the bulge of his Prince Albert. Your deft tongue swivels in such a filthy way down the underside of his slit, cheeks hollowing as you suck. 

“Spit.”

“S’this-” you hiccup, widened eyes pleading. Spitting out a silvery glob of saliva onto the very edge of his tip, “S’this good, sir?”

Fuck, for a second there he almost forget that every one of your lines are scripted. And he deliriously wonders what if would be like if you called him that for real 

“Hmmm, dunno.” His thumb smears across that pool of precum beside your lips - popping it into his mouth tastefully, “Jus’ a bit deeper to make sure. You can do it- c’mon.”

Swallowing up those solidly girthy inches of Geto’s so deliciously. Your nose presses against those drenched tufts of black at his toned pelvis, jittery fingers coming around to massage sultry little circles around his tight, cum-filled balls. 

“Heh, think I prefer ya like this-” he’s restless now. Close. Knitting his brows rudely together, abs clenching mouth-wateringly at every wet gyration of his cock hitting the very back of your throat. And he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop, not even if the director yells cut this time. “-all pliant, n’ shutting up that bratty mouth of yours.” Geto arches his spine so flexibly - a specialty of his - all the way enough to whisper in a hoarse pant of feverish condensation against your ear. “All mine.”

Geto can barely even finish his line - or his train of thought, before with a wracing shudder, he’s cumming and cumming harder than he has in his entire life. 

Oozing out the wettest wads of his thick cum, so much of his wispy white seed gushing across in dripping glides into the cavern of your mouth. Back and forth with every jackhammer. The money shot smearing all down your pretty chin.

And fuck, just the way he can feel it sloshing around in a tidal wave inside your mouth makes him groan out your name.

Barely even registering the way it’ll have to be cut out in editing later, no- all he can think about is how heavenly you were milking him. Twisting your tongue to drag out his hazy orgasm, to swipe up even more of it from his piercing, you blink up in satisfaction.

Letting it overspill. 

“Heh, fuck-” Geto’s tongue was dangerously loose now, mouth curling up into a simpering smile down at you when he’s bursting out in even more velvety ribbons of cum. It drips halfway down your jaw, washing a perfectly milky lipstain on you. Muttering, “Wish I could fuck you- god, I would-”

He’s cutting himself off with a dampened gasp, just as the chilling air on-set hits his hard erection. 

In urgent moves, Geto’s pulling out of your silken soft mouth to drag you upwards with the hand tightened around your throat, crashing his lips into your own with sudden need.

Unsteady. Sodden. French kisses. 

This wasn’t in the script - and you whine at the cool metal against his cushy mouth. A tongue piercing. Shit, he had one to match his dick.

Swirling it across your own lips, Geto hears you moan in that sweet voice of yours just as you taste him - taste yourself on him - and he’s sucking on your tongue just as you did with his cock. Pooling all the dredges of salty seed on his own, before spitting it back out-

“Tell yer agent-” he murmurs throatily, two fingers roughly wrangling your mouth shut. To make you swallow. His popping ears ignore the calls from the director for the scene to be cut. Finally completed. And Geto licks up the excess remnants of cum down your lips. “-to let me have ya again sometime, gorgeous.”

CULT MEMBER SLUT GETS TAUGHT A LESSON BY HER LEADER!

37 million views 1.5 million likes

Top comments:

satoruxstrongest: holy shit idk who im more jealous of ꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱

unicorny: I VOLUNTEER FOR THE NEXT MISSION CULT LEADER GETO

hj.eromytits: guys is it just me or does geto sound EXTRA extra whiny in this video~?

tonykrier: No cuz I totes agree

---

Now, it wasn’t normal for Geto to run home freshly after a shooting and…research his scene partner. To spend what seemed like hours upon hours pouring over every single video and picture you’d blessed his obscene mind with.

You.

An up-and-coming new actress, but already dubbed the nickname of screen queen. Loved by many for that sultry sweet smile of yours and just how gorgeous you were when you were all fucked stupid. 

Everybody wanted you.

And Geto - oh, Geto was out of his mind. 

Shit, he’s thinking through his saturedly needy thoughts, eyes locked on the two sweat-sheened bodies on-screen. It was an earlier one of you and legendary veteran porn actor, Toji Zenin, and the more he eyed the way your bugging pussy so readily swallowed each of his greedily girthy inches - the more he was fucking jealous his agent only booked a simple blowjob scene. Peering at the title-

DILF-NEXT-DOOR GIVES SCREEN QUEEN AN ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT.

That should be him.

The wet schwf! of clothes upon skin emanate throughout his penthouse bedroom when Geto unthinkingly drags the soft mountains of his palm down his throbbingly hard erection. Eyeing at how Toji was smearing your sopping pussy lips open, giving Geto the perfect view-

Shit, that should be him.

Holding back a low moan, “Fuck-” he scrambles to hit the camera icon on his trembling phone, all but ripping his pants down to set free his ravaging cock. “God- m’so fuckin’ hard-”

He doesn’t even know who he’s talking to right about now - the audience, or you. 

But all he can think about right now are those sparking stars behind his lids as soon as he runs the solid curve of his thumb along the bump of his swollen head. Still not fully hard, Geto squeezes his fat hilt just the way he remembers you did earlier today.

“S’all because of y-you, y’know?” he’s gritting through clenched teeth, batting those long dark lashes of his right up at the camera. “Why’d you hafta look at nhgh- m-me that way.”

God, his digits were only half as soft as yours were. And he keens at the rough drag of his fingerprints down the sensitive spots at every ride and curve. Melty mind stumbling through every mindless half-thrust into his fist.

Over and over.

God, he felt like a hormonal teenager all over again.

He’s panting - gasping. Every rutting fuck up into his hand leaving his heavy balls clenching painfully, teeth clamping. 

Geto’s never been this needy - this desperate to try and graspingly remember what your moans had sounded like through his phone speaker not too long ago. It’s all he can do to sink his sharp canines down onto his fist, desperately holding back whimpers upon whimpers that threaten to spill out into the open.

Yet, they do, anyway.

“M-make me so fuckin’ horny, honey-” he’s swiping at the lazy trickle of drool down the edges of his drunkenly upturned grin. Puffing away the long, inky hair curtaining his eyes to splay out across the bed. “Such a perfect body ya have- such a perfect pussy. Wish I could fuck it.”

Because that delicious arch in your back was practically burned into Geto’s mind, how your slutty cunt was slobbering down gloss after gloss of your sweet, sweet juices down Toji’s fat cock. He’d been massive - rivaling Geto, honestly - and he couldn’t help but muse whether you’d take him that well, too. 

Would you cry out and beg for more? 

Would you bat your lashes and tell him to slow down- only to huff and puff in that naughty way of yours when he does?

You were…you were so pretty. And all he ever wanted to do was wreck that equally pretty pussy of yours, and ruin your makeup, and you. 

You you you you-

Geto’s wrist aches down his tall shaft, stuttering up and down, he flicks his thumb wetly underneath his sensitive slit. Neatly grazing his manicured fingernail underneath the glazed bump, “I’d ruin ya, y’know?” Geto chokes out, and he doesn’t even have to fake the purring moan in his tone. The way his voice lilts embarrassingly higher in volume and pitch, gliding all the way up to nudge in wet peppered kisses across his chilling piercing. “Would make ya shut up on m’cock- hngh- until ya can feel my piercing branding into ya. Ruin everyone else f-for ya.”

God, the camera was so shaky right about now - and he half-wonders whether he wants to post this. Nothing like the usual professional set-up you’d usually see on Geto’s promotional tweets. 

And then shit, just the thought of you actually seeing this video has him almost dropping his phone onto the dampened silken sheets below. His overly saturated mind liked to think that you’d like it, that you might even slip your own soft hand down into your flimsy excuse of panties.

“Fuck- fuck.” Geto bounces his head back onto the plush pillows, thighs shuddering even further open, catching every pearlescent bead of precum being smeared down his thickening length. Filthy. So fucking filthy. Making him arch- “Look what you do- look how you’ve got me- fuck-”

He was practically humping up like an animal now. Out of control. Each moan breaking into a whine in a way that Geto can’t stop even if he wanted to. 

And the more he thought about you the more-

“Oh h-honey-” One of Geto’s thumb trails their way down to press down at the very middle of the twitchy curve of his balls. Hard. Hiccuping back a mewl of your name, he’s nodding like he doesn’t even realize. “M’gonna cum hah- m’gonna cum, okay? You’ll hafta take it all t-take it hngh-”

And it’s just a few more merely sloppy grinds before Geto’s spurting out in thick streams of cum. So much of it.

He’s fucking his fist like he wishes it was you. It’s making such a mess down his greedy fingers, coating down to his wrist in a gleaming sheen of creamy white. Easier to make him slip up, up, up, and down his swollen, red shaft trying to dredge up something delicious from the very ends of his weepy divot. 

He lets his phone drop, thick thighs straddling upon each side of the screen to jerk his achy cock off like your pretty face was just underneath him. Furious. Fast. A low ah! ah! ah! rasping through each breath.

God, his fingers weaken around his cock. Moving as if on auto-pilot when he circles his trickling wet fingers around his own rosy pink nipples - all glistening down his tattoos as if they’d been laminated, they made for the perfect wet dream - then all the way up to suck on them. Cleaning. Tasting himself.

Fuck, wishing it was your hand.

Wishing you were here.

All Geto could think about is if you were here right now, then he’d swipe his blushing tip down your lips, instead - reel you into a dripping wet kiss just like before. He grunted at just how badly he wanted to taste on your candied tongue again-

Still so sensitive from the shoot with you before, Geto’s breathing out in heaves, pants. Tears prickling at the very ends of his bleary eyes, he bites down furiously on his coral pink lips, trying for the fucking life of him to not cum in blanks right now. 

He does, actually.

Again. And again and again- spazzing cockhead jerking out a few wispy wet ribbons of his seed, before giving way into nothing. And if you listened closely to the crackling audio, you could almost hear Geto whimper.

Yet, he doesn’t even notice until his thumb swipes shakily onto that red end button on the video.

Doesn’t even register until he’s pulling up his infamously lewd Twitter account, the voice of his agent ringing in his pounding ears from today on something about “promo for your upcoming video” with every few hasty clicks on-screen.

Geto posts.

And he doesn’t even glance a second time at the screen before darting back into his browser history, searching ravenously for any more morsel of you he could dig up.

Because Geto Suguru might just be addicted.

@GetoTheCursed: For @ScreenQueen

2.6 million views 364k likes

Top replies:

moresenpaimore: holy shit the lighting? the shakiness? the whimpers? ITS ALMOST LIKE HE POSTED JUST AS HE CAME DADDY YOURE SPOILING US!!1!111!! 

tjzenin: Good taste, kid. - Toji x.

ScreenQueen: <3

---

“Y’look so pretty like this, sweetheart.” Gojo’s angling your head just enough for the blinking camera to drink in that milky trail of slick trickling down the corners of your puffed-up pussy lips. Musing at how it probably couldn’t capture half as how pretty you are with his massive cock bullied snugly into your strugglingly bulging cunt. “Isn’t that right, Suguru?”

“Heh-” The other man only shifts his legs to manspread more comfortably on Gojo’s plush mattress, leaning back on two elbows. “Don’t I know.”

hj.eromytits: ahhh~ a suguru and satoru stream my life is complete~ screen queen is so sexy too~

444stayze: WE NEED MORE COLLABS LIKE THIS SATORU PLEASE

chocho: she’s so…beautiful 

*chocho donated 690 chestnuts*

If Geto Suguru was the king of videos, then Gojo Satoru was the king of streaming. Wracking thousands upon hundred thousands - perhaps close to millions - that watched him strip down and bare the winking camera with his cocky, girthing inches. And today, he just-so-happened to have a special guest.

Two, actually, after hearing about your latest film with each other.

His long-time best friend, and the rookie actress he’d been just as obsessed with lately. And the tons of viewers right now were loving this combination.

Your greedy hips squirm ravenously, jostling Gojo’s cock to swirl in syrupy, circular swivels inside your gooey walls. Yet, you couldn’t do anything with the thick, black blindfold wrapped around your two wrists - a staple of his persona. “G-gojo-”

Smack!

All five of his splayed-out fingers come down harshly in a swat against the curve of your ass, and Geto can’t help but gulp heavily at the sinful way it makes your flesh jiggle. 

Gojo’s tangling a vice-like grip into your scalp - eyes wide, wild, where he’s leering down at you. “Now now, you’re s’pposed to look at hah- me.” he whines. Shit- when had you even turned to look at Geto. “And what was it I told ya to call me?”

“T-To-”

Smack!

“Louder.”

“Toru!” you squeal, feeling his leaky tip brush up in a wet nudge against your bulbous g-spot. Expanding even girthier to hit at that little bullseye over and over-

“Such a s-slutty voice ya got on ya.” His sharp hipbones mashing against tender skin, stifling balls stinging your ass, juddering knees bouncing even faster. It was so fucking addictive sheathing himself inside the tight channel of your cunt. So hot and cozy inside that Gojo has to force himself to rip his line of sight onto Geto just behind you, “Does sh-she always sound so sweet, Suguru?”

And Gojo’s not surprised - not even the tiniest bit surprised - to find that his best friend already has his silken button-up ripped open, ringed fingers stuffed into his too-tight pants. 

Addictive…you were so addictive. 

And he’s almost jealous that he’d introduced you to him on this stream.

Tearing away his clinking belt to knead over his rock-hard erection, drawling the very rounded edges of his fingers down his cupped balls. Squeezing. Hard. Geto looks so utterly like he has to force himself to breathe out something even slightly coherent, “Hmmm, hard to say with the way she was on her knees last time- heheh-”

“Such a dog ya are-” Gojo’s rolling his watery eyes, before pecking a wet glissade of his lips down onto yours. The woosh of donations flood the chat as soon as Geto’s letting out a roughened growl, “Dontcha ngh- a-agree, sweetheart? So mean, hm? The chat certainly seems ta think s-so.”

“Mhm–” you’re crying out - difficult, with the way he was sunken in so solidly inside of you. At Gojo’s sheer mercy. 

Mercy that was slowly dwindling away with each and every slobbering fuck up into your dripping cunt, and you can’t help but let your jaw drop into a needy oh when his ragged thrusts get faster. More desperate. 

Peppering damp pecks along Gojo’s innocently pink lips, “S-so mean, Sugu.”

“Ya hear that?” Gojo swipes his thumbs across your sloppy folds to bear you even further into the camera, and with Geto’s lolling gaze he could just peek the way your sodden hole was gaping widely. How his peaking veins massage your entrance through and forth- “Our girl says you’re a meanie, Sugu~”

candybah: GETO LOOKS MADDD 

k-en.j: she looks so cockdrunk already honestly idk who i want to be here

pumk1nhe1d: Love how Satoru winds him up. Wonder if her poor cunt can take both??

And Geto knew that your voice was absolutely dripping with teasing want, he knew that it meant nothing more than a simple line to get him worked up. But the way Gojo’s jittery arms were engulfing you to stick to him so closely, his knowing smirk flashing Geto’s way had him huffing out a pointed few profanities. 

“Fuck that.” he’s spitting getting up onto two unsteady feet to shuffle even closer to where your bodies were rocking the decadent bed violently. Tying back his dark tresses urgently - and oh shit, that’s when you know he’s serious. And one of Geto’s fingers smack! away Gojo’s, searing his own possessive grip onto the blindfold to haul you against his washboard abs. “Open.”

Fuck, it’s just about all that you can do.

Slopping out your tongue to present your glistening tastebuds - right on par for Geto to be splattering a thick wad of saliva. 

Letting the translucent slick sift across your mouth, and with years in the game, Geto Suguru already had perfect aim. He could’ve already made an easy, clean work of spitting in your mouth.

But, no, he’s speckling wet little messes around your lips on purpose. Swiping it away with the very back of his slender fingers, “Now, would you care to repeat- that?”

Every truncated drag of his moans is punctuated by a ragged rut of Geto’s hips against the globes of your ass. The remainder of his free hands being sure to press your arched body even further backwards into him. 

You feel him throb against your heated skin, his fat girth jostling to make you hump down on everything from the very globular edges of his tip all the way down to where his fat balls were kissing up into you stickily. Gushing out steaming hot wave after wave of precum that formed delicate strings to snap!

Smack!

“C’mon now, sweetheart~” Gojo’s slow tut makes you squeal. “S’not nice to leave someone hah- hanging.”

Batting your teary lashes up at Geto, you’re struggling through your relentless restraints to try and crane up into a kiss. And Geto - ever the bully - makes you work for it, barely moving. “M’m-sorry-”

“That’s not what I asked-” his hot breath puffs up dangerously to fan your ear. Cool rings on his digits burning a blazing pathway up to your neglectedly hardened nipples, making you keen out such whiny sounds when he pinches. “Tell me what you said.”

“S-said-” you’re sobbing out. The double stimulation of Gojo’s ravaged cockheadbumping up into your spongy cervix, and the way that Geto’s thumbs were swirling over in pressurized circles over your tits too much. “-said you were m-mean hngh- didn’t mean i-it ah fuck-”

“Are you sure?”

“You really are s-such a hngh- bully, Suguru.”

“Tch, shut up-” And Geto would never admit the way that he was humping you like such a dog. Panting - heaving, practically - with every sodden grind, his teeth tug harshly on your precious ear lobe. “-at least I’m gonna be the one t-to make her cum.”

Gojo’s rolling his eyes, pecking a sudden crash into the very same spot of your g-spot. “No I will.”

“As if, ya had to borrow my camera t-today jus’ to capture how gorgeous she is.”

Both Gojo and Geto’s lips mesh into yours now, tongues bumping into each other, swirling across yours so lewdly. Sucking and nibbling along any inch of yourself that you would give them. Anything that they could take. 

He’s bucking his hips sloppily, drawing wet gashes between your pre-soaked lips, and nudging against where Gojo was buried so deep. Too much.

Murmuring into your lips, Geto giggles - giggles every-so-drunkenly in a way that made the stream chat flood. “Heh, if ya really mean it then cum f’me, honey.”

Fuck- then, you do.

It’s hitting both you and Gojo like a sudden semi-truck. 

Yelping out a saturated mixture of what sounded like both their names before your gushy walls squeeze tightly. So fucking cozy that Gojo has to stuff one of his long fingers into your quivering hole just to scissor your entrance open, to fuck you through your high.

His fat girth edging you through peak after peak of bliss, your toes curl, mouth still latched firmly with Geto’s. Spazzing cock bawling out a few silvery strings of white down your back - just barely. “My good girl- good- hah- fuckin’ girl.”

“Awww. Look, Suguru-” The other man titters, bringing up his free hand to swipe across your now freshly wet cheeks. “Ya really are a meanie, huh? You made her cry.”

Geto only rolls his dark eyes, that particular remark making him take it out on you - because oh, he might not be fucking you tonight, but it was so utterly fun to rip out those whiny syllables from your pretty mouth. He’s tugging on your nipple with one hand, the other dipping slowly to swat! at your plump clit. “Well, I also made her cum.”

“Hah? No way, that was me-”

“I’ll beat you up right here, right now, Satoru.”

#1 RANK satoruxstrongest: got two special guests! tonight is going to be fun ww `⎚⩊⎚´ -✧

51 million views 4.8 million likes

Top donors:

unicorny: WOAH when Geto SPIT?? And when they were arguing?? My apologies, sir, I did not know you were about that life (she’s so lucky me next)

honey.bunney: LITERALLY MY WET DREAM OH MY GOD BI PANIC I LOVE THEM

king0fcurses: lmfao weak. Invite me on the next stream and i’d show her a better time.

---

God, times like this, you almost hated your profession.

Because yes, despite everything, the pay you received was staggering - but absolutely no amount of money was enough to compensate for the complete and utter asshole that was Naoya Zenin. 

And especially not filming with him.

A nepo baby that had climbed his way through the ranks with the help of his family name; most of his audience came to watch him fail utterly pathetically at trying to boss his co-stars around and ultimately end up whining with just the slightest little squeeze of your cunt. 

To watch him be broken and sobbing for mercy - exactly the way you preferred him. 

Anything but this-

“-c’mon- just one night, baby-” Naoya’s purring voice sleazes across your ears, and you ignore him to clutch your thin robe even tighter around your body. Thankful that the filming and clean-up was finally over. “Promise I’ll have you seeing stars.”

When he didn’t even have you seeing your climax? You want to ask, but unfortunately hold back - for your agent’s reputation, if anything else. 

Plastering on an almost-painful faux smile, “I think we spent more than enough time together on-set.”

With that, you shift off the bed to weave determinedly through the bustling camera staff and the director calling out for the editing crew - you didn’t even know where you were going, at this point. 

But Naoya Zenin was persistent, if not anything else. 

Catching up hurriedly, his fingers tap down the side of your shoulder, gliding over the peaking strap of that pretty pink bra you’d worn just for the shoot today - something special your very own viewers had picked out. 

You stand stock-still in the middle of the room when he murmurs into your ear, “Playin’ hard to get isn’t cute, y’know. Just give in-”

SWAT!

“Excuse me-” You’re grinning through the slight sting at the back of your hand - because oh, it was impossible not to smile at the utter look of shock on Naoya’s sharp features the very instant his hand had been smacked away mercilessly. Fuming. Undeterred, your eyes shift down warningly between his legs, “-before I make sure you can never work in this industry again.”

“W-wait-”

But who would bother to wait before making their escape? Not even looking - not even caring - about where you make your sudden strides to. 

SLAM!

The door closes. Hard. 

And you breathe out a shuddering sigh of relief when the cacophony of noise from outside bleeds away into nothingness, like a stifling little cocoon inside.

Fuck- where had your feet even taken you?

It takes a few blinking seconds at the rows upon rows of skimpy lingerie and outfits for you to realize that you’d shut yourself in the costume room just outside of your current set. And a few more seconds to realize that you weren’t alone-

“Oh!” you gasp. And you don’t even know whether to look - where to not look at the absolute wet dream in front of you. 

Geto Suguru was standing unabashedly in the middle of the room, long hair splayed out across his back - and you could count every swirling tattoo of his. Because he was painfully shirtless. Showing off the sculpted ridges and curves of his muscles that flexed a just a little tighter whenever your greedy gaze was dancing down his bulging biceps, his inked hips, his-

“Cat got yer pretty tongue, honey?”

“Wh-wha-” you sputter. Fingers scrambling upwards to cover your eyes - before realizing how futile that is with how you’ve seen everything already. “Cat got your ability to change in the changing stalls instead of where everyone can see, Geto?”

He cocks his smug head, grinning down at you. “Well, it doesn’t look like you’re complaining, though?”

“You’re too much.”

Throwing that thin cotton t-shirt grasped within his digits somewhere off to the side - perhaps to toy with your sanity even more. He crosses his thick forearms, showing off every bumpy vein of his. “Besides- I was here first- helping out ol’ Nanami with a costume. The more important question should be why the Screen Queen of all people is barging in here?” Lips quirking attractively upwards, “Wanted to see me shirtless again so badly, hm?”

You did.

“You wish.” 

You’re rolling your eyes, and you never knew how close someone could get to you just within that split-second. Because you’re already feeling the feverish rush of his ragged breath against your features, skin burning mere inches from yours. 

Close. 

With a gulp, you’re careening back against the velvety walls. “More like wanted to run away from Naoya Zenin and his dates so badly.”

So close. 

“Ah.” Geto’s nodding with understanding. Running a hand through his hair, he easily slips that tiny black tie into his mouth. Moving to bunch up his strands into a ponytail, “Need me to beat him-”

You cut him off, “No no no-” Frantically waving your hands about - partially because you really didn’t want him to leave right now. “I took care of it, anyway.”

“That’s my girl.” 

And something about the honeyed way he hummed those words made your stomach lurch, it had you panting out a needy breath into the almost non-existent space between you two. One of his palms splay out on the wall beside your head, caging you in. Geto’s greedy gaze daring for a mere split-second to the CCTV camera by the far corner of the room - eh, Ichiji is probably on break, anyway. “Then I guess, my next question is…”

God, he’s so mean.

So teasing.

Reaching up to trail down the very end of his pointer finger in-between the seam of your robes - doing practically nothing to hide the way that Geto licks his lips at every sliver of your skin revealed. 

Down between the valley of your breasts, down to your navel. 

Down, down, down.

“-did he take care of you?”

You’re stammering your head into a half-delirious shake, “H-he didn’t make me-”

Geto makes an almost primal snarl at the very back of his throat, darkened eyes widening. He sounds so out-of-breath already. “Make you what?”

“-didn’t make me cum!”

And oh, those words changed everything.

“Then I guess I better make up for my colleague’s incompetence, right?”

Because not only did they have Geto Suguru’s sanity snapping, it had your poor, drenched panties as well - stumbling around your ankles in a useless pile of fabric with only one thorough pull of his deftly curled digits.

“So flimsy.” he’s raising one dark brow, sharp canines glinting against the dim lighting in amusement. “Yet it still wasn’t broken- Goes ta show what a hah- great time ya had with Naoya, huh?”

“Please- D-don’t tease-”

What did you even mean to say- don’t tease you? he wonders. As if he ever could. Half-drunkenly, half-deliriously because Geto couldn’t get fucking enough of anything but the way that your pretty pussy was winking up at him with a glistening sheen. So puckered and ready for him that he wanted to give her a little kiss. 

A French kiss.

“Shhh- better keep ‘er quiet f’me, gorgeous-” he’s chuckling, hurried now that his knees clatter to the floor with a loud bang! Maybe it hurt, maybe it didn’t- Geto didn’t fucking care. “Because m’not going easy on you.”

And with a raw drag of his heaving inhales, he’s drinking in your mouthwatering essence. Greedy.

Glissading up the very slit between your puffy pussy lips, he’s curling his thumb meanly into your sloppy hole. Circling around in practiced, purposeful little swipes. 

“G-Geto–” he’s quietly admiring the way it rolls off of your tongue, and fuck he’s never been one to be cocky over his own name but right now it was so fucking impossible not to be. Batting long, dark lashes from between your trembly thighs, “So mean, y’know that?”

Oh, you little minx. Geto’s brain flashes back to the stream with his best friend-

And he can’t help the sultry rasp of your name at the very back of his throat, the way his ringed fingers come branding down in such a dangerous swat! right against the plump edge of your clit- barely grazing your sensitively beading peak.

A warning. 

“What was that?” he spits. Followed by a literal wad of his syrupy saliva right onto the slope of your hole watching the splatters speckle across your drooling cunt. It felt so possessive. “If I’m so mean, then you should find it- heh, sooo fucking easy to stay quiet, hm?” Wild eyes locked with yours - you’ve never seen this look anywhere in Geto’s films. Anywhere. “Wouldn’t wanna be caught with the big- bad- meanie-”

Shit, it was something to tease him - something to get on your longtime idol’s nerves. But you’d never have expected the effect that it would have.

Because Geto was ravenous when his lips are placing a messy kiss onto your own - your other ones. Meshing a sultry glide of his tongue between your swollen folds, his tongue piercing so cold against your tight ring of muscle.

He wasn’t easing you in.

He wasn’t showing you any mercy or regret when Geto stuffs his face as deeply into the heaven between your legs as he could go. And it almost hurts him when his nose smushes harshly into your sensitive nub, when his jaw aches with just how much farther he couldn’t sink into your pretty pussy. 

Groaning, one of Geto’s splayed-out palms wrangles your ever-weakening legs onto his broad shoulders, the other toying taunting circles sailing all over your clit. Because he wanted more more more-

“Ngh- fuck!” Your unsteady fingers dangle their way through his silken strands - as soft to the touch as they looked. And you tug when you feel the silvery cold metal dart against your melty walls - not that it moved him even an inch. “Fuck that feels so good-”

“I know-” he’s smirking up at you. “N’ it sounds like e-everyone out there s’gonna know, too- heh. I don’t mind.”

God, that’s when it hits you to lower the volume of your honeyed moans. Biting down on the knuckles of your free hand, you level him with a glare. 

“L-look who’s talking-”

Geto only chuckles through the sopping wet squelches he’s reeling out from your cunt. Fingers now dripping downwards with a final pinch to your clit and onto your hole. “S’not my fault your p-pretty pussy’s so talkative, honey.”

“G-Geto-”

“Shhh, lemme hear her talk. Please?”

You gasp when you feel him plowing a trail of his thick digits into your already snugly-filled channel. Such a tight fit with both Geto’s rummaging fingers and his toasty tongue slurping up every bead of your juices. 

They’re swirling around you with reckless abandon, no longer the expert methods and tricks you were used to. No, Geto was pumping his fingers into you solely because he was addicted to the feeling. 

To the loud slurps and squelches resounding from down below with his miniscule movements.

“Heheh, yeahhh- so fucking mouthy she is. Might as well have s-someone overhear her.” He grunts, feeling your gummy walls clamp down on him so vice-like. And it takes him every shred of willpower to finally part his sinful way with your cunt, to drag his lips in a final kiss down your wet folds. “Hold on- got an idea.”

Fuck. 

An idea from Geto Suguru would never bode well for your sanity.

And you were completely right in assuming so, because in a split-second, he’s reaching down to his pants pocket - pulling out a glinting silver lip ring. One that finds itself placed so prettily near the very edge of Geto’s rawly rubbed pink lips. 

One that finds itself wrapped oh-so-deliciously around your clit. Sucking. 

More. 

“Heh, you’re the first one to hah- see me with this new lip ring- congrats-”

“L-lucky me-” you manage to choke out. Hips rutting up and down up and down from the wall, dragging your slobbering cunt all down to make-out with his gorgeous features - and Geto doesn’t look like he’s anywhere but heaven. “It feels- so so- mmpf-”

Without warning, his thorough digits find themselves rudely shoved between your jaw-dropped mouth. Metal rings cold. Thick. Pressing down at the back of your tongue-

“Heheh- what did I say-” he’s dragging his mouth backwards to tug on your weepy clit. Other set of fingers picking apart your sweetest spots inside, ruthless cadence picking up. “Quiet, honey- be quiet f’me like my good girl why- ah- why dontcha?”

Truthfully, Geto himself is finding it so fucking difficult to concentrate. 

He’s so sloppy. So loud. 

He feels like he could combust with every shuddering gush of your sweet, sweet juices down the lover half of his face. So much of it that it’s dripping down into a lewd puddle onto the floor.

And he’s forced to swivel his free hand punishingly into your mouth to stop himself from traveling it down to his pants and creaming all over it like some loser. God- no- he had to make you cum. And fast. Before he loses it. 

“C’mon, my pretty lady-” Geto bursts out in feverish hot pants breathed into your cunt, mouth rearing everywhere. And the stark contrast between his cool lip ring and his mouth made you shiver down your spine in white-hot pleasure. Hot and cold hot and cold- “Can ya hear that?”

Ah, damn. Just your luck - both your ears perk up at the distance resounding of footsteps. Close.

You tug on his long strands. Through muffled syllables, “G-geto–”

Closer.

“S’alright s’alright-” he’s snickering, sounding for all the world as relaxed as ever like he wasn’t two seconds away from being caught with a fellow actress in one of the most scandalous positions for even a porn company. “-jus’ cum f’me. Cum f’me, honey.”

Your cunt was so sensitive. You’re whimpering through his fingers once Geto presses in deeply onto that magical spot. Stars bursting behind your eyes- “M’gonna cum, Geto- so close. M’gonna- m’gonna-”

You didn’t have to finish your sentence.

Because with only a few bustling thrusts of his digits into that very same bullseye, you’re cumming all over Geto’s pretty face. Splattering his chiseled chin in a sheeny gloss of you, so filthy.

And he lets you - oh, he lets you. Why wouldn’t he?

Not when this is all that he’s been dreaming of ever since he had you that one time on set, not when you tasted so sweet spurting your juices down his tongue. Kittenish kisses lapping up every wet gash of slick, his fingers strain with how furiously he’s fucking you through your high.

“Oh- oh, honey— ” The only mantra that Geto can babble out pussydrunkenly, quirking up his hips to grind his rock-hard erection against your thigh. God, he felt like he could cum in his pants right now. “Tha’s right- use me- use me.”

Forcing his jittery fingers down to your hips in a rough restraint, he’s dragging your drooling cunt up and down up and down up and-

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Hey- ya in here?”

Click! In an instant, Geto’s long arm span is reached over to lock the door. 

And god, Naoya’s voice was grating enough that he almost lost his rock-hard erection - if it hadn’t been for that sweetly startled mewl ripping from your throat, that is. 

You scoff, fully ready to give him a piece of your - albeit syrupy, orgasmically hazed - mind to the man outside. But with a sneaky finger signaling you to be quiet, he stands back up to his hulking stature. Growling out a biting, “Only one in here’s me, fuck off.”

Only then comes the sputtering, “Wh-why I’d never-”

“Unless ya want your lil’ idol Toji to hear about how you’ve been nothing but a prick to his favorite actress.”

It’s barely even a second later when you hear those footsteps walking urgently away, and not even two when Geto’s hot breath puffs up against your ear. Words slurring and stumbling over one another,  gliding his tongue across his lower lip to snatch up every ounce of you. “Don’t you worry-” Before sucking on the very same fingers that were buried inside you, “M’gonna ruin him.”

And that’s all it takes for him to remember something else you’d said about that very man just earlier. Something about a date…as if.

“Kiss me- kiss me kiss me please-” Geto’s mouth hovers over yours. Gingerly placing peck after peck- “Fuck- s-suck-” Not even having to finish his sentence with how your heated lips wrapped around his icy lip ring, dripping with your slick. “N’ I was th-thinking- would ya- only if you’d like- wanna make a movie-”

“Yes.”

Hah, Geto grins. Take that, Satoru.

LOCATION: CCTV room, Jujutsu X company building.

Employee count - 1 

“Fuck- fuck-” Ichiji’s struggling to push up his condensation-fogged glasses with one of his slippery hands. Fingers trembling on the keyboard when he’s rewinding the camera footage in the costume room by just a few more seconds. “Oh god- m’gonna get f-fired-”

Again.

And again.

And again and-

“Shit-” he’s shuddering out, head woozy at the sheer overstimulation. Belt clattering against the plastic of his chair for about the nth time this hour. “-she really is a screen queen.”

---

Geto Suguru planned everything meticulously - till every detail was checked off on his seasoned mental list of making the perfect homemade…movie. 

Not exactly something that he’d tried out personally before but- but who better to do it than with you? And he swears with every bit of insincere honesty inside of him that this was totally not because he’d been yearning to feel you cumming all over his cock for months now. 

Yeah…totally not.

So he planned.

And he had everything - the heady candle-lit bedroom, the fresh silken sheets, the soft music playing from a speaker somewhere across the room. The only undecided thing being the name of your little tryst. Prowling over to you sat on the bed - all it takes is a simple shove to spread you out the way he’s been dreaming of. Humming, “You ready?”

Well, everything except-

“G-Geto, how are we gonna make a movie with no camera-”

Shit, that was the last thing on Geto’s mind right now - just about the furthest thing, despite being the very epicenter of his entire career.

Everything he needed.

But no fucking camera.

Oh. 

“Shit.” he’s chuckling - somewhat gingerly, somewhat pussydrunkenly with just a glimpse of you splayed out like this on his plush bed. In another one of you gauzy lingerie sets, leaving barely anything for his overdriven imagination to obsess over. He’s scratching behind his neck, “We can st-”

“No-” And Geto looks just as shocked as you feel right now, skin heating up with embarrassment at your hasty answer. 

But oh, that only makes him take it in stride - makes him slide his hand underneath his velvety boxers to knead greedily at his thumping hot erection. Grinning, “The Screen Queen doesn’t want to be on screen? How shocking.”

But it wasn’t.

God, because he could already see that darkening splotch at your silk drenched panties. The way your lower lip wobbled with so much want - he’d already watched enough of your videos to recognize it by now. 

He’s nosing down your neck, drinking in each of your little shivers. “How do you want me?”

And all you can say is- “I just want you-”

Swat!

The rounded tips of Gojo’s fingers find themselves placing a pretty peck right on your pulsating clit, sending obscene shockwaves bowing your spine. Right into his arms, “You a-always say the sweetest things, honey.”

You hiss at the cool clash of his proud Prince Albert - and the way that one of Geto’s dangling silver necklaces knock into your chin softly. 

And he’s groaning, just throwing his head back at the flurry of stars bursting behind his eyes. Hands gripping onto the edges of his sheets, Geto slides his hips in a slow back and forth against your own. Sandwiching the circular girth of his cock between your sodden folds, they make such a pretty scene. 

“Tell me, pretty baby–” His fingers smear at the wet drizzles seeping from either side of your slit. “-do ya get this wet for the c-camera too or s’it jus’ for me?” But you’re only spewing out a few nods and syrupy yeses, gushing all around him that he can’t help but wonder what it would like bursting with him inside- 

He doesn’t have to bother waiting long.

Now, usually Geto liked to take his time - would prefer to see you crying and breaking while you beg for his cock more than anything else.

But shit, right now he thinks that a second longer he isn’t buried inside your cunt might make him die-

“C’mon c’mon c’mon-” he’s hissing at the elastic stretch of that first ring of muscle. Easing his way in to bulge your sloppy entrance all full with just the very ends of his bulbous tip. “Take it- please, please take it-”

Geto can’t keep the slight tremble out of his tone even if he wanted to - not with the way your gooey cunt was molding around his shape to suck up every inch of him. And god, was there so much of him. It’s like it was never-ending. 

“Shit-” your nails reel red, red marks down the milky plane of his deltoids. “I-I can feel you in my hngh- lungs, Geto-”

He chuckles - all the way into your lungs and he’s not even halfway in, yet? Hell, fuck halfway in, he’d just managed to smear past your swollen pussy lips to rut his fat head inside. Hissing at the clench of your walls around his sensitive slit. 

“Suguru-” he gasps, eyes still wrenched down on the way your cunt was greedily gobbling him up. “P-please if you can call that hah- fuckass ‘Satoru’, then call me Suguru, please-”

It’s all that has to come out of your mouth - a sweet, syrupy “Sugu-”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

You feel yourself gulping down every one of his solid inches, a sheer circumference that you never even thought possible- the friction between your gummy walls and his furiously jackhammering cock having you squeal-

Smack! 

Finally fully inside you, your pussy lips kiss his thickened hilt like long lost lovers, and his heavy balls shift against your ass.

“Don’t- don’t run-” Geto’s sputtering out a slightly broken plea, pure desperation wafting off of him like a heady perfume. It was contagious. And his rough fingers grip tightly around your waist, jousting up the dampening blankets all around your body when he pulls and pulls and pulls- “Fuck, where’d you think you’re going, huh, honey?”

His tone was just dripping with something dark, something you can only sputter and drool to match when every nook and spongy cranny inside is being filled up with Geto’s fat cock. 

And it twitches inside you happily - if heaven was real then it felt like this, Geto muses already thoroughly pussydrunk. 

“M’m-not running away-” you’re pouting a slick-glossed pout up at him. One that he can’t help but crane his neck down in an instant to kiss away. “You’re just s-so big- bigger than on camera-”

Fuck.

You would’ve shut your babbling mouth sooner if you’d known what would happen.

Because the rotund edges of Geto’s cockhead only swells up wider, squirting out even thicker wads of his steamingly hot precum with every mindless, saturated grind. Ones just to fit in- more and more, even after he’s finding himself kissing a wet glide down the ends of your cervix. Making sure to brand that edge of his piercing onto every gooey wall. 

“God- y’really know how to drive me c-crazy-” Geto’s dark hair curtains either side of your head, and you almost don’t notice the way he swipes up two hands underneath your thighs to press you into a mean mating press. Letting you latch on limply while he leaves to swat at one of your hands cupping your pussy, “N’ move that hand- fuck- m’gonna fuck that outta ya.”

And he does. 

The mattress creaks in loud protests when he’s pummeling you with stupidly rude clashes of his weepy tip onto the edges of your g-spot - already expertly mapped out by him now - he’s feeling the sloshy mixture recoil with each thrust. So much of it. “Such a pretty pussy- such p-pretty moans, makes me wanna keep it t’myself-”

God, he’s wanted you for what seems like forever - and he was going to take it.

Panting hotly against your mouth, heavals. Drunk on your messy kisses and the way your pussy lips were bulging with the struggle to take him - but still milking him so needily. “Tie up my h-hair, honey, wanna see that pretty face of yours proper.”

All you can do is blink back the wall of tears that’d made its home in your eyes, trembly fingers taking ahold of Geto’s thin, black hair tie. 

But you didn’t expect it to be so difficult. 

Because any moment you were even slightly close to bunching up enough of his locks, he’s planting a thorough trail of kisses down your cervix. Before ending with the very showstopper - at your g-spot.

And one look up into Geto’s half-lidded eyes told you one thing…he was doing this on purpose. 

Your legs knock-knee in an almost engulfing way around his heavily swallowing throat, muttering out in a tone that you probably thought was threatening - but that Geto found so cute. “I’m onto you, sir-”

Fuck.

Fuck, maybe you were threatening.

He didn’t expect that evil little nickname to slip past your lips - and you didn’t expect Geto to swipe up a devious thumb up your clit in retaliation. Pretty, puckering lips trailing up the valley of your breasts, “I have no idea what you oh- mean, Screen Queen.”

And despite how you were huffing and puffing, your pussy was so clingy all around him. Hips bumping up in slight bucks fully off of the bed in a pathetic attempt to match Geto’s sloppy cadence. 

Completely starstruck at the sheer pressurized thrusts you were being ruthlessly dealt with - and you half-lucidly swear you could count stars over your head.

“Do it-” His lips kiss down your winking eyes, ringed fingers cold against your own now. “-do it, honey- you can do it. Might be the Screen Queen but you’re my slut, arentcha?”

God, it’s like his words were hypnotic - maybe they were.

And you dredge up every single bit of will in your trembly body to push past the way that he was absolutely ravaging you inside. 

Pound after pound of his swollen cock, the chilling cold metal of his dick piercing helping you discover forbidden sweet spots inside you that you didn’t even realize existed. 

So merciless that he’s slipping out a few inches by accident- only to let out a shuddering gasp, eyes shooting almost-comically wide open before sheathing his way in again. Even deeper - you’re being crushed with the weight of one of his knees pressing down on your body.

Over and over-

“Wanna- hah- wanna cum so badly-” your words prattle out delicately. Fingers searing across his scalp, and the way that you tug makes him hiss. It makes him rut, it makes him slam his hips down bruisingly. “Please-”

He leaves a slurping wet kiss on your neck - and another with his fingers onto the hood of your clit. Rolling over with the angled curve of his thumb. Obviously, having you drop a few tresses of his hair- “Heh, maybe t-tie my hair properly n’ I’ll let ya cum- you know s’a staple of my hngh- videos.”

So infuriating, it makes you clench.

That sleazy grin plastered across Geto’s face was unfairly sexy, and so was the way his body was wracking with sudden shivers. Boasting down every curve and muscle, forcing him to fall onto his elbows-

“Hngh- n’ you call me the rookie-” Your smug grin curves upwards at the way that Geto was so tangibly pussydrunk, the way his hips squelch sloppier into your own. The dripping wet noises so obscene that you could feel your cunt drenching even further with each emanating one.

“God, you’re in for it-” he’s spitting out a few slews of swears against your dangling open mouth. Pinching meanly at your clit. “You’re in- hah- you’re sooo in for it-”

But then Geto sees white - and so do you.

Whether from the crashing pleasure of your orgasm, or the way that he was suddenly pumping out thick ribbons of cum into your snugly filled cunt, you have no idea.  And you don’t even have the rational brain capacity to even wonder right now. 

Because Geto was fucking you through your high like he hated you, rutting up like an animal. And you were sure that if his canines were just a tinge sharper, they’d be drawing blood with how hard he was sinking them into the crook of your neck. 

Only deeper, more feral, with every pump of his spazzing cock - gushing out in boatloads of syrupy cum. It thwacks! against the utterly bruised and battered wet surface of your cervix, before dripping down, down, down to your g-spot.

And there’s so much. 

Such velvety volumes that ooze down in creamy dredges from the very purse of your pussy lips to form a milky ring around his ruddied base. It inflates your constricting walls from the inside - and yet, still not enough.

He presses one hand down to feel for that bump where you’d been filled to the brim. Sure to add more - to paint your dripping insides white until he was shooting blanks the same way he’d done to simply the thought of you. The idea makes him moan-

No, it makes him whimper.

“Still haven’t hngh f-finished tying my hair, honey.” Geto’s mouth leaves possessive marks down your neck. And his sensitive hips dart with a simple, sullying gyration, smiling, “Either you hngh finally do it properly like a good girl th-this time n’ we make a movie or- we go see one. This weekend. You and me. Your choice, Screen Queen.”

A/N. This got LONG but OHH PIERCED GETO MY BELOVED.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter Five - Sleepover

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

Chapter one: Cursed

Chapter two: Munson Magic

Chapter three: Fearless

Chapter Four: Code Name, Farrah Fawcett

Ao3 link

---

Rose

Hawkins was pretty in the autumn. Maybe it was the burnt orange leaves that crunched underneath her boots, or the slight chill in the air that felt crisp and tingled in her lungs as she breathed deeply. Maybe it was the freedom of walking into town on a Saturday afternoon by herself, fresh from a morning of American History homework and completing all her week’s assignments. She might not have a driver's license, but when the red-gold tree-lined streets were this picturesque, who minded walking?

Main Street was busy on a Saturday afternoon, a dozen bikes chained up outside the stores, older folks sat on a bench outside the library, watching the world go by. A girl with red hair a little lighter than Rose’s swung open the door of the arcade, and a loud wave of bleeping machines and electronic music blasted out the open door. She slapped a skateboard on the sidewalk, jumping on it and balancing easily, weaving between a couple leaving Melvald’s General Store with big brown paper bags and ignoring their protests as she passed. The girl raised her middle finger over her head as she disappeared in the distance, attitude stone cold.

Rose peered into the arcade window, and saw a familiar gangly figure inside. Mike was hunched over one of the arcade games, bashing buttons and manhandling a joystick, whilst Lucas leaned against it, slumped and looking longingly at the door.

She thought about waving or saying hello, but they were both absorbed by the shiny metal machine with its bright screen, with a great big donkey plastered on the side. Fixated, like it was life and death. She’d never understood the appeal herself; being wound up like a jack-in-the-box and raging with anger, desperate to beat some high score and placing coin after coin into the game...all for what? To end up on a leaderboard on a tiny screen?

After a few seconds at the window someone her age with brown hair and a name badge popped up on the other side with a weird look on his face, staring at her with his mouth wide open; she backed away slowly, then quickly paced along the sidewalk, almost missing her destination.

Family Video was attached to the arcade, with a neon store sign and glass windows covered in posters of The Breakfast Club and Scarface , along with other movies she hadn’t seen. Her nerves came back in full force as she pushed open the door, not sure if Robin would be up front. 

It wasn’t busy inside, with only a couple of families browsing the rows and rows of tapes, and stands of popcorn and candy. A guy leaned casually on the counter, in a white shirt and green waistcoat, kind of like Han Solo. He was glued to a TV behind the counter, with his back to Rose, and a hell of a head of hair.

“Welcome to Family Video,” he said in a monotone voice, like he wanted to be anywhere else. “We bring the stars of Hollywood to your living room for low, low prices.”

No sign of Robin, not lingering in the rows of tapes or behind the counter with the guy.

“Hello,” she approached the counter with a tentative wave, one slow step at a time. “Hi. Sorry, i’m looking for Robin, and I don’t know if i’m in the right place.”

He noticed her slowly, head turning, straightening himself up and looking at her eagerly. Floppy hair. Confident. 

She fidgeted with her hands, squirming internally at being the centre of someone’s full attention. “Well, I know I must be in the right place, there can’t be two video stores in a town this size, can there? I mean, there are only so many times you can watch The Breakfast Club before you start to lose the will to live. Oh...sorry, that’s probably your favourite, isn’t it. I have a unique talent of putting my foot in my mouth within three seconds of meeting someone.”

The guy’s answering smile was kind of dreamy, which threw her for a loop. He leaned on the counter, speaking low, like he was letting her in on a secret. “Actually, between you and me, I hate The Breakfast Club. I feel like i’m there, taking detention on a Saturday, wasting my life in a school library instead of being outside with my friends. Libraries are kind of dull, aren’t they?”

“Some people would say that,” she mumbled. Not her , but she didn’t want to argue about it. “I’ve never had detention though.”

“Not once?”

“Nope. Cross my heart.”

He found that amusing, his smile growing wider. “Really? You know what, you kind of remind me of the girl from that movie. Molly Ringwald. Mostly the hair, maybe not the face.”

“I don’t know, I can’t see it myself.” Rose’s hand raked through her hair; it was much longer, but perhaps it was a similar shade of red. Though Molly Ringwald had a perfectly styled head of hair in the movie, and Rose’s long waves were more untameable. She’d left it in its natural state this morning as she couldn’t face a can of hairspray or a mirror, still brooding after last night’s disaster when Eddie drove her home and all but confessed he had someone special already. And she was admittedly a little taller and rounder than Molly, never running particularly thin like some of the girls at school.

“Actually, I’ve been told i’m like the jock, what’s his name...” he clicked his fingers repeatedly.

“Emilio Estevez?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. But come on, Emilio Estevez wishes he had my hair.”

She snorted with laughter, covering her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. “It is a good head of hair. I wish I could keep mine that bouncy.”

“You think so? It’s all natural, just born with good genetics, I guess. Hey, how have I not seen you around before? I mean-”

“Oh no, this is not happening, Steve! ” A screeching Robin burst through the office doorway behind the desk, an angry whirlwind in a green waistcoat, hair tied up in a messy half-pony. “My friends are off limits. Keep your sucky flirting skills in your holster.”

Rose cringed hard, half tempted to hide behind a row of tapes or a cardboard cutout of Indiana Jones she’d just spotted in the corner. Refuge behind her beloved Indy.

“ Jesus , Rob,” Steve whined, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can’t I have a conversation with a girl without you bursting out and mocking me? Do you have to do this every time?”

That was flirting? Rose glanced at him out the corner of her eye...she supposed he did have a kind of Simon Le Bon look...but not even a resemblance to her favourite musician could detract from the fact that when she saw this guy’s perfectly nice brown eyes, all she could think of was they’re not Eddie’s . Eddie’s were unfathomably dark, except in the bright sunlight, when the sun’s rays lit them whiskey-brown. Oh god, She was well and truly fucked, wasn’t she?

Robin leapt onto the counter and knocked over a tape, sitting cross legged on the top and prodding him in the chest.

“Ow,” he rubbed the offending spot.

“You should be thanking me for retiring the ‘you suck’ scoreboard, dingus. I finally have a cool, cultured, European friend, and you’re not taking her from me with your Farrah Fawcett hair and your King Harrington routine. She speaks French, Steve. French. She’s been to Paris. Whatever this is,” Robin waved her hand at him disdainfully, “she’s not interested.”

“Hello? I’m right here,” Rose said. The odd duo didn’t even stop to take a breath, they kept right on bickering.

“Alright, alright, cool it,” Steve held up his hands, de-escalating the situation. “I’m not sure if I can just turn off my innate natural charm like a light switch, but I get it. Off limits.”

“Steve?” Rose said, cogs turning slowly in her head. “As in, walkie talkie Steve?”

They both snapped to her, like they only just remembered she was there, wearing twin expressions of confusion. 

“How do you know about the walkie-talkies?” Robin asked suspiciously. “Our frequency is supposed to be highly secret.”

Steve leaned into Robin, their heads almost pressed together. “You said she speaks other languages , right?”

Robin thought about it for a while, and shrugged. “Nah, she’s too odd to be a...uh...one of the workers in the mall. She’s organically odd. No one in a position of power would dream this cover story up.”

“Odd, you say. How?” Steve asked.

“Well, for one, she made a total ass of herself in front of O’Donnell’s class by insulting the jocks and their macho need to throw balls in hoops. No desire to fit in with that team of idiots and their slack-jawed followers, at all.”

Steve frowned. “I was the captain of that team of idiots until like three months ago...you do remember that, don’t you?”

“That’s why her speech was so brilliant, it was insightful...scathing...tearing down the fragile male ego,” Robin sighed. “But she also lives in the murder house on Morehead, and that’s just too weird a backstory to make up.”

“Maybe,” Steve agreed. “Or maybe that’s what the Russians want you to think. Or maybe - ”

“Fucking hell,” Rose snapped. “This is ridiculous. I don’t know half of what you’re talking about, but you seem to be implying i’m some kind of spy, when actually i’m just friends with Dustin. I overheard your conversation on the walkies. Spinal Tap? Remember?”

“Oh shit,” Steve said, the memory clearly coming back to him. “ You’re Dustin’s lady friend.”

“Ew, don’t phrase it like that.” Robin pulled a face. But she slumped with relief, resting her elbows on her cross-legged knees. “I’m sorry, Rose, we may get a little carried away sometimes. You’re good, in fact, you’re great. Most interesting newcomer to Hawkins in like, ever. Are we good? You’re not gonna ban me from our murder-house movie night sleepover are you?”

Rose kicked the fluorescent carpet with her shoe, looking at the floor. “Of course not. Who am I to judge someone else with verbal diarrhoea? If anything, it makes me feel less anxious. And I could do with some cheering up, actually.”

“Oh,” Robin drew out the word, scooching along the counter and dropping her legs off the front, coming closer to Rose. “Is it to do with that whole thing going on at school, the extreme sexual tension with...uh...the guy in our English class.”

“Guy?” Steve asked, looking slightly dejected. “Of course, all the beautiful girls are spoken for.”

Rose was reeling with the implication that anyone would think her beautiful, let alone this admittedly handsome and confident young man, when a customer shattered their illusion of privacy.

“Excuse me?” A middle aged lady in a pea coat, clutching a tape, approached the counter. “Is anyone actually working in this place?”

Steve’s ‘innate natural charm’ turned straight back on, smiling sweetly at the lady. “I am so sorry, ma’am, we were just helping this customer with a video-related dilemma. But let me help you right out with that....Love Story, huh? What a classic movie. Gosh, it just makes me cry every time.”

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” the lady said, looking starry-eyed at him. “I’ve watched it a dozen times, at least.”

Steve stifled a laugh. “Is that so? Well that must make you our most loyal customer.”

Robin hopped off the counter, leaving Steve to serve the lady, ushering Rose to one side, standing underneath the TV. She slung her arm around her. “I’m the last person to think the world revolves around guy drama, but this is about him, isn’t it?”

Rose could feel a curious mix of anger and tenderness at the very implication of it. She hadn’t had the chance to speak to Robin about it, Robin only twigged on her crush yesterday, seeing her and Eddie together up close for the first time.

“Maybe,” she offered up.

“What a dickhead,” Robin fumed on her behalf. “What did he do? Whatever it is, it’s his fault, I just know it. My offer stands, by the way. I can set a very ferocious middle schooler on him for you. He’ll crumble like a breadstick.”

“It’s not anything he did,” Rose groaned. “It’s what he didn’t do. It’s me, i’m an idiot.”

Steve’s eyes were alert, swivelling between the two girls. The moment the lady at the counter left and the store's door closed, he leaned across the counter. “Who are we talking about here? Do I know the guy? Want me to break out my nail bat?”

Robin shot him a scathing look. The two of them clearly were great friends, for this felt like the real unfiltered Robin, not the slightly more reserved version she’d seen at school. “It’s not my place to tell you, it’s kind of private.”

“Who am I gonna repeat high school gossip to?” He said. “I’m a working man now, with my own place.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Your parents’ pool house doesn’t count, dingus.”

“Yes it does!”

“Do you pay rent?”

“I help with groceries sometimes.”

She looked over at Rose. “Point proven. He’s a man child.”

“Hey, that is a very adult thing to do, alright?” He objected, crossing his arms and looking between the both of them. “And not even the grocery store. I went to the butchers in Cartersville last week and picked up a rack of lamb for my mom’s dinner party, it cost twenty bucks...how ridiculous is that?”

“Was it crusted in gold?” Rose added. “Never mind. Anyway, there’s no secret to keep because nothing is happening . Eddie and I are merely friends. Platonic friends, who barely know each other. Acquaintances, really. That is all.”

“No, no, no,” Robin interjected. “ Steve and I are platonic friends. Have been ever since we started working together at Scoops Ahoy. I enjoy watching him strike out with girls, because we’re not interested in each other like that. You and Eddie? No way. I thought English class yesterday was gonna end one of two ways: a proposal, or the two of you making out on O’Donnell’s desk in front of the whole class. It was the nerdiest flirting i’ve ever witnessed in my life - and that includes dingus here - but you were both drooling over each other.”

“Eddie.” Steve tapped on the counter as he thought aloud. “Eddie Kowalski, in Junior year? Glasses, mathlete?”

“God, no,” Robin laughed.

“But it has to be, that's the only Eddie below my class at-” Steve paused, and looked back at Rose in total shock. “Oh sweet mother of god, hold on. Are we talking about Eddie the freak Munson?”

Rose snapped. All the emotions of the past week boiled up and rushed out at once, until she was wagging her finger in Steve’s face. “Don’t call him that! What is it with people calling him a freak? He’s the kindest, sweetest person I think I've ever met. He protects his little pack of friends, gathers up all the outcasts who are bullied and abused, and puts himself on the line - literally taking a beating, if what I hear from Dustin is true - to keep them safe and give them a sense of belonging. He’s putting himself through a third senior year, because despite all the insults and the mocking from his classmates and the whole bloody town, he wants to be better than the name Munson . Nothing about that suggests to me that he is a freak.”

Robin and Steve were stunned into silence, and it was too much. Tears started spilling from the corners of her eyes, overwhelmed by all the new things that had happened in her short time in Hawkins High, the new place, new people, and horrible new emotions. “And maybe I thought something would happen between us. But it’s all hopeless, because he already has someone. He said as much last night, when he wouldn’t come into my house. I feel like such a fucking idiot . Sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

After a long pause, breathing hard, Robin rushed over and gave her a bone-crunching hug, the scent of shampoo and strawberry chapstick overcoming her. It was strangely comforting, not being able to move in her arms.

“Boys are so stupid,” Robin groaned. “But in good news, you’re in the right place for a breakdown. Steve and I are the most pathetic losers in the romance department ever. He’s not over his ex, and I...well, I have a tendency to like people who are unattainable. And beyond that, it’s been kind of a hellish year for us.”

“Yep,” Steve echoed. “We’re doomed. Welcome to the losers club, come and join us.” He opened the hatch to the counter, and she followed Robin into the employees’ domain, the little control centre of the video store.

“Munson though,” Steve mused out loud. “I wouldn’t have guessed it. Though I suppose Molly Ringwald does end up with Judd Nelson in the Breakfast Club. is there a basket case out there searching for me? If she looks like Ally Sheedy, I'll gladly accept.”

“Eddie is nothing like Bender,” Rose scoffed, sitting on a stool by the snacks. “Eddie rants a little bit, but he’s not angry. He’s just anti-establishment, naturally ill-disposed to authority.”

“That’s too many syllables for a Saturday evening,” Robin complained. “But here’s what I don’t get...who the hell is this mystery girl that Eddie is with? I have never seen him with a girl at school, not once. There was a rumour that a girl in the party kid clique - Cass something or other - was seeing him secretly a couple of years ago, but that was never really proved. And she had plenty of boyfriends after. Anyway it’s a moot point, she moved to Wisconsin for College in ‘84.”

Steve shook his head. “I can’t think of a single girl it could be. But we haven’t exactly moved in the same circles. Are you sure he has someone? What happened?”

Rose picked at a loose thread on her dress, going back to the conversation in her driveway last night. “He dropped me off at home last night. I asked if he wanted to come inside, and he said he’d like to, but he made a promise not to do it and he didn’t want to be a cheating, lying scumbag like his dad. Or words to that effect.”

Steve sucked in a breath. “Damn. Did he actually mention a girlfriend by name?”

“Nope.”

“And you’re sure he likes you?” He asked. “I don’t want to upset anyone, but he could have used a fake girlfriend as an excuse. What kind of signs are we talking about here? And not this girlie magazine stuff, like he opened a door for me once, he must be dreaming of our marriage ?”

“I don’t have much experience in this area, but let’s see,” Rose said, so firmly down the rabbit hole with Robin and Steve that she couldn’t stop if she wanted to. “He made me a mixtape. He called me fairer than the sunrise over  mountains. He kissed my hand once, though that was kind of acting during a Hellfire session. We did almost properly kiss a couple of times.”

“Wait, what?” Robin interrupted. “You never told me this? Explain, stat.”

Rose’s skin flushed warm. “We were in the woods behind the school on Monday, and we ended up holding hands. He sort of held my face and pulled me closer, but his rings got stuck in my hair and took out a small chunk of it. Oh, and then we were pressed against the lockers yesterday but Jeff came into the hall, and even Jeff noticed something, he called it a weird, alien mating ritual. So I don’t think it’s just me misunderstanding things.”

“Oh yeah,” Steve affirmed, arms crossed over his Family Video waistcoat. “That is not platonic behaviour. He’s down bad.”

“But I don’t think i’m his type. Dustin said he has a thing for cheerleaders.”

Steve made a funny face. “Pfft. So he’s a red blooded male? Doesn’t mean he only likes cheerleaders.”

Robin cracked her knuckles and stood up, pacing around the desk area. “We need to solve this mystery, I just can’t take it. Is there an unknown girlfriend? What is going on? I would say we could ask Dustin and Mike, but they’re little snitches, I can sense it. They’ll tell Eddie or the older guys and it will all come out.”

It was oddly comforting, sitting with an action movie blaring in the background as the last few customers of the day browsed the tapes, sharing her confusion with Steve and Robin behind the counter. At least she wasn’t brooding in her room, looking out over the treetops like a heroine from an Austen novel.

“Hold on a minute,” Steve sounded excited. “I may not have moved in the same circles as Eddie, but I know someone who does. I dated Jackie Teague in Junior year.”

He looked at them like that should mean something, tutting when their faces were blank. “Her older brother Dougie was one of his best friends, before he failed senior year the first time. And he used to be in that satanic little club with Eddie, the stupid hell and brimstone thing.”

“Hellfire,” Rose corrected. “Which i’ve joined, by the way.”

Steve stood with his hands on his hips, like he was utterly fed up. “Eddie Munson is suddenly a crushable figure and pretty girls are joining the satan club? It’s like the order of things changed as soon as I graduated. But I might be able to get to Dougie through Jackie and get the dirt on your guy.”

“You would do that?” Rose said gratefully. 

“Any friend of Robin’s is a friend of mine. Plus, us romantic losers need a helping hand now and then, right?” He ran over to a jacket on the back of his chair, and pulled a little book out of his pocket, wetting his thumb and flipping through the pages.

Robin pumped her fist and hopped back up on the table, sitting cross-legged again. “Steve, I knew your slutty little black book would come in handy one day. I am so here for this investigation. Harrington, Buckley and McAllister, detectives extraordinaire. You know what? All this tension makes me hungry. This calls for snacks,” she reached out for a pack of candy, something labelled Chewy Lemonheads Rose had never seen before. She broke open the box and popped one in her mouth, holding out the box. “What? I’ll ring this up on the register before I leave, i’m not just stealing.”

“Thanks,” Rose took one, pulling off the plastic wrapper as Steve balanced the earpiece of the phone between his ear and shoulder, dialling a number.

There was a long pause. “Jackie, it's Steve. Yeah, that Steve...” he grimaced at Robin and Rose, and a tinny voice from the phone got louder. “No Jackie, I am not crawling back to...hold on a minute, will you just let me speak? I’m sorry about the whole thing, alright? Tommy H was a prick. No, we don’t hang out together any more, I wised up eventually...yeah, you were right about me. I wasn’t in the best place, but i’m doing better now.”

Steve slumped over, shaking his head. “Actually, i’m not at college, i’m a working man now. Wait, that’s not the point. I kind of need to speak to your brother about something, I was hoping you could give me his number. Why?” He looked over at Rose, scrambling for something to say. “He was in a band, and i’m looking to get into the music sales business. I could do with some insider intel on what kind of items to stock. Uh...amps...guitars, you know, the usual.”

His smile must have meant it worked. He grabbed the little book, and looked around desperately for a pen; Rose leapt off her stool and passed him one from the counter, so he could scribble down a number. “Thanks. Seriously, i’m glad you’re doing well. Bye Jackie.”

Robin began to laugh, her shoulders shaking. “She was mad, wasn’t she. What happened between you two?”

Steve raised a brow. “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Rose’s mouth dropped open. “Are you the lady in this scenario?”

“He’s one of the girls, don’t let him fool you into thinking he’s a jock,” Robin agreed.

“Haven’t I done enough?” Steve waved the number in the air. 

“You’re right,” Rose said, contrite. “Please, please work your mysterious magic and see what you can find out. I’ll owe you one.”

He was smug, still craned to one side to hold the receiver to his ear. He dialled the second number, whistling as he waited for the phone to ring out.

“Where even is Dougie Teague?” Robin asked, voice muffled as she chewed on a lemonhead. 

“Terre Haute, his old man has a construction firm up there,” Steve replied. “Oh hi , man. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Sorry, that wasn’t a joke about the Hellflame club.”

They waited whilst Steve greeted this Dougie guy, a faint voice coming from the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, I have a favour to ask,” Steve admitted, twirling the phone cord around his finger. “But before I say anything, I need you to promise that word doesn’t reach anyone about what i’m asking, including the person this relates to. It’s part of the favour. Why should you do that? Do you not remember the number of times I distracted your parents at dinner while you climbed in the window stoned off your ass? And the time that I took the blame for that box of condoms? Your dad gave me ‘the talk’ with a shotgun casually laid out on the coffee table. I could have died, man. Or, I could go and visit your Mom right now and...”

Rose was kind of engrossed, finding out about the inner workings of this Steve, the friend to so many people in her new social circle. From his easy going demeanour, and the way he so casually called in a whole bunch of favours to help a relative stranger, she could tell he was a good egg. 

“Thank you,” Steve sighed. “That’s the spirit. So I need to know everything about the romantic history of Eddie Munson.”

He held the receiver away from his head as laughter rang out. “Yeah man, i’m serious. Remember the deal. Jeez, I don’t care if you think he’s an overdramatic dungeon master...wait, that’s not something sexual is it? Oh, thank god. Now spill. Any girlfriends, crushes, preferences?”

Five minutes stretched out with Steve adding the occasional uh huh, okay , or anything else? , and it felt like the longest five minutes of Rose’s life. Robin had to serve a couple of customers in the interim, ushering them out of the store as quickly as she could without being rude. Between them they went through the box of candy, until she could feel the beginnings of a stomach ache coming on. Though it could be the tension as much as the chewy lemonheads, tangy and sugar-sweet in her mouth.

By the time Steve hung up the phone with a shrill ring, it was closing time. Robin sprinted over to the door and flipped over the sign from open to closed and they waited with baited breath.

“Do you want the good news or the bad first?” Steve asked, running his hand through his floppy hair, almost making it stand on end. 

“Bad,” Rose said. “Wait, good then bad. I’m fragile today, build me up to it.”

“Okay. Good news, he doesn’t have a girlfriend that Dougie knows of, and saw Eddie only last month for a rock concert in Terre Haute.”

“That’s great!” Robin looked joyful. “No girlfriend!”

“That we know of,” Rose reminded her.

Steve cleared his throat and continued. “He’s not really had girlfriends in school, Dougie thinks he was seeing that Cass girl. He may have had a thing with a girl from a bar in town, but that was a while back. And his last girlfriend was a music label executive from California, who was a few years older. She apparently wanted Eddie to move out there and pursue a record deal, but something happened to throw it off. He wouldn’t say what it was.”

What? How was she supposed to compete with older women, bloody record executives with a vast array of experience - life, career, sexual - that she wouldn’t have? And she would bet the California girl didn't need to be given a mixtape to learn what metal music is. God, it made her feel like a kid.

“There’s more,” he said carefully. “Dougie thinks he has a thing for Chrissy Cunningham, though Eddie hadn’t mentioned it in a while. Said he’d had a crush on her since middle school.”

At this point, Rose just hummed and nodded, her worst fears oconfirmed. “I see. So he’s either not into me at all, and using some imaginary girl to spare my feelings as he’s changed his mind about me. Or, he’s in love with Chrissy, maybe even carrying on some kind of fling behind her boyfriend Jason’s back.”

“That’s just a theory,” Robin added, her energy wild. “If anything, this has opened up even more questions. We need more leads. Maybe Chrissy herself; she looks fragile. I can get that nut to crack. Let’s get her in the girls’ bathroom on Monday. Or wait...where does she live?

“Woah,” Steve held up his hands. “I hate to douse water on this fire, but have you thought about sitting down with the guy and actually asking him what’s going on? Like a proper, adult conversation?”

Rose and Robin looked at each other, and burst out laughing. “Are you mad?” Rose said between gulps of air. “What am I going to say? Eddie, I may have known you for less than two weeks but i’ve developed a raging crush on you, and after secretly interrogating your old friends using very shady contacts outside of school-”

“Hey, i’m not shady!”

“Correction, using very unorthodox contacts outside of school, i’ve compiled a history of your love life, and think you might be carrying on an affair with your middle school crush. Can you confirm or deny?”

Steve rubbed his face with his hand. “Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds insane. Maybe you could just say: I like you, I think you might like me, do you wanna go out sometime? That’s how I've always asked girls out. Maybe with a little embellishment, but it’s not difficult.”

“He already declined coming into my house and said he didn’t want to be a lying cheat, what am I supposed to do, beg?” She argued. “Oh god, i’ve accidentally willed this into being, haven’t I...i’ve always wanted to be Eowyn, Lady of Rohan. And now I am.”

She looked at their blank faces, and missed Hellfire and Eddie deeply. They would have put the metaphor together straight away, and known exactly what she meant. “It’s a character from Lord of the Rings. She falls in love with the hero, Aragorn, future King of Gondor, pining away for him as they battle the forces of evil. But he’s in love with an Elvish princess, Arwen Evenstar. Okay, there’s a little more to it, but it’s a tragic love triangle with swords and elf ears and stuff.”

“Back up,” Steve said. “We’re in a world where Eddie Munson is a fantasy hero with not one, but two beautiful women lusting after him, and I can’t even get a date? What did I do in a past life to deserve this?”

Robin was eager to leap in. “Do you want the cliffnotes, or the full thesis?”

“Ha ha,” he said sarcastically. 

“Fuck it,” Rose stood up. “I’m not going to talk about Eddie Munson any more. We’re going to rent a movie, and consume so much sugar that we can’t see straight. Also, I don’t know if you drink, but I may have a sizeable stash of alcohol and a mother who always forgets the drinking age is twenty-one here, and not eighteen.”

Robin’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, that sounds good. My brain is fuzzy enough today, let’s double it up with booze.”

“I like that energy, Buckley,” she replied. “What movie do you want to watch?” Something high brow and intellectual? Foreign language?”

Robin laid back on the counter, knocking over the candy display. “I can’t take it tonight. Give me something trashy and brainless.”

Rose went out into the rows of tapes, scouting the shelves, fingers trailing over the VHS tapes. She left behind the documentaries and dramas, heading for the new and popular releases. She passed right over The Breakfast Club, stopping at some of the other tapes, grabbing a couple and coming back to a reclining Robin holding two aloft.

“Footloose, and Risky Business. What do you think?”

Robin gave her a big thumbs up.

Steve watched her with a strange look. “Dancing and hookers. Sounds like a good night. I was always kind of jealous of girl sleepovers...boys don’t get that.”

“You never had a sleepover?” Rose asked. “I haven’t had one in a long time. Unless you count sleeping with five other girls on a hospital ward. There was much less chance for booze and gossip, and the bleeping machines killed the vibe.”

“Not really,” Steve confessed. “Not outside of people crashing after a party, but then we’d all be hooking up. My parents weren’t big on hosting when I was a kid.”

“Come with us!” Rose said, spur of the moment. She’d had such a nice time in the video store, that she knew she didn’t want him to feel left out. It would be nice to bond with them over something other than her doomed love life, and she wouldn’t get to see him at school like she would Robin.

“Ooh, yeah!” Robin sat up quickly, grabbing the back of her head as if she were dizzy. “Come on, it will be fun! Haven’t you wanted to see inside Creel House?”

Steve shuffled from foot to foot, like he couldn’t make up his mind. “You’re parents won’t mind?” 

“Not at all,” Rose reassured him. “The house is as big as the high school, so you can have a room to yourself. My mum would love to meet some of my friends, and my stepdad is as threatening as a puppy. He’ll keep out of the way. It’s the least I can do, after you went to all that trouble with your ex.”

He chewed it over, and broke out into a big smile. “Girls night it is! Give me an hour to lock up and grab some clothes from home, and I can come to your place.”

“Great,” she beamed. “It’s near the corner of Morehead and Cornwallis, opposite the abandoned playground.”

He grabbed the keys, tossing them into the air and catching them deftly. “Oh, everyone knows where that house is. I’ll see you there.”

Robin patted him on the cheek as they left the store. “What did I say, Stevie? You’re just one of the girls.”

---

The walk from Family Video back to Rose’s house was slow. Rose and Robin talked nonstop, pausing every few minutes to laugh until tears came to their eyes, Robin filling her in on all funny or boring facts she could summon on Hawkins and the townsfolk. 

“There,” Robin said, pointing at a dilapidated, rusty-roofed bus stop on Morehead, just a few minutes from home. “That’s where an owl attacked old Mrs Gillespie’s head, and tried to nest in her perm.”

“What?” Rose barked out. “How big was that woman’s hair?”

“That’s not even the best bit, it turned out she’d been wearing a hairpiece since the late 60s, and the goddamn owl clutched it in its talons and flew away with it.”

Rose covered her mouth with her hands. “No way.”

“Yes way, she even called the police station to report a theft!”

She doubled up and clutched her sides, laughing so hard it hurt her ribs. “Stop.”

“Chief Hopper, or Officer Hopper back then, asked if she wanted it reported for theft or actual bodily harm.”

Rose buckled over, laughing until she couldn’t breathe. “I think I might pee.”

That launched Robin into another fit of giggles, and the two of them clutched each other, stumbling the street like drunks, laughing even harder when a passing car swerved away and the driver looked like he should be calling the doctors at Pennhurst Mental Hospital. 

The girls arrived like that, swaying up the driveway and scaring away the birds from the trees, which of course made it even worse. As they stepped up on the porch, Robin craned her neck and whistled, looking up at the house.

“What are you, part of the Addams Family? Is Lurch gonna answer the door and offer me a cup of tea?”

“Yep, Uncle Fester will be along any minute.”

Robin snickered. “If you mean Steve, with all that hair he’s more like Cousin It.”

Rose fiddled with her bag and tried to find her keys, when the door clicked open and swung inward. Jerry stood in the doorway, in a striped shirt and a cardigan, smiling merrily at them.

“Welcome, come on in,” he said, arms beckoning inward. “Now the first thing we do in this house when we have visitors is put the kettle on. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Robin screeched like Mrs Gillespie’s criminal owl, and her face was so red she looked like she would burst a blood vessel any minute. All the tension Rose had accumulated dropped, and she was filled with mirth and happiness, unable to keep herself serious, laughing alongside her yet again.

Jerry scratched his greying head, and looked kind of worried. “Uh...Shirley? I think I might need your help. I don’t know what to do!”

A set of footsteps bounded down the stairs, and her mother’s panicked face came into view, softening as soon as she saw Robin and Rose gasping for breath and wiping tears from their eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry, Jerry,” her mum said. “This is what teenagers are like when they gather in packs. They’re like Gremlins fed after midnight. You girls haven’t been drinking already, have you?”

“Nope,” Rose asserted. “Just high on life.”

Mum’s blue eyes - same as Rose’s, one of the only features they had in common - narrowed. “Hmm. Well come on in, let me put the kettle on.”

The hilarity began again, until the adults in the house went from amused to slightly irritated. They made it inside eventually, Robin cooing over the period features in the house, the sweeping stair and fireplace, high ceilings and turn of the century architecture. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs Gruber,” she said, gathering herself together. “I’m Robin Buckley. Rose’s friend from English class. You’re house is amazing. It’s so gothic and bohemian at the same time, I love it.”

Mum looked so genuinely pleased she almost vibrated with happiness. “Thank you, Robin. You’re welcome any time. God knows we can barely find each other in this house as it is, we probably wouldn’t even notice you!”

Rose stepped in, patting her mother on the back, trying to butter her up. “On that note, I may have promised that another friend can stay over too. Is that alright?”

Mum nodded, blonde hair bobbing about her face. “Of course. WIll she want to stay in the attic room too?”

“ He , actually.” Rose said confidently. “Steve is Robin’s best friend, they work at the Family Video together.”

Jerry clutched his chest in the background, like he might have a stroke, but her mother was totally unfazed. “It isn’t some sort of menage a trois, is it?”

“Bloody hell, no,” Rose said loudly. “He’s more like one of the girls. Honestly, it's mortifying that you would ask me that.”

Her mother merely smiled. “Oh, stop. You’re nineteen in a few weeks, not a little child. If this Steve wants to stay, he can stay. We can make up the guest room at the back of the house, can’t we, Jerry.”

He’d gone pale, but nodded dutifully. “Yes, Shirley. What a...great idea.”

Mum ordered a pizza while Rose gave her friend the tour, pointing out all doors that shouldn’t be opened, bits and pieces of the house that might snap or fall off at any minute, or wobbly floorboards, as they were still in the middle of restoring the long-abandoned place to its former glory.

When Steve pulled into the driveway an hour later, Rose ran out onto the porch to greet him, a bottle of Jerry’s beer in hand. Steve came into the house to a round of cheers; he seemed to love being greeted by a bunch of adults and teenagers eating pizza in front of a tiny TV in a huge sitting room, the music from Footloose blaring on the little speaker. Another hour and another drink - or two - later, and they all hung out in Rose’s room in the attic.. 

“No way!” Robin cried out from her spot on the end of Rose’s bed. “I’m an only child too! All three of us, that’s weird.”

Steve was laid out on a beanbag, with a girly peach-schnapps based cocktail made by her mother in his hand, sipping loudly and trying not to poke out his eye with a little yellow cocktail umbrella. “Mmm...but...would you actually want a sibling? Aren’t they kind of annoying?”

“Maybe,” Rose said, laying on the head of the bed, her feet propped up against the wall and covering the poster-face of Indiana Jones. “But i’m just glad to be here, eating pizza and drinking Tia Maria with you guys. Just happy to be alive, you know? Heart still beating. Life still moving forward. Living in a place so quiet and unremarkable that I know I can just...rest for a bit. You know what I mean?”

“Oh boy,” Robin groaned. “Sure is normal in Hawkins. Nothing ever happens here.”

Steve giggled, high pitched. “She’s right. But you live in a murder house...how can you say nothing happens here?”

Rose rolled right-side up without spilling a drop of her coffee liqueur-martini concoction. “Oh. I forgot. I don’t really know about the murder. Didn’t want to ask.”

“Really? Robin screeched. “I’d have to know.”

Rose hummed. “Maybe someone was pushed down the stairs? Stabbed in the kitchen, with a knife? Or maybe just whacked over the head in this attic with a lead pipe? Yep, that’s right, I live inside a real-life Cluedo. Just wonderful .”

“The Creel murder was brutal,” Steve explained. “It...woah, what the heck is happening with the lights?”

Rose opened her eyes. The bulbs in her room were malfunctioning one by one, the lamps and ceiling light blinking on and off. “Oh, it happens all the time. Dodgy electrics, you see.”

“That makes sense,” Robin reasoned. “This place is ancient.”

Steve wasn’t convinced. He took another sip of his cocktail, watching the lights, pointing at them. “They’re flickering in a line..see? One, two, three. It’s a sequence...like something’s moving across the room!”

“Oooh,” Robin made a creepy noise. “It’s a gh...a, a ghost."

“Hold on.” Rose slurred. “J’accuse! You are drunk. There’s no such thing as ghosts."

Steve was in his own world, watching the lights. “It reminds me of...of something...can’t remember what though. But it’s important. Very important.”

Robin sat up, out of the blue, wild-eyed from the schnapps. “I can’t take it anymore! I’m gay, alright? Stop with the questioning. I like girls. Are you happy now?”

The silence was thick, punctuated by the faint, pulsing hum of the flickering lights. 

“Uhh...Rob, I know that already,” Steve said. “Did you know that Rose?”

“Nope,” she replied casually. “But it’s all good. More boys for me that way, aren’t there?” She peered up at her wall of posters. “But Simon Le Bon will always be first and foremost in my heart. In fact, I swear off all men, be they international rockstar or high school guitarist. But Robin, are you good? Did you want to talk about it?”

Her friend slumped back down on the bed. “Huh. Maybe I just had that argument in my own head. Bloody hell, i’m drunk.”

Steve giggled yet again. “ Bloody hell. You sounded like Rose. English cursing is weird. Go on, go on, say something.”

Rose pointed at the posters and thought about it deeply. “I’m not a bloody circus freak, you wanker.”

“Hah!” Robin laughed. “That’s like a jerk-off.”

“Hey, you’re just taking the piss now, aren’t you.”

“I know that one!” Steve added. “More!”

Rose grumbled. “I’m too bereft and miserable to think of anything else. You twat.”

“Wait,” Robin called out. “You said twat pronounced like cat , not twat like what .”

“That’s what it is, love.” Rose downed the bitter dregs of her martini and put the cup on her bedside table. “I wish that ghost would bloody keep still, the lights are hurting my eyes.”

Steve sighed and closed his eyes. “It’s coming toward my beanbag chair. Hey, is the ghost single? This may be the closest I've been to being touched since Nance dumped me for Jonathan freaking Byers.”

“We’re so pathetic,” Robin agreed. “Also, I think I might like a girl in band. But I haven’t spoken to her yet.”

“Details please,” Rose requested. “But I think I might need some fresh air, should we open a window?”

Robin crawled off the bed and over to the stained glass dormer, pulling herself up with her fingers on the pane. “Wait a minute, there’s a playground twenty yards away, right? Let’s go on the swings! I always want to play on the swings. Why is it that you get to a certain age and you're told that all delight and whimsy must die, and you can’t play anymore? They should make playgrounds for adults.”

“Robin,” Steve chipped in. “It’s midnight, it’s cold, and we’re wasted. Oh, and we’re also in our PJs. So that’s a brilliant idea, let’s do it!”

Their midnight excursion was a disaster, crashing down two flights of stairs with bottles of alcohol in hand and slippers on their feet, whispering so loud they would wake the dead, let alone Rose’s mother and stepfather. But they made it out into the moonlight, laughing like idiots and running across the deserted street, making for the rusty swings.

And if Rose felt the wilting stems of cut flowers crunch under her slippered feet, and noticed blotches of shadow-dark petals on the sidewalk, then by Sunday morning it had completely slipped from her drink-addled memory, along with Steve’s recollection of the flickering lights.

---

Eddie

Eddie was a good musician, and he knew it. It wasn’t false modesty, he’d spent years learning to play and practising all hours of the night and at weekends, an outlet for his restless energy and creative brain. Music kept the buzzing in his head away, and calmed him down in a way nothing else could, except maybe weed. But nearly as important as hours of practice, he had that something people often searched for but couldn’t describe, the thing that drew the eye and kept an audience hooked. The rest of Corroded Coffin were good too, and Gareth was a demon on the drumset, but they were still a garage band. Decent, on time, in tune, and doing a damn good job of covering their favourite songs. 

But today? Practice was doomed from the start. Whatever magic he usually summoned to give him skill and stage presence when he played was completely fucking absent.

“Get it together,” Gareth cried out, his drumbeat faltering and the whole band trailing off into silence. “Your timing is so off. It’s like your racing to the end of the song, and this is goddamn Fade to Black , a fucking ballad. It might be Metallica, but it’s not thrash metal.”

“Alright, no need to be a dick,” Eddie snapped, looking down at the lump of plastic in his hand. “Jesus H Christ. I’ve broken another pick.”

Chris scoffed. “What is that, three? I’ve got a spare, but it's my last one.”

He reached into his back pocket, fishing out a black pick and pressing it into Eddie’s hands. Eddie took it gratefully, eyes directed at the chipped concrete floor of Gareth’s garage. “Thanks, man.”

“You’d better not be this bad at the Hideout on Tuesday,” Gareth warned, pointing at him with his drumstick, making the wooden implement look threatening. “If we’re gonna do a new slower set, we have to nail it. Bev won’t let us keep playing forever, not unless we actually bring in some customers. Or at least, not drive the existing ones away.”

Eddie clicked his tongue. “Sorry, alright? I promise i’ll bring the good stuff on Tuesday. You know me, Gare. I’m usually on this. Today, i’m just...off.”

His friend raised a sarcastic brow, a smug expression plastered over his face. “Off. Is that what they call it now? Dude, just forget about the girl for a weekend. Obsession is not a good look when trying to score.”

Eddie looked up, pacing Gareth’s garage with its fluorescent overhead light, nearly tripping on an amp cable. “Don’t say it like that. I am not just looking to score , man. You sound so sordid.”

“ Oh ,” Gareth taunted. “So you don’t want to bone her, just go to a tea party together. In that case, can I take a shot?”

Eddie advanced on him, teeth clenched together. “I'm one second away from smashing this guitar over your head, Emerson. If your mom wasn't so nice about us using the garage, i’d have done it already.”

Jeff stepped in to view, putting a hand to Eddie’s chest. “Easy. Easy, dude. He’s just making a point, though it was kind of a gross one.”

“Yeah,” Gareth chipped in again, sat comfy behind the shield of his drum set. “Point made. Why don’t you invite her to see us play on Tuesday? That way you’re actually making progress , and asking her out. And maybe if you think she’s going to be at the shoe, you might actually put in some practice and try not to suck.”

Chris sucked in a breath, watching the guys’ drama unfold, rhythm guitar poised in his hands. 

“Maybe that’s a good idea,” Jeff added.

After a week of intense longing and subtle flirting, Eddie was a goner. Rose McAllister was not just the pretty face that appeared in Hellfire from nowhere, she radiated goodness. Observant, accepting, warm and thoughtful. Starkly different from the girls he’d usually fallen for. And on top of that, she was a fantasy nerd with a voracious taste in exploring other worlds through the written word, and had the soul of a poet. He’d been himself around her, and somehow he’d not scared her off yet, and that was a rare thing...non-existent, actually. She knew about his trailer, his criminal dad, and his dealing, and she still wanted to be around him. But last night when he dropped Rose off at home, things got...weird.

She’d listened to W.A.S.P and Sabbath and Metallica, not put off by his kind of music, and they’d talked and smiled and flirted, until he got to her driveway and she invited him inside. His heart fucking jump-started and sparks fizzled in his fingertips at that, but he’d made a promise to Uncle Wayne not to go in that house, and he intended to keep it. Eddie had made a mess of explaining it, and she ran off. He had to course-correct with Rose, before he veered off a cliff and she never talked to him again. Eddie had lost out on so much - his mom, an opportunity to be a rockstar, his father’s love, a normal graduation - he’d be damned if he let the girl slip through his fingers.

“Okay,” he said, making up his mind. “I’ll ask her to the show. Like...a date. Maybe go out after.”

Jeff clapped him on the shoulder. “Live long and prosper, my friend. Good luck.”

“What if she says no?”

“Then at least you know.”

“I don’t think i’m gonna be able to concentrate right now,” he said. “I need a cigarette. Maybe a joint.”

“Hey,” Gareth shouted, “Mom has a no-tolerance policy, remember? Don’t light up til you get home.”

Eddie groaned. “Fine. Oh god...what if she says yes ?”

Gareth gave him a strange look again. “Then you fucking celebrate having a girlfriend, and start going out on dates and shit. That’s not exactly a problem, man.”

Eddie turned his frazzled mind to his Warlock guitar. He struck the opening few chords of Wild Child , the first metal song he’d introduced to Rose. Maybe he could play it for her on Tuesday.

“You’ll need money,” Chris piped up out of nowhere. “My sister’s boyfriend is always paying for her movie tickets, and burgers and shakes, and a corsage at Homecoming. Being a boyfriend is expensive.”

“Shit, I think you’re right, man.”

Eddie had the means to earn, even if it was a little less than legal. But when he had money, it tended to drain away pretty quickly: guitars, clothes, concert tickets, running his monster of a van and helping Wayne with the bills. 

Rose had never given off the impression of wealth, but he hadn’t forgotten that she lived in literally the biggest mansion in town, and had seen far more of the world than Eddie ever had. If he was going to do this right, he’d have to put some money together. And if he needed more cash, there was only one place to get it.

---

Lovers Lake glistened through the treeline as Eddie’s van sailed down the road, getting closer with each minute, until he emerged in a clearing. A decent-sized white lakehouse sat on the northern shore, with a separate boat house and a little jetty stretching out into the lake. He had to admit this part of Hawkins was pretty, surrounded by nature and autumn coloured trees. 

He killed the engine and the blaring noise of Judas Priest faded into nothing, leaping from the van and slamming the door. By the time he walked up the front steps, a face had already appeared in the doorway.

“Eddie, my good friend.” Reefer Rick bumped his fist and clapped him on the back, ushering him into the tidy, plainly decorated home. “Wasn’t expecting you till next week. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Rick Lipton was six three at a slouch, with the physique of a football player who’d let himself go. His long hair and beard gave him a hippy kind of air, only heightened by the cloud of weed that floated out the kitchen door, a joint lit and perched on the kitchen table’s ashtray.

“Hey, Rick. Good to see you,” Eddie began. “I know i’m not usually back within a couple of weeks, but I was hoping to shift more product.”

The great big hippy pulled at his beard, head cocked to the side. “Munson Junior, scaling up. Given up on high school yet, ready to earn something more than pin money from selling football stars and prom queens weed?”

Rick passed over the joint; Eddie took a drag gratefully, twitching and waiting for the calm to settle into his bones. They sat in silence for a moment, looking out the big window toward the lake, with a little row boat bobbing up and down on the jetty. 

“Nah, still in school,” he said, blowing out smoke and handing it back. “Not looking to get myself in more trouble, I just need to shift a little more this month, make a few extra bucks.”

“So not just here for pleasure. You should drop by sometime just to play pool and have a few beers. Maybe sit out by the lake. It’s nice here in the summer, real pretty.”

Eddie gave him a deadpan look. “It’s October, man. It’s cold out. And besides, what is it that you always say? Pleasure is the business.”

Rick grinned around the joint, smoke spilling from his lips. “Right on. Listen, i’m a little lower than usual. You can have another five ounces, but it’s bennies that i’m sitting on right now. Ket too.”

He kept a smile on his face, trying not to let his disappointment show. Rick had been distributing to him for a year or two. He was a contact of his dad’s before dad split town after fucking up a robbery and getting involved in a shooting. When shit hit the fan for Eddie and he needed cash, no reputable business in Hawkins wanted to employ a brash metalhead with a criminal family and no high school diploma. He’d caved and come to Rick for work. Dealing paid well, but he was this fucking close to being busted by the cops, on more than one occasion. And being a drug dealer with a moral compass absolutely sucked . Not to mention that the punishment for pushing hard drugs like ketamine and bennies was greater than possession of a little weed. 

“I’m not sure, Rick,” he said, grabbing the back of his neck. “Weed for high school kids is one thing, but I don’t want to be responsible for a bunch of strung out kids getting hooked on ket.”

“Ket and bennies have a greater profit margin,” Rick said, with a shrug. “More cash for less effort. Smart business.”

“I could take a little more, but not much. With Hopper gone, Chief Powell is on my ass. I can’t risk getting cautioned again, man.”

“So be it, Junior. Six ounces of weed, six bottles of bennies, six of ket. Six, six, six, the devil’s number...you’re into that Iron Maiden shit, right? That’s a pretty metal deal, endorsed by Satan himself.”

Eddie laughed. “Coming from you, that’s funny. Nothin’ but sixties rock, like you’re a Vietnam vet something. Weren’t you like ten in the sixties?”

“Shit, you sound more like your old man every day, Junior.”

Eddie’s jaw twitched, and his foot tapped against the pale lino of Rick’s orderly kitchen. “Just a chip off the old block, huh. Another piece of shit Munson, cheating and stealing his way through life with a smile on his face and a string of casualties in the rearview mirror.”

Rick’s easygoing face fell, like he was troubled. “Didn’t mean nothing by it, kid. I know you’re not like your dad in the ways that count. Anyways, what do you need this extra money for? New guitar, new ride, or something?”

Eddie leaned on the back of a kitchen chair, and chewed on his own hair like a goddamn cat. “Not exactly.”

“I know that face, brother. Seen it many a time. It’s a woman, ain’t it?”

A goofy smile came over his face. “Yeah.”

“Taking her out somewhere nice?”

“I’m hoping to. I haven’t asked her out yet, not properly. But i’m going to next week at school. Just need to find the right time to do it, I guess.”

Rick looked down his nose at Eddie, appraising him in one glance. “So this shit isn’t even in the bag, yet? What have you done so far?”

Eddie looked from left to right, like he was physically searching for an answer. “Do you mean...you know....like, sexually?”

“Hell’s bells, kid. That is not what I meant. Have you wooed the lady yet? Made your intentions known?”

Eddie’s anxiety went from nought to sixty in about three seconds. “I...don’t know. I mean, I think so? We’ve talked, listened to music...oh god. What if she just wants to be my friend? What do I say? What do I do ?”

Rick slammed his elbows on the kitchen table and buried his head in his hands. “I know it’s the eighties, man, but chivalry ain’t dead. What’s this girl like? She a rocker type like you?”

“Rose?” Eddie said with a sigh, picturing her instantly, heart going soft. “No, she’s no type at all, she’s unique. Funny, open-hearted, seriously smart. And beautiful...she doesn’t seem to know how beautiful she really is. I don’t understand why she’s giving me the time of day. I keep expecting something to happen, like some big-shot prom king or college kid is gonna turn up and sweep her off her feet.”

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” Rick said bluntly. “Shelve all this casual shit. None of this wait til Monday ,or i’ll flirt a little longer and see what happens . Go over there right now, and tell her you’re damn crazy about her. You’ll want to bring her a gift too.”

Eddie sat up straight, feeling a surge of energy course through his veins. “Gift. Right. Wait...what kind of gift?”

“Depends on the girl, my man. But if in doubt, go with flowers.”

“Flowers,” Eddie repeated. “I can do that.”

Rick smiled, taking another drag from his joint, blowing out the smoke with a big grin. “Well what are you waiting for? Drugs aren’t gonna be ready til Monday, so unless you’d rather hang out with your supplier on a Saturday night, go and get the girl.”

Eddie leapt up, tripping over his chair. His jean chain caught on the chair leg as he set it back up, and he crashed about the kitchen like a clumsy foal on wobbly legs. Some mug or teacup smashed in the background and he apologised over and over, making everything worse as he tried to pick it all up.

“Get out, kid.” Rick waved him off.

He stopped long enough at the door to shout at the laughing guy inside. “Thanks Rick, I owe you one!”

---

His rusty old van rattled and roared as he sped down the backroads of Hawkins, foot heavy on the gas pedal; he was a man with a mission, a knight on a quest to win the heart of a fair maiden, and nothing could stop him now. Rick was right, he’d have to pledge his heart to the lady and seek her favour. 

Except he could hardly arrive with four hundred bucks of drugs hidden in the back of his van, reeking of weed. Pit stop necessary, a side quest, if you will. He raced home, sniffed all the clothes in his ‘clean’ heap and changed into the least creased shirt, and stashed the pills and baggies in some drawer in the hallway, under a load of old tins and spare tools, and other junk they’d never use.

Half an hour later he ran into the grocery store, five minutes before closing, sprinting down the aisles seeking the display of cut flowers he knew he’d seen last week. He startled the customers, but right at the end of the aisle he spied his prize, the treasure at the end of the dungeon crawl...or wait, was Rose the treasure? She wasn’t an object , but she was precious. God, he was nervous. 

Only a few bunches of flowers remained, but which ones did he get? There were pink ones and red ones, little ones surrounded with white baby’s breath. The big sunflowers were bright and cheerful, but he wasn’t sure about them...now that he looked at them up close, what was up with sunflowers? How were the heads that big? They were like a baby’s head, and that was a weird image. Fuck it, not the sunflowers. 

An older lady in a store apron walked by, and he seized upon her, running toward her and startling her.

“Jesus, sorry,” he held up his hands. “Help, please help. I need to buy flowers for a girl, and I don’t know which ones to get. Wait...flowers have meanings , right? Like there’s this secret language that Victorian women used to be into? What if I chose pretty flowers and it means sorry your dog died and she hates me forever?”

The lady’s panic slowly evaporated, and she walked him over to the flowers. “Okay, let’s take a look. The roses are pretty. There’s nothing classier than a Rose.”

He smiled. “I couldn’t agree more. Wait, if her name is literally Rose, does that change things? Is it too obvious?”

She shook her head, wrinkles creasing in the corners of her eyes. “I wouldn’t say so.”

“Perfect. Thank you, ma’am,” he shook the woman’s hand, and grabbed the best bunch of red roses he could find. They were still grocery store flowers, one of them slightly wilting, but he could throw that one out.

By the time he’d bought the roses and approached Creel house, the energy that sustained him was seriously flagging, and all kinds of possibilities were swarming in his head. 

What if she wasn’t there? What if her mom, the Balrog, answered the door? He supposed it was only fair that he slew some demons on his way to the fair maiden, but he couldn’t exactly pull out a broadsword and run through her mom. Or the stepdad...what if he was the kind to own a shotgun, and decided buckshot was the best way to get Eddie the freak off his lawn?

Heart pounding, he pulled up within sight of the house, twenty yards down the street. It was fancier than he remembered, an intimidating castle, ready to be sieged. The lights were on, car parked in the driveway; at least someone was home. Maybe he should climb the veranda and deliver them to her window. Shit, he didn’t know which one was hers.

“Time to fight, Munson,” he muttered to himself. “Roll the dice, and pray to Ozzy for a nat 20.”

He grabbed the flowers and went for the door handle, but had to shield his eyes from bright headlights instead. Bright headlights turning into the driveway of the Creel house. The car’s door slammed shut, and Eddie froze like a deer in headlights.

Steve fucking Harrington. The King, The Hair, or whatever dipshit nickname the gullible kids of Hawkins High like to call him, was walking up Rose’s driveway with a goddamn overnight bag in his hand.

No sooner than his face scowled and mouth dropped open, Rose came out the door. She called out, loud and happy, throwing up her arms in the air like she was so pleased to see Harrington she couldn’t contain it. Within the space of exactly six heartbeats, Harrington dragged his bag into the house and Rose closed the door behind him.

What the fuck?

Harrington was a year below him through Middle and High school; enough of a jock enough to be naturally opposed to Eddie and his band of freaks, but not violent or mean enough to be a real enemy. The guy was a bit of an asshole, and when he and Tommy H got into the basketball cult, they’d grown insufferable, pulling pranks on everyone. Come to think of it, they’d shoved Gareth into a girls bathroom stall in his freshman year and locked him in. 

How in the hell did Rose know the guy? And more importantly, what was he doing with an overnight bag in her house? Maybe she’d just hedged her bets and found herself the first prom king that came along. Someone better suited. Rich family, high school diploma, Hollywood hair. 

Eddie waited thirty minutes to be sure, but Steve never came out. With each minute his heart sank lower, until the night was pitch black and he was freezing cold in the van’s cab. Turning on the engine was a little act of defeat, an admission that he’d taken too much damage, killed before the campaign had even begun. And when he rolled out of Morehead, past the creepy old playground, he threw the roses out the driver's window, watching the splash of dark red fade in the rearview mirror.

[sunn-mechanic]

[ID in Alt]

..pretty guy...

Song is Close to You by The Carpenters btw

[lackadaisycats]

I hope you know that literally nobody is going to be able to live up to the standard you, V*v, and Glitch have set and your arrogance and exploitation of your fanbase and connections has screwed millions of creatives out of their dreams because Hollywood is a joke that isn't worth telling and wealthy e-celebs like yourself have claimed the indie scene all to yourselves and moved the goalposts into the stratosphere.

Nope. This isn't a zero sum game. There is not some limited, prescribed number of indie trophy slots that a few studios greedily filled up, blocking everyone else out. That is not how it works. Nothing any other creator is doing - short of personally sending hired goons to your doorstep or stealing your credit cards - is taking anything away from you or preventing your success. In fact if an indie creator can manage to demonstrate that they've got something viable going, it may help to map out a pathway for others.

I think I'm not going to bother trying to address whether or not cartoons in return for support from fans - an entirely voluntary exchange - constitutes exploitation. And I'm living in the Midwest driving a 2007 economy car with 200k+ miles on it, but let's just skip past the assumptions that I'm wealthy and connected too.

Instead, let's get to the weirdly myopic notion that the indie scene is held captive by three studios. Maybe YouTube algorithms or Twitter bubbles are somewhat to blame, but in actuality there are so, so many individual people, friend groups, and small production houses out there making independent animation, I cannot possibly name them all.

Here are some anyway:

Far-Fetched Worthikids Satina | Scumhouse Noodle and Bun Punch Punch Forever Ramshackle Noodle Papajoolia | Pipi Angel Hare | The East Patch Jonni Peppers Salad Fingers Monkey Wrench Studio Heartbreak Felix Colgrave JelloApocalypse Odd1sout (started indie, got picked up by Netflix) Allie Mehner JaidenAnimations Lumi and the Great Big Galaxy Cloudrise | The Worlds Divide Telepurte RubberRoss James Lee ENA Godspeed | Olan Rogers Ollie and Scoops Meat Canyon Port by the Sea Kekeflipnote Boxtown Kevin Temmer Weebl Joel Haver CircleToons Long Gone Gulch Atlas and the Stars Animist Skibidi Toilet A Fox in Space Alex Henderson Talon Toniko Pantoja Sr. Pelo Hullabaloo Kane Pixels (started indie, picked up by A24) Homestar Runner Fennah Gods' School Alan Becker Dungeon Flippers JazLyte Psychicpebbles (started indie, Smiling Friends picked up by AS) Piemations vewn Metal Family Dead Sound chluaid Jacknjellify Betsy Lee | No Evil My Pride Cranbersher GeoExe | Gwain Saga Horatio the Vampire Mech West Playground | Rodrigo Sousa The Brave Locomotive Finchwing (+ many other Warrior Cats animators) Quazies SamBakZa Kamikaze: Trial by Fire

By no means a full list. That's just YouTube, and mostly just English language stuff, and I didn't even get to the multitudes of Warrior Cats animation collabs.

The point is, the indie landscape is vast and populated by creators new and old, making all kinds of animated media from skits, to shows, to ARGs, to films. Audience sizes vary as much as the content, stylistic approaches, subject matter, and budgets do. There are no compliance standards, no gateways to entry, no goalposts. There's not even any preset definition of success except what you decide for yourself.

Anyway, instead of nurturing your resentments, consider making something. I assure you, it's a far more rewarding use of your time and energy, and pretty much no one can stop you. ------------- EDIT- Made some additions to the list based on comments. Thanks!

[moineauz]

જ⁀ 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 , various ! pt two

synopsis: his voice lines about you as his beloved partner

including: boothill, aventurine

side comments: my first voice line fic was well received and for that I thank you all <3 so of course this is for all my boothill and aventurine lovers out there! (including myself for boothill...)

extra: gn reader, angsty and fluffy moments, I genuinely loved writing boothill's, minor spoilers for both favourites: boothill word count: roughly 1000+

care to see the first part? includes dr. ratio, jing yuan, & blade!

𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋

WHO ARE THEY? I "Out here askin' question huh? Well if you're that curious... then you better listen close."

FIRST MEETINGS? "Met them on a bullet train in a neighbouring star system. Turns out we were chasing after the same fudge-heads. You could've seen them- a sly creature that's who they were, whipping out the most slick sniper I've ever seen. I'd reckon that was one of the most thrilling fights I've ever had: came out with dents all over my arms and a broken gun. Their bullets nearly punched a hole through my cheek... hah!"

GREETINGS? "They may be a load of dormant gunpowder, but they sure are sweet! Full of laughter and courtesy. But I'll let you in on a little secret... ( Name ) likes to walk in, pretty as always- and plant kisses all over my cheek before they even say a word."

PARTINGS? "Being a Galaxy Ranger means never staying in one place. ( Name ) is no Galaxy Ranger... I'd reckon it's better that way."

ABOUT US: SHOES IN THE HOUSE "I can't exactly 'take off my shoes' now can I? But ( Name ) likes to keep the house tidy and I best not anger them... like that one time- anyways, we came up with this whole fudging system just to keep the bottom of my damn boots clean! It's fudging ridiculous! *Chuckles* I can't help it, but ( Name ) is understanding. Even if I trudged through all the grime in the universe- they'd still wipe it all off."

ABOUT US: FAMILY "You see, ( Name ) has this big family. Siblings, cousins, extended cousins, aunts and uncles, you name it. We were on their home planet once, and I finally understood where ( Name's ) knack for puttin' a real good home together came from. Their family lives in the countryside where all you can see are open fields, lush hillsides, free-roaming animals and wildflowers. Consider it a quiet paradise. They even grow their own food for fudging sake! Everythin' made by hand and land. Darlin' nearly coaxed me into joining them for dinner once, but I knew better. Best not spoil the family get-together."

CHAT: HATS N' POSES "Personally, I like my hat and flare the way it damn is. How would fightin' be without it? But of course, your partner has to be a cheeky tease about it."

CHAT: WARMTH " I've seen it in the movies- those fudging 'romcoms'- and read it in books. When it gets cold... I'm no help. Can't do much except reach for a blanket and wrap them up. But even then, metal and skin don't fudging work."

PASTIMES DONE TOGETHER? "Count me in on a dance sugar plum! Have to admit, darlin' has a fair share of good dance moves. Nothin' like a hard-earned victory being celebrated with a cool glass of whisky and a smooth dance."

ARGUMENTS: "Bitter things that's all they are. Leaves you knocked out cold. Reminds you of all the things you can't take back."

SOMETHING TO SHARE: "Following the hunt ain't an easy task. But someone has to punish the wretched. That's the thing about the hunt- you get cold, hard. Sugar follows another path that doesn't make any fudging sense to me. But that doesn't matter. None of that ever mattered, not to them, not to me or even the hunt. Call it selfish, but I'd like to one day settle down... Just like their family. Out where no one could find us."

WHO ARE THEY? II "They call me their 'sweet lover'. But really it should be me saying that. If anything I am the sweat of their brow- a nuisance at times. But they still love me. They still fudging love me."

EXTRA: IPC ENTRY "Normally, Galaxy Rangers travel alone. However, we have seen the wanted Galaxy ranger- Boothill- be accompanied by someone who appears to be a vagabond follower of Xipe. Despite the information we possess, the relationship between Boothill and his supposed 'partner' is very limited."

𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄

WHO ARE THEY? I "Fancy meeting you here- oh? A rumor you say? Rumours do have peculiar ways of reaching the ears..."

FIRST MEETINGS? "All business ventures possess their gains and losses. However, I did not expect my pockets- alongside others- to be picked on a night meant to celebrate the Strategic Investment Department. The person who did it played their cards exceptionally well. I applauded them and the subtlety of their skills."

GREETINGS? "Despite their rather cunning nature, ( Name ) is quite kind... shockingly so. I thought their smile was a chip they played for their own meticulous advantage. *Chuckles* I was wrong, there was simply nothing to understand behind that smile."

PARTINGS? "One transaction after another, the universe keeps spinning. Don't keep up, you fall behind. Simple. I don't have to worry about that around them, or at least, for a while, until another wager must be made. Until the peck on the cheek is over."

ABOUT US: LOCKET "( Name ) has a keen eye for trinkets and bought- well stole- a locket for the two of us to share. I keep it with me, a lucky charm if you may."

ABOUT US: NAPPING "Personally, I don't nap. But, ( Name ) is a terrible influence and says I should. I must admit, waking up to them in the afternoon is not a bad way to spend my time."

CHAT: THEVERY "( Name ) is a thief... a good one at that. Oh don't worry, they struck a deal with the IPC. Primarily on their terms because they have been such a nuisance to the IPC. It's rather amusing seeing the IPC chase their own tail. We've definitely shared laughs over it."

CHAT: CONFESSIONS "Who could possibly love something so broken? It's like keeping a clock that won't tick or a deck of cards missing a queen. Sometimes, I wish they didn't care so much. It would be... easier."

PASTIMES DONE TOGETHER? "Of course, a good game of cards is a fun way to pass the time. *Chuckles* Though, ( Name ) is a terrible player. Not that I mind, I'll guess I'll play the role of 'loser' this time around- best you not tell them."

ARGUMENTS: "What else is there to say? Nothing. That part is the worst."

SOMETHING TO SHARE: HEART OF GOLD "( Name ) steals to give to the poor. It's their motto... I saw them once with a group of kids on a planet in a distant star system. They were giving back to the orphanage- the smiles on the children's faces when given toys, marbles to be exact, were so bright."

WHO ARE THEY? II "In all honesty, I'm not quite sure. However, what I do know is that luck finally worked in my favour... I'll hold onto that for as long as I can."

EXTRA: DR RATIO'S OPINION "The gambler- without hesitation- will bet 'all in' even if it means his own life hangs in the balance. However, amongst the chaos of his bets, there is one person who will drag him back to reality... ( Name ). Aventurine will never gamble nor forfeit the one person who truly understands him. Even I don't fully understand the gambler's crafty nature. I suppose a thief is the only one who can and more importantly, will."

masterlist.

[kingdomvel]

Steddie | 2.2k | first meetings | ao3

“What did you say the name of the band is again?” Steve asks. He has to raise his voice above the sound of the music playing before the concert and the hundreds of conversations around him.

“Corroded Coffin” Dustin says, probably for the hundredth time, or that’s what his tone suggests.

“It’s written on the drums.” Mike adds with his constant bitchy petulant tone.

Steve turns around and fair enough, the name is written there in the drums. They are also right there as they had queued for hours to be at the front (they are not in the centre but there’s no one standing in front of them), and apparently the band and place are small enough that there is no security line in front of the stage. Steve has been leaning against it with a drink in his hand while they wait for the concert to start. And that’s his excuse. He was leaning against the stage, so the drums were to his back, he couldn’t have read them.

“C’mon Steve, even I learned the name of the band in the eternity we have been here” Robin says which, rude, but she had agreed to come keep him company at a metal concert without asking for anything in return, so he will let it pass.

The kids (not quite kids anymore, but close enough) had needed an adult to get into the 18+ venue the concert was held at, and of course that adult had to be Steve because “we are not going to bring one of our parents into a metal concert Steve” and “Nancy and Jonathan are not even in the state and you said you were fun, didn’t you?” and he is fun, so he had to agree. And drag Robin with him, of course.

“Well I would remember the name if it wasn’t a stupid name” he says, a bit too loud if the looks he receives from some of the people around them are anything to go by.

“If you are so annoyed why don’t you go hang out at the bar and leave us alone?” Dustin asks.

“If I’m at a concert I’m getting the full experience, I’ve not queued for hours to stay at the bar. And I have to make sure you don’t get squished to death or accept drinks from strangers.”

“We are sixteen, you already drank when you were sixteen.”

“But I didn’t have a wristband telling everyone I was a minor.” He emphasizes this by hooking his forefinger on said wristband around Dustin’s wrist. The boy takes his hand away with a huff, but whatever he was going to say gets interrupted by a loud cheer as the lights of the venue dim. All eyes turn to the stage, and Steve forgets everything about the little shits around him.

They play the first two songs without interruption, back to back, and they are much better than Steve had expected them to be when the kids had pitched the idea of going to a concert of ‘a super cool band’ they had found on tiktok of all places. Steve is very quick to understand their raising popularity on social media the moment his eyes land on the frontman. He is not even wearing anything scandalous, just black jeans, some graphic tee and a leather jacket, but fuck if he isn’t attractive. His big eyes, teasing smile and wild hair are very much deserving of the screams they awake in the audience.

When the second song finishes, they don’t start a new one, the frontman takes the microphone from the stand.

“Are you ready for the best night of your life?” he shouts, and the audience answers with shouts of their own. Steve finds himself whooping, and answers with a smile and a shrug to Robin’s amused silent question as both of them clap. “We are Corroded Coffin,” more yelling, and the frontman stars walking around with a smile on his lips while he looks at the ground, clearly enjoying the attention. “And these aaaaaare…” he prolongs the last word, building a dramatic effect. “Gareth!” he shouts, pointing to the back dramatically. There are yells, the boy at the drums doing a short solo before he stands up to wave at the audience. “Jeff!” more yells, a guitar solo. “Our favourite Freak!” laughs from band and audience alike, more yells, and the boy with the bass trying to hit the frontman with said bass. “And I’m Eddie.”

‘Eddie’ Steve mouths the name.

There are yells as the frontman finishes, a small bashful smile on his lips back on his face after the laughing as he plays with the microphone stand with the hand that is not currently holding the microphone. He looks up at the audience when the yells don’t stop, gives a small dramatic bow and smirks when the yells grow louder once again.

“EDDIE MARRY ME” a voice yells from somewhere in the audience.

“Oh? Without going on a date first?” Eddie asks, he has his gaze set somewhere on the audience, and Steve is a bit impressed at how easily he has spot the person in the sea of bodies.

“I’M FREE WHENEVER.” The same voice yells again, it makes Eddie laugh.

“I’m honoured, my fair lady, but I’ll have to decline. I’m looking for my knight in shining armour myself.” There are ooohs from the audience but Steve’s gut makes a traitorous interested twist. “And speaking of knights,” he says, putting his hands back on his guitar, “I think you may know this one.” One note, and the audience is going crazy. Dustin is jumping up and down while he holds onto Steve’s arm, and Steve can’t help but laugh at him.

It's when that third song is finishing that it happens. The guitarist is starting a solo, and Eddie looks down to the base of the microphone stand, pulls a confused face, and then looks around. He must not see whatever he was looking for because he has a confused furrow in his brow when he does a second sweep around the stage and beyond, and he catches Steve's eyes. He maintains the eye contact for a second, two, five, and then looks down to Steve’s hands and back up again. There is a smirk in his face Steve is not entirely sure he likes the implications of as he walks towards him while he keeps playing.

Steve can hear Dustin screaming “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god” right next to his ear as Eddie comes closer until he is standing right in front of them.

The musician is still looking at Steve as he leans forward and asks “give me a sip?” as he looks down at Steve’s hands for a second. (Or at least that’s what Steve guesses he says, the noise too loud for him to really hear him without his mic.)

Steve lifts his drink, and the frontman leans forward and down with a smile. He opens his mouth and Steve pours his drink in it. When he finishes, he winks at Steve before he walks away in time to start singing again. The kids around him are screaming, Robin is surely going to make him partially deaf and is shaking him so hard he almost drops the rest of his drink. It takes until the next song starts for the bunch to calm down a bit and focus on the show again.

The thing is, that is not the last time it happens. Eddie comes back to steal sips from his drink every few verses, and when Steve’s drink is finished and he goes to get a beer, he is miraculously let back to the front by the audience. Eddie, of course, also wants to have his share of the beer. So they share it.

It is, if Steve is honest, the weirdest experience he has ever had in a concert. But he is having too much fun and would not change it for anything. A hot singer and guitarist coming to him every few minutes and bending down so Steve can pour drink into his mouth? The best thing that has happened to him all month. It only gets better when Eddie ditches his leather jacket – Steve was starting to wonder when that was going to happen because it’s much too hot in the venue for it and he is sure that a big reason Eddie needs to drink so much is because he is sweating it all and dehydrating – and reveals that the tee he was wearing underneath has the sleeves cut off very freely. Steve can see most of the man’s torso and that is a SIGHT. There are tattoos on his arms and ribcage that Steve immediately wants to see complete, and his waist is slim where the shirt is tucked into the jeans. It makes Steve bite his lip in want.

He is about to pour the last of their third beer in Eddie’s mouth when a small hand stops him. He looks to the side with confusion, sure that none of the kids or Robin would stop him at this point and is met with the smile of a small blonde girl.

“Give him this please” she says, handing him a bottle of an electrolyte drink. Steve looks back at Eddie just in time to see him groaning. “No more beer.” She adds, pointing to Eddie as if he was a misbehaving dog, he is surely giving the look, with his big brown eyes and sad look. She turns back to Steve, “and sorry about that, any new drinks you get are on us.”

She is gone with that. Steve looks at Eddie, at the new drink in his hand. Eddie shrugs, defeated, and leans forward. Steve quickly empties the rest of the beer in his mouth before he opens the new bottle and starts pouring from it. Eddie doesn’t drink much, too busy trying not to choke on the beer and his laughter.

Eddie ditches his guitar towards the end of the concert for a ‘calmer’ song. He walks around the stage as he sings to a boy involved in him that tries to deny the depth of their relationship and tries to date girls, and how in the future he is going to regret not staying with him. He has great stage presence, he has been flirting with the audience between songs, dramatic and charismatic, a bit over the top. Maybe the fastest crush Steve has ever developed, happy to enjoy his part in the show, even when he knows it’s not going to lead anywhere.

Steve feels his heart accelerating as Eddie walks towards him, which is ridiculous, they have been doing this all night. But this time Eddie shakes his head when Steve gets the drink ready, and he can only look as he kneels on the edge of he stage right in front of him as he sings the bridge. They are holding eye contact now, and it’s the closest they have been. Eddie’s eyes are captivating, Steve can only stop looking at them to glance down at his lips. It seems he was caught, because the next second Eddie is speaking.

“Are we about to kiss right now?” he asks, and Steve looks back up to his eyes. He lifts his eyebrows, trying to convey ‘bring it on’ as best as he can as he licks his lips, Eddie’s eyes glancing at them. It must work, because the next second Eddie is leaning forward, and now Steve’s hand is on his nape, and their lips are pressing against each other.

It’s probably the filthiest kiss Steve has participated on. At least with an audience. It’s not long, Eddie has to keep singing after all, but they make up for it in tongue action. The audience goes crazy around them, but Steve doesn’t pay attention to them at all, only focused on Eddie. He at least must be paying some attention to their surroundings because he pulls off in time to keep singing and stands up to move around the stage.

There are a couple of songs more, and then Eddie is introducing the band again before he starts listing all the members of the staff that have made the concert possible.

“We also wouldn’t have made it here without our precious manager Chrissy,” he adds, “even when she worries too much sometimes. Three beers are not enough to get me drunk, especially not shared ones. And that reminds me! I can’t forget to thank my knight in shining armour, my perfect drink partner…” he trails off.

“STEVE!” Robin shouts next to him.

“Steve” Eddie repeats with a smile. “Thank you for the drinks. Don’t go running off now too fast now, alright? Stay for a bit after the concert, I owe you a couple of beers.” He finishes with a wink.

The kids and Robin are screaming again, and Steve is sure he is going to have bruises tomorrow from their grabbing, but he doesn’t stray his gaze from Eddie. At least not until the last song finishes, the lights from the stage turn off, and the rest of the lights of the venue turn on. Then, and only then, Steve turns towards the others.

“How did you say you were going to get back home again?”

Part two

Now with art

[visionsofcarnality]

Make-A-Wish

Summary: You ask your boyfriend to fuck you as his vigilante persona. Oh… and the helmet stays on. 🫵❤️

Warnings: Rough sex, Jaybird is a meanie in this one, degradation, name calling, use of slùt and whöre. Crude language, crying, ass slapping, piv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it this is tumblr where people don’t get pregnant or STDs), cræmpie, slight overstim, Jason’s baby bird helmet hair.

a/n: i saw this pop up in my feed and i have to say this idea hijacked all common sense in my brain. I hope i did you justice- @smutinlove

(mdni below the cut, I am dead serious)

“Is this what you fucking wanted?” Was growled in your ear through the voice modulator installed in the helmet that you could currently feel pressing against the side of your head while the man wearing it pounded into you from behind. “You wanted the Red Hood? You fucking got it, bitch…” His sentence trailed off into a groan when you clenched around him from the harsh words.

“Fuck… You like this shit?” His thrusts were punishing, driving your legs even farther apart than you’d already stretched them, back forced into an arch by one of his big, thick hands on your spine.

You had no response for him, mewling and babbling into the dark sheets that you tried to grip between your scrambling fingers, simultaneously trying to push back onto him and pull yourself off.

“Jay-“ You cried, and the word was cut off when he used his other gloved hand to grip your hair, pulling you up by the nape of your neck so your chest was flush against his back.

“I don’t know who you’re calling for, princess.” He teased cruelly into your ear while the hand that had previously taken residence on your back circled around your shaking thighs to the little spot between your legs that made you see stars. “Is that good? That feel good? Such a dirty fucking whore for me, yeah?” He panted through the helmet, hot metal replacing what would have been hot breath on your neck.

“You like fucking the Red Hood?” He jeered, a dark chuckle escaping the covered mouth behind you. “Yeah, you fucking love this shit. Get off on being treated like a slut?” You couldn’t even respond with the way he was fucking you, forcing the flesh between your thighs to part and your body to take more and more of his fat fucking cock. He wasn’t the longest you’d had, but he definitely was the thickest. No matter how he tried to prepare you you always felt him for days after he fucked you… Especially like this. Your poor cunt would no doubt be dripping, leaking, and bruised tomorrow morning.

The thought alone triggered your orgasm and you came with a high, keening cry. Pussy damn-near crushing his cock as he continued thrusting, working your exhausted body through the waves of ecstasy. The sound of skin on wet skin filled the room as your cunt gushed and creamed for him, creating a white ring around the base of his cock as evidence of his prowess. Through the helmet he looked down quickly to watch your spasming pussy continue to spread around his cock. Your pretty little lips sucking him in while your muscles tried to push him out.

“That’s it, baby, fucking soak it.” He encouraged, finally getting tired of the helmet and yanking it from his head with one gloved hand. Underneath he was damp with sweat and condensation from his ragged breathing as he fucked you. Still, he fucked you, wringing the last dregs of pleasure from your body and starting another race to the peak. “Thought i’d let you off that easy?” He spoke into your ear, finally feeling his lips instead of metal on your skin. He took your earlobe into his teeth, biting the flesh with a nip like a kitten.

“Not gonna stop until you’re fucking screaming.” And scream you did, especially when his teeth sank into the flesh of the top of your shoulder as he came. The hot, wet feeling of his orgasm inside you triggered the second orgasm and you stopped making sounds that could be described as human.

He rutted against you still, torturing you both with the pleasure until you were sure it was more pain than sensation. Still he ground his pelvis against yours, so you could feel his heavy balls against your pussy as he emptied himself for all he was worth, painting your insides with the evidence of your mutual depravity.

Finally, after what felt like years he let go of your hair, letting you collapse to the bed gently, his other arm lowering you gently so as to not hurt your nose.

When he was assured you were able to let your weight onto the mattress he finally pulled out, moaning under his breath at the cold air on his previously cozy cock that was now creamy and shiny with your mixed juices. With both hands he harshly gripped the globes of your ass and lifted gently, exposing your ruined and still-twitching hole to his hungry eyes. Especially when the first drop of milky white cum appeared at your entrance and slid down to your clit where it hung like a pearly stalactite before plummeting to the sheets. Jason loved to watch his cum pour out of your cunt after you’d been thoroughly fucked out on his cock, something about the sight made him almost ready to go again at that exact second.

Only your soft sounds of requested affection broke him from the trance and he abandoned his show to laze down beside you, grabbing a soft tissue from beside the bed and cleaning between your legs before more of him dripped onto the sheets.

“How you doing baby?” He crooned gently, so at odds with how he’d spoken to you during the act. He gently ran a hand over your head and waited for your words.

The laugh that came out of him was enough to shake the building when you held up a singular hand for a high five.

[hottiesforhockey]

may the best brother win pt. 1 ⎜hughes brothers

pairings: quinn hughes x afab!reader ⎜luke hughes x afab!reader ⎜ jack hughes x afab!reader ⎜ genre: romance ⎜bachelorette-esque situations ⎜angst? ⎜friends - to - lovers warnings: mentions of lack of experience with dating ⎜mentions of a bet / competition⎜friendly love-hate relationship ⎜ synopsis: you have been friends with the hughes brothers for years - but why does this summer feel so different? word count: 4.2k authors note:  this is the first part in my new series on my new blog!! 🎉 I hope you all enjoy. this will be coming out in 3-4 parts so each brother will have his own chapter let me know what you think the other brother would do for their date. (p.s. i will be posting chapter aesthetic pics at the bottom so you can get an idea of what I was picturing :) )

(unedited)

The Hughes brothers had made a name for themselves over the past few years. 

Professional athletes. 

All top ten overall draft picks. 

Captain of the Vancouver Canucks. 

Hotshot forward for the New Jersey Devils.

And the rising star defensemen in the league. 

They had certainly found a way to make every parent look at their own kid and wonder where they went wrong. 

But no one really knew what absolute imbeciles the Hughes brothers truly were. 

“If you put down the pan, I’ll drop your phone.” Jack negotiates, his hands in the air, your phone swinging from the tips of his fingers. You glance down at your right hand, the cast iron pan gripped tightly before shooting your gaze back to Jack, whose face scrunches when he realises you’re not going to concede that easily. 

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal. You got secrets to hide or something?” Jack continues flipping the phone into his hand as he tries another passcode for the fifteenth time. 

“None of your business, Jack.” You sneer, lunging for the phone again, only for the hockey player to slip just slightly out of reach, his steps backing him towards the staircase. 

Fuck, he’s gonna make a run for it. 

“Just tell me what you’re hiding from me, and I’ll give you the phone back.” He quips

“Or I could knock you on your ass with a metal pan.” You respond, your gaze shooting up as you look at the man approaching from behind him. The phone is expertly snatched from Jack’s hands as he lets out a long whine in protest, his lips dropping into a pout as he watches his younger brother gently hand you back your phone. 

“Maybe she’s got a boyfriend and doesn’t want you to ruin it for her.” Luke teases, giving you a smile as you mouth ‘thank you’ at him, holding your phone close to your chest. 

“If we weren’t forced to be friends, I wouldn’t think twice about dropping you.” You hiss, pointing an accusatory finger in the thief’s direction before following his younger brother into the kitchen. 

“You would tell me though, right?” Jack’s voice carries as he follows you and Luke into the room “like if you were seeing someone, you’d tell us?” He continues - sliding into one of the bar stools at the counter, dropping his chin into his hands. “You wouldn’t hide something like that?” You frown at Jack, tilting your head in confusion as Luke bustles about the kitchen pulling out the extra large party pack of chips and a freshly made container of salsa. 

“Why would I not hide something like that?” You question back, your words making Luke’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he shoves a chip in his mouth, “I mean you guys hide your relationships all the time - isn’t it normal at this age?” You add quickly noticing the way Jack’s face drops a little. 

“From the public.” Luke notes quickly, before dipping another chip into the salsa. 

“We don’t hide things from you.” Jack says softly, sliding off his seat and making his way out of the kitchen leaving your standing there in confusion. 

“Don’t look at me, I just want to eat my chips.” Luke huffs when you turn to glance up at him, his shoulders shrugging as the eldest of you walking in from the backyard, a towel wrapped around his waist, water already soaking through his t-shirt. 

“What did I miss?” Quinn questions, as you groan and reach over stealing a handful of chips from the bag. 

“Nothing.” You huff, drawing yourself in salty goodness. 

“She has a boyfriend.” Luke says, letting out a groan as you shove your elbow into his side. 

“And you didn’t tell us?” Quinn asks, his head tilted as your frown deepens. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend, it was a hypothetical.” You shoot a glare at Luke, pointing your finger up at him, “consider us enemies now, Warren.” 

“Anyway, she thinks it would be normal for her to hide a relationship from us if she was in one, and Jack got all pissy because we don’t keep secrets from each other.” Luke shakes his head at your warning, handing you the bag as you go to reach for more chips. 

“Well the point is moot, because I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

“Yeah but how can we trust you now, you’ve been suspected as a liar and essentially confirmed you would if you could.” Quinn argues, leaning forwards on the kitchen counter with a teasing grin. 

“I can one hundred percent confirm that I do not in any way shape or form have a boyfriend.” You swear, holding one hand against your chest and the other in the air, the two boys smiling as they watch your oath, “Besides I’ve never even been on a real date let alone had a relationship.” You sneer, shoving another chip in your mouth as the room falls silent. 

“What?’ Quinn is the one who breaks the silence, standing up straight as his brows furrow. 

“Huh?” You pause your motions. 

“You’ve never been on a date?” 

“You’ve never had a boyfriend?” The two brothers ask at the same time, both glancing at each other before looking back at you.  “But you’ve brought people home, I’ve seen you.” Quinn continues, the bag of chips forgotten on the counter as you look around for an escape route. 

“Firstly, don’t be a creeper and secondly I said I’m a dating virgin, Quinn, not a virgin virgin.” You snort, slowly side stepping the tallest brother as you beeline for the backdoor, hearing Quinn call out after you. 

“Luke go get Jack, it seems the four of us have some talking to do.” 

+

+

“So it’s in agreement.” Jack says as you all sit around the pool, your legs swishing the water as you grumble under your breath. “We are going to woo you, give you the real dating experience.” 

“I don’t understand why this has to happen at all.” 

“Because we will show you how you should be treated on date, and in turn you can tell us who is the best dater” Jack explains, his brothers nodding in agreement as you let out another long groan. 

“So you’re the ones actually using me, don’t think I can’t read between the lines, Rowden.” You huff, slipping your legs out of the pool and standing in your spot. “You are using me to settle a bet aren’t you?” 

“There may be something like that.” Luke admits softly, his own legs dipped into the water as he ignores the dirty glare Jack sends him. 

“Well now the cats out of the bag, may the best brother win.” The four of you are silent for a moment, each seeming to be deep in thought before Luke cuts in. 

“How do we decide who goes first?” 

“I suppose I should go first, considering it was my idea.” Jack responds, nodding his head in determination as he glances down at his watch before looking back towards you. 

“I’ll pick you up at six.” He says quickly ripping his phone out of his pocket and typing away quickly. 

“We live in the same house.” 

“Just be ready.” He yells as he presses his phone to his ear, talking softly into the device as he leaves the house, his keys pressed tightly in his hand. 

“I’m going to regret agreeing to this aren’t I?” You ask the other two, both of them just giving soft shrugs. 

“It might end up being fun.” Luke says, pulling his own phone out of his pocket pulling up google as he scrolls through his search results. You watch as Quinn stands from the deck chair rounding the pool behind you, his hands placed gently on your waist as he squeezes past, his lips pressed to your ear as he whispers, “we’re definitely going to have fun.” 

You shiver slightly as Quinn lets your waist go, the sudden rush of warm air behind you making goosebumps rise on your arms. 

“So, do you have anything you’re hoping for in particular?” Luke asks slowly, a sly smile on his face, as he waits expectedly for your answer. You let out a soft sigh, pushing some loose hair away from your face, “Honestly, I don’t really know, I just wanted a quiet summer, I wasn’t really expecting to be apart of a hometown bachelorette.” 

“Think of it more as a chance to see what you want from a date, besides competition can be fun sometimes.” Luke responds, quickly adding, “And you can’t complain you love the bachelor.” You roll your eyes at his words but can’t help to small smile tugging at your lips. 

“God I hate when you’re right.”

+

+

You flatten out your light green summer dress against your thighs as you look at the reflection in the mirror, jumping a little at a heavy knock on your bedroom door. “There’s someone here for you.” Luke says as he pops his head through the slightly opened door, his mouth dropping open a little as he looks at your reflection. 

“Do you think this is okay?” You start turning to face him, tucking your hair behind your ears as you chew on your bottom lip. “I don’t know where he’s taking me, and I thought something cute but function—” 

“It’s perfect.” Luke cuts you off straightening his posture before clearing his throat and adding, “You look perfect.” Luke looks away from you his neck burning a bright red as he clears his throat again. 

“Thanks, Lukey.” You coo as you pull your handbag off the bed patting his shoulder as you squeeze past him to leave your bedroom, quickly making your way downstairs skidding to a halt in front of the shoe bench by the front door - pulling on your black and white converse before making your way towards the voices in the kitchen. 

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going or not?” You mumble as you stop by the counter double checking that you had everything you might need in your purse. 

“No that would ruin the surprise and if I tell you then it’ll take away half the fu— holy shit.” Your head shoots up at Jack’s interruption of himself, his mouth open in surprise his brother watching amused as he sputters. 

“Yes?” You question, glancing over at Quinn who glances between you and his bewildered younger brother before sending you an entertained grin. 

“You’re wearing that?” Jack stumbles.

“What, you don’t like it?” You tease. 

“No, I do.” Jack rubs a hand down his face, his younger brother giving him a knowing pat on the back as he walks past him to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Should I change? I don’t want you to be distracted on our date.” You coo, slipping your purse higher on your shoulder as you glance down at your outfit again. 

Maybe it is a little too much.

 I mean it’s not like it’s a real date, and the low cut of the dress is going to make things difficult if he’s taking you to do an activity. 

Jack can see your mind start to spin, your teeth digging into your low lip as you adjust the dress a few times, your shoulder sinking as you suddenly become too aware of yourself. 

“Nope, nope. We don’t have time for you to change.” Jack interrupts your thought spiral, reaching forwards to clasp your hand in his, “I think I can make this work.” He says, taking one more long look down your body, working his hardest to hold in a grown before shooting a look at his older brother. 

“We will be home late. Don’t wait up.” He yells as he drags you toward the front door, not giving either of his brothers time to respond as he slams it shut behind the two of you, ushering you to his car, opening the door for you as you slip inside. 

“Jack maybe I should change.” You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest as he slips into the drivers seat, his gaze flicking down to your bare legs, before focusing out the windscreen. 

“No.” He says quickly, moving to pull on his own seatbelt before glancing over at you, noticing your belt not pulled over your chest. “We have places to be, my dear.” He adds, reaching over the centre console to grab hold of your seat belt, his hair tickling the side of your face as he pulls it over your chest, clicking the buckle into the slot, before dropping back into his own seat. 

“We’re on a slight time crunch.” He admits, glancing down at his watch before putting the car in reverse and backing out of the driveway. 

You can’t help but laugh at his urgency. “You sound like you’re leaving the scene of a crime or something.” 

Jack chuckles, his eyes lighting up as he navigates the streets, “Well you never know when the cops are going to show up. I’m just trying to keep the night alive.” 

“Oh, is that what’s happening?” You respond, glancing out the window at the familiar neighbourhood passing by - Jack’s quick, snarky responses helping ease a little bit of tension. 

“Oh yeah, this whole thing is going to be the best date you’ve ever had.” 

“It’s the only date I’ve ever had.” You correct quickly, noticing the quick and very dramatic eye roll from Jack as he takes a familiar turn. “Is this leading to the lake?” Your question is ignored another turn onto a quieter street making you shoot a quick glance over to the man besides you, a knowing brow raised. 

“Stop trying to ruin the surprise.” He groans. 

“What if I don’t like surprises?” You huff, Jack letting out another groan, the smile on his face growing as he slows the car to a stop. 

“Trust me, you’ll like this one.” He says as he turns off the ignition, sliding out of the car as he races around to your side, quickly yanking the door open before you get a chance to open it yourself. “My lady.” He says as he offers you a hand to help you out of the car. 

You can see the sun descending in the sky as you adjust your dress, watching as Jack shoves the car door closed before holding out his hand for you to take. “Have you brought me here to murder me?” You joke, looking out to the lake, the sun setting a golden glow to the water, Jack’s squeezing yours as he swings them between the two of you. 

“Hmmmm, undecided.” He hums - his steps slowing as you take in the set up before you. 

The plaid picnic blanket laid on the soft grass, a large assortment of snack laid across the mat as well as two canvases and some paints in the middle. “These are for you.” Jack says as he lets go of your hand to reach down to the picnic blanket picking up the bouquet of daisies sitting on top of the picnic basket, holding them out to you with a wide grin. 

“Oh my god, Jack.” You gasp taking in the set up basked in the warm glow of the sunset with a look of awe, quickly taking the flowers from his hands to lift to your nose. “I didn’t know your brain could even imagine something this romantic.” You tease as he ushers you forwards onto the picnic mat, taking the spot opposite you as he lets out a soft chuckle at your words. 

“Well I’m glad I can still surprise you after so long.” He says pulling two champagne glasses from the basket, reaching in to pull out a bottle of freshly squeezed lemonade. 

“No, seriously Jack this is amazing.” You continue, gratefully accepting a glass of lemonade from him, taking a long sip as you stretch out your legs. 

“Just wait until you see desert.” He says with a mischievous grin, clinking his non-alcoholic beverage against yours, “to spontaneous adventures.” He says. 

“To spontaneous adventures.” You echo, feeling the warmth of the setting sun wash over you as you settle more onto the blanket, taking in the scene again in amazement. “So are we just gonna sit here or are we going to do some painting?” You ask. 

“Let’s eat some snacks first.” Jack says, picking some cheese and crackers off the charcuterie board before popping them into his mouth and motioning for you to do the same. The tension you felt earlier melts away with each shared smile and joke.

“So tell me honestly,” you start, swallowing what’s left of the food in your mouth before continuing. “What inspired this whole set up? I mean a picnic and painting, seems a little out of the ordinary.” 

Jack leans forwards, a mock-serious look on his face as he speaks, “Well I realised we’ve spent so much time together as friends, I want to see if I could pull of something a little more… special?” He pauses for a moment sensing the shift as he adds, “Besides, I’ve always wanted to paint a sunset.” 

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile creeping onto your lips. “You wanted to impress me with your artistic side? Are you sure you’re not just trying to cover up your terrible drawing skills?”

He throws his head back and laughs, the sound rich and contagious. “Fair point! But I’m confident in my abilities. Just wait until you see my masterpiece!”

With a sense of excitement bubbling in your chest, you reach for one of the canvases and set it on the blanket. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got, Picasso.”

“Watch and learn,” he says dramatically, picking up a brush and swirling it through the paint. You can’t help but giggle at his theatrics as he begins to paint, his tongue poking out in concentration.

As you start to create your own piece, you steal glances at him, noticing the way the setting sun casts a golden light on his face, highlighting his features in a way that makes your heart flutter. You can’t help but feel that this moment is something special—something more than just a casual outing.

“Okay, time’s up!” Jack declares after a few minutes, throwing down his brush. “Let’s see what we’ve created.”

You both hold up your canvases, and the sight makes you burst into laughter. His painting is a chaotic blend of colors that vaguely resembles the sunset, while yours is a collection of abstract shapes and splashes that, while lacking realism, feels vibrant and alive.

“It’s… unique,” you say, struggling to contain your giggles.

“Just like us,” he replies, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

As you both continue to joke and critique each other’s work, the last rays of sunlight disappear, leaving a deepening twilight around you. 

“Hey,” Jack says, his voice softer now. “I’m really glad you’re here. This was my favorite idea yet.”

“Mine too,” you admit, your heart swelling at his sincerity. “Thank you for putting all this together. It’s perfect.”

He leans a little closer, the air between you charged with an unspoken tension. “Just wait until the stars come out. I think I have one more surprise.”

“Another surprise?” you ask, intrigued. “You’re going to give me a heart attack at this rate.”

He chuckles, then reaches into the basket, pulling out a small, twinkling string of lights. “I thought we could add some ambiance.”

Your eyes widen in delight as he begins to drape the lights around the picnic setup, the soft glow illuminating your surroundings. It transforms the scene, creating an intimate atmosphere that feels like it’s straight out of a movie. As the stars begin to twinkle above, you lean back on your hands, stealing glances at Jack, who’s focused intently on arranging the lights. There’s a warmth in your chest, a budding hope that maybe this night could lead to something more.

“Alright, now for the grand finale,” he says, turning to you with a playful grin. “Dessert time!”

You sit up, your curiosity piqued. “What did you bring?”He rummages through the basket, finally producing a small cake adorned with whipped cream and strawberries. “Tada! Strawberry shortcake. Thought it would be fitting.”

Your eyes light up. “You really went all out, huh?”

“Only the best for you,” he repeats, handing you a slice before cutting himself a piece. The two of you dig into the soft cake, watching as the sun disappears behind the houses, the start shining a bright white as you finish off the dessert, the side of your face burning. 

Turning your head slowly, to glance towards Jack you’re surprised when you eyes meet his, his gaze travelling over your face before he tilts his head, putting his empty plate down besides him and shuffling forwards on the picnic mat, his hand reaching out towards your face. 

“Here, you have a little bit of cream on your chin.” He whispers, his body radiating warmth as his finger gently swipe just below your lip, your body shivering slightly as he pulls his thumb away dipping it his mouth quickly to get rid of any evidence of the food he just removed from your face.  “Are you cold? Maybe we should start heading back?” He says quickly, his eyes locked with yours as your shake your head quickly. 

“I don’t think the cold is the problem.” You try to joke, your hesitant chuckle getting caught in your throat as Jack’s eye light in knowing. 

“Oh.” He says softly, his hand hovering awkwardly in mid air as he contemplates the choices he has - your body frozen as you wait for him to decide. “Is it weird to kiss on the first date?” He asks nervously, your shoulders shrugging as you respond. 

“You tell me, Jack.” 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He whispers, his body shifting closer ever so slightly as he hand reaches up to cup the side of your neck, your eyes searching his. 

“You’re not.” You say softer then you thought was possible, the anticipation building in the bit of your stomach, his thumb rubbing soft circles against the burning skin on your neck. Jack pauses for just a moment before leaning forwards to close this distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss so soft you barely even register that they’re touching. 

You sigh into his mouth as your hand reaches up to cup the side of his jaw, your movements all the permission he needs to press his lips firmer against yours as his other hand reaches up to cup the other side of your neck, his thumbs gliding along the underside of your jaw, his hands pulling you closer towards him as your lips move in sync. 

“Wait.” He says softly as he pulls away, his hands moving up to cup your cheeks, as he smiles, leaning forwards to press one more chaste kiss against your mouth before releasing you, and letting out a shuddered breath. “The mosquitos are gonna come out soon, we should head home.” He says, and you nod, your lips still tingling from where his lips were pressed against them, your head nodding as Jack makes quick work of packing up the date. 

His hands held out to help you up off the ground as he folds the blanket up quickly, rushing to bring everything to his car and shove it into his trunk. You meet him at his car, pressing your lips together to try and ease the swelling you know will be starting to show. 

“Well, if I don’t win this competition, I’m gonna say it’s rigged.” Jack jokes as he closes the trunk of his car running a hand through his hair as his words give your pause. 

The bet. 

You forgot about the stupid fucking bet with his brothers. 

“Oh.” You laugh, tucking your hair behind your ears in embarrassment. 

How could you forget about the whole reason he was doing this? 

The only reason he was doing this. 

“Yeah, I don’t know how they’re going to top that performance.” You let out another tense laugh as you open your own passenger door and slide into the car - trying to ignore the way Jack tilts his head in confusion at your sudden shift. 

“You feeling okay?” He asks as he follows you into the car. 

“Yeah, just really tired all of a sudden.” 

“We better get you home then.” Jack’s smile is gentle, as he places his hand on the head rest of your seat before reversing back onto the main road - your body folding in on itself as he makes quick work of the drive home - his hand resting awkwardly between the two of you, as if he was waiting for something. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jack asks as he pulls into the driveway, killing the ignition of the car before turning to face you, “That kiss didn’t make things weird did it?” 

“No, Jack.” You say quickly, adding “It’s just part of the competition, right?” You don’t glance at him as you let yourself out of the car, hurrying back inside to escape to your room. 

Stupid fucking competition. 

[illyrianbitch]

Lights, Camera, Love!

Pairing: Reader x Rhysand

Summary: Rhysand, Hollywood's hottest heartthrob, has everyone smitten—everyone except you, his co-star. But when rumors of your feud begin to affect the show's ratings, your producers propose a last-ditch solution: a fake romance to salvage your public image and reignite fan interest.

Warnings: cocky Rhysand, just two snippy co-stars, ianthe, co-parent feysand, helion and amren as big hollywood peeps

Word Count: 4.7k

a/n: this is a lil series ive had tucked away with some inspo....lets see if ayll fw it enough hehehe. dedicated to @milswrites and @daycourtofficial bc their love for this pushed me to pick it up again

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was unprofessional, truly. 

You wanted to roll your eyes, to scoff and walk off set. 

But instead, you simply shifted uncomfortably in your seat, adjusting the hem of your dress as Ianthe, your overly enthusiastic interviewer, fluttered around Rhysand like a lovesick butterfly. Her giggles grated on your nerves as she leaned in a little too close, her hand lingering on his arm just a second too long.

Ianthe was known for her probing questions and flirtatious demeanor— it’s what made her such a popular source for exclusive interviews. Not only did she know the right questions to ask, but she knew exactly how to ask them in order to get what she wanted: juicy gossip, something she could feed on. It wasn’t a coincidence that her last name held such a resemblance to the word parasite. She was one. 

You didn’t want to do the interview to begin with. The upcoming release of your newest season meant various events and panels that left you unsettled and anxious. You loved your job— loved your character even more. But being in the public eye alongside Rhysand was hard. Suffocating, really. 

It felt like hours that you sat there with a practiced smile, waiting as she conversed with Rhysand. The studio lights were warm, and the backdrop behind you— a cover of the show's logo— made you feel a bit more comfortable. But still, the unease persisted, and you counted down the seconds until this interview was over and you could return home. 

"So, Rhysand," Ianthe said, her voice silky smooth. "You've become quite the heartthrob lately. How do you handle all the attention from your adoring fans?"

Your first instinct was to laugh. Your second was to roll your eyes. The third was to vomit in your mouth. You somehow resisted the urge to do all of the above, settling for biting back the rising nausea at the shameless flirting. 

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, a charming smile spreading across his face. "It's all part of the job, I suppose. Though, I must say, the fans are incredibly supportive. It's their enthusiasm that keeps us going."

Us. This time it physically burned you to not roll your eyes, even subtly. Your lips curled into a pained smile. Ianthe didn’t seem to notice the forced gesture, her gaze locked onto Rhysand as if you weren’t even in the room. 

You looked down, absently playing with a ring on your index finger. The metal felt cool and familiar, and you smiled faintly at it, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. It seemed to fill your lungs with a steadying breath, one that was enough to gather yourself, to steel your resolve and endure sitting beside someone who sucked up all the oxygen in the room without even trying.

It took a few more minutes before Ianthe was turning to you with an expectant smile— perfect white teeth. Veneers, most likely. The smile was strange up close and you resisted the urge to lean in and expect them further, to search for any signs of hidden pointed teeth, sharpened to resemble that of a predator. 

You blinked, tilting your head and welcoming her attention with a large smile of your own. Certainly not as perfect, but a lot less unnerving, you hoped. 

 “Y/n,” She started, readjusting herself in her seat. “You look beautiful. It’s always nice to see you.”

You gave a small nod in acknowledgement. You’d talked to Ianthe a few times, mostly on red carpets and press events. Never longer than a minute, never past fake pleasantries and a kiss on the cheek—- from her end. 

“Thanks Ianthe,” you said, smile still plastered on your cheeks like glue. “It’s always a pleasure talking with you.”

There was a glint in her eye that told you she didn’t believe a word you said. At least you both had that in common, perhaps you could bond on your shared love of bullshit. 

 “Tell me, what's it like working alongside Rhysand? He seems to have quite the presence on set."

You paused for a moment, considering your response carefully before delivering it with a smile. 

“Rhysand is an experience. Even after years, he still manages to keep me on my toes.”

What your statement really translated to was: Rhysand was a cocky asshole. Everything was about him. All. The. Damn. Time.

"It's truly remarkable how he commands the attention of everyone in the room. It's as if the rest of us simply fade into the background when he's around.” 

Because he’s an attention whore. 

You didn’t say the last thought— as much as your body screamed at you to. 

Rhysand's smile tightened imperceptibly, a flicker of irritation dancing in his eyes before he masked it with practiced ease. "Well, thank you," he replied smoothly,  "I suppose it's just the natural magnetism of a true star."

He delivered his words as a joke, as if you both shared a similar, endearing humor regarding one another. You fought to conceal a satisfied smirk, knowing that your veiled dig had hit its mark. 

Ianthe continued to prattle on, her questions growing increasingly mundane as the minutes ticked by. There was a lull—a brief moment of respite where Ianthe paused to collect her thoughts. 

It was Rhysand who broke the silence, his voice dripping with faux sincerity. "I must admit, I've always admired Y/n’s dedication to her craft," he said, his tone almost earnest. "It's not easy to disappear into a role the way she does."

You bristled at the backhanded compliment, knowing all too well that beneath his seemingly benign words lay a razor-sharp edge. It was a surprise to you that Ianthe didn’t pick up on it, her dull eyes and bright smile still worn on her nauseatingly beautiful face. 

"Well, Rhysand," you replied, forcing a tight smile, "I suppose we all have our strengths. I can’t coast on charisma alone.”

His smirk returned in full force, a wolfish gleam in his eyes. "Ah, but isn't that what makes us such a dynamic duo, sweetheart?" he said, "The perfect balance of substance and style."

You fought to conceal a frustrated sigh, to bite back the snarl you wanted to make at the annoying nickname he’d adopted for you recently. He knew it drove you nuts, knew it made you want to call him something less sweet. 

As much as you wished to continue the conversation, to match his veiled insults with ones of your own— that were sure to be far more clever, you knew that this verbal sparring match would only serve to prolong your agony. Instead, you plastered on a diplomatic smile, nodding in agreement as Ianthe launched into yet another round of inane questions.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It felt like an eternity before you were freed from the clutches of the interview. 

Ianthe stood, flashing you a smile that felt more condescending than friendly. "Thank you both for coming," she said, her eyes lingering on Rhysand. You watched as she scanned him one last time, eyes drinking him in like a fresh glass of wine. 

You forced a polite nod. "Thank you, Ianthe. Always a pleasure."

She gave you a look that made you feel small, but you quickly swallowed it and turned away, heading toward the exit. As much as a nice, warm bath was calling to you, you had lunch plans with Lucien and were itching to be in the presence of someone you actually liked. 

"Well, that was entertaining," Rhysand commented, a smirk playing on his lips as he caught up to you. 

You glanced at him, trying to keep your irritation in check as you quickened your pace, offering a few spare smiles to the employees you passed. "If by entertaining, you mean tacky, then sure."

His smirk faded slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He raised a brow.  "Tacky? I was just keeping things lively."

"Lively," you repeated with a laugh. You stopped, the movement so abrupt that Rhysand almost bumped into you. You turned to face him with a flat look. “You’re a shameless flirt."

His eyes narrowed at you— a deep blue that you swore at times was almost violet. His head cocked to the side and you shrank deeper into yourself, feeling somewhat at odds and uncomfortable in his burning gaze. The smirk tugged harder at the corner of his lips.

“Well, isn’t that the whole point?”

You scowled, opening your mouth to respond. But before any words could leave your mouth, a familiar voice filled the air. “Rhys!”

A head turn led you to catch Feyre’s eye as she walked towards you, a bright smile on her face. Her eyes lit up as her gaze landed on you and Rhys, one hand holding onto the smaller one of her son. 

You watched as Nyx, quite possibly one of the prettiest kids you'd ever seen, ran up to Rhysand with a joyous laugh, opening his arms up, wide and expecting. In one swift and natural movement, Rhysand scooped him up effortlessly, his earlier annoyance instantly dissipating from his features. 

“Hey, buddy,” Rhysand said, his voice softening as he kissed Nyx’s temple.

Against your better judgment, a smile tugged at your cheeks at how brightly Rhysand’s face lit up. He pulled Feyre into a quick, sweet embrace, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.

If there was one thing you were willing to give Rhysand credit for, it was this.

His breakup with Feyre had been incredibly public. The divorce, the fallout—both of their reputations took a hit when it came out that she had initiated the divorce, later compounded by her being outed on a date with a woman from her past. Yet, despite everything, they both managed it with such grace.

Feyre was incredibly sweet. You never truly understood how Rhysand landed her in the first place, how they had been married for over five years, so deeply in love that they started a family. You thoroughly enjoyed her company, even though it wasn’t as often as you would’ve liked. She was still Rhysand’s family, after all, and you took every chance you could to avoid being around him when it wasn’t necessary. 

But Feyre was a large reason you enjoyed your job. She eased the anxiety that came with joining a cast that was already so close, essentially taking a role that had belonged to her— even though your character was introduced after hers was written off. 

It was clear that despite everything, Rhysand and Feyre had managed to maintain a bond, not just for their sake, but for Nyx’s. The love they still shared, the ease with which they navigated this new chapter of their lives—it was something you respected, even envied a little.

You averted your gaze, fingers running over the cool metal of your ring as you turned to leave, but Feyre called your name, her voice as kind as usual. 

You paused, looking back at her. “Yeah?”

Feyre’s smile was warm. You took her in for a moment, how naturally beautiful she was— how she exuded a certain energy that you could only describe as regal. A smile fit for a queen.  “How was the interview?” 

You shrugged, giving a small smile. “The usual. Ianthe was...”

You pursed your lips as your voice trailed off. There were many ways you could finish off your sentence but you weren’t sure how diplomatic you could be anymore or if Feyre would be bothered by an honest review of your interviewer. 

Feyre leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “A bitch?”

You laughed, catching Rhysand’s glance as he looked over for a moment. His attention quickly returned to Nyx and you turned back to meet Feyre’s beautiful blue eyes. “Exactly.”

Feyre shook her head, a sympathetic look on her face. “She was always so condescending with me, too. It’s because she’s desperate to sleep with that loser.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder, jokingly but lovingly casting a glance back at Rhysand. She clicked her tongue. “Poor delusions.”

Another laugh left your lips and you nodded, suppressing a grin. “Yeah,” you drawled, “She wasn’t very subtle.”

Feyre raised a brow. “I don’t think subtly is in that limited vocabulary of hers.”

Your eyes drifted to the small interview set, where Ianthe was still standing, talking to someone and sparing regular glances over at Rhysand—a predator about to make her move. It was best for you to leave now, you thought, to avoid watching the inevitable hunt. 

“I should get going,” you said, turning back to Feyre. “I have plans. But, it was so nice seeing you.”

Feyre beamed, putting a hand on your arm. You briefly took in the ink that covered her forearm, the delicate, beautiful tattoos that you always wanted to admire further.  “You too,” she said, “Let’s have lunch soon.”

You nodded, a genuine and pleased motion. Your conversation with Feyre was the first one today that you didn’t have to fake any polite mannerisms. “I’d love to.”

Casting one last glance at Rhysand, you watched as Feyre approached him and put a hand out to Nyx. Rhysand smiled down at her, a soft, familiar look that made your chest tighten with an emotion you didn’t care to examine.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was 10:00 am when you were called into the production office, a room nestled in a quiet corner of the studio lot. You were tired, having only slept a few hours the night prior, and you could feel life slowly dripping back into you with each sip of coffee. The area was relatively private, shielded from the prying eyes of paparazzi, so you opted for comfort over glamor, dressed in jeans and a simple hoodie—nice, big, and comfortable.

Helion was usually meticulous about these meetings, ensuring both you and Rhysand were well-prepared and informed ahead of time. This sudden summons felt off. You didn’t know what to expect, and that uncertainty weighed heavily on your mind as you pushed open the door to the conference room.

Rhysand was already in the room when you arrived, effortlessly lounging in a chair with the kind of put-together look that only seemed to accentuate your own disheveled state. It made you hate him even more. You didn’t attempt to hide your scowl. He glanced up as you entered, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Phew, you'd think it was a Sunday and you were hungover," he remarked casually, a small smile playing on his lips. 

You shot him a pointed glare, resisting the urge to snap back and opting to take the open seat next to him, sitting back to take a sip of your coffee. 

Rhysand leaned over into your space, reaching a hand to tug at the strings of your hoodie with a grin on his lips. You swatted his hand away with a deepening scowl. "Cut it out."

He chuckled lightly, settling back into his chair. "So, what do you think this is about?" 

“No idea,” you sighed, crossing your arms defensively. You gave him a pointed glare. “What did you do?”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. “And why are we automatically assuming I did something?”

“Well when are you not?” You titled your head. “Doing something, I mean.”

Rhysand caught onto the meaning of your words instantly. He narrowed his eyes at you before something crossed his features. Then, he was leaning in again, a smirk on his face as he scanned your own. “Are you feeling a bit left out? You’re always welcome to join.”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a scoff of disgust as you maneuvered yourself to lean farther away from him. “You’re shameless.”

The door clicked open, and your attention snapped over as Helion entered the room. You began to offer him a smile, but the motion died on your lips as you met his gaze. 

You loved Helion— as an executive producer, and the main man regarding your public relations, you’d formed a great relationship with him. It helped that you were best friends with his son, too. But today his typically buoyant air was clouded, his expression wearing the weight of serious deliberation. It was one you could only compare to that of a disappointed father about to deliver bad news. Beside him, Amren followed like a silent storm cloud. 

Amren, on the other hand, was someone you didn’t have a favorable relationship with. She was Rhysand’s personal agent and she excluded the same energy he did— something that tasted a lot like pretentiousness.  Her sharp gaze swept the room, and you instinctively avoided meeting it.

If Amren was here, and Helion was wearing that stern expression, it could only mean trouble. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, a knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach.

You and Rhysand shared a quick, knowing glance, a similar confusion mirrored on both your faces. You straightened yourself as Rhysand offered a disarmingly charming smile. 

"What's going on?" he asked.

Helion exchanged a glance with Amren before sighing heavily. He leaned forward, slapping a piece of paper onto the table and pushing it toward both of you. 

The first thing that caught your eye was the TMZ logo— something that made your stomach drop instinctively. You bit at the inside of your cheek, your eyes repeatedly running over the headline. You looked up through your lashes to meet Helion’s expecting gaze. 

Rhysand's voice was incredulous as he spoke. "Did you... print these out?" 

You casted a quick glance of disbelief at him. Idiot. He paid no mind. 

Helion ignored the comment, taking a seat across from you as he leaned back, crossing his arms. He gave a nod towards the two copies before you. “Go ahead. Read," he instructed calmly, his expression grave. The tone alone made you shiver from its unfamiliarity. 

You picked up your copy, scanning the bolded headline and the accompanying pictures. 

FAILURE ON SET: HOW AN OVERBEARING CO-STAR FUED IS THREATENING THE VIEWER EXPERIENCE

Ianthe Parcite weighs in on the rumored feud between co-stars Y/N and Rhysand after exclusive interview.

As expected, the large printed image was a glamor shot of Rhysand and one of the interview set. You were nowhere to be found. Your grip on the edges of the paper tightened as you began to read the article.

In an exclusive interview with TMZ, Ianthe Parcite, known for her candid critiques, has taken a stark stance on the alleged feud between Hollywood’s famed co-stars, Y/N L/N and Rhysand Darling. Contrary to initial impressions, Ianthe now reveals that behind the scenes, tensions ran high and professionalism faltered. “I sensed an atmosphere of unease and discontent,” Ianthe remarked, reflecting on her recent encounter with the co-stars. “Y/N appeared dismissive and disengaged during our interview, which is concerning for the show’s dynamics.” Ianthe didn’t hold back in her assessment of Rhysand either, noting his apparent lack of receptiveness to her questions. “Rhysand’s demeanor was noticeably distant, almost unreceptive to any meaningful dialogue,” she disclosed. “It’s unfortunate when personal dynamics overshadow the professionalism required on set.” The revelations have sent shockwaves through the fanbase, with many expressing disappointment over the potential impact on their favorite series. As speculation swirls around the future of the show, fans are left wondering if the rift between Y/N and Rhysand will escalate and if it's worth watching a show doomed for failure. 

You scoffed incredulously, pushing the paper further away from you as if its distance would minimize the anger that simmered underneath your skin. You deeply regretted holding back in the interview— regretted not tearing that pompous bitch into two.

"So she doesn't even include a picture of me and yet I'm the main one she rips into?" 

You found the courage to look around the room, your gaze landing on Helion with pleading eyes. His response was a noncommittal shrug, accompanied by a slight raise of his eyebrows. It was clear he didn't have an easy answer, either.

Running your tongue along your teeth, you shifted your gaze to Rhysand. His jaw clenched as he laid the paper on the table. "It's not even a great photo of me," he remarked dryly, "I'm too pale in it."

Your mouth fell open in exasperation. "Unbelievable," you muttered under your breath.

Rhysand shot you a glare that lingered for a few tense seconds. You matched his gaze evenly before he redirected his attention to Helion and Amren. "This is ridiculous," he asserted, "Did they seriously publish this?

A moment passed. Helion sighed heavily, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Yes. Every tabloid is eating it up.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling every muscle in your body tense with the frustration prickling at your skin. “It wasn't our best interview, sure, but it definitely wasn't that bad," you insisted, tapping a finger down on the offending article.

Amren's gaze flickered toward Rhysand, and you followed it. Rhysand shifted uncomfortably, his expression briefly sheepish before he turned to you with a defensive edge. You narrowed your eyes, tuning to face him properly.

“Did you do something?”

Rhysand rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous.” 

Your mouth fell agape and you let out a deep, angry breath through your nose. “Don’t use that word about me,” you hissed at him.  You pointed emphatically at the paper. "That is ridiculous. And you look like a guilty dog. What did you do?"

"Nothing," he finally muttered, his eyes narrowing in irritation. He shifted in his seat, pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves. 

It was Amren's voice that cut through the tension, her tone cool and calculating. "It's what he didn't do, really," she remarked cryptically, her gaze still lingering on Rhysand.

He shot her a pointed glare and you frowned, your brows furrowing to a tight knit. A faint headache throbbed at your temples. Turning to Helion for clarification, you found him leaning forward, lips pursed in thought. 

"It appears Ianthe was a bit... offended that Rhysand turned down her advances," Helion explained carefully, his words laden with implication.

Your eyes widened in surprise, disbelief coloring your features. "Seriously?" you blurted out, your head twisting to face Rhysand once more, moving with such swiftness that an ache pulled at the muscles of your neck. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Rhysand's eyes widened in response, his expression a mix of offense and confusion. "Excuse me?" he retorted, a hint of incredulity in his voice. "So you have a problem with me when I sleep with people and when I don't?"

Annoyance flared within you. "You flirted with her the entire interview," you accused, your voice raising slightly in pitch. "The one time you decide to take a vow of celibacy and it's with the one name that can tarnish my reputation?”

Rhysand scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Your reputation, of course," he muttered sarcastically. "You're such a hypocrite."

"Your actions reflect on me too, Rhysand," you shot back, "Do you ever think about that?"

He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with a pinched expression. "Oh, please," he countered, "If you hadn't been sulking and throwing daggers at me the entire interview, I wouldn't have had to flirt with her to salvage it. You should be thanking me."

Your jaw tightened at his words. "Thanking you? Look what happened—"

Before you could finish your retort, Helion slammed his palm down on the table with a sharp crack. You and Rhysand both jumped at the sudden interruption, turning to face him with wide eyes.

"Enough," Helion declared firmly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Stop bickering like children."

You and Rhysand exchanged a reluctant glance and with a sigh, you sank back into your seat, folding your arms defensively. 

"It'll blow over in a week, right? No big deal," Rhysand said casually, his tone attempting to downplay the severity of the situation. You raised your eyebrows at the suggestion, but as hopeful as it sounded, part of you knew that this was a bigger deal than you both cared to admit.

Helion regarded him with a critical eye, his lips pressed into a thin line. Feeling an itch at your skin, you unfolded your arms. 

"He’s right," you said hopefully, running a hand through your hair. "I mean, rumors of us not being... the best of friends isn't something new. People know this."

Rhysand offered a nod of agreement. “Exactly. It's just tabloid fodder," he said, his gaze shifting between Amren and Helion with a hint of concern.

Leaning slightly on the table, Amren shook her head slightly, her eyes– a color so light they were almost silver— glowed with intensity as they swept over Rhysand and then fixed on you. The heat of her gaze made you swallow and you found yourself tempted to apologize for things you’d never done— confess for crimes you hadn’t committed. But against your instincts, you held her gaze for another lasting moment. Amren seemed to appreciate the stare and she raised an eyebrow of approval before she spoke. 

“It's more than that now," she stated firmly, her voice cutting through the air like a finely sharpened knife. "This isn't just idle gossip anymore. It's becoming off-putting. A few small rumors are funny at first, but now people don't want to watch. It's affecting our ratings."

"We can't afford to lose viewers over this," Helion added, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency you’d never heard. He was stressed— extremely so. He picked at the gold rings that adorned his hands. "The show needs a strong, united front, not two leads sniping at each other in public."

You exchanged a glance with Rhysand. Your mind raced and you settled your gaze on Helion. 

You trusted him. He always had your best interests in mind, and navigating public fallout wasn’t unfamiliar territory for you. This was fine, this was manageable. 

“Okay,” you said, the words directly intended for him.  “What do you want me to do?”

He threw a glance at Amren. 

“Well,” he started, “We need to manage the narrative. The tension between you two is too obvious. Starting with the press tour, we'll need you both to project a good connection. No more sniping or tension in public—it needs to be all smiles and cooperation."

You nodded slowly, digesting his words. Next to you, Rhysand sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. "Are you saying we need to fake being friends?"

The two agents before you shared another glance. You frowned at the exchange, an unsettled feeling brewing in your gut. Helion’s face slowly shifted into one more amused— and you watched as a grin grew on his lips, something suspicious, mischievous even. His eyes gleamed.

“Not just friends," he said, his gaze shifting between you and Rhysand. He looked to Amren one last time, who gave a small nod of approval before he continued, 

"We need you to fake a romance."

You choked on the air in your throat, your heart skipping a beat at his words. You blinked rapidly, gaze darting between Helion and Amren, seeking any sign that this was a joke or a misinterpretation. 

They were messing with you both, surely. This was some joke to make you both apologize, some horrendously unrealistic suggestion that made the idea of you two being simply friends something straight out of paradise.

But their faces were deadly serious— set with a purposeful intent etched into their features. Helion’s grin ate at you. 

Rhysand's laughter broke the tense silence, though it lacked humor as he shook his head in disbelief. His wide eyes met yours, a silent exchange of incredulity passing between you before both of you turned to Helion simultaneously. When no other words were offered to you both, the reality of the suggestion seeped in. 

As if you both registered it at the same time, both you and Rhysand rose swiftly. 

"Absolutely fucking not—" 

"—There is no way in hell I'm—"

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

GUYS IM OBSESSED IM SORRY I CANT. reader is such a hater and i think its so funny, whatever rhys does its just *eye roll* booo he sucks

i loveee them ur honor

if youd like to be added to the LCL! taglist, lmk!! <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124

Rhysand tag list 🫶🏻:

@serrendiipty

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

← Smutlet masterlist

18+ Breeding Kink

The first time he slid into you, it felt wonderful. Like a taste of heaven. He took his time, sliding his cock over your slick folds, covering himself in your juices. By the time his member was lined up at your entrance, you were begging him to fill you up. Except you had no idea how literally he would take your request.

“Feels so good inside you, Doll. Look at you, look how you take me so well. Looking so pretty with my cock in you.”

He filled you, inch by inch until his tip was kissing your cervix. You saw stars exploding behind the darkness of your closed eyes. Bucky had the decency to let you adjust to his size before he set his pace. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass when one word left your lips. Daddy.

“Want to be a mommy? Huh, Doll? Have my babies? Is that what you want?”

His brilliant blue eyes bore into yours. Sweat dripped down his face. Steady streams across his chest and back. Bucky towered over you. Panting. Groaning. He was relentless. The way he handled you, the ease with which he flipped you from one position to another was painfully delicious.

“You're going to look beautiful, carrying my baby in that pretty belly. So big and round and gorgeous. I can't wait to feel how full your tits are going to be. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Doll?”

He knew you loved it. He loved it too. The way your blown out pupils rolled backwards. The way you whined his name. The way you are totally drunk on his cock. Bucky loved you like this. The way your dainty ankles fit so perfectly on his broad shoulders. He barely had to hold you there. It left him free to touch all the sensitive parts of you. To push all the buttons that made you moan. Every now and then, when he wanted to tease you, he turned his head to one side to tickle your feet with his tongue.

“You like that, Doll? You like that I want to knock you up? You'd be so pretty carrying my kids. I'm going to put one in this precious pussy. Right now, I'm going to cum. Just one more time, just to make sure.”

He came. More than once. It made you wonder how he was still hard. Was it because you begged for it? What was it about that last ‘pleeeease’ that finally tipped him over the edge? Was it because of the attention, the focus, the intensity with which you watched him disappearing inside of you? Was it all of these things that finally made his groans stutter, his thrusts dwindle? No, it was all of you. It was you that made him spill his thick hot load into your puffed up pussy.

“Oh Doll, look at you, you're milking my cock so fucking well. Want me to fill you up? Want me to stuff you, til you're so fucking full that you can't hold it in?

Metal digits circled your clit, throwing you over the edge. Your climax coincided with his, your aching cunt pulsing steadily around him. Milking his seed. Filling you to the brim. Breeding you to the fullest. He pulled out of you and winked at you, keeping your feet up in the air.

“No spilling.”

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter one: god you've got the blackest eyes

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: To summon a demon at a crossroads, simply cast a circle, make an offering, and recite an incantation. What happens from that point on is subject to your desire… and the demon’s.

cw: explicit, smut, dubcon elements, making a deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, horror, witch!reader, reader is 21+ in modern day, eddie is immortal, coercion (a bit), sex pact, marking, possessive behavior, animal death, trauma, reader is ostracized by her very religious hometown, dark comedy, tfw your accidental boyfriend is a demon who is obsessed with you bc he doesn’t know how to be normal about anything ever, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

a/n: Hi folks, for the month of October this year I'm going to be reuploading all the chapters of this fic onto tumblr, this time hopefully for good. I apologize for the time that it's been taken down. Genuinely, this fic has garnered so much kindness and support and I think of it as one of my biggest accomplishments. I hope you all enjoy it just as much the second time around as the first.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Through me you pass into the city of woe, Through me you pass into eternal pain, Through me you pass among forsaken people. Justice moved my exalted creator; I was wrought by divine power, Supreme wisdom, and primal love. Before me all things created were eternal, And eternal I endure. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. -Dante Alighieri, The Inferno, Canto III

The book you’ve used for ages now, since late in your junior year of high school, has only one page in it that you haven’t utilized. You don’t know how much faith to put in it– you’re a little short on faith, these days– but, the spellbook lays it out simply, so you follow its directions to the letter. 

To summon a demon at a crossroads, go to a place where two paths meet on the dark moon. You find peace and quiet in the woods, deep where you know no one walks at night but two paths cross in a small clearing banked with trees. It’s your favorite place to go when you want to do a spell– ritual– and you don’t want to be bothered. The whole thing can’t be more than twenty feet across. Above the overhang of trees, there’s no moon in the sky, only stars.

Cast a circle of protection. That took more research than just the book in your hands, but years of collecting information have given you learned knowledge– there are a million ways to cast a circle, and different circles for different purposes. You do your best to create one for protection. You draw a literal circle in the dirt with a stick, fill it with salt, and walk around the circle three times clockwise to cast it. You light candles to give yourself some light, and to free up your hands of the flashlight you carried to see your way through the woods. 

Make an offering of copper. Your hand pauses on the copper dog tag in your hand. You’d thought of just offering a penny, but you remembered reading somewhere that pennies barely contain copper anymore, and you didn’t have anything else that was entirely made of the one metal. 

You run your finger over the embossed name on it. Lacey. Your pet’s old collar feels heavy in your hand as you remove the tag from the leather strap and bury it in the earth, you guess, to reach the… Underworld? Hell? You can’t honestly say, considering the text you’re referencing only calls it the Otherworld.

It’s a big sacrifice. It’s personal. But, you guess, that gives it more meaning. Making a deal is personal business, and you have your reasons.

Recite the summoning incantation. A stanza of words you don’t understand. You don’t think it’s in Latin, but you try your best, all the same. You read them from the book before you, and feel your blood rushing in your veins as you do.

State your desire out loud in a clear voice. Well, that’s a little more difficult. What is it that you want?

You take a breath, go to speak, and then stop. You don’t know how to start. You don’t know exactly how to describe your pain. You don’t know how to voice your anger well enough, you just know you need to… you need to get it out, somehow. This is a very crucial step in the ritual, you have to do it.

“I came here to make a deal,” you speak frankly, clearly. “I’m prepared to do anything. I’ve run out of options. I’ve been hurt too many times, by too many people who didn’t care what they did to me. I’ve lost everything I genuinely loved. I’m… I’m angry, and desperate, and I’m frightened. And I feel so alone. It’s eating me alive, and I just… I just want the ability to make things go my way, for once.” Good enough, you hope.

Wait for an answer.

You do. You listen intently, to the song of the leaves in the trees rustling in the slight breeze, to the crickets chirping in the grass. You wait long enough that you start to rethink your approach. 

It could be that things will turn around if you just wait another month, or another month after that. Maybe you’ll get the car back. Maybe you’ll get the promotion that was given to the newbie that you trained. Maybe your ex will stop coming around your work to intimidate you. Maybe you’ll get a new dog to take the place of the one that he killed. Maybe the evangelical town you live in will stop shunning you and calling you a witch, like something out of the middle ages.

Unlikely, that last one.

Just when you swear it’s a failure, that you should just pack up and leave, that’s when a strong gust of wind rips through the clearing out of nowhere. The candles blow out– and then, oddly enough, relight themselves. There’s a slight scent of smoke on the breeze, and you look around to make sure none of the candles fell over in the wind.

They’re all perfectly fine. There’s nothing amiss, it seems, until you hear a cough and movement across the clearing. You look forward, and see a pair of black combat boots in the stream of light from your flashlight. You follow the boots up to a pair of legs, clad in dark jeans, and then further up, to a torso, and a head, and a pair of sparkling eyes.

“Hi.”

You stare at him, probably looking like a fish out of water with the way your mouth opens and closes. You’d fully expected the traditional scary depiction of a demon– maybe horns, goat hooves, et cetera. But the man that answered your call is… just a man. A pretty one. He has long, curly hair, which falls over his broad shoulders and stirs in the wind. His plush lips curve up in a relaxed, cocky smile, as he takes in the sight of you in return. 

He quirks an eyebrow at you. “Are you just gonna stare at me all night?” 

“Sorry, hi. Hello.” You shake your head. “Can you believe I honestly thought I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time?” 

“I can believe a lot of things. You know, there’s a reason why the demon summoning ritual is first in that book.” His voice is soft and resonant. You get a mental image of heat waves radiating from tar-black and glowing magma, rolling slowly over lava beds. The image disappears just as soon as it flashes into your mind.

“Well, to be completely honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about making a deal with a demon first thing,” you explain, looking away shyly. “But I’ve tried all the spells in this book and not a single one of them worked. Just seems like everything is getting worse all the time.”

He doesn’t look away– rather, he keeps staring at you, unblinkingly. Like you’re the most fascinating creature he’s ever seen. He leans up against the tree that he appeared beside, his leather jacket falling open to reveal a shirt with a demon’s head on it. Fitting. He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. 

“So, now you wanna make a deal with little ol’ me, huh?” He grins, a gorgeous smile that flashes bright, sharp teeth at you. He lifts a cigarette to his mouth and bites it gently between his teeth. He doesn’t pull out a lighter. Instead, you watch him light up with a small flame that erupts from the tip of his thumb. 

“Depends on who you are,” you retort, eyes following the movement of his hands. They’re weighed down by large, silver rings that reflect the light of the flame before it snuffs out. “What’s your name?”

He makes a short noise in his throat, shaking his head abruptly. He doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as you feel he should– more like he’s trying to warn you against something you don’t want. He peers at you from beneath his wavy bangs as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth and uses it to point at you. “Names are really powerful things where I come from, babydoll. Best not to bite off more than you can chew yet. Once we cut a deal– that’s when you get my name.”

You make a face as you mull that over. “So what do I call you, in the meantime? Demon daddy?” 

“You could,” he chuckles. The demon rocks to the side, crossing his legs at the ankles. “If you really wanted to. I wouldn’t mind, it’s flattering.” 

You grunt. “I think I’ll pass on that, actually.” He tilts his head with a sicker, watching you with an amused smile while you shift in place. “So, do I– I mean, you need to know what I want, right? Is that how this starts?”

“No, I know what you want.” He exhales a stream of smoke from his nostrils. “You want power. To get a fair shake, find your place, change your life. Defend yourself against the assholes making that life, well. A living hell.” As he spits out the words, his voice rings sharp through the trees, like the strike of a hammer on glowing metal, shooting sparks off into the air. 

“I want to take all this pain and just… return to sender. Give it back to them, y’know? I never wanted any of it,” you justify. Your voice is too small in comparison with his. “Maybe then I’ll be able to fucking breathe.”

For how little space you allow yourself to take up, he seems to consume the rest of it. He nods slowly. “That’s a fair request, sweetheart.”

“It’s selfish, I know.”

“Making a deal for power is inherently a selfish thing,” he shrugs. “Own it. I’m certainly not judging.”

You let out a shaky breath. You’re still so nervous, being so near him– ten feet away and growing closer every second, it seems, even though neither of you have moved. You feel like, no matter how far you pull back, the flow of fiery lava he seems to embody will keep creeping towards you until you’re burned alive.

His dark eyes glow like coals in the night as he looks you up and down, and then he quickly pushes himself away from the tree. You startle at the abrupt movement, and watch as he swings around it like Gene Kelly on a lamp post. 

When he rounds the tree, he uses the momentum to throw himself toward your circle. You flinch, and he frowns, but continues moving toward you at a slower pace, holding his hands out innocently. “Wanna know a secret? About how all this,” he twirls a finger in the air, indicating the ritual you’re in the middle of, “works?”

You nod, gazing up at him shyly. If you felt at all powerful while casting the circle and starting the ritual, he’s managed to take the wind out of your sails. You can feel the power radiating off of him in waves.

He smirks at you. “You make your petition– when you say the words in that little book,” he points at the volume at your feet, “and that petition is answered by whichever demon caters most to that desire.” He points at himself emphatically, his eyebrows raised. “Me? Infernal majesty of freaks and misfits. I’m your demon daddy.”

You finally giggle, and it makes him smile fondly, like that’s what he’d been gunning for all along. He backs up a step and puffs his cigarette. 

“I’m here to help you, sweetheart.” He regards you for a second, like he’s thinking things over. “That is, as long as you agree to my terms.”

“Terms?” You echo, but you were sort of expecting that. Nothing for nothing, right? “What are the terms?”

“Ah, they’re simple. Very traditional,” he waves his hand like it’s frivolous. He holds his hand out in midair, and just like how he’d conjured the flames, he produces a weathered book. It looks like a composition book that has scribbles and doodles all over the front of it– the same demon head that adorns his shirt. “You sign your name with your blood in my little black book, you hop on one foot with your hand on your head and pledge your undying fealty to the dark lord Kthulu, and then you meet me on the sabbath to kill a child and make them into soup.” 

He smiles, fluttering his eyelashes at you innocently. 

“Are you fucking serious?” You blurt. 

“Of course I’m not fucking serious– what is this, the dark ages?” He snorts as he lowers the composition book. “Nah, we don’t do human sacrifice on the sabbath anymore, it was getting too difficult to evade the witch hunters.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He flashes you a disarming grin. You can feel yourself halfway smirking as well, incredulous but somehow enjoying his humor. Then he shakes his head and says, seriously, “No, you do have to sign my book, though. And then meet me back here on the full moon to fuck.”

You blink at him, reeling from the whiplash of that. “You… I’m sorry?”

“I find it best not to sugarcoat it, y’know.” He shrugs, “Think of this as a marriage, of sorts. I give you the power to smite thine enemies, live deliciously, blah blah blah, and then you meet me at the crossroads every full moon to be my whore and we fuck like bunnies all night. Simple as that.”

“That’s far from simple.”

“It doesn’t have to be monogamous, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he continues frankly, “except on the full moon. I won’t compromise about that– you’ll be all mine, and I’m all yours. No takesies backsies.”

“No– that’s not–” You exhale, holding your hands over your eyes. “I’m just… not promiscuous like that…”

“Sweetheart.” He waits until you’ve lowered your hands to look at him, and he hums, with a saccharine smile that reminds you of the power you’d felt sweep through the clearing when he arrived. “You won’t be the first good girl I’ve broken, and you won’t be the last. If you’re worried about promiscuity, well… I answered your petition. I know what goes on in that pretty head, and it barely scratches the surface of what I’ve seen and done.” 

The toe of his boot barely nudges the edge of your circle, and a spark crackles in the dark from the impact. The light dances in his eyes longer than it remains in the air, like they caught the spark and ignited. 

“Trust me,” he says, drawing you in with the low register of his voice. “I can give you more than power. I can give you protection. I can give you real happiness. Karma’s a fucking bitch, so I can be, too. This is just such a little thing in return. And who knows… you may even like it.”

You shiver at that, even though his presence feels hot, like his stream of lava is surrounding you, crowding you in, boiling you where you stand. He’s right– you absolutely might like it. 

Because there’s just something magnetic between you, isn’t there? You can sense it, more than any heat and any sort of primal fear you might have instinctively at his presence. There’s a certain pull you feel toward him, emanating even through the salt barrier on the ground. 

You want to wrap yourself in him. Boil you alive, burn you to a crisp, destroy you– you don’t care.

“Or… is it that you don’t like this body?” He wonders aloud, striding backward two steps. He turns, his hand lifting his seemingly ever-burning cigarette to his lips. “Figures– y’know, I can be anything you want me to be, babydoll.”

Confused, you watch as he transforms in front of you. In the length of two steps while he paces across the clearing, his face and body stretches and contorts, until you’re not staring at the same visage anymore. He stops, and he turns to you with his palms up, like he’s waiting for your approval. 

You’re looking at Tom fucking Cruise. 

“Oh, no, absolutely not,” you shake your head vehemently, scowling. You wave your hands demandingly, “Put it back. You were so hot before– please, please go back to the way you were.”

The demon grins and turns his head, throwing the cigarette away. His hair grows back to its previous length, his face morphing as if made of clay until you meet the same pretty smile you’ve come to enjoy looking at. 

He chuckles, grabbing a lock of his hair and drawing it across his lips. “You think I’m hot?”

“Of course,” you murmur, but you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he can hear it. His eyes are embers, blazing at you from beneath his bangs. “Is that what you normally look like? Is that your true form?”

He makes an iffy sound. “It’s what I looked like when I was human. My true form has more horns and unhinged jaws and claws and all that. You wouldn’t like it.”

“I thought you said you could read my mind. Do you know how much monster porn I’ve consumed? That’s hot as shit to me,” you argue, and he snaps his head towards you in surprise. You point at yourself. “Freak and misfit.”

He laughs, and it sounds like the roaring of an out of control fire, burning up everything in its path. He kicks his heel on the ground and steps up to your circle again. “I like you, baby. I really do. What do you say?”

“How do I know that I can trust you?” you ask, an annoying lump forming in your throat with the question. You’ve been burned before by people far less powerful than this demon, yet who still hold so much power over you. However much they have.

“You can’t,” he answers, more honestly than most would. He tilts his head with a crooked smile. “Not to get all preachy on you, but even if I wasn’t a demon… trust is built, not a given. ‘The devil you know,’ right? Better than the one that you don’t.”

“Yeah,” you agree, your voice coming out breathy and winded the longer you gaze up into his eyes.

“Trust me to be… intense, I guess,” he shrugs. “And probably impulsive. But I’ll always deliver on our deal. Be my witch, my wife, my whore– whatever you want to call it, but be mine. I think we’ll have so much fun together.”

“Yeah, I think– I think I will.” You’re nodding, and his smile grows with yours. “I want to.”

“Let me in, sweetheart.”

Your toe scuffs the boundary on the ground, breaking the circle. Immediately, your senses are assaulted by smoke, not just the tobacco he’s been smoking but the scent of a wildfire, of cities burned to ashes, of desolation and destruction and pyroclastic flow and roaring, exploding volcanoes. 

Your demon crosses the line you’d drawn on the ground with ease, producing the worn composition book in his hand again. The cover reads Hellfire Club in chicken scratch handwriting. 

“Are there others?” You ask, prompted by the word Club on the front as he flips open the book to a middle page. An agreement is already written out in red ink. “Do you have more than one, um…”

“Consort?” He whispers in your ear. Goosebumps rise on your skin, and your stomach flutters. “Not for a long time. I’m very picky about my partners. They have to be just as much of a freak as I am.”

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, although the admission makes you feel… better, in a way. You squint in the dark, but with the exception of the candles around your circle, there’s nothing to allow you to properly read what’s written on the page. 

He sighs, shifting on his feet beside you. “Are you one of those people who’ll read the whole contract?”

“Absolutely I am,” you hum. The book feels heavier in your hands than it should. “Can you give me a light?”

“Jesus Christ.” He produces a flame from his forefinger just as you turn to give him a confused look. 

“Shouldn’t you, like… evaporate after saying that?”

In the yellow glow of the flame, he just blinks at you, looking amused. “Things aren’t as black and white as you think they are, believe me.”

You snatch his wrist and yank his arm closer to the page. His body collides with yours, and he grunts in your ear as he wraps his other arm around you, embracing you from behind. You’re engulfed in the scent of smoke and the heat of his flames, impossibly hot and comforting all the same. 

His hair brushes your shoulder as you read his contract. It’s just a few lines, but the weight they hold will seal your fate. 

The agreement made this night of the dark moon shall henceforth be enacted from the signing of this document, that hereby renders the human party’s soul bound to the infernal party. Witness that the first party must appear before the second party each full moon to lay in matrimonial fashion, and that in return the first party shall be protected and given the powers of the second from here until the human’s mortal passing. 

“Aww, that’s sweet,” you coo, tracing the red ink with your fingers. 

The demon over your shoulder rolls his eyes. “It’s a fucking pre-nup.”

“Doesn’t seem like a fair trade, though, does it?” You murmur. “I mean, I get the power to change my circumstances and you get– what– sex once a month?”

His hand tightens on your waist, and you pause. You turn your head to look at him, and his eyes flicker dangerously, so close to yours. They aren’t just glowing coals- this close, you can see the small details. You can see the swirling, the churning of lava within them.

“It’s not just sex, is it?”

“What do you think making a deal with a demon entails, sweetheart? Read the fine print.”

You look back at the page. There are no other words on it, save for the ones you’ve already read. “I don’t…?”

“It’s your soul, honey,” he mutters, pointing at the word. His mouth is muffled against your shoulder as he peers over it. “I won’t ask anything of you other than the sex, as long as you live. But right now, you’re offering up your soul. And once your life is up, you get to be just like me. Understand?”

“I… yeah. I understand.” You let go of his wrist, but pause over the pages of the book. “I don’t have anything to sign with.”

Wordlessly, the demon takes your hand. You let him caress your wrist, feeling your pulse with his thumb. Then, before you realize what’s happening, a sharp sting makes you yelp as he cuts your skin with his pointed thumbnail. 

He shushes you, letting the blood well up on your skin. “I did say you needed to sign with blood.”

Your voice shakes when you hold your dripping wrist over the page. “I thought you said you were joking.”

“Not about the book. Rules of the trade, I can’t change it.” Your blood splatters the notebook, dripping into the crease of the page. Once he’s satisfied, he lifts your wrist to his mouth and closes his lips around the small wound. It heals in a heartbeat. 

“Is that it, then?” You ask, mesmerized by the sight and feeling of his mouth on your skin. “Don’t you have to sign?”

Your demon kisses your wrist gently, his lips soft, inviting. “This is going to hurt,” he warns, and you nod. The heat of his breath makes your skin tingle, all your nerves on high alert. 

But then that tingling turns into a burn, that turns into a searing pain. You feel like your skin is on fire, an invisible hot brand held against your wrist. You cry out as he holds you close, letting you bury your face into his neck, holding you up as your knees threaten to buckle. 

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs to you as you whimper. He holds your arm as the pain fades into a throbbing ache, cradles your hand against his cheek as he coos into your hair. “You’re so strong. Not many people can handle my mark, you know. Fate works in funny ways.”

Your demon holds you until you can stand on your own, until your breathing evens out and you can compose yourself. He shushes you quietly, rocking you from side-to-side with a soothing hand stroking your head. Then he holds your face, and kisses your tear stained cheeks. The touch of his lips stokes at flames beneath your skin.

“I’ll look forward to our time together, little witch,” he whispers. And with a quick, chaste kiss to your lips, he disappears entirely. 

You stay in the circle for a while, clutching your throbbing wrist and crying frustrated tears. You wonder if you made the right decision, and yet, you don’t understand why you just want him to come back. You miss the comfort of his presence, even if you don’t know enough about him to justify it. All he did was hurt your arm and take your blood and kiss away your tears and make you a witch. 

It’s too late to go back on your decision now. There’s an all-encompassing fire you can feel burning in your veins, emitting from the pulsating wound on your wrist. His power. His fire. 

You pull your hand away from your wrist to finally inspect the mark that he branded you with, declaring you his in the same chicken scratch that had been on the cover of his book. It’s small enough that a well placed bracelet would cover it, but you don’t know that you’ll want to.

Eddie.

Your demon’s name is Eddie.

[pinkanonwrites]

HANDS-ON LEARNING

Read 'Handle With Care' here!

Rodimus/Human Reader, NSFW, First Contact AU, AFAB Reader, GN Pronouns, G/T, Experimental Sex, Fingering, Oral (Receiving)

Since this is a First Contact fic, dialogue that is both bold and italicized are words that both the reader and Rodimus understand.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

Of all the ideas you'd had over the course of your life, this had to be one of the worst.

Granted, it wasn't as bad as trying to follow the blinking light into the woods after your car broke down, only to end up abducted by aliens. But it was pretty high up there.

But between said abduction and your ensuing rescue by the gigantic alien robots and the spaceship they called home, you hadn't exactly had a lot of time to yourself. And after days melted into weeks and you eventually began to lose track of how long it had been since you had been plucked from Earth, you were starting to get a little… wound up.

Most days were spent in between the massive metal fingers of a robot that you were pretty sure was named Rodimus as he shuttled you from room to room and presented you to his fellow crew members like a first-grader showing off their new pet hamster. But despite the glaring communication barrier and the ever-present threat of being squashed under foot, Rodimus was very careful with you. He made sure you were safe and comfortable, never picked you up without letting you know ahead of time, and did his best to communicate simple thoughts and ideas with you through hilarious, size-difference charades. It could be a little awkward sometimes, but he was nice! It was nice.

And then, about a week ago, Rodimus accidentally made you cum so hard you almost blacked out. And you couldn't stop thinking about it.

But honestly, how were you supposed to stop thinking about it? Sure, it was an accident, (or you were pretty sure it was, at least. Giant robot charades isn't always a perfect system) but it was an accident that refused to leave your mind. When Rodimus would lay on his big slab of metal to sleep, or recharge his batteries, or whatever it was that giant robots did at bedtime, you'd be lying awake in the little habitat he'd built for you out of his desk craving the sensation of sitting on the world's best and most attentive washing machine and letting the vibrations spark stars behind your eyelids.

So maybe it was a bit stupid, and horny, and frankly desperate to search out that feeling again from a guy four times your size who could crush you in his hand like a grape if he ever wanted to. But God damn if it wouldn't be worth it.

So that's how you found yourself in the position you are now. Naked, sprawled back against the surface of the desk with one of Rodimus's massive hands cradling your upper body, and a giant finger from the other tracing up the inner curve of your thigh. He seemed almost enchanted by the way your goosebumps rippled to the surface beneath his touch, letting out a pleased, mechanical warble.

He seemed to adore your softness compared to the rigid metal of his own skin, as Rodimus liked to squish you quite a bit. Never enough to hurt, just enough to feel the warm press of your skin between the joints of his fingers and hands, or to drag a curious fingertip down your cheek. But there was a particular meekness with the way he touched you right now, like he was only just realizing how easy it would be for him to hurt you. It was painfully sweet, and if you weren't absolutely aching for something more right now you may have been content to let him continue his gentle fondling.

"C'mon, big guy." You murmured instead, resting your hand around his wrist and pulling him up closer to the apex of your thighs. He let out a soft, surprised revving sound at your boldness, glancing at your face a few times before finally pressing the top of his finger up between your thighs, lying flush against your folds. If you had to compare the sensation, you'd say the feeling of leaning a little too far forward on a motorcycle seat was similar. It was warm, rumbling, pressing up against all the right places, but not quite enough to get you anywhere you really wanted. Still, you couldn't stifle your shaky moan, and that seemed to really get him going.

"Yes?..." He all but purred, one of the few words you had actually managed to learn between the two of you. The pointed chevron of his brow seemed to quirk up a bit on one side as he glanced down at his thick finger between your legs before back up to your gaze.

"Yes. It's good, I just… want more." You knew he couldn't understand your words, but the slow roll of your hips and the slick coating of your arousal over his knuckle seemed to get the message across just fine. He rocked his finger up against you, wet with your drooling heat as the jut of the joint slid up and over your clit again, and again, and again. Still slow, yes, but almost painfully good. Your hips jerked towards the sensation and he cooed, engine rumbling louder to course vibrations up through your aching cunt.

He murmured your name, or the best that he could approximate in his echoey, mechanical trill. From the hand cradling your upper body his massive thumb slid forward, dragging along the curve of your jaw and down to the jut of your collarbone with a delicate curiosity. Panting, you let yourself melt into his touch, rolling your hips against his other hand and shuddering at every other press that seemed to hit just the right spot. Fuck, this was good. Better than good, you felt like your brain was going to melt out of your ears, molten heat pooling low in your stomach as a pleasant buzz of arousal seemed to crawl through your muscles and out to the tips of your fingers and toes. It was probably way too early to be cumming, but you'd been pent-up for far too long already and the relentless vibrations only pushed you higher and higher, a rubber band threatening to snap as you gasped and shuddered and tossed your head back against Rodimus's enormous metal palm.

It was all you could do to keep your feet from kicking out as your orgasm washed over you, the aching clench of your cunt around nothing making you whine as his fingers slowed to a lazy, comfortable stroking. You blinked blearily up at him, a look of incredibly sly pride on his face as you went limp and content in his palm.

"Fuck, Rodimus." You groaned. It startled you, the sheer volume of his engine's snarl in response to your simple, fucked-out sigh of his name. But more surprising was the sudden press of two blunt fingers against your messy hole, slippery with your own arousal as they tried to work their way into you. "W-Wait! Rodimus, fuck, it's not gonna fi-MMGH!?"

With a wet pop, the tips of his two massive fingers slipped into your still-twitching cunt, stretching you wider than you'd ever been before. Even one of his fingers was more than big enough for you, but he somehow fit two? Your entire body trembled as you flopped back, slave to the impossible stretch and press of unrelenting metal against your most sensitive spots. Whimpers and groans were forced from your body with each minute flex and press of his fingers deeper, deeper, scraping spots you could never reach with your own two hands and stuffing you so full you felt like you couldn't breathe in properly. The heat that had only just receded was building again, impossibly quick, a tingling jolt underneath your skin that made the muscles of your legs twitch and kick outside of your own control as your mind struggled between spearing yourself further on this impossible stretch or wriggling helplessly away.

He was talking again, an incomprehensible clutter of mechanized boops and whirrs that you only barely managed to process in your pleasure-drunk mind. Then, with a sudden rush of motion and swoop of your stomach with the G-force, you were cradled off of the table with his free hand and held up to his face. There was a glow to his cheeks, a bead of liquid trailing down the side of his helmet as he gazed down at you. Robots could blush? And sweat? Apparently this one could, a gush of warm heat rolling over your body as he huffed, mouth hanging slightly open. Behind his giant teeth you could see a peek of a silver-grey tongue, a rippling smooth expanse of rubber and metal-mesh that crept towards you until Rodimus dragged it oh-so-carefully up the length of your cunt.

"FUCK!" You wailed, hands scrabbling for purchase against the joints and bends of Rodimus's hand as he swept his massive tongue between your folds. He let out a low, growling groan at the taste, burying his face between your thighs as he stroked and massaged your pulsing clit with the tip of his tongue. His fingers kept working, curling up towards your stomach on each thrust as you sobbed, abandoning your grip on his hand to clutch to the yellow chevron on his brow like your life depended on it. Your head was swimming, buzzing so intensely with heat that you could barely form a thought beyond the deep, impending well of your next orgasm. It pulsed from so deeply within you, a relentless wall of pleasure rushing towards you faster than you could prepare yourself for. All you could do was cling desperately to Rodimus's brow and hold on for the ride, sobbing and gasping and shivering as it crept ever higher, warmth blossoming out from your cunt and crawling across your shaky frame as pleasure exploded behind your eyelids. You wailed his name again, barely comprehensible, as each press of his fingers forced a gush of slick from your quivering hole and spattered into his giant palm. As quickly as it came his tongue swept it gently away, fingers slowing and letting out a low, melodic hum as your wails and moans trailed off into soft, sniffly whimpers. Finally, finally, after what felt like an eternity but couldn't have been more than a minute at most, he began to lower you carefully back down onto the desk, thumb rubbing a tear from your cheek as he pulled his fingers from your puffy, overworked cunt.

He cooed your name again, cradling your body in both palms. "Good?" He murmured, warmth from his metal palms seeping directly into your sweaty skin and aching muscles. You heaved another shaky breath, unable to form words so you instead shot the giant mech a wavering thumbs-up. In any other scenario that may have been a cripplingly embarrassing response to what was possibly the best orgasm of your life, but it pulled a beaming smile to Rodimus's face regardless.

In a few minutes the tacky feel of slick and sweat and robot saliva drying on your skin would begin to border on intolerable, and you knew you'd eventually have to rise to fawn-like legs and stumble to clean yourself up. But for now you were more than happy to lay sprawled in your giant companion's grasp.

Hell, maybe he'd even help you take a bath, too. After all, it's not like you had anything left to hide.

[void-of-unparalled-chaos]

Star Shoes

"Things had been going so well for him lately. He should have expected the other shoe to drop. Or the metal pipe in this case."

In which Danny and his totally normal boyfriend who is definitely not Red Hood are abducted by cultists. Danny is super concussed, but he's got the spirit.

@deadonmayn Day 2: Jason Has Magic | Ritual | Danny and Jason are abducted by the same cult | "You were never monstrous to me."

AO3 Link

   One day! Danny had asked for just one day! One day free from ghosts and vigilante stuff! A single day off! Was that too much to ask?

    In retrospect, he should have known something bad would happen. Things had been going too well for him lately. 

   Six months ago he began his degree in astrophysics at Gotham University. Since moving to Gotham, Danny and his apartment had yet to be caught in any sort of rogue attack or crime. It was certainly odd considering he was living in the crime capital of the country, but Danny decided he would take it.

   Most of his classes were able to be taken online, which was much more accommodating for Danny’s schedule. Sometimes a baby ancient of space just had to stretch themselves out amongst the stars and let their form slip. Frostbite said it was important for his development. He even offered to write Danny a doctor's note, but something told him it wouldn’t go over well with the school. 

   Danny Fenton requires up to five days of star exposure per month or else he breaks out in fins and eyes that may cause you feelings of cosmic terror. Please excuse him from lecture.

   Yeah. That would work.

   He didn’t need a note if the lectures were online anyway.

   The online lectures were also easier for him on bad tremor days. Sometimes his legs would ache and shake and randomly lock too much for him to walk. It was so much easier to float on those days and just… let loose. His human visage had begun to feel too small and restricting. He could put up with it normally but it itched. It was harder to stay restrained when he also had to deal with the tremors. Luckily for him, the bad days had been decreasing lately.

    By far the best part of the past six months was Danny’s new boyfriend. Jason was great! Better than great! Jason was amazing! They had only been dating for a month but Danny swore if anything happened to Jason he would kill everyone in Gotham and then himself (again). He had a sharp way with words that never failed to make Danny laugh, and though he may seem rude and grumpy on the outside, he was secretly a big sweetheart. 

   Danny had once seen him cry because of a feral (possibly radioactive) Gotham rat that was “just too small”. 

   There’s really no repairing your facade after that.

   Truly, Jason was everything Danny could ask for in a boyfriend. Danny had worried that the questionable functionality of his legs would be a turn-off, but he had been pleasantly surprised. Jason never pushed him past his limits, in fact, he fought to keep Danny from doing so. On the bad days, Jason would make him soup and drape heating pads over his limbs. He would knead his knuckles into Danny’s muscles and press kisses to his trembling fingers. It didn’t make the bad days stop, but they became more bearable. 

   Danny was so lucky.

   So really, he should have expected the other shoe to drop.

   Or the metal pipe in this case.

   Groaning, Danny struggled to open his eyes. His head hurt like he had been doing shots for twelve straight hours and his mouth tasted like iron. He must have bitten his tongue. Or lost a tooth. They grew back so fast that it was honestly hard to tell. 

  “D…n..”

   Someone was talking.

   “Da…n…”

   Someone needed to shut up. Danny hated that name.

   “D…ny!”

   Ugh. 

   Vision swimming, Danny peeled open his eyelids. This… he was in a pawnshop? Why was he in a pawnshop?

   “Danny!”

   Oh. 

   Jason is here.

   Hi Jason!

   “Hey, baby,” Jason huffed in amusement.

   Did he say that out loud? Fuck. He probably has a concussion.

   “I’d be surprised if you didn’t with all the blood on your head.” 

   Blood? Danny tries to feel his face for it but instead finds his hands bound behind his back. He struggles to free them, not accomplishing much besides wiggling around on the carpet like a sad worm. He pauses once for breath and then resumes his wiggling in earnest.

   Now hypothetically, Danny could just phase out of the restraints. One issue…

   Jason was completely in the dark about the whole Phantom thing. They had only been dating for a month and like- how could Danny even bring that up? 

   Hey, just so you know I’ve died before and I’m technically still dead depending on how you think of it? Apparently I’m also a baby god which is news to me too so if that’s distressing for you imagine how I feel! And while we’re at it, I should let you know that your entire concept of the afterlife is probably wrong. Enjoy that crisis!

   Okay, so Danny wouldn’t use those words exactly but that’s the gist of it. It’s some world-changing information and people have been dumped for less. Danny doesn’t want to scare Jason off!

   And even if he was fine after that conversation, what about Danny’s other form? The one that Frostbite keeps calling his true form? It was… a lot, and he hadn’t been joking about the cosmic terror. If he were being honest, Danny barely felt human some days. 

   Danny allows his head to fall back to the floor with a thunk.

   “Careful, darlin’,” Jason sounded concerned from where he was bound adjacent to him, “I think it's stopped bleeding. Don’t want you to open it again.”

   “It’s fine. Worse than it looks.”

   “...Do you mean better than it looks?”

   “Yeah, that. Head wounds bleed a lot.”

   It really was better than it looked. With Danny’s healing, it was probably entirely gone by now. 

   Jason looks like he is about to say something else when the backdoor opens. 

   In comes the most stereotypical cultists Danny has ever seen in his life. Actually, they were stereotypical but worse. The robes they wore looked plasticy and the black was off with a gross yellow undertone. Overall it was giving purchased off some shitty cheap website vibes. Like Wish. 

   They circle around Danny and Jason so perfectly synchronized that Danny knows they had to have practiced this. He imagines them running through their steps as if they were practicing for a dance recital. Did they have a choreographer?

   “Why would we have a choreographer?”

   Oh, Danny is speaking out loud again. Did he say the stuff about the robes?

   “What’s wrong with our robes?!”

   “I love you, baby, but I need you to shut the fuck up.”

   Understandable. Have a nice day.

   Danny passes out.

   When he wakes up again they are in a different room. Jason is struggling against a cloak’s hold and cursing up a storm in true Jason fashion. The cultists look a little worse for wear. The one holding his boyfriend looks like he might have gotten into a fight with a weedwhacker. 

   “Touch one hair on his head and I’ll fucking kill you!” Jason snarls.

   He’s largely ignored by the cultists who continue with their preparations.

   Danny finally takes stock of where he’s at. He’s still on the floor, but the carpet feels slightly different. The room is bare compared to the one they were in before. A desk and office chair are pushed against the wall to make room for the summoning circle. A summoning circle that Danny was currently resting in. As an offering. Great.

   Flashing lights distract him from their predicament.

   The guy closest to Danny was wearing light-up sneakers. Danny didn’t even know they made those for adults. Neat!

   “Hey man, where did you get your shoes?”

   He can’t see the cultist’s face but he assumes he’s raised an eyebrow with the way the hood crooks to the side.

   Danny genuinely wants to know! The lights look like little stars blinking in the darkness. He has to have them.

   Danny is about to ask again but is cut off by a loud curse. 

   Jason? 

   Jason!

   Danny has to save Jason!

   He growls, eyes flashing for the briefest of moments before he can tone them down. Jason can’t know about Phantom. He’ll have to figure something else out. Actually, he might not need to figure anything out! Depending on who this circle summons this could be a nonissue. 

   Danny cranes his head to look at the circle. 

   Groaning, he allows his head to fall back against the floor for the third time that night. 

   This isn’t just any summoning circle. This is his summoning circle.

   He lifts his head again to double check and yup, these idiots are using him as an offering for himself. Great job. Gold star.

  This is both good and bad. Good because they are in no immediate danger outside of the world’s worst Grim Reaper cosplayers. Bad because Eldritch horror.

   If these yahoos actually go through with the ritual and summon Danny, he’ll be forced into his ancient form in front of Jason. Probably. Danny wasn’t entirely sure that the ritual would work in the first place what with him already being there.

   Danny spends too long thinking about the summoning logistics and not enough time actually stopping it. Before he can come up with a plan the cultists are chanting. He can feel the tug in his chest getting stronger and fins pushing against his skin. This was happening whether Danny wanted it to or not.

   “Jason, close your eyes!”

   “Danny!” Jason was still squirming in Weedwhacker’s hold and valiantly trying to get to Danny. His teeth snapped dangerously close to the cloak’s fingers. Ancients, Danny loved his boyfriend.

   “Trust me, Jason!” Danny yelled, choking down the mist trying to escape from between his shark-like teeth, “Close your eyes!”

   With one last glance to verify that his boyfriend’s eyes are squeezed shut, Danny lets go.

   His very being unravels.

   It feels good to be this big, no longer vacuum-sealed into a too-small bag. The fins along his tail flick, stretching now that they are no longer confined. The luminescent lights travel up and down them as if doing a calibration run. His body parts disappear into fine vapor whenever they move before reforming in their new positions. The very pulse of the universe thrums in his chest. He can feel so much. He can see so much. He lets out a cool, dead, misty breath.

   His eyes open.

   The screaming starts. 

   Danny grins, displaying his sharp teeth proudly. He flies through the air, knocking person after person to the ground. They fall like blades of wheat to a scythe, small and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Just a speck in the eye of a giant. 

   Jason’s eyes are still closed. Good.

   Danny plucks him from Weedwhacker, setting him gently to the side. He can’t stop himself from getting into Weewhacker's face and screeching. He watches with satisfaction as he crumples to the ground seizing.

   The screaming eventually stops, the cultists catatonic on the carpet. Jason’s eyes are tightly shut. He’s breathing heavily, unmoving from where Danny had placed him. 

   Softly, ever so softly, Danny covers Jason’s eyes with his hands, careful not to prick him with his claws. He winds himself up tight, shoving himself back into his body like clothing in an overpacked suitcase. Gradually his claws shrink back into normal human digits. 

   His fingers shake with familiar tremors, still covering his boyfriend's eyes. Danny breathes shakily as Jason’s hands slide over his own.

   “Danny?”

   “Yeah.” 

   “Can I open my eyes now?”

   He swallows hard, mentally preparing himself. Jason’s going to leave. Jason heard the screaming and felt his claws. He’ll see the cultists and know what he’s done. Jason knows what Danny truly is and he is going to leave.

   “...Yeah,” it already sounds heartbroken as it leaves his lips.

   Jason’s hands take Danny’s with care, removing them from over his eyes. He blinks, surveying the room and Danny knows this is it. He’s waiting for the look of horror or sneer of disgust he has become so achingly familiar with. 

   Jason’s eyes meet his own.

   “Hey baby,” He presses kisses to Danny’s quivering fingertips with careful affection. Just like on the bad days…

   Danny sniffles, turning away with watery eyes and grit teeth. He wasn’t expecting this last scrap of kindness from Jason. 

   “No no no,” Jason squeezes his hands with gentle pressure. Not enough to hurt, never enough to hurt. “Look at me, Danny. Please?”

   Danny’s head pounds, his vision is blurry, his skin itches, and his heart hurts. He just wants this night to be over. But he could never deny Jason. 

    Jason smiles at him, hands coming to rest on his cheeks. He wipes a stray tear away with his thumb, smudging some dried blood away with it. 

   “There you are, handsome.”

   More tears race down Danny’s face. His voice cracks, “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

   “What don’t you understand, baby?” Jason asks, checking his hair for a wound that’s probably already gone.

   “You’re still here.”

   Jason pauses his minstations, “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

   “I-” Danny stops, addled brain thinking. Jason waits patiently for him to form the words, “I’m wrong. I’m not supposed to be like this,” Danny’s not sure how much sense he actually makes between the persistent concussion and rampant emotions, “I’m a monster.”

   The look in Jason’s eyes turned steely, “You're not a monster, Danny.”

   “But-”

   “No buts. You're not a monster. You wanna know how I know?”

    Danny remained silent, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Jason considers him for a minute then continues anyway.

   “I’ve seen monsters before. Monsters do awful things with only themselves in mind. Monsters go out looking for someone to hurt just because they can.” 

   Danny turns to look away again. It doesn’t matter that the timeline is gone or if he’s trapped in a thermos, the very concept of Dan will always haunt Danny.

 “Danny,” Jason redirects his attention, gently turning his face back to him. Danny’s not prepared for the pure unbridled devotion in his eyes.

   “You are the most selfless person I’ve ever met. You go so far out of your way to help others even when it becomes an inconvenience to you. It doesn’t matter if they are a stranger or not. Sometimes I worry you're going to get yourself kidnapped.” 

  Like today goes unsaid. Jason looks like he’s on the verge of tears too.

   “You were never monstrous to me, and you never will be. How could you possibly be a monster?”

   Danny sniffles again, leaning into his boyfriend’s touch. Jason readily accepts him into his arms, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

   “Sorry…” Danny finally mumbles into his… shirt? Whatever Jason is wearing feels hard against his cheek. Danny doesn’t really care. His head hurts too much to think about it, “I shoulda told you.”

    Jason quietly laughs, “Technically you still haven’t told me anything.”

   Danny nods solemnly, wiping the last of his tears away, “Complicated.”

   “Yeah, I get that,” he scoops Danny effortlessly into a bridal carry. 

   Danny yelps as the movement jostles his head. Jason makes a sound of apology.

   His boyfriend’s eyes scan the room again, “How about you explain it all to me when you're no longer concussed? Besides, I have some things I need to explain to you too.”

   “Sounds good,” Danny slurs as Jason walks them to the door.

   They are about to step over the threshold when Danny suddenly REMEMBERS.

   “WAIT!”

   Jason startles, looking around wildly, “What?! What is it?!”

   “The shoes!” 

   “The shoes?”

   “Yeah! The shoes! The star shoes!” 

   “...do you mean the light-up sneakers?”

   Danny pouts at him but nods anyway, “The star shoes.”

   “The star shoes, then,” Jason easily confirms, “What about them?”

   “I need to take em.”

    Jason grimaces, “...Why? I can just buy you your own pair.”

   “No! It’s not the same!” Danny whined, “They summoned me using me as an offering. I didn’t actually get anything!”

   “Okay, I’ll go get his shoes-”

   “My shoes.”

   Jason laughs, setting him down on the table just outside the door, “Wait here.”

   Danny waits. His vision is still swimming in a blur of colors. Colors. He’s pretty sure he can taste colors now. The dull brown carpet is disgusting. 

   Jason remerges victoriously with star shoes in hand. Danny cheers, immediately making grabby hands. Jason passes them over with a look of mild disgust.

   “You ready to go now?”

   Danny bats his eyelashes, throwing his arms (and shoes!) over Jason’s shoulders and around his neck. He presses in to rub his nose against his boyfriend’s, “Take me home?”

  “Of course.”

Danny had the best boyfriend.

[hsunrry]

ghostface // one shot

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: he decided to finally make your wish come true. based on this request.

|| masterlist ||

words: ~1,6k

warnings: smut18+, knife play, oral (m receiving), dirty talking (degradation, praise), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, dom!harry, ghostface!harry, slight size kink

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

you can’t tell how many times you told him about how you’d love him to fuck you in ghostface mask. hundreds, maybe even thousands. he wasn’t against this idea, but he was thinking why you want specifically that. he wanted to surprise you, to please you. when you were standing next to the kitchen counter, about to make yourself a tea, he covered your eyes with his big hands. you chuckled.

“guess who?” he smiled under the mask to himself.

“Harry.” you smiled. he’s hands still on your eyes.

“not this time, baby.” he whispered and you frowned slightly. you grabbed his hands to uncover your eyes and you turned around to face him. your breath quickened when you saw this damn mask. the rest of his body was covered in black t-shirt, that was perfectly hugging his body and black sweatpants.

“fuck, that’s hot.” you managed to say. he quickly sat you down on the countertop, taking out butterfly knife from his pocket. he pressed cold tip to your cheek, tracing a line from it through your jawline to your neck. your breath hitched in your throat.

“what’s the matter, whore? couldn’t stand your talks about it, so decided to finally make your wish come true, yeah?” you could hear his grin under that mask. “i’m gonna fuck you just the way you deserve. i’m gonna use your pretty pussy to fill it with my cum.” he putted the knife under your chin, so you were looking up at him. you licked your lips slightly. “like the sound of that, cunt?” he pressed the tip of the knife harder. you nodded. “use your fucking words.”

“yes.” you said immediately. he chuckled lowly.

“good girl. so now…” he started cutting off the buttons from his shirt that you had on yourself with the knife. “i’ll tell you what will happen…” he cut off the last button, exposing your chest with black laced bra. he quickly took the shirt off you, tracing lines on your skin with the knife, cutting you slightly in few places. it was probably an accident, but you’re playing with knife, so what did you expect? “first, we’ll go to bedroom soon and you’ll suck me off.” knife went in the center of your bra, under the material. he cut it in the half in one swift motion, your breasts exposed for him now. “then, i’ll fuck you with my fingers so hard, until all our neighbors get to know my name.” cold metal tip of the knife tracing around your one nipple. “after that i’ll fuck you so hard you’ll see the stars, i’ll use your slit for my pleasure, because that’s what you deserve, slut.” he touched your other breast with his hand this time, squeezing it. you moaned, watching him closely this whole time. knife traced line from your breast down your stomach. it was so sharp that it was leaving white lines on your skin and cutting you in few places. your already drenched panties got cut on your hips, leaving you all naked. “and at the end, i’ll take care of you, because i love you so fucking much. is it all understandable for you?” he pressed cold metal flat to your cunt, causing your gasp.

“yes, it is.” you said quietly.

“good. now get your ass to our bedroom and wait there for me, fucking whore.” he patted your pussy few times with flat side of the knife, before putting it to his pocked. you hopped off the counter and when you started walking his hand met your ass with hard smack. you smiled to yourself, going to the bedroom. you sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. after few minutes the doors opened and he was standing there only in black boxers and mask on his face. his dick visibly hard. he approached you, standing between your legs and looking down at you. he took the knife out, holding your chin up with it. “bet you can’t wait to swallow my whole cock like a slut you’re.” knife went from your chin to press on your lower lip. you opened your mouth, looking up at him this whole time. “i’m gonna fuck your mouth, leave it open like that.” he gripped your chin with his hand, squeezing it firmly. your breath was already heavy from how turned on you were by all of that. he took off his boxers, stroking himself few times. he threw the knife beside you and took your head with both of his hands. he pushed his tip inside your mouth and stopped. “suck, bitch.” you started pleasing his head with your tongue, sucking from time to time. he was looking down at you. ghostface was looking down at you. he moaned, pulling out his dick from your mouth. “now open wide for me.” you quickly obeyed. he pushed all the way until his tip hit the back of your throat. “fuck, didn’t even gagged at my big cock, we’ll see about that, slut.” he started moving in and out. your lips wrapped around his length. you were breathing heavy through your nose, swallowing him whole. his dick curling down your throat from time to time. “fucking god, yes, good fucking girl.” he panted, thrusting faster. you gripped his hips to hold onto something. you closed your eyes to focus on breathing through your nose. “swallowing my whole dick, nothing but a whore.” he gasped, thrusting faster. saliva running down from the corners of your mouth already. you moaned around him, making him groan. “just a little more, i’m so close. you’re gonna swallow, yeah?” you only managed to moan again. after his few hard thrusts, hot sprouts of his cum went down your throat. his dick twitching in your mouth, emptying himself inside it. your name falling from his lips like mantra. he finally pulled out and you took a deep breath. you were panting just like him. you looked up at him, watching him taking knife to his hand again. “lips together.” he commanded. your parted lips close at his words. he collected your saliva mixed with his cum with the knife from around your lips. “now tongue out.” you quickly stick your tongue out. he putted knife against your lips and you licked everything from knife. you were sure he was grinning under that mask. he tossed the knife on the bed, grabbing your hips and effortlessly pushing you against pillows. you laid on your back, watching him going on top of you. his hand went down, his finger teasing you between your folds. “jesus christ, so fucking wet.”

“fuck.” you moaned, feeling his two fingers going inside you. he started moving them right away at fast pace. “Harry.” you whined.

“that’s right, we’ll let know whole fucking neighborhood who you belong to.” he said, moving faster. you were so wet it all almost sound like porn. his digits curling in this perfect angle he knew was driving you crazy.

“Harry i- fuck, please.” your hips went up. he quickly putted them down with his free hand, pushing on your lower stomach.

“what was that, slut? you’re begging now? what’s the matter, can’t handle good orgasm?” he started moving faster and you almost cried out of pleasure.

“Harry, jesus christ!” you moaned, squirting all over his fingers, stomach, dick and sheets. his fingers fucked you through it. he pulled out, smacking your pussy gently, but still causing your body flinch.

“you were so needy you squirted, my pretty girl.” he parted your legs, positioning himself at your entrance. “gonna take my load like a good girl.” he pushed all the way in, your eyes rolling back from pleasure and overwhelming feeling. his hand gripping your hips, pounding into you fast and rough. he knew you’re gonna be sore and he loved the thought. he loved he’ll take care of you tomorrow and single thought of that was pushing him closer to his climax. “so tight, using your hole for my own pleasure, like some slut.” he panted. you gripped the pillow above your hand, trying to hold onto something. “but you’re mine. only mine. no one else is able to have you like that. understand? fucking say it.” he started moving faster, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his hips. he adjusted, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust.

“yes, i’m yours- fucking god- only yours baby.” you moaned loudly, watching him taking off the mask. he leaned to capture your lips with his finally.

“that’s fucking right.” he panted against your mouth. your back arched from overwhelming pleasure. “gonna fill you to the brim, you feel so good.” he groaned. with his few thrusts you started clenching around his cock, finishing with his name on your lips and your whole body arched towards him. “fuck, y/n.” he moaned, slowing down his movements when his dick was painting your inner walls. he buried himself deep inside you, panting heavily. he placed few kisses on your neck. “hope you enjoyed, sweetheart.” he whispered against your skin.

“i did. i love you so much.” you caressed his hair.

“i’m gonna take care of you now, my angel.”

[catiuskaa]

SAUVAGE.

jupiter, you’re hard (to get).

sum. jupiter may not smell like woody ambery trails or smoky accents, and he may seem like just a really big planet who’s really far away, but juno will always find him.

wc. 3.2k

cw. spacecrafts, stars, and planets, roman mythology, kudos to sabrina carpenter’s juno, producer!reader x idol!han, friends2lovers, a beer (if i must content warn you, i will) smut! car! heavy on kisses with a side of unprotected piv sex (don’t!) switch!jisung x switch!reader (undefined tbh)

scent. (♡) the perfume saga.

[🔺☆ 🚀 ☆🔺]

Jupiter is the fifth planet from the Sun and the largest in the Solar System.

It is a gas giant with a mass more than two times that of all the other planets in the Solar System combined, and slightly less than one-thousandth the mass of the Sun. Its diameter is eleven times that of Earth, and a tenth that of the Sun. Its name derives from that of Jupiter, the chief deity of ancient Roman religion. Jupiter orbits the Sun at a distance of 5.20 AU (778.5 Gm), with an orbital period of 11.86 years.

However, Han Jisung isn’t quite as big or gaseous. He likes to believe he isn’t made up of metallic hydrogen, but rather stardust, he had said once —and you remembered, of course, because how couldn’t you—. He isn’t the oldest planet in the Solar System. He doesn’t run hotter than the Sun. He doesn’t have many many moons (95!) that spend ages to rotate around him.

Well. Not moons, anyways.

Juno is a NASA space probe orbiting the planet Jupiter.

It was built by Lockheed Martin and is operated by NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Juno entered a polar orbit of Jupiter in 2016 to begin a scientific investigation of the planet. After completing its mission, Juno was originally planned to be intentionally deorbited into Jupiter's atmosphere, but has since been approved to continue orbiting until contact is lost with the spacecraft.

Thing is. You’re not a spacecraft either. You weren’t built by whoever Lockheed Martin is. You can’t orbit around planets. And most definitely, you don’t keep in contact with NASA. Nevertheless, a part of you can’t help but relate, because, somehow, even after your mission was ultimately done, you couldn’t stop orbiting around Jupiter.

Well. Not Jupiter, anyways.

you: let’s do some cardio next day

jisungie🎀💫: cardio, you say? 😏

jisungie🎀💫: not even a coffee before taking me to your place? 🤨📸

Jupiter couldn’t even reach to make you feel the giddiness that Han somehow could trigger and make it overcome you. You kicked your feet, but when you entered and found your reflection in the elevator mirror, you clicked your tongue.

“Don’t be such a schoolgirl”, you mumbled to yourself, pressing the button, and heading up back home.

you: tsk tsk, you’re always thinking about food

And you’re always thinking about him, a mean voice in your head snapped back at you. You cursed, damning your own mind for betraying you. But, to spare you, it wasn’t that serious, you thought. You two interacted just the right amount.

He was an idol, for god’s sake. You weren’t catching feelings. That would be dumb on your side, the least.

So of course, when your phone chimes in the specific ringtone that, of course, you hadn’t set just for his contact, of course, you didn’t almost drop your purse when you read what he replied.

jisungie🎀💫: as if, silly

jisungie🎀💫: i ain’t eating no one for free

The text made you dizzy, so you forced yourself to back off from replying the first thing that came to mind.

Hungry? Eat me.

“Think straight for once,” you cursed out loud, passing your hands through your hair. Closing the door to your apartment and knocking your shoes off while your mind went off to other, far more interesting places and memories.

You clearly remembered the moment you met quirky, loveable Han Jisung. How inevitable it had been to just start orbiting around him with the excuse of your mission— producing one of his solos for an upcoming skz-record.

Headphones. It had been such a silly first encounter, yet so fitting for you two that you couldn’t help but cherish it dearly.

Lost in thought, you hadn’t been paying attention to where you were headed. Neither had he, and, which had ended with a little crash against each other. A meteor, not quite as devastating as so to kill a couple dinosaurs, but to leave a crater in your heart and create a small moon out of the pieces that scattered away shyly.

“Sorry!” You bowed your head, then stared at him.

“Hi,” he had said in a sheepish tone, hints of panting that you attributed to how he must’ve run back in hopes of catching you. “Guess you like wave to Earth too?”

And while he giggled, you told yourself you weren’t going to fall, but both Jupiter and Juno knew.

They had said the same thing about Rome.

jisungie🎀💫: entering jyp

you: at 21:43? jeez

jisungie🎀💫: what? i ain’t afraid of success bbg 💪

jisungie🎀💫: come over if you want

What would happen with any other person was that they’d smile and turn off their phone.

Well. Not Juno.

Not you, no.

[🔺☆ 🚀 ☆🔺]

The studio smelled like bubble tea, and that’s how you knew he was still there.

“Oh, hey! I wasn’t sure if you were coming in.” Han smiled.

Sleepiness oozed off of him, and you grinned, cleaning the table from leftover crumbles as you set your bag down. Your heart twirled imaginary hairs when Jisung’s hands —hands with several rings, something that could sometimes be a lot to manage— left the keyboard and settled on his thighs, softly stroking them as he turned the chair to face you.

“Yeah. Wanted to work on a demo I owe to the girls,” you mentioned, taking your jacket and your mask off.

“Actually,” he started, and your hands tingled with the feeling that you’d help him in whatever he needed. Damnit, hands. Damn you, heart. “Could you help me with this demo? Jeonginnie asked me to go over it.”

You sipped from your own drink, as if to fake giving it a bit of a thought. You were going to say yes, of course. But instead, you scratched your arm, frowning lightly.

“Innie asked you?”

“It’s for his solo stage.” He clarified, turning back to face the computer. “We all have them for our tour.”

The way he entered the recording booth seemed distant, and a part of you couldn’t help but wonder why as you fidgeted with your necklace and settled everything on the desk comfortably. Ji turned the light off, something slightly weird. He never did that with you, after all these years, and considering you two were the only ones there, you asked.

“Is it a high register?” You wondered, pressing the button on your left so he could hear you in his headphones. You blinked when you saw his figure slightly jolt in something like surprise.

“Uh, no. It’s just the… style of the song,” he giggled, putting his beanie on and tucking in the hairs that fell over his eyes.

Oh. That’s the one you gifted him.

“Sure. Mind if I give it a listen first?”

“Go ahead,” he replied without looking at you through the window.

Helping him came off naturally. The track for the girls was an excuse, one you had already forgotten. And as he started singing, you weren’t sure you’d remember any time soon.

“T-those are some bold lyrics, huh?”

Hallucination.

Jisung covered his eyes with his beanie, giggling.

“It’s Innie’s fault. He gets it from Chan.”

“What’s Chan’s solo about?” You asked with a laugh.

You didn’t expect Jisung to stare at you and swallow dry.

“He says it’s about trains.” He shrugged, as if he had remembered suddenly that he was supposed to answer your question.

When you both were done, it was late. Really late. He insisted you two grabbed a beer in the convenience store nearby, but you took a juice, claiming you had to drive.

“I’ll uh, I’ll get the bus, seriously,” he raised his hands as you both exited the store, beer in hand.

“Ji,” you deadpanned, finishing your juice. Thank God you liked him, because sometimes you wanted to hit him. Softly. With a pillow. “Shut up. I’m taking you.”

[🔺☆ 🚀 ☆🔺]

“How come I didn’t remember you have a driver's license?” Han smiles sheepishly.

The drive to his apartment is silent, as if you two were submerged in a no-conversation. No words, no nothing, just the sound of the tires against the asphalt and the yellow lights from the streetlights that lightened your way.

It’s late enough that there are little to no cars on the driveway. But weirdly, Jisung sips from his beer and sighs.

“Actually, could to take a left here?” He says softly, his voice surprisingly low.

“That’s not the way to your apartment, is it?” You ask, as softly as him, turning anyways.

“Nah, it’s this place I found and I wanted to show you.”

Alcohol doesn’t get easy to him —not from a beer, at least—, but he’s smiling like silly, and you can’t help but smile too.

You park where he tells you, and surely enough, there’s no one there. It’s a secluded, empty area, far from the center and high enough so that the city can be seen clearly.

“Think I left my jacket here last time I came.” He snickers, and you can’t help but chuckle. His hand travels to your knee and he squeezes it gently. “I’ll come back in just a second.”

One blink. Two blinks.

Hot fucking damn.

Your head falls against the steering wheel as soon as he closes the door.

Get your shit together.

Looking up, the car tells you it’s way past midnight. Your head tells you you’re crazy, your heart giggles at the fact, guilty as charged. Sighing, you raise your face enough to look at the stars. Only to find Jisung’s silhouette, now with a dark jacket on, waving at you as he stands in front of the car.

You’re blushing, but you wave haphazardly, smiling, and still frown when instead of getting back to his seat, Jisung goes and opens your door instead.

“Hey,” he giggles, and your grin matches with his.

“What are you doing?”

Jupiter can sometimes be seen from Earth, when the Sun’s light hits it just right and the night is dark. Still, its shimmer doesn’t compare to that of Jisung’s eyes when he rests his forearms on the car’s roof and bends down to your height. You haven’t moved, your own eyes fixated on how he licks his lips.

“I think I’m being stupid,” he chuckles. You’re a goner, not even noticing how his hand slides in for a moment and turns the headlights off, leaving you two only illuminated by the shy light in the car that indicates that the door is open and by the moonlight, who cheekily shines at the both of you.

Instead, you blink. Normally you just get him, just as he gets you, but you’re almost as lost as how you feel when you stare into his dark brown eyes.

“Stupid?” You smile lightly. “Why?”

At your tender tone, Jisung lets his head fall down, shyness getting the best of him. And yet the little alcohol he’s had boosts him back.

“I, uh, had a dream. Been having these dreams for like, a bit over a month,” he swallows dry, much like he did at the studio, and his eyes suddenly feel darker than before, maybe because his gaze stops avoiding yours for longer than a minute.

A meteor shower threatens to fall over your heart.

“You were there. And I was there, too.”

For someone who composes and uses words for a living, he was struggling a lot to piece together what he wanted to say.

“This… there was… this… feeling, like, inside of me. Here.”

Not only does he not use his hand, but he takes yours from the steering wheel and settles it over his chest. His heart.

You’re frozen. Completely out of it. Is it possible that maybe you fell asleep in the studio and that none of this is real? Could that be it, you wonder, until Jisung groans and leans his forehead against the roof of the car with a thud.

“I’m being an idiot, am I?” He snickers, with an undertone that lingers in something that resembles resignation. “I just- I saw you the other day, and I was… you were with Hyunjin, and I…” he clenches his fist, and he tries to back off, rubbing his face and passing them through his hair.

“No, Ji, wait.”

He chuckles breathlessly. “I made it awkward, right?”

“Ji.”

Your hand pulls him back closer by the zipper of his jacket, and only the crunchy-like sound of the gravel beneath him as he walks echoes through the night and follows how you move your hands toward his wrists. Towards his own hands, stopping him from picking on his nails further.

“Tell me, Ji,” you mumble. “What were you saying?”

His voice threatens to tremble before he speaks. His eyes don’t move from yours, and you think you’re completely out of your mind, just as much as he thinks of himself too.

“I keep having these dreams where I see you and the ache of wanting you swells up in me, like I’m on a raft that’s sinking and I just can’t even escape thinking about you when I sleep because I-”

He’s rambling, but with a sudden move from your side, he’s not anymore.

The cold of November doesn’t hit you when you stand up bluntly and you link your arms behind his neck and kiss him like you have been wanting to do for years.

His lips crash against yours like the sea crashes against the sharp rocks against the shore, even if the coast is much further away than you think, but you don’t mind, because you can’t think.

You’re kissing him. Finally.

You’re kissing Han Jisung.

And then, just a beat after what you’ve done —what you’re doing— sinks in, he reacts. His hands travel underneath your jacket and in the blink of an eye, he’s letting you push him against the car. No words, no nothing, only the scent of his cologne that suddenly fills you.

You tremble beneath him, and he pants.

He’s not blinking, his eyes glued to you. He can’t think either.

You should say something. What should you say? ‘Me too’? That’s lame. How come your brain can’t work when you most need it?

As if to answer your question, Han kisses you this time. Of course you can’t think, not when his hands travel underneath your clothes and he twists you in a way that somehow it’s your back against the car now. He’s not breathing, and neither are you, because you’re not kissing anymore, not when your lips can feel the teasing dent of his teeth nibbling on them and when the only thing you can taste is his tongue.

You’re not against the car anymore, because he closes the driver’s door with a kick and he opens the one to the backseats while he keeps kissing you.

Crazy. You’ve gotta be, because dreaming something as wild as this and for it to feel real, as real as it gets, as real as it could ever be, it has to mean you’re crazy. And you’d die on that hill if it means you get to keep dreaming how Jisung takes his newly-found jacket off and throws it to the front seat, in the same foreign path as where he throws his shirt, or how you two barely fit in the car and so he settles his knee between your legs to help you move back enough so that he can close the door.

And now you’re there. Alone together.

He gasps against your neck, as if he remembered that he had to keep breathing to live, and you don’t lose your opportunity, taking your sweater off and throwing it towards the trunk.

You lean your head back, the car feeling heavy with only the sounds of both him and you panting.

“I… fuck, I need you to tell me you want this.” Han swallows dry. “I need you to say it. Please. I want this too much.”

A meteor shower? Scratch that. This is a meteor storm.

“I think this is a dream, but still, I want you. Please.”

No words, no nothing, just the sound of the leather against your sweaty skin when you sit up straight and kiss Jisung like you mean it. It’s all nasty, teeth and tongue and a string of saliva that lingers when you break the kiss to fumble with his zipper.

“What if it is a dream,” you gasp, out of breath, out of control, completely and irrevocably out of it as your eyes stare at his. “I want you. Even if I wake up right now.”

Your shirt is discarded as fast —if not faster— than the rest of your clothes before.

“So if it is a dream, let’s keep going until we wake up.” You swallow dry too. “Until the stars can’t be seen.”

The kiss is like a heroin kick, although it is one that seems familiar. Or maybe it’s that your lips have become used to kissing his, considering that breathing has become a second priority with how raw is the need to consume him. A wave of pleasure takes claim inside of you with each caress of his tongue, with every touch of his fingers on your back, with every eager breath next to your jaw. He pulls you closer and moans with his mouth buried in your skin unfinished phrases that drive you crazy little by little —more than you already were.

“It may end right away,” Jisung says in a hoarse voice, clinging to one of the headrests that are closest to him. “But I’ll make it up to you. With my mouth. Or with my fingers. Or both. Yes, fuck...”

It’s a mix of quick and ruthless kisses, mouths open. Wet and urgent, almost in bites, as if you’d want to eat the other alive as he takes his pants off and helps you with yours, going down to kiss your neck.

“You’re so... f-fuck, ah...” he mumbles while he runs his tongue down your throat and to your collarbone. “I never want to wake up.”

His lips taste like the feeling that overcomes you when you look at the sky on a starry night. Emotion. Ecstasy. You want to drink it whole until there’s not a single drop left. Drink him.

Jisunh squeezes your ass, while your mouths are a mess, while he bites your lip and pulls it, smiling like a cheeky bitch, while your mouths fight for the control of the kiss and your tongue caresses his, and before you can piece together that the windows are foggy because of the two of you, he’s sliding inside, his hand lacing with yours.

God, you want to moan. Moan so loud. And so you do, because there’s nothing in this dream that could stop you.

And he moans, too, because you are like a dream come true.

Juno and Jupiter.

[🔺☆ 🚀 ☆🔺]

~kats, who accidentaly went full autism, space and mythology on the meaning of ‘juno’ by Sabrina Carpenter.

catiuskaa, november 2024 ©

[newbakerontheblock]

Bucky Barnes 18+

Summary: gym session with y/n’s least favourite avenger

Warning: smut 18+

With headphones, you was hitting the punching bag hard. Sweat dripping and breathless. Completely unaware of her least favourite avenger strolling in.

Bucky plugged in his phone to the speakers and music blared out, making yn jump.

“Seriously Bucky,” she shouts

With a sly smirk on his face he turns around and starts lifting weights. She walked towards him and stood in his view,

“Turn it down,” she said whilst crossing her arms.

“Nope.” He looks past her at his form in the mirror.

She watches him for a few seconds, watching the muscles tense and the veins pop in his arms. She gave herself a little shake of the head and walked straight to the stereo, unplugging his phone.

“Hey!” That made Bucky stop, he dropped the weights and come rushing over. “What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s too loud, turn it down. I was here first, have some respect.”

“Oh doll, you need to respect your elders.” He takes a step forward with that annoying smirk across his face again.

YN held her breath as his face came closer, she could feel the pounding over her heart and clammy hands but she couldn’t let him know what she was feeling.

“Just turn it down.” She turned away from him.

“What happens if I say no?” Suddenly his voice was next to her ear and she jumped. His lips grazed her ear, blowing gently causing her to shiver.

“What are you doing?” Her voice came out in a low whisper.

“I’ve seen how you look at me, doll. And I think that you want me as much as I want you.” His finger ran down her arm whilst he spoke.

Yn turned around to face him and looked at him.

“Bucky,” she whispered and leaned forward.

His lips crashed down onto hers with no hesitation, her hands finding their way straight to his hair, tugging slightly and earning a grunt. The noise went straight through her and her pants were getting wet immediately. Bucky pushed yn against the wall and the kisses between them were coming so hot and heavy and she couldn’t breathe. He started making his way down her neck and she clenched around nothing, whining when he reached her soft spot.

“Bucky please,”

Bucky gave a small smirk and carried on. He pulled her top above her head and letting it fall to the floor. Quick as a flash he takes off her bra and mouth instantly finds its way to her nipple. His metal hand teases the other nipple while she writhes around. Moaning and a complete mess.

“Please I can’t,” he took a little pity on her and dropped to his knees. Slowly pulling down her shorts and pants.

She stopped breathing in anticipation, watching every movement he made. Hoping to god he was going to stop teasing and put her out of her misery.

“Oh doll, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” He asked,

She nodded but it wasn’t enough for Bucky so he gave a sharp slap on her inner thigh.

“I said.. is this all for me?” He was stern but his eyes were watching her.

“Yes!” Yn felt like she was on fire and was about to combust.

Bucky attached his lips to her clit and ate her pussy like a man starved. Her knees buckled and he put her leg over his shoulder.

“Fuck!” She screamed across the gym. Hopefully no one planned on coming to the gym right now.

His cold metal finger found its way inside of her and her legs definitely gave out and held his shoulders for support. Another finger entered her and she saw stars, he curled his fingers in a come hither motion and her high came ripping through her so fast.

“Bucky!” She could barely say his name as she was cumming, Bucky never slowed down. Only continuing until yn was squirming to get away.

He stood up infront of her licking his metal fingers.

“Knew you’d taste so good,” he groaned.

He started kissing her again and pushed her against the wall, despite the orgasm she just had she was dripping for him. She’d always suspected he had a big cock but when he undressed in front of her she held her breath. She had no idea how it’d fit inside her, so thick and just perfect.

“Like what you see?” Yn hadn’t realised she was staring.

“So big, I don’t know how you’ll fit.” She admitted.

“Trust me.. jump” she wrapped her legs around him as he lifted her from the ground. The head of his cock rubbing against her clit. They both moaned in unison.

His cock nudging in slowly, and she felt the burn of the stretch. He was entering slowly so yn wasn’t hurting. But when he seated inside her fully she felt like all the air in her lungs had gone.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned against her neck.

“Move Bucky, please move.” And when he made the first thrust she knew she was done for, he’s ruined her for all men now. The intense feeling of pleasure he was giving her right now.

Fucking her against the wall in the gym, she held onto him tight as his cock dragged its way through her walls. She couldn’t speak, only moaning and whining as she felt another high climbing fast.

“You gonna cum on my cock? I can feel you squeezing me. So fucking perfect, this pussy is mine now. Do you understand?” His thrusts never faltered.

“Ye..yes..oh god.. yours!” Her words came out all jumbled.

Her pussy fluttering around his cock was going to make him cum too. He watched how her eyes glazed over with pleasure and mouth open as she let out small gasps each time he fully enters.

“I’m going to cum, where do you want it?” He makes sure to check.

“Inside.. fill me up Bucky..” she whispered.

Holy fuck she was perfect, thought Bucky. He leaned forward to kiss her as they both tumbled over the edge into bliss. Stars floating around her vision and it took a second for her to catch her breath. She felt Bucky push a strand of hair behind her ear and stroke her cheek.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“More than okay.” She gave him a smile and he realised that this was the most content he’s felt in many years.

Finally got round to a Bucky story 🥺