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hollandsfavbabe · 8 months ago

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Wet & Wild

pairing: art donaldson x reader

synopsis: in which you, a swimmer, and art, a tennis champ, change each other's lives for the better when you challenge his match-like stance on life

warnings: smut build up, porn with a plot, making out, cursing, frat party, art being stupid, happy ending dw, two parts because I cannot condense my writing for the life of me

word count: 4.0k

masterlist

“Swimmers…”

You curled your fingers around the rough end of the diving board, unconsciously holding your breath as you readied for the starting noise. The pool glinted below you, reflecting light from the glaring sun above that sparkled like the blue glitter polish on your toenails. But you ignored it, blocking out anything that wasn’t the signal as you lowered your neck.

“Take your marks…”

There it was. You tensed as the official hovered her finger over the mic button. She was about to send you off and there could be no hesitation once she did. Any second now.

“GO!”

You were already under as the crowd started cheering. Two laps,100 meters, that’s all that it took and you had already conquered a quarter of the length by the time you came up for your breakout strokes. You cut through the smooth pool surface leaving white water waves in your wake. You tried not to let your gaze stray anywhere away from the tiled black line at the bottom of the pool as you felt the competition slipping behind you.

As the wall comes into view at the other end of the 50 meter pool, you take your first breath of the race and pause your strokes for only a second to perform a nearly perfect flip turn. You only have one more length back before it’s over and you can claim the medal that is rightfully yours as you come up from your last breakout. Arms pulling and legs kicking almost frantically, you’re almost there, so close you can sense the touch pad waiting for you at the end. You zoom past the flags and…

“I can’t believe I lost by less than two tenths of a second!” you groan, taking a swig from the Heineken one of your teammates had handed you when you arrived earlier. More than 12 hours had passed since your race and yet you couldn’t stop thinking about your unexpected loss. It had plagued you still as you had made your way to the party a random fraternity had thrown, though your team considered it a celebration after the Stanford swim team took home another champion title. It was small in comparison to the larger meets you had won in the past, but it was a reason to stay out past the curfew your coach imposed on you. And any reason to stay out was good enough for you.

“You’re not actually upset about that, are you?” Chloe asked, one of your teammates who competed in the endurance free events. While you would consider yourself close to nearly every girl who swam with you, Chloe was more of an instant best friend.

You shake your head as she sips on her own beer. Unlike you, she had opted for a brand with a higher alcohol percentage as she was unafraid of hangover ridicule that inevitably awaited her at your next morning practice.

“Of course not. You know me, winning is only a plus. I just can’t believe I got so close to the record!”

It was true. You didn’t so much mind losing the first place prize to the opposing team in such an insignificant meet. What really had you grinding your teeth was the fact that you had only been a half of a second away from the official Stanford record. You weren’t sure where you lost that time in your race, whether it was one of your two breaths or if you needed to dive further out, but you were set on remedying every part of your race until the problem was solved. Your next meet was only a week away and unlike this one, it would be a much bigger deal.

“You got that girl,” Chloe assured you, patting your shoulder in a comforting manner. “Half a second ain’t nothing for you.”

“I hope so. I’m not missing any more practices until I get it.”

Your conversation was disrupted as the room suddenly erupted in cheers, people gathering around the entrance as newcomers entered. You turned your head towards the noise, searching for whoever could elicit such a response.

You caught sight of him right away, a man you had never seen before though immediately prayed you’d never lose sight of. He was tall, his head covered in light blonde curls that were well trimmed to not hang over his hooded eyes. He was attractive, no doubt, but there was more to him than looks. There had to be. Anybody had to be more than attractive to get applause in a place like Stanford, especially within the frat parties.

“Who is that?” you nudged Chloe in his direction. She was normally more up to date than you on the campus celebrities as she didn’t get swallowed up by her swimming commitments as often as you. Chloe nearly choked on her drink as she saw him, turning back to you with a befuddled expression.

“You don’t know Art Donaldson? He’s like the most promising tennis student to ever play here.”

You furrowed a brow, staring at Chloe as if she had said something incredibly stupid.

“Do I look like I watch fucking tennis?” you gestures to your hoodie that clearly bore the words ‘Stanford Swimming and Diving’.

“Let me put it this way,” Chloe started, unoffended as always. “He’s already won the Junior US Open in the doubles category. He got second in the singles and at the rate he almost qualified for the real thing.”

“What’s stopping him?” You asked, looking back in the direction of the man who had now settled on the dance floor with a drink. You sensed a catch in Chloe’s explanation.

“That.”

Chloe pointed to the only television in the house that was conveniently showing a rerun of one of the man’s, Art’s, matches which from the date you could tell happened the same time as your meet. He was amazing, more skilled than any of the few players you had ever watched before, but even you, someone who knew nothing about tennis, could tell that he was playing like something was holding him back. Every ball out of his reach skirted to the fence behind him until he eventually lost. You couldn’t understand how a Junior US Open champion could miss shots that were arguably hard, but reasonable for a professional. There had to be more to it than what lay on the surface and as a swimmer you couldn’t stop the urge to dive in deeper.

“Oh no,” Chloe smirked. She knew you too well to miss when you were after something you wanted. And you weren’t sure by which mystical force you were being pulled, but you started to gravitate away from her. “You’re going to go after him, aren’t you?”

“I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna do a walk around.” you promised, standing from your couch seat beside her, though you were both certain she wouldn’t see you again until practice the next day.

“Good luck.”

You were careful not to approach him directly, instead jumping into a conversation with a couple of your teammates who happened to be chatting in his vicinity. After several minutes of receiving congratulations for your attempt at the record, the group surrounding Art had finally dispersed leaving him alone with his drink on the floor. Lucky for you, by the time he was without a crowd to bypass, your group had moved on to much more nonsensical topics. It was then, by chance or fate as you believed, that he just so happened to bump into you, forcing your drink out of your hand and his attention onto you.

The glass of your Heiniken sank to the group, shattering into a million dazzling pieces of green glass, but you were able to block it out with the focus of a swimmer as you felt his stare on you.

Through the flashing lights you were able to make out the shape of his face better, mapping out sharp jawlines and chiseled cheekbones. You decided then you preferred this Art, the one who smiled at you anxiously over his moving body on the tennis channel and by the slight intrigue on his face, you could tell he felt similarly.

“I’m so sorry,” he professed, looking down at the mess of glass behind you before his blue eyes again met yours “You okay?” He had to shout over the loud music, guilt evidently rushing through him as if he had shoved you to the ground rather than accidentally causing you to drop your nearly empty bottle.

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “Art, right?”

Art nodded, leaning in closer to you so that he could hear you over the blaring club music.

“Do I know you?” he asked, in awe that you knew his name as if it wasn’t being broadcasted all over the Stanford sport program.

“Not yet,” you laughed, pointing to the screen where you had just seen him, watching as a wave of embarrassment washed over him as they replayed the portion of the match where he lost it all, unbeknownst to you. “I was watching your game. You’re really good.”

“You play?”

“Not tennis.” you gestured to the logo on your hoodie, hoping the disco lighting wasn’t enough to distort the clear waves of the swimming logo.

“Oh wow,” he marveled. “I didn’t even know we had a swim team.”

“What can I say? My sport’s not quite as popular as yours.” you shrugged, shooting him a smile.

“We’ve really gotta get you another drink.” Art pointed out as he took a swig of his own beer.

“Sure,” you agreed. “I just have to take care of this first.”

You turned around to the glass mess that waited for you only to find that your teammates had already handled it in the time you had spent getting introduced to Art, leaving the two of you plenty of time to get acquainted, mess free. You caught sight of them across the room sitting next to Chloe, smirking at you as you looked their way. You rolled your eyes at the sight.

Art had his arm offered out to you when you turned back to him, a guarantee that the two of you wouldn’t get separated on the floor as you headed into the kitchen. It’s there that the seconds fade into elongated hours as you get to know more about each other. You told Art all about your life on the team and why swimming was your calling out of all sports while he spilled to you every tennis affiliated memory from his childhood where you learned he attended a special boarding school for the sport. You made note of his humility as he never once mentioned his success on the Junior US Open and the high level he can play.

You finish the soda Art had gotten for you as the music in the main room increases in volume, forcing you to crane your neck in order to talk in his ear, leaning in so close that you can smell his cologne. He’s not much taller than you, but it’s enough to make a difference.

“I can’t hear anything with this music,” you admitted, speaking at a timbre that’s loud enough to be audible to Art without bursting his eardrums. “Do you wanna move somewhere else?”

You knew Art was joining you when he looked at you with consideration. But it was impossible for you to know exactly what he was thinking, staying ignorant to the fact that he supposed after losing his match and an evening with Tashi due to another scheduled Patrick reappearance, what did he have left to lose? He wouldn’t normally do this, but you look like the perfect contender for a brand new game.

“Let’s go upstairs.” he nodded towards the stairs to your left, accepting your invitation. “It won’t be as loud up there.”

And so you both made your way up the frat house staircase, passing by closed door after closed door until you finally found a vacant bedroom. While you don’t know who lives there, it was tidy enough for you to neglect caring as you followed Art inside and shut the door behind you.

“I don't think I ever caught your name, by the way.” Art stated as he took a seat on the bed in the center of the room, leaving a space for you beside him..

“Oh, I didn’t say.” you chuckled in realization as you sat beside him, your name falling from your lips as you met the lumpy mattress.

“And this is your reward party?” he wondered, a thought you can’t help smiling at as you shake your head.

“Definitely not,” you took another swig from your bottle. “I don’t think there’s any real reason behind this besides to fuel college memories. If anything, they’d be celebrating you. You’re like famous right?”

Art’s gaze moves to the shag carpet below as he shakes his head of blonde curls, disappointment shrouding his face.

“Not quite,” he disagreed, his eyes meeting yours once more. “I don’t know if you saw the whole thing, but my match today wasn’t anything to celebrate.”

“Why not?”

“Because I lost.”

He stated it like it was obvious which only confuses you as a swimmer. All the work and dedication he must put into his sport all to think there was no yield. You couldn’t imagine basing your pride off of winning and winning alone when there were so many other components to competing.

“So?”

He’s startled by your nonchalance towards losing, something so foreign to him it isn’t even a refreshing take.

“So?” he repeated. “So I failed today. I let my team down. I let Tashi down.”

Tashi. You’ve definitely heard that name before. Though you don’t know much about the inner workers of tennis, everyone and their mother in the state of California knows who Tashi Duncan is. She’s the most famous person on campus, in and out of the tennis world. You didn’t know her personally, only ever seeing her when walking between classes. You also knew she had a boyfriend who didn’t attend Stanford from seeing them eating together. There had always been something off about her and now, with Art beside you in full self-deprecation mode, you figured you were about to find out exactly what it was.

“Is that who you were looking at?” you asked, piecing together that she must’ve been in attendance at his match. He immediately tensed at the mention, surprised you caught the simple detail. “I saw during your match. You looked like you were distracted.”

“It wasn’t just her,” he shook his head. “One of my oldest friends just flew for the weekend. He was there with her.” he paused. “They both saw me fail.”

“I’m sure they were both proud of you.” you assured, but Art was quick to set you straight as his friends didn’t operate the same way yours did.

“No, you don’t get it. I’m nothing if I don’t win.”

“Well it’s okay, you can just try again next time.”

“It doesn’t work like that. That’s not what tennis is about.”

You sensed a planted ideology in his evaluation, causing you to probe further.

“Really? So tennis isn’t just hitting balls with rackets over and over?”

“It’s more than that,” he informed you, taking no offense from your lack of knowledge. “It’s a relationship. It’s about the fight between two people. The back and forth until someone comes out on top. And even then the winning, it’s not nearly as important as the match. I didn’t just lose today, I let the crowd down. And my opponent won without the intensity of a good match. All because of me.”

You quieted as he explained, placing a careful hand on his shoulder as he finished. You felt for him, absorbing his sorrows like a therapeutic sponge, but it didn’t take a tennis expert to understand that bullshit behind his dogma. It sounded more like a manipulation technique than anything, all stemming from the same source.

“Did Tashi tell you that?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, as if your statement was any more outrageous than the lies he had been fed.

“It’s the truth.” he answered.

You weren’t sure how to get across to him, if it was even possible to crash through the wall of his beliefs in the first place, but you knew you had to try. It wasn’t right for him to harbor such disappointment over a match that did nothing to disprove his skill at his sport.

“Okay,” your voice softened as you thought of a way to challenge his theories. “Let’s change the subject. How about I tell you how swimming works?”

“Isn’t it more of the same?” he sighed, still overcomplicating his loss.

“Actually it’s very different.” you corrected.

“What do you mean?” Art asked, looking at you with the utmost intrigue.

“What if I told you that even the losers in swimming end up winning?”

Incredulous of the possibility, Art waited for further explanation.

“See like tennis, we have the players and of course only one person in each race can come out on top, but it’s not about beating the other players. Once you’re out there, it’s just you and the water. That’s the only relationship. It doesn’t matter where anyone else is, beside you, behind you, that’s not what’s not important. All that matters is how well you swim and if you lost a few seconds on the time board. Everything else is lost to the waves. And if your time is the fastest well, that’s just one big fucking bonus.”

Art sat with your words, unable to reply as he processes the possibility of winning as a loser. It’s almost too hard to imagine. You leaned closer to him, breath catching as his eyes moved down to your lips and one of his hands gently gripped your thigh.

“Really?” he asked.

You nodded, your faces so close now that your nose nudged his own.

“I didn’t win today either,” you whisper to him. “But my team screamed when I touched that wall. And do you know why?”

He waited for you to explain, eyes fluttering close for only a second as you laid a palm on his shirt, feeling the hard muscle that lay beneath. Your hands trailed to his sleeves, settling his bare skin a blaze as you take in his equally sturdy biceps.

“I almost beat a school record today. First time in 30 years if I had done it.”

“There’s no records like that in tennis.” he countered, but there was uncertainty in his tone. As if he was waiting for you to further back this new perspective. As if he was really starting to believe it.

“Then maybe you should take a page out of my book. Leave tennis in the past for now and focus on what’s here, in the present…” your lips brush over his before you mutter, “... focus on me.”

You're not entirely sure who initiated it, but before either of you could get out another word, his lips were on yours. You dove head first into the kiss, his lips melting against yours as you swipe your tongue out to catch the lingering taste of cheap beer at the edge of his parted mouth. It’s all so soft, like two cracked dolls who want nothing more than to break for the other until the intensity reaches its peak and you could feel microscopic beads of sweat forming at your brow.

Art pulled you in closer, gentle hands moving to your waist as the faint vocals of California Gurls played distantly in the background. His fingers curled into your sides, worming their way under the hem of your hoodie as they gave way to underlying desire, sparking every inch of your skin that they came into contact with.

You sighed as his teeth sank into your bottom lip. Pausing the kiss, he tipped his head back to jerk ever so lightly on your lip before allowing it to snap back into place and at once you crashed back into mouth, kissing him with a fervor you don’t remember ever feeling this intensely. Every movement, every change in the pace all worsened the heat igniting within you.

You tugged on the blonde roots of his curls that rest closest to his neck and soon enough you felt Art’s needy fingers claw at the waist back of your black athletic shorts. Though you're in desperate need of relief from the growing pool of desire at your core, you knew it was time to pull back. Art didn’t let you go so easy, his lips chasing after yours once you’ve broken the kiss, but it’s no use. You knew you couldn’t do this, at least not tonight.

“What’s wrong?” Art whispered against your lips, automatically assuming that it was his own fault rather than an independent decision of your own. It was certainly too intimate for a man you’d only just met, but you have to cup his cheek to keep from breaking as his own hands part from your skin.

You told him some form of the truth, that you didn’t think the timing was right. It’s not that you didn’t want to, you were dying to sneak another taste of his lips in and give him everything he’s ever wanted right there and then. But you couldn’t. Not when you know that it’s just another match. A distraction from Tashi. Especially not when you know that it didn’t have to be.

“We can’t do this here.”

Art face fell at your words, but he’s never been one to give up so easily.

“Then let’s go back to my place.” he offered, hoping it was just the atmosphere of the party that alarmed you. He wasn’t ready for you to leave.

“No, not tonight.” you frowned apologetically. “Not while you’re playing tennis.”

He stared at you in utter confusion as you stood up from your place beside him, dusting off your clothes as if you hadn’t been enjoying him all along. He didn’t understand the reasons behind your sudden switch, but he’s willing to risk it all in the heat of the moment.

“You want me to quit.” he suggested as if it’s a solution both of you are comfortable with. You turned back to him disturbed, shaking your head wildly at the proposal.

“Of course not, Art, you know that’s not what I mean,” you began, gathering an explanation that you hope will convey your reasons without making him feel like a complete piece of shit. “I don’t know what Tashi told you, but to me it sounds like she expects a winner. She’s programmed you into believing the player doesn’t matter without a title.”

You stepped an inch in his direction, close enough that you can see even the smallest details of his face, but not enough for him to touch you again.

“…but she’s forgetting that without the player, winner or loser, there is no title. Without a foundation, there is no relationship between you and the other player. And nobody can succeed if they’re scared of failure.” you explained further. You knew your words resonated with Art as his gaze turned to the stained carpet of the bedroom, but he had to pass the ball back.

“Well, you said it yourself, you don’t know Tashi.” he fired back, and you knew it’s only the tennis talking.

“You know I’m right.”

Art was silent, only proving your point. You knew you had to leave, but you had to promise him a second meeting, for him and for yourself. You wouldn’t be blocked from a happy ending by wrong timing.

“Come to my meet next weekend,” you invited him. “It’s the biggest one of the year. You should see how other sports operate.”

“I can’t see you before then?”

You almost smiled at the confirmation that his frustration wasn’t directed towards you.

“I have practice,” you shrugged. “- and so do you. You can see me again at my meet and in the meantime, just think about what I said. And know that you’re more than a loser, Art.”

You left without another word, shutting the door while silently cursing yourself for not taking the opportunity while you had it. It was very possible that you would never see the tennis star again, that every spark you felt with him in your first hour of knowing him was entirely one sided. You prayed it wasn’t true, that he had shown some feelings in return, but only time would tell. In exactly one week, you would be certain.

part two out now!!!

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x female reader #tashi duncan #patrick zweig #challengers #challengers movie #challengers 2024 #swimming #swimmer life #stanford art!!!#challengers fanfic #art donaldson fanfic #art donaldson smut #smut

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urhoneycombwitch · 7 months ago

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heated touch

Eddie Munson x Reader summer edition.

foreword: “but Lulu it’s not even summer yet how come you wrote a pool fic” okay first of all global warming. it’s absolutely summer rn. hush up and eat up. 👼

cw: R wears bikini top + skirt, Eddie is Down Bad™️, and is also touchstarved, brief use of the awkward miscommunication trope, R’s baby hairs mentioned but no color or texture, weed mention (Robin is a stoner canon change my mind u can’t), R uses sunscreen (no skin color mentioned), implied plus-sized reader

wc: 3.4k

___

It’s the first real, normal, non-apocalyptic summer that anyone can remember having in a long, long time.

With the heat index at a sizzling 97 today, various members of the Party have taken over Steve’s half-shaded, half-pool extravaganza of a backyard. The kids are jumping in and out of the bright blue water, splashing and cackling, while you and Robin stretch out like house cats in a sunny patch of grass nearby.

You, mere yards away, in a swim top and sweet little pleated tennis skirt. All that lovely skin on display, glistening in the light.

And Eddie is sulking, indoors, frozen with lovesickness. There’s condensation dripping from the forgotten can of beer in his left hand; through the window above the kitchen sink, Eddie observes the scene in mournful silence.

“Christ, you really are a pussy.”

Eddie whips around with a glare that would level a normal human being, shushing Steve with a panicked fierceness that only makes the guy chuckle harder at Eddie’s expense.

“Y’know,” Steve continues with the insults, dipping into the fridge and reappearing with a Fanta and a shit-eating grin- “You might want to try leering like a creep from the garage window. That way no will hear you jack off-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Harrington.” Eddie interrupts with a grade-A scoff and eye roll combo, rivaling Steve’s own bitchiness. “Wasn’t your last successful date back in high school, like, six years ago when you had better hair?”

Steve doesn’t even flinch. With condescending sympathy, he sighs and shakes his head of (beautiful-even-when-wet, damn him) hair, snapping the soda can tab with a flourish. “Might wanna hurry up and make a move. Can’t suppress my charm forever just ‘cuz you’re too chicken to man up- it’s not natural to keep all of this hidden away.”

Steve gestures to the broad expanse of his golden chest, dark thicket of hair sitting proud, the scars that he seems to have no qualms over showing off criss-cross along the flex of muscle at his sides.

Realistically, Eddie knows Steve wouldn’t go after you, not even as a joke. It would defy the honorable and unmentioned Bro Code they’ve lived by ever since Eddie almost died in an alternate hell dimension and Steve valiantly pulled him back topside.

Teasing, though? It’s Harrington’s godgiven right- especially since Eddie’s so hopelessly in love. It’s almost too easy to get him riled up, to light a fire under his ass to maybe finally get the situation some forward movement.

Flames lick at the kindling. Steve walks backwards, shooting Eddie one last finger gun and wink before rejoining the boisterous outdoors crowd. Through the crack Steve’s left in the sliding glass door, Eddie can hear that asshole’s cheery voice ring out- “Lookin’ good, ladies!”- and your subsequent peal of laughter.

Eddie can feel the heat through the black denim at his ass, sweat rushing to prickle at his pits underneath the light layer of tanktop- the one with a high-necked collar and sides long enough to conceal most of his scars.

Not that he’s trying to hide ‘em, perse... they’re just sensitive to the sun. Plus his black jeans have holes in them, so they totally count as summer attire. He’s basically wearing shorts right now. Steve can suck it.

“Suck it, Steve,” Eddie grits out to no one for good measure, before taking a steadying gulp of beer and stepping bravely out beyond the glass doors.

It’s shockingly bright, sun bouncing off the surface of the pool and rendering Eddie momentarily blind; he shields his eyes with his free hand in time to catch the tail end of Sinclair’s mid-air somersault.

“Five,” Max calls out, lounging safely out of the splash zone, waves from Lucas’s cannonball lapping at her pink donut pool float. Thick black prescription sunglasses take up half her face, expression unmoved even as her boyfriend splutters in the deep end.

“Are you kidding?” Lucas is indignant as he huffs and treads water. “Gimme at least an eight. Did you even see the flip?”

“I saw it.” Unimpressed, Max shrugs a freckled shoulder. While Lucas devolves into swearing out his complaints (already with one elbow planted on the concrete to get out and make another attempt at a higher score), Max zeros in on Eddie, one brow arched high in searing appraisal. “You gonna swim with your boots on, too?”

“I’m- shut up, Red. Nice donut.”

Max’s triumphant smirk confirms what Eddie already knows (he totally bombed that comeback), but if there’s one thing in the world Eddie’s good at, it’s Pretending. A trait forged and perfected over the years of being reigning Dungeon Master; it’s served him well during D&D sessions, and when running from the law.

And it’s coming in handy now, too, as Eddie walks past Steve (half-snoozing in a lounger) and the table of Baby Byers and Wheeler Jr. (playing an intense game of Slapjack), pretending to be totally Normal and Chill as he approaches you and Robin, a ways off from the bustling pool.

Go with what you know, Eddie tells himself, because if he focuses for more than two seconds on the fact that you’re stretched prone, sunlight filtering through the big tree overhead and illuminating the soft curves of your thighs just visible under the Spandex hem of your skirt, he’s gonna have a pressing issue that will be anything but pretend.

Robin’s lying on her back on the beach towel next to yours, a tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice held up close, obscuring her field of vision. Using this to his advantage, Eddie crouches on his haunches, then leans in to press his cold can of beer to the tender arch of Robin’s bare foot.

She yelps, kicking out on instinct (which Eddie was expecting). He manages to take the brunt of the hit with a forearm block, but doesn’t see the paperback coming until it’s hitting the side of his face.

“Ow, christ, Buckley,” he moans, slumping to sit on Robin’s towel, hamming up the victim act for your sake and sympathy while Robin snatches up her book and gives him another solid thwack, pages fluttering.

At the commotion, you’d lifted your head from your arms, leaning into them now with the weight of your upper half. Eddie tries really, really valiantly to not stare at your swimsuit top (practically a bra), and instead distracts himself with the fact that you were giggling. At him.

Give the boy an inch and he’ll take a mile, Wayne is wont to say of his nephew. Never been truer than now, as Eddie gets drunk off your attention and humors, crowding familiarly and rudely into Robin’s space just to piss her off more and to keep your twinkling-eyed focus.

“Yech.” Robin gags. “I’m not gonna sit here and watch you two flirt up close. I just ate lunch.”

Eddie’s worried that comment will embarrass you into pulling away but apparently, you’re not shying from the accusations of his affection anymore.

A snort and a sardonic eye roll is what you dish back, and Eddie latches on, delighted to have a Shit Starter in Crime, pushing an honest hand to his chest in faux-shock- “Flirting? Me? I’d never. What an accusation. You’re getting crazier by the day, Buckley.”

The peal of laughter that ripples from you is like a song, vibrating the frequencies between Eddie’s ears, scrambling all the channels with its aching beauty.

Goddamn addictive, he thinks, as the white-out of his hearing fades back to normal. A light, warm wind rustles through the big oak overhead, leaves shushing together; allowing himself a glance at your stretched form, Eddie’s (un)luckily close enough to see the smattering of goosebumps rise on the skin of your arms.

To observe the way sweat curls the baby hairs near your temple, at the nape of your neck. To see the little creases near the corner of your eyes as you close them, turning your face into the wind, a quiet expression of summer bliss on your face.

Eddie could sit here for hours like a (happy) creep just taking in every minute detail, but Robin starts bitching at him about the weed he still owes her from ages ago, poking her cold toes into the holes of his jeans, mischievous and irritating.

Eddie smacks at her ankles until she pulls them back, matching her argument point for point; it’s not about the weed, of which he’d gladly give- it’s about keeping that smile on your face even as you sit up to start digging through your nearby tote bag.

“And plus,” Robin’s saying, sticking a finger into the dimple of Eddie’s left cheek like the obnoxious little sister he never asked for, “You scratched the everliving hell out of my bike last month when you insisted you were sober enough to ride it home.”

“What’d you want me to do, drink and drive? Not very Just Say No Club of you.” Eddie is operating on autopilot with his responses, absorbed in the way your delicate fingers move inside the canvas of the bag.

“I wanted the same thing that I currently. Want.” Two more ice-cold prods of her toes into the same spot of his exposed knee. “Three grams, pre-rolled, plus an apology.”

Eddie is about to give in with the promise of the rest of his sizable stash and a bike waxing regimine with his own spit thrown into the mix to get Robin off his case, when the sound of your voice cuts through the bickering.

In your hand, held aloft and out between the three of you, is a bottle of sun lotion. Your focus is fixed on shaking displaced items back into your bag, not looking as you make a request:

“Babe, would you do my back?”

Eddie moves on instinct before he even has time to process the ask, reaching out towards the palm tree-printed plastic- but for some reason, Robin’s hand collides with his mid-air. Goddammit, Buckley.

His annoyance at Robin quickly gives way to confusion, then roiling embarrassment as two sets of eyes whip to him, your mouth slightly parted in an o shape and Robin making a squeak of awkward alarm.

You were talking to Robin. Obviously, you were talking to your girl friend to rub you down with lotion.

Jesus christ, Munson, get a grip.

Eddie lets go at the same time Robin and you draw back, the three of you stammering half-sentences over the thunk of the bottle hitting the ground.

“I meant- sorry, god, sorry, I meant Robin-”

“Fucking- jesus, of course you meant Robin, I’m sorry-”

“Oh god! I can do it! It’s fine!”

There’s a brief pause where all of you stare down at the bottle, as if it holds some great mystery of the world. Or is perhaps concealing a time-bending device that will let Eddie go back twenty seconds to kick himself in the head.

He’s just about to make some lame excuse to fuck off forever when Robin beats him to it, jumping up with a spastic, nervous energy. “Um. Steve’s calling me. So I gotta… see what that dingus wants. You’re good?”

This last part, directed at you; with a quick, reassuring nod, you say “I’m good.”

Seemingly recouped from the whole debacle, you squint up at Robin- “Eddie’s got it,” and then fixing Eddie with a disarmingly beatific smile- “Right?”

It’s like looking into the sun. Eddie is pretty sure his neurons haven’t been firing properly ever since he caught a glimpse of your thighs earlier. By some miracle, he manages coherence- “Uh-huh. Yep. Right.”

“O-o-kay.” Robin lets the word expand, then gives a dorky two-finger salute and makes for the empty pool lounger next to a snoring Steve.

Then it’s just you and Eddie, blinking at each other from your seats on opposing towels, until you lean to pick up the bottle, this time handing it directly to him.

An invitation, paired with a smile that still pulls at the corners of your mouth.

Someone jumps noisily into the pool, a few scattered cheers accompanying the crashing water. Red’s distant “Nine-five!” echoes through the backyard and this, of all things, spurs Eddie into unfreezing.

He takes the proffered lotion, shifting to kneel in the strip of grass not covered by either of your towels, waiting and watching for your approval.

Like something out of a dream, you lower yourself face-down again, hands tucking themselves sweetly into the space between the hollows of your shoulders and the ground. Eyes half-lidded as Eddie scooches closer.

“Just on your back?” He asks, soft, like you’re a deer about to spook (although based on the way his hands are trembling, Eddie’s the more likely candidate for chickening out and running for the hills).

“Mhm. Please.”

Fumbling under your sidelong gaze, Eddie wiggles all the rings from his fingers, stuffing them into his pocket.

“Too cold,” he explains, feeling fidgety from your eye contact, rubbing his hands together briskly to bring out the warmth and give them something to do other than shake.

Eddie pines for a cigarette, a quick burst of nicotine to steel his nerves. Instead, he picks up the sunscreen, squeezes a quarter-sized puddle into his left hand, and shifts to kneel close as he can without actually bumping his knees into your side.

The sunscreen is already warmed from being out in the heat of the day, so Eddie starts on your left shoulder. Dips his fingers into the puddle, spreads a thin layer on the blade of your shoulder, and rubs it in.

At first, his touch is gentle and apprehensive, but when your eyes drift shut on the second pass of his fingers, Eddie gets a bit bolder. On your right shoulder, another layer of suncream goes on, but this time, Eddie lets his thumb slip into the grooves under your shoulder blade.

He runs his thumb along the stripe of muscle next to your scapula, still with pressure light enough to feign keeping to his task, thrilled when you make a soft noise of satisfaction.

“I would’ve asked you, y’know.”

Eddie pauses, hand resting at the top of your spine, the skin of your neck freshly glistening and tacky from his work. “Asked me what?”

“To do this.” You shrug a shoulder, pointing in a roundabout way at your back. “I just… I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“Why the hell would I say no to this?” The words are out before Eddie can bite them back and find a much more cool and normal thing to say. He can feel your chuckle, the vibrations of it, the way it causes the muscles in your upper back to move.

Eddie tries to cover his lameness by refocusing on the mission he’s been given, like a heroic knight bestowed with a great honor by a fair maiden… on second thought, he’s got to cut out the fantasy metaphors. This situation is wild and tempting enough as-is without adding a potentially very horny layer to the mix.

“You can get under my top, if you want,” you murmur, lashes dark against your cheek in profile, voice all honeyed and fair-maiden-like.

Eddie swallows hard. Distributes the rest of the lotion between two palms, rests them just below the black fabric, and then slides up. Underneath the top, your skin is the same- smooth and pliant and sweet.

“Feels nice,” you whisper, eyes still closed in reverie, sounding sleepy and relaxed.

Eddie is entranced with the way your muscles move under his touch. He applies a bit more pressure to the mid-back area of your spine, dragging his thumbs down on either side. You make another noise, this one closer to a moan, and Eddie’s really glad he’s practiced at the skill of Boner Killer On Command because he wouldn’t dare sully the atmosphere with ill-timed arousal (though his limits are certainly being tested today).

“Sorry about the callouses,” he says, a bit of self-deprecation to fill the air because he’s gotta focus on something other than the way his hand fits perfectly in the center of your low back.

“S’okay. I like them, actually. You’re good with your hands.”

Not for the first time, Eddie is relieved that you’re not looking at him- his ears are burning, on their way to bright pink. Same with his cheeks. “Cool, yeah. That’s good. Um. I play guitar, y’know so… I get around.”

After cringing at himself, Eddie watches the apple of your cheek round upwards with a smile, a sharp flash of your teeth as you say, “I can tell.”

There’s an amiable quiet that falls over the two of you; in the background, splashes and chattering from the pool group float in the air, muted by the warm winds shushing through overhead branches.

At one point, Eddie realizes he’s covered your whole back in sunscreen and is now just trailing his fingertips over the notches of your spine, starting low and ending near your neck, following the path down again in a loop. If you mind, you don’t say anything, seemingly sated by his touch.

There’s an aching behind Eddie’s ribs. It squeezes at his heart, makes his next breath pinch- he wants to touch you like this all the time. He’s already hooked.

All too soon, you’re peeling yourself from the blanket, sitting up with a sheepish smile. Eddie can’t tell if you’re getting shy on him from the touch alone, or if it’s the fact that he’s the one that’s been touching.

Either way, if Eddie could find a more chill way to say “I’d like to do that every minute for the rest of my life if you’ll let me,” he’d say it to appease any worries you may have.

Bare knees pulled to your chest, you gesture at the bottle still in Eddie’s hand. “I could… do you, if you wanted?”

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, through the heated curtain of curls. “Nah, that’s okay. My abs won’t be ready to debut until the end of summer. 1993.”

He’s expecting at least a chuckle out of you, but instead, he’s fixed with a kind, all-knowing look.

The two of you are face to face, your shin close enough to brush Eddie’s ribs as you state, “Not a fan of the heat, are you.”

“What gave it away?” Eddie gestures animatedly at the humidity-fed frizz of his hair, then shakes his head like a wet dog.

When you catch one of his curls between two fingers he freezes, heart slamming to a pause as you loop it around a knuckle.

“I have some deep conditioner at my place. Could help you out if you wanna come by some time.”

Mere inches from his cheek as you lean in, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, trying to memorize how you smell- coconutty from the lotion, a bit sweaty, a faint hint of deodorant and the vanilla perfume you spray in the mornings.

He’s never been this close before.

He feels electric. Or more accurately, like he’s been electrocuted, and he’s waiting for you to restart his heart.

“Does that sound good, Eddie? You, me, some hair care… maybe a movie? I can steal some from Family Video. I know a guy.”

At his ear now, your voice is low as you wrap a hand around the inside of Eddie’s arm- it’s his turn to break into goosebumps. “Oh yeah? Willing to steal for me already?”

This earns him a stellar laugh, head tipped back to show the curve of your perfect neck. You shove at him playfully, and he’s about to snap up your hand to bite as payback when your name is yelled from across the yard.

“Come on, we need another unbiased judge!” Max waves urgently from the pool as Lucas and Dustin get into an increasingly loud argument over the Olympic grading system.

“Goddamn kids.” This comes out much more growly than Eddie intended; you just chuckle and squeeze his arm before pulling away to stand.

Eddie mourns the loss of your body heat until you extend a hand towards him, saying, “Let’s go humor our goddamn kids, and we can talk about dinner afterwards.”

It’s like your hand is made to fit inside Eddie’s. He follows close on your heels, heart thudding a steady, overjoyed rhythm once more.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic

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rowdyluv · 6 months ago

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what a shame that he’s leaving

summary: Jack and y/n have been wanting to spice up their life in the bedroom.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: 18+, nsfw, ‘sensory deprivation’, threesome, talks of alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, deceiving, oral (female rec and male rec) fingering (female), there’s probably more but I can’t think

notes: hi bff @mirrorballmcgroarty convinced me to post this monstrosity of a fic. i hate it so much i wish i never created it or spoke it back into existence BUT enjoy anyways

Jack, Luke, and John sat around the sticky table at their favorite dive bar, the smell of greasy burgers and spilled beer lingering in the air. They were deep into their third round of drinks when Jack leaned in closer to John, his eyes glinting with a mischievous twinkle. "Hey, man," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "are you still down for that thing I talked to you about?"

John's eyebrows shot up, he had been serious about that? He took a sip of his beer, the condensation cool against his top lip. What Jack was referring to wasn't about the upcoming Olympic Games. John adverted his eyes over to Luke quickly and back over to Jack. He had to admit, Jack's proposal had been a bit of a shock, but also intriguing. John has always had a bit of a wild streak, and the thought of being part of Jack's and y/n's intimate experiment had left him more than a little curious. "Yeah, sure I'm still game," he murmured over the top of his beer mug, his voice low and casual, trying not to be betrayed by the sudden thrill that shot through him.

"Good," Jack said with a knowing smile, slapping a hand down on the table. "Because she's down for it too…sometime." Jack leaned back in his bar chair, watching John's reaction carefully. "But I've been planning it out, and tonight's the night. She thinks it will just be me coming home, but I've got a little surprise for her. If you’re going to come with me."

John nodded, his heart racing with curiosity. Jack wasn’t someone who typically beat around the bush. "What's the plan?"

But before Jack could elaborate, Luke slammed his hand down on the table, interrupting the hushed conversation. "You two are giving me a headache with all the whispering," he complained, a scowl etched on his face. "I'm gonna head out." He tossed a few crumpled bills onto the sticky wooden surface and stood up, swaying slightly.

“Don’t go home. You won’t get any sleep.” Jack snickered.

Luke narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to. You two cannot whisper no matter what you think. You also are not sly as to what you’re going to do.” Luke pretends to gag before he stalks off from the two older boys and their laughs.

Jack's grin widens as the door swings shut behind Luke. He turns back to John, his eyes full of excitement. "Alright, let's get to it," he says, leaning in closer. "Here's the plan: I'll go in first, set us all up. I’ll have her believing it’s just her and I, but I’ll get her all hot and bothered. I’ll get her riled up more by blindfolding her. She'll be thinking it's just me the whole time, wait until I get her blindfolded then you’ll come in.”

John nods slowly, his pulse quickening. "And what do you want me to do exactly?"

Jack's grin turns devilish. "I'll have her all ready, practically begging for it, and you go straight for the good stuff, man."

John laughs nervously, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation. "If she thinks it's you, then it'll be your name she yells out," he points out, raising an eyebrow.

Jack's smile doesn't falter. "Well, that's half the fun, isn't it?" he quips, downing the rest of his beer. "No don’t worry man, I’ve got something worked up for that too.”

John raises an eyebrow. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

Jack nods confidently. "Almost everything. Let’s go.”

They left the bar, the neon lights flickering in the early evening darkness. Each man climbed into their respective vehicles, the engines rumbling to life as they pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards Jack and y/n's apartment. The city streets were alive with the low murmur of traffic and distant laughter, a stark contrast to the heated anticipation that filled the confines of their cars.

Jack's mind raced as he navigated the familiar streets, his thoughts a whirlwind of excitement and apprehension. He'd been planning this night for weeks, ever since the trade had been confirmed. It was the perfect opportunity to push the boundaries of their relationship, to explore the wild side that y/n had hinted at but never fully embraced. The leather seats of his SUV hugged him tightly as he sped through the yellow lights, the wind in his hair feeling like a freedom he hadn't experienced in a long time.

As they pulled up to the apartment complex, Jack's heart hammered in his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before they executed the plan. They parked side by side, the engines ticking as they cooled. They both knew that once they walked through the door, there was no turning back. John's eyes met Jack's, a silent confirmation of their shared excitement.

Jack stepped out of the car and unlocked the front door, calling out to y/n, "Hey babe, I'm home!" He waited for a moment, listening for her response. Her footsteps echoed down the hallway, and he could feel the tension in the air thicken as she grew closer. She appeared in the doorway of the living room, her eyes lighting up when she saw him. She was wearing nothing but a large t-shirt that barely hung to her thighs, her skin glowing with the warmth of the setting sun.

“Hi.” She smiled softly.

Jack took three strides forward lifting her over his shoulder.

“Jack! What are you doing?!” Y/n squealed.

“I want you baby girl, I can’t wait.” His voice low, seductive. His statement true, but he was also needing to move away to allow John inside.

Y/n giggled, throwing her hand over her mouth. “Jack, put me down!” She protested playfully, her laughter bouncing off the walls of the hallway.

Jack smacked her ass gently. “Oh, I will, but not yet.” He said, carrying her into the bedroom. He tossed her onto the bed, his eyes full of hunger. He took a step back, admiring her in the soft light that filtered through the blinds. Her t-shirt had ridden up, revealing her red underwear and the tops of her thighs. She leaned on her elbows, her eyes shimmering with excitement.

Y/n watched as Jack approached the bed, his movements deliberate and predatory. He leaned down, his warm breath tickling her skin as he whispered, "I've got a surprise for you tonight, baby." His lips grazing against the column of her throat ever so slightly, before he playfully nips at her neck. He leans over to his bedside table and pulls a bandanna out of his drawer, holding it up.

“Are you ready to have some fun?” Jack’s voice was gravely. Y/n only nodded, her eyes shining like diamonds in the sun. Jack grinned, over eager to get the bandanna on her.

Jack returned to his original space over her, the soft fabric of the blindfold brushing against her cheek. His eyes searched hers, looking for any signs of doubt. She bit her lip, but nodded. He could tell she was nervous but incredibly turned on. He placed the bandanna over her eyes, tying it tightly behind her head. The room was plunged into darkness for her, and her pulse quickening in anticipation.

Before she could react her panties were stripped from her, her legs spread wide, and she heard Jack’s tale-tale moan. “Oh babygirl, you’re already so fucking wet.” He drug a knuckle over her clit. Her hip bucked. “Fuck, Jack. Please” Jack smirked and retreated from the bed to wave John on down the hall.

John’s heart was racing as he tiptoed into the room, the sound of y/n’s breathless gasps guiding him like a beacon. He took a moment to appreciate the sight before him: her half naked body stretched out on the bed, her chest heaving with every breath, the blindfold hiding the secrets of the evening from her eager eyes.

Jack gave him a nod, gesturing for him to join her on the bed. John’s pulse quickened as he approached, his eyes drinking in every inch of her exposed flesh. He climbed onto the bed, his body quivering with anticipation as he positioned himself between her thighs. The scent of her arousal was thick in the air, and he couldn’t help but lick his lips at the thought of tasting her.

John leaned in, his mouth hovering just above her sensitive flesh. He took a deep breath, savoring the sweetness of her. Then, ever so gently, he kissed the inside of her thigh, his tongue darting out to trace the delicate skin. He could feel her body tense with excitement, her legs instinctively spreading wider for him. He continued his kisses, moving closer and closer to her center. He teasingly hovered right above her core. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, and he knew she was ready.

Finally, John couldn't resist any longer. He parted her folds with his thumbs and flicked his tongue over her clit, eliciting a sharp gasp from y/n. She squirmed beneath him, her hands reaching out to grasp the sheets tightly. He licked her slowly, savoring the taste of her. Her hips began to rock against his face, seeking more pressure, more friction. He chuckled darkly against her, his breath hot against her skin, before he gave in to her silent plea. His tongue swirled around her clit, licking and sucking until she was bucking her hips up to meet him, her moans muffled by the pillow she had buried her face in.

Jack watched from the side of the bed, his own arousal growing as he saw y/n's body respond to John's ministrations. He had never seen her this wild, this uninhibited, and it was a sight to behold. He began to strip off his own clothes, his eyes never leaving her face. The way she thought the way she writhed and moaned, the way she arched her body off the bed, was all for him—made his cock harden. Every whimper she let out, every desperate plea for more made it hard to resist touching himself.

John's tongue grew more insistent, his hunger for her clear in every stroke. He lapped at her like a man starved of water in the desert, his mouth greedily devouring her wetness. He could feel her getting closer, her legs trembling and her breaths turning ragged. He knew she was on the edge, and he was eager to push her over. His thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of her inner thighs, spreading her wider, giving him better access. He took her clit between his teeth, sucking gently before letting go with a pop, making her cry out.

Y/n's body was a symphony of sensations, her mind a whirlwind of pleasure. She had never felt anything like this before. The mystery of not knowing where the next touch was coming from, when it was coming, who was touching her added an extra layer of excitement, making her crave more. She let out a whimper, her body begging for release. "Jack," she elongated his name as she moaned, her voice strained with desire. "Yes, Jack, right there."

Jack grinned triumphantly, he leaned over her grabbing her chin. “Oh sweet girl, it’s not me doing this to you.” He all but growled.

Y/n's breath hitched, her eyes flying open in shock. She reached up to rip the blindfold off, the room coming into focus with a jarring suddenness. Her eyes darting down between her legs frantically, her pupils dilated with lust. They fell on John, meeting his eyes dark with desire as he hovered just above her apex. When their eyes met, John took his fingers and plunged two deep inside her. Eliciting a sharp scream guttural scream from her. Her eyes darted over to Jack. She felt her cheeks flush with a mix of shock and arousal, her body betraying her with a needy moan.

Jack leaned in, his eyes dark with his own hunger, and whispered in her ear, "Surprise, baby." His hand reached out to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin tenderly. "John's here to help me give you the night of your life." He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin, making her shiver.

John took his tongue swirling around her clit once more before pulling away. "You're going to come so many times tonight," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "But not yet." He replaced his mouth with his fingers, working her clit in a steady rhythm that had her writhing and begging for more.

Jack chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down to his own erection. He stroked himself leisurely, watching the scene unfold before him. "You're so beautiful like this," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. "So open, so ready."

Sliding his fingers out of her and replacing them with his cock. John pushed in slow, watching her face contort with pleasure and surprise. "Jack's not the only one who knows how to make you feel good," he said, his voice a gravelly growl. He began to thrust, his movements measured and deliberate, drawing out her pleasure. “I can promise you that.”

John's cock filled her completely, reaching deep inside her and stroking against her g-spot with every push. Y/n's eyes rolled back into her head, a silent scream building in her throat. Her body was no longer her own, it was a playground for Jack and John's desires. She felt so full, so complete, and the sensation was overwhelming. Her hips began to match John's rhythm, her body begging for more.

Jack's hand was at the back of her head, guiding her mouth onto his erection. The salty taste of him filled her mouth, and she took him in eagerly, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock. She could feel him pulsing with every beat of his heart, the veins in his shaft throbbing with his excitement. He talked dirty to her, his words a mix of praise and filth that sent shivers down her spine. "That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You look so fucking good with his cock in you, with my cock in your mouth."

John's thrusts grew more powerful, his hips slamming into hers with a force that had the bed shaking. Y/n could feel him stretching her, filling her completely. Each stroke was a delicious mix of pain and pleasure, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Her own moans vibrated against Jack's shaft, muffled by his skin. She could feel her orgasm building, a tight coil in her stomach that threatened to unravel at any moment.

Jack's grip tightened on the back of her head, his hips moving in a matching rhythm to John's. His words were a constant stream of filth, his voice a dark caress that only served to heighten her arousal. "Look at you, baby," he murmured, his voice low and sinful. "Taking both of us like a champ." He groaned as she took him deeper, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock. "You're such a good girl, letting us both use your tight little body."

John's eyes met Jack's over y/n's trembling form, a silent communication passing between them. They had been friends for years, and this was a moment they had never dared to imagine. The shared excitement was palpable, the tension in the room thick with lust and the thrill of the taboo. John leaned back, his hands on her hips, watching as Jack's cock disappeared into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing with each bob of her head.

Jack's hand slid from her cheek to the back of her head, guiding her movements, setting a pace that had him groaning with pleasure. His eyes were locked onto hers, watching as they watered with the effort of taking him deep. She was so eager, so hungry for it, and it only made him want to fuck her face even more. He could feel John's thrusts into her pussy, the mattress squeaking beneath them, and he knew she was being driven wild by the sensation of being filled in both places at once.

“You think you could take us both at the same time here?” Jack reached behind him grazing his hand up the side of the globe of her ass. A drug out moan shuttered out from her throat and around his cock. Her pussy clamped down around John’s cock both in response. “I take that as a yes?” Jack raised on eyebrow questioning her.

Y/n pulled Jack out of her mouth with a pop. "Yes," she panted, her voice shaky with need. "I want it all."

“Who do you want where sweet girl?” John’s question hung in the air, his eyes burning with lust.

Without missing a beat, y/n responded, "John, I want you in my ass," she said, her voice shaky with excitement. "And Jack, I want you in my pussy." She looked at both of them with glazed eyes. If some one didn’t know better, they’d think she was pure and innocent.

Jack's eyes went wide, but he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a bottle of lube from his nightstand, handing it to John. "Looks like someone's eager," he said with a smirk, watching as John's eyes darkened with lust.

John took the bottle, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers before sliding them into her ass. Y/n whimpered, her body tightening at the sudden intrusion. But she didn't pull away. Instead, she pushed back against John's hand, urging him to go deeper, faster.

Jack leaned in, his lips crushing hers in a bruising kiss as John's fingers slid in and out of her ass. The feeling of being filled in both her ass and her pussy was unlike anything she had ever experienced, a delicious pressure that had her pussy clenching around Jack's shaft. He groaned into her mouth, his hand tangling in her hair as he began to thrust into her.

John's fingers worked her ass, stretching her, preparing her for his thick cock. He watched her face in the mirror across the room, her expression a mix of pleasure and pain, her mouth open in a silent scream as he replaced his fingers for his dick and stretching her wider, stroking in deeper. He whispered dirty words into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "You're so fucking tight," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I've never felt anything like this."

Jack's hips moved in tandem with John's, their bodies working together in a rhythm that was both mesmerizing and carnally intense. Y/n's moans grew louder, her breaths coming in short gasps as they both pushed into her, filling her completely. She could feel their muscles tensing with every thrust, their sweat-slicked skin slapping against hers, the sound echoing through the room.

Their words a symphony of filth that had her pussy contracting around Jack's cock. "Look how good you're taking us," Jack said, his voice deep and commanding. "You're such a dirty little slut, aren't you?"

John groaned in agreement. "Fuck yes, you are," he said, his voice strained. "You're going to come so hard with both of us inside you."

Her orgasm building faster and faster, a crescendo of pleasure that was almost too much to bear. She clung to Jack, her nails digging into his shoulders as John's cock hit that perfect spot deep within her ass, at times nudging against Jack’s. She was lost in the sensation, her body no longer her own.

Jack's hand slid down her body, his thumb finding her clit. He began to rub it in tight circles, his movements synced with their thrusts. She bucked her hips and cried out. The two men held her tight, their movements growing more frantic as they felt her approaching climax, as well as their own.

Her moans grew louder, her body tightening around them. "I'm going to come," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Oh, fuck, I'm going to come."

Jack's grip on her tightened, his thumb pressing down harder on her clit. "Come for us, baby," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Come for John and me."

Their strokes grew more powerful, their bodies moving as one. And then, with a scream that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room, y/n came. Her orgasm washed over her, a tidal wave of pleasure that left her trembling and gasping for breath.

Jack and John didn't let up, their strokes unrelenting as they chased their own releases. They watched her face, the way she bit her lip and arched her back, her body shuddering with the force of her climax. It was intoxicating, a sight that pushed them closer and closer to the edge.

With a load groan of ecstasy, Jack came with an intense shudder, inside her. John followed suit, his cock pulsing as he filled her ass with his cum. They collapsed onto the bed, their bodies slick with sweat and their hearts pounding.

For a moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the three of them lost in the aftermath of their shared passion. Then, y/n reached up, her hands shaky as she touched Jack’s face. She looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and amazement.

"That was... amazing," she said, still breathless. "I never knew I could feel like that."

Jack and John shared a grin, their eyes gleaming with a newfound camaraderie. They had given her an experience she would never forget, and the memory of it would surely fuel their fantasies for weeks to come.

But for now, all that mattered was the here and now, the three of them tangled together in the afterglow of their shared desire. They lay there, panting and sweaty, the warmth of their bodies melding together. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated pleasure, a moment that would forever be etched in their memories as the night they pushed the boundaries of their friendship and their love lives to the absolute limit.

“It’s a shame you’re leaving man, might’ve considered doing it all again.” Jack laughed tugging y/n over a little closer to kiss her a top the head.

John smirked, his hand idly tracing patterns on her hip. “Maybe we can make it a send-off tradition?” He suggested, watching her face for a reaction. “When Utah plays the Devils it becomes a thing?”

“Ehhh. Maybe. Don’t get too excited Marino.” Jack stiffly chuckles while he’s moving y/n around to get her up for a bath. She’s already falling asleep on him. Making it harder on him. “Not saying no, not saying yes, it’s upset to babygirl here. I’ll do anything for her. Absolutely anything.”

#cay writes #jack hughes smut #john marino smut #jack hughes x reader #john marino x reader #jack hughes fic #john marino fic #jack hughes #john marino #jack hughes imagine #john marino imagine #nj devils smut #nj devils fic

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cr4yolaas · 1 month ago

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WHIPLASH — THAT'S THE INDUSTRY, BABY!

she knows what the journalism industry entails — false rules, odd etiquette, perfect structures and guidelines enforced by those at the top rung of the ladder. she also knows that if she's going to get what she wants, she needs to abide by all of it. even if it means throwing herself away.

001. armageddon / masterlist / 003. look back

The condensation collecting on her glass creates a little ring on the wooden table, an indication of how long she's spent waiting and her dissipating patience. Her shirt — the one Nobara picked out for her a year ago, in the midst of a Black Friday sale — pricks at her skin, the fabric much too irritating for everyday wear even despite its cutesy style, and even with the indecency and the scandals it would spark, she wants nothing more than to rip it off right there and then, forgoing the time it took for her to steam and iron it alongside her dress pants.

She glances at the clock. 9:28.

Almost thirty minutes late.

Just as she all-but-gracefully swings her leg around the ledge of her chair in preparation to leave, the door creaks open and the little bell above it jingles a cheery tune. A tinge of heat rushes to her face when she sees his attire — sweatpants that practically engulf him and a Sweat Oversized Pullover Hoodie from Uniqlo, of all places (she only remembers this from her last article, in which the basketball player she interviewed went on and on about his extensive, multi-colored collection of Uniqlo basics, which he wore to every meeting). Far more casual than her.

But that detail is immediately cast aside when she takes a glance at the jewelry donning his hand and the baseball cap he dons. It's familiar. Too familiar.

When it clicks, he smiles at her — no, he smirks. As if he'd won some internal battle that she wasn't informed of.

"You didn't realize? You talk a lot of shit for—"

"Please don't." Her head falls into the valley she's created between her hands, even more heat rising to the surface of her skin. He's holding it above her head, his words clearly mocking her but sliding into one ear and falling out of the other. He doesn't admit that he'd looked up her profile when she first reached out, her picture pristine and on display on the first page of section editors for SM News. She can't quite hear him over the loud pounding in her head. "That was one time. I don't do that frequently— or at all, really."

He makes a noise that falls between a laugh and a scoff. "Sure didn't seem like it."

If not for the circumstances, she would've reached over and gouged his eyes out.

She slides her hands down her face, a heavy breath escaping her lips. She can't quite afford to slip up this early, not with how important this exclusive is for her company. Something about a competition with the two other largest publishers in Tokyo, all of which are rushing to get their grimy hands on the city's most prized baseball team and their secrets. So, with the last bit of composure she can muster, she offers a deal — in exchange for the exclusive, she'll promise to give him a good rep in the industry and keep anything important away from her competing journalists, the ones who would fight tooth and nail for even a smidge of controversy to stir up anything in the (only recently) all-too-peaceful sports scene.

He looks at her as if to question her sanity, his eyes boring into hers.

They both know it's beyond unequal. That any normal, sane person would decline such a ridiculous offer. But, unfortunately for both of them, they have things to protect — and neither can risk exposure.

He grits his teeth before agreeing with a rushed, "Sure." Her coffee is far too watered down now, and as soon as the word slips from his mouth, his own drink arrives at the pick-up counter. She tries not to watch as he leaves to get it, but it's hard, especially when there's so much — too much — to lose here.

She wants to laugh. All because of one night, and a supposedly random man who offered an ear.

When he returns, the air clears ever so slightly, as if reaching a telepathic agreement to brush aside whatever history, however minimal, they shared prior to this moment, despite how significantly it could impact both of their careers. He slides her his phone all too trustingly, and on screen is everything she needs — schedules, details, dates. Immediately, she gets to work, the cover of her MacBook (company provided, thankfully) almost flying open and her notepad already resting to her right. He pretends not to notice the Asahi Dry design on her pen, the details akin to something randomly handed out at a festival or convention. On the other hand, he does notice how crazed and frantic she looks, and makes a point to comment on it.

"Just so you know, you look insane," he mutters while leaning back in his seat, a juxtaposition to her hunched posture as she jots something down.

She scoffs under her breath, her hand still writing rapidly while the other hovers over the mousepad. "How else do you think I got here?"

He's pushed into silence with that, leaving him to observe more than he should. He catches on quickly to how often she brushes stray hands hair away from her face, sometimes snappily, and other times carefully. The collar of her shirt isn't centered, the result of her feverish efforts. Her foot keeps tapping against the bottom ring of her tall chair. Too much to notice. He tries not to, but it proves difficult when all he can do is quietly watch.

It takes ten minutes before she straightens up, excitedly packing her bag before explaining that she'll message him regarding their next interview and the information she'll need, a perfect script she'd memorized within her first year of writing. On the contrary, he's sluggish, almost as if he doesn't want to leave the comfort of the seat. Megumi glances at their drinks — hers isn't even halfway finished, and the ring at the bottom of her glass is more of a puddle now, whereas his is a sip away from meeting the trash can. "I'll pay," he mutters while just barely noticing that she got his order down to a tee prior to even meeting him. He can't mention it before she retorts almost instantly, her tongue laced with sass and minimal patience.

"Did you think you weren't paying at the start?" She's smiling at him.

"Dunno."

"Yikes," she laughs, and it's not forced or professional or scripted or any of the sort. He feigns annoyance at the noise.

The door jingles with the same joyous melody from before when they exit together, his hand holding the door open for her albeit begrudgingly. Something that sounds like a goodbye slips from her lips, and before they split paths, she waves (customarily). He ignores it for a moment — it irks him, her behavior and how desperate she is for this exclusive. But beneath the ire bubbling up, there's a hint of guilt, pushing him to wave back.

By the time he turns around, she's already gone.

★ nobara is the source of like 40% of yn's wardrobe

★ sometimes she'll come home with three bags of clothes and ask yn to try them all on and keep the ones she likes

★ its the golf course tips from old men that funds this behavior

★ the asahi dry pen is a real thing bc i have one that i got from the oc japan fair LOL. it's actually pretty cute and writes well

★ yn almost cried tears of joy when they gave her a new macbook once she got promoted to section editor ... hers was falling apart and had the nasty screen protector marks from when she peeled it off

★ megs was in a bad mood the rest of the day. like a little ipad kid throwing a silent tantrum

★ also sorry not sorry i’m projecting my social ineptitude onto yuuji for the rest of this fic </3

TAGLIST: @kameyyy @s777athv @solecitoszn @1l-ynn @valvoria @standcom @kissunday @hqnge @applepi25 @fushiguruuzzzz @reveurdoll @anotherwriternamedclara @sh0ot1ngst4r @starrysho @lizbix @diearama @cherryredribbons @asuritam @tiramizuloz @saltypuffin1040 @burnishingbagels @beepbopzlorp @reezerdotcom @tibibibi123 @carneries @gumims @chososcamgirl @anngelllla @fefesooli @anngelllla @tiramizuloz @reezerdotcom @vrxouei @s3ns4ti0n4l

divider creds @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

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hibiscus-room · 12 days ago

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please - m. issei || wc: 1.3k || disclaimer: MDNI. 18+. Smut. I don't know how else to say it, if you interact with this and you are an ageless blog or a minor then you will be blocked, idc if that makes you dislike me. deal with it <3 || tags: size kink, spit kink, dacryphilia, control switch, more fem oriented than focused on Mattsun...sorry <3, eating out, bj, fingering, orgasm denial (from both), And teasing ofc

the couch is where all the best and worst conversations happen. everyone knows that. “We should fuck.” she can’t help the laugh that escapes her at the words.

“Okay Issei, let me just speed out on the couch here,” she jokes with a roll of her eyes as she picks up her slowly growing flat drink. it’s been open for most of the day but it’s the small things in life like growing flat soda that she finds herself weirdly enjoying.

“I’m being serious,” she hears the shift as he turns to her. he gives her an unamused look and pokes her cheek. “It would be good for the economy.”

“Is it that hard for you to get laid?” she lets out a laugh and sets her drink back down. she wipes her hand on her shorts from the leftover condensation that accumulated on the aluminum can.

“No, forget it.”

the conversation is left alone for the next month. she doesn’t mention it and he surely doesn’t either. the thoughts fester in her brain though, it’s like a switch got flipped. the metal of his rings glint in an eye catching way. she wonders what the metal would taste like if she— “y/n? I asked what you wanted for dinner.” the hand waves in front of her face in an almost taunting way.

“I don’t really care,” she looks down at the fake marbles surface of the kitchen island and squeezes her legs together as she imagines what his fingers might feel like slipping inside of her. she can feel the heat rushing to her face as she catches herself.

“You doing okay over there?” she so badly wants to ask him again if he was serious but she dreads the embarrassment so much more. he’s leaning against the counter and she wants to pull him to meet her lips.

“I’m fine,” she clears her throat and clenches her thighs together again. She allows herself to briefly wonder for a moment what he would be like and covers her mouth. what has she got to lose besides maybe her dignity and a friend? “Were you being serious the other day?”

“About what?” he pulls out his phone to navigate to some delivery service app. “I say a lot of stuff, you should know that by now.”

“When you said you wanted to fuck me.” she can see him pause and holds her breath in anticipation.

“Yeah.” she lets out a sigh and gets up from the chair with a screech against the tile flooring. he’s a little taken aback when she grabs his hand and starts going towards her bedroom. “I like where this is going,” his phone is left on the table as they go to her room. “Nice place you’ve got here, no roaches or nothing.”

“Matsukawa Issei, if you don’t pull your pants down so I can suck you off in the next thirty seconds I’m kicking you out.” he nods and undoes his belt as he slides his jeans down his legs. she sits herself between his thighs and slides his boxers down. “Oh my-“ she strokes him once and enjoys the small whine that passes over him.

“Come on, you can do more than that.” his hand rests on the back of her hand and he combs through her hair and grabs gently.

“And if I don’t want to?” she swirls her tongue around the tip with a small smile. her tongue flicks over the slit and his grip tightens slightly as he groans. his head throws back and his free hand covers his mouth. she can feel him throbbing in her hands.

she licks a bold stripe from the base to the tip and sucks on there for a moment before bringing more into her mouth. He lets out a loud moan and pushes her head down lightly before apologizing. she brings his hand back and she pushes lightly. he gently coaxes her down and she almost makes it to the base before she pulls off with a sharp intake of air.

“you made it further than most.” he says it too smugly for her liking and she wraps her hand tightly around his dick and strokes him quickly. “Oh my god I’m gonna,” and she stops. his tip is a shade of red it wasn’t moments ago and his chest is heaving up and down as he tries to catch his breath. there’s a beady pearl of precut that sadly dribbles down from his tip.

“Oops,” he shakes his head and as his dick twitches lamely against his stomach he pulls her up and brings her in to kiss him. it’s messy and there’s spit around her mouth but he doesn’t find it in him to care. they bumble around as they both get on the bed and undress between hot kisses. his hands roam her body and he pulls away from her to take a breath.

“Can I eat you out?” she nods her head and he kisses his way down her body. he licks a broad stripe up her opening and revels in the small shriek from her as he blows air over the spot he licked. his ringed hands grab her thighs and she can feel the indents starting to form. a part of her hopes they’ll stay there. he pulls her closer and she moans with a small shriek. he eats like a starved man and there’s drool and wetness around his mouth when he lifts his head up.

“just a little longer, hold out a little longer,” he says as he notices her already shaking thighs. he pulls one hand away and uses his other arm to pull her legs apart. his head rests against her left thigh where he bites and sucks until there’s dark marks left in his wake. he doesn’t bother taking his rings off as his long fingers slowly push into her. she shivers a little at the difference in temperatures. the cold of the rings making her dizzy with sick pleasure. her hands tangle in his hair and he curls his fingers inside of her.

“Omg Issei, please.” and he stops. there’s a dull throbbing as his fingers stop moving. her eyes snap open and she wasn’t even sure when they closed.

“imagine what my dick is gonna feel like inside of you if you’re this full from my fingers.” a whine passes through her and she tries to pull his face back towards her dripping heat. “Hey, this is just payback sweetheart.” he kisses her thighs until her legs stop shaking and her breath has evened out before going back to his earlier actions.

his hips move against the bed and he moans against her. it doesn’t take care before they’re both reaching the end with bated breath. while he eyes are closed and she tries to come down he goes to the bathroom to wash his hands and brush his teeth before coming back out and cleaning her up. his hands rub gently up and down her thighs until she calms down a little bit. he uses a wash cloth and wipes off her thighs before helping her to his room.

they’re both a little wobbly as he helps her change into a pair of his boxers and one of his shirts. “What about you?” she asks as her head hits his chest and his hands play in her hair.

“I already…” he trails off and they both laugh lightly. “Get some sleep.” the two fall asleep wrapped together unsure of what their next steps will be. all that’s certain is that they wake up early the next morning to sit on the roof and watch the sun rise while wrapped in each other’s arms. he then makes her pancakes and she moves some of her clothes to his room.

this is a new blog so if you want to be on the gen taglist just send an ask <3 this is for @freakymey

taglist : @nectardaddy @hiraethwa

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa issei x reader #mattsun x reader #hq x reader #hq x you #hq x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu smut #matsukawa smut #hq smut #this is for Mey. Know I love you otherwise this would have been scrapped

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cryptfile · 7 months ago

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deleted this question since i’m plain DUMB, but here’s a lil something for you bb, stablished relationship cause carmy deserves better </3

MINORS DNI

“so, this right here are the best things you can cook?” carmen asks resisting the urgency to check on the shrimps you seemed to be overcooking by all the time they stood over the fire at maximum heat.

“why are you saying it like it’s nothing?” you ask in response, looking at everything you managed to cook being the celebration of your first-month-anniversary with your boyfriend (a day later cause he forgets every little detail in his private life) — “this right here my dear chef, ‘s the best strawberry pie you’ll ever try. consider yourself lucky.”

he don’t believe you at first, of course he wouldn’t. An awarded chef that enjoys an almost too-sweet pie recipe from your aunt? Seems almost imposible to believe, especially when he had the first bite and stayed in full silence for at least three minutes making you scared of actually going too far with the condensed milk.

but then he gave you this look, the look of «holy shit babe, this is the best pie i've ever had» that makes your chest swell in pure pride, almost not believing he actually liked something you make having zero knowledge in anything technical — christ, you even burnt pancakes without even trying.

so you try to understand how exactly you end up in that position, trapped beneath the palm of his hand close to the edge of your bed, ragged breathing as your hand grabs the bedsheet beneath you, looking for something to hold on to even for a minute. You're clueless about how you actually finish up with your cheek pressed against the mattress, surrounded of that new bliss that fills your shitty apartment as he buries himself deep inside you in the intimacy of your room.

must have been when he caught you cleaning up moments later, mouth all fucking sweet and tasting like strawberry. almost exactly sure that it should have been the moment he pressed himself against you, no questions asked, brushing his lips against the crook of your neck.

"care to share the recipe with me? wanna try a couple things" he asks behind you, breathing colliding against your skin. and yes, it's equally as rewarding as winning an extremely hard race.

"wanna' change the recipe of my family? are you serious right now?" he thinks he has fucked up everything for almost a second, but your smile lights the whole room when you give him a chuckle of pure fun, and he can breathe in peace. "fuck yes, carm. of course i'll give it to you. works with any fruit, i just happen' to love strawberries though."

he seems happy with your answer — however, you're still unsure of how he exactly dragged you to your bed.

you're not complaining, never would. Way down buried in a new haze of pleasure while he keeps you against the warm surface, fucking you in an steady pace at first as he moves your hips himself, hammering against you soon after. it's addicting, and he's so pleased about how you react to it.

"relax baby," he would say in a rough voice, he's still relatively new to all of this intense sex life since he started dating you not so long ago, making sure you really are enjoying yourself as much as he is.

the chef hums in response, and you know, just from his voice alone, he's going borderline mental as your tense muscles relax under his touch — "lemme' take care of you sweetheart, you doin' it s'good f'me."

he's a man of his word, so he does what he says. he knows how to get you, so when the room seems to become smaller than what trully is, the sound of the skin slapping against you, ragging in your ear mixing with the moans and groans you two make, he places his fingers right over your clit, the force of his pushing enough to make you move against his digits as he digs the other hand in your hip so hard you think's gonna leave a bruise behind.

he's so close already, always so fucking close with you he has to force himself not to cum. face all flushed while he pounds into you, concentrated in the little sounds you make, how your ass looks from that position while his cock stretches you out, the way your fists grabs the sheets trying to keep yourself together.

carmy's determined to make you feel him everywhere, pulling deeper against you — "look at you s'pretty" he says, stumbling over his words as he spoke "how did i get such a good girl just f'me?"

"good fuckin' lord squeezing me like that," the chef curses under his breath, sweat covering his body. "you close, princess?"

you cannot answer. you cannot say anything but instead nod in response, the act of talking seeming almost impossible as you let out a strangled moan, victim of a warm feeling on your chest as you finally reach the orgasm, the waves colliding in your stomach when he keeps on fucking you through it at a relentless pace, even when his own cum is already leaking out of you.

and when he finally kisses you, damned you'll be forever.

cause you can still feel the taste of condensed milk and strawberries lingering on his lips, and it's enough to make you crave some more.

#minors dni #carmy berzatto x female reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen bearzatto #the bear fx #the bear x reader #cryptfile // the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x female reader

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mintmatcha · 9 months ago

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Inevitable Things: chapter five

Aizawa x reader fic

cw: cisfem reader, no quirks, office au, miscommunications, slow burn. full tags available on AO3 (linked in masterlist)

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Fridays are the only day you carve out time for lunch. Less than coincidentally, Fridays are also the only day lunch is catered.

“Here-” Izuku jams his bowl of take out into Katsuki’s face. “Does it smell like there’s peanuts in here?”

Bakugo Katsuki, Izuku’s fiance, is only half as ornery as he looks. A premature wrinkle has formed in between his brows, a sign of his almost constant annoyance. His straw colored hair is a sharp contrast to his deep red eyes, currently narrowed in disgust.

“Get this shit out of my fucking face,” he groans. “I’m not a fucking allergy alert dog-- I can’t smell peanuts.”

“To be fair-” Ochako interjects through a mouthful. She’s the opposite of Katsuki: dark hair, round eyes, a smile so sweet that it makes your teeth hurt. Her cheeks are always flushed, spots of broken blood vessels spattered like freckles. “Peanuts do have a smell.”

“Did you ask him to smell for penis?” Denki says, too loud to be genuine. “Kind of homophobic to ask a gay guy that.”

Both men give him identical deadpan stares.

“That’s just his fucking country-ass accent.” Katsuki brushes Denki off and turns back to the curly haired man. “Why would chicken have peanuts in it anyway?”

“The o’l.” Izuku stresses.

“The what?”

“Some places use peanut o’l.”

“Say oil.”

Izuku sneers a bit in return, smoothing out the curves of his accent. “Oy-I’ll.”

“Jesus christ, I’m marrying a hick.” Katsuki leans back in his chair and meets your eye with a jerk of his chin. “Can you believe this?”

You snap back into focus. Your own lunch is untouched, fork still in its little plastic wrapper. Hunger nips at your stomach, but nausea wins over today. The cafeteria isn’t very busy, but in the next couple minutes everyone will start pouring in. The lot of you arrived early to get the best seating-- a little couch and coffee table in the corner, a perfect place to eat and people watch.

“Oh, yeah, uh- Izuku, they have an allergen free option.”

“Well, yeah, but-” He tilts his head as he talks, watching you with those wide, green eyes, like he sees something just below the surface. “It doesn't have chicken-- are you good?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Katsuki fingers a piece of Izuku’s food and pops it into his mouth, much to the man’s dismay. “You’ve been making that sad little face all day.”

You pout a bit harder at that. Shit-- you thought you were being subtle. You haven’t been able to walk this whole Aizawa thing off yet, despite all of your attempts. No amount of emails, meetings, and other petty office bullshit managed to distract you from the absolute shock and humiliation of… whatever that was.

Embarrassment.

Embarrassment? You’re certainly not the prettiest girl in the office, but embarrassing? That makes your gums ache, like a punch to the nose, and it makes you feel dirty, like the fall to the ground afterwards.

“You’re doing it again.” Ochako points to your face and it’s apparently sadness. “What’s going on?”

You hem a bit, before condensing it the best you can.

“I’m having issues with a guy.” What an understatement.

A collective glance is shared between the group.

“Touya again?”

Again, Touya haunts a room he’s never been in. You debate what to say. If you admit to it being someone new, they might start sniffing around and jump to conclusions-- though Aizawa would certainly be the last assumption they would make, you still can’t risk it. Besides, you don’t need a gaggle of 23 year olds dissecting your every move. They’re going to jump to some stupid conclusion, like you’re dating Toshinori, if you aren’t careful.

“Yeah, it’s Touya,” you lie, as sheepishly as you can. “Oops.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ.” Katsuki rolls his eyes so hard that you imagine his brain must hurt. “Again?”

“Shh, just tell us what happened,” Izuku urges, elbowing his partner rather sharply.

“I don't know where I stand with him. It's so-- Ugh, I thought things were going to start going well and then it was just ice cold.” You press your palms into your eyes and sigh. The pressure feels good and helps with the remnants of your hangover. You need an electrolyte drink, stat. Maybe another fucking drink too. “And I’m not even sure why I’m surprised because it’s ice cold a lot.”

When you look up, Ochako is offering a hand, palm up and open. When you take it, she giggles a bit, squeezing gently.

“I think you need to prioritize yourself.”

Denki nods in agreement, cheeks stuffed with food. He’s finished his meal and started stabbing bits of yours. You just push the whole bowl towards him in defeat and slump down into the couch.

“Stop giving men who treat you poorly the time of day.” Ochako says. “When you let them in again and again, you’re basically, like, giving them permission to do this stuff.”

“Yeah!” Denki says through a mouthful. “Cut that fucker off! Don’t even talk to him!”

“Oh, I dunno--” You glance between them. “I think that’d be mean.”

Conflict makes your head spin. It’s so much easier to roll over and take whatever people give you, negative or otherwise. It’s what made your relationship with Touya work-- and it’s what’s allowed you to stay in this job for so long.

“Good!” Denki says. “He deserves it.”

“You deserve to be a little mean and a little angry when people treat you poorly.” She smiles again, wider this time. “Grow some balls. Stand up for yourself.”

“Yeah! Balls!” Denki agrees.

You suck on your bottom lip and turn the idea over in your head. Are you even angry at Aizawa? Or just hurt and confused? Right now, those things may as well be the same thing-- they certainly burn the same in your chest. Cruelty isn’t your usual indulgence…

But it’s someone else’s.

“What do you think?” You turn to Katsuki, who’s been scrolling through twitter for a bit now. His face doesn’t change when he speaks, locked into a general annoyance.

“I think you should kill that fucker.”

You turn to Izuku, the rational one of the couple. He shrugs, straw in mouth and completely unamused.

“Oh, I also think you should kill him,” he says, tone matching Katsuki’s.

Not helpful.

“Listen--” Katsuki leans forward, elbows on his spread knees. He uses a fork to articulate as he speaks. “I’m the expert on being a cunt-”

“-we don’t use that word!” Ochako grimaces.

“And it’s the most freeing and addictive thing you can be.” The tongs of the fork point directly towards you, as sharp as his gaze. “More people should be cunts more often. The world would be a happier place.”

Ochako gasps. “I don’t agree with that at all!”

“Oh please, miss goody-goody,” Katsuki sneers. “You wouldn't need to go to kickboxing five times a week if you let your anger out day to day like a normal motherfucker.”

The girl of the group puffs out her cheeks, but does not argue back. Izuku pats her shoulder affectionately. His food is still untouched, but his free hand guards it from Denki.

“I'm telling you. Try it out. You’ll like it.” Katsuki leans back into his seat. “Or don't. Your life.”

“Question-” The other blonde pipes up. “Did you, like, do something?”

“Kaminari!”

“I mean, like, was there a catalyst?” “A fight or a date or-?”

You know exactly what drives Touya away everytime, but Aizawa is a new beast. Did you breathe wrong or--

“Oh, I uh,” A realization hits you. “I ignored a couple texts, I guess.”

Suddenly, you’re very aware of the outline of your phone and how it presses into your pocket. If there wasn’t a chance of you flashing the group pictures of their boss, you’d check it immediately, but you can’t mentally handle the risk.

“What an overreaction,” Ochako sighs. “Dump him forever and move on-- Mr. Hizashi and his wife-”

“We aren’t like that.” Ugh. You love Hizashi, but the trio relationship isn’t your speed. “Besides, I don’t like blondes.”

The two toe-heads of the group roll their eyes in a practiced synchrony. Ochako’s smile changes a little bit, something tighter and brighter; is she excited that you aren’t interested? Interesting and a bit gross: she’s too young for that. They’re more than ten years older than her-

(How old is Aizawa? He went to school with Hizashi, so he’s at least 38-- but you could have sworn there were whispers of his fortieth last year. You’ll have to snoop.)

“We’re in agreement. Be a cunt, move on. The end.” Katsuki turns away from you, done with this topic. “Izuku, just fucking eat it already.”

The boy takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his curly hair. “Well, alright, but if I get hives, you’re the one who has to deal with me.”

…

Be mean.

You’re written it on a sticky note and placed it under your computer monitor, like some sort of fucked up mantra. The mere idea of it feels antithetical to who you are at your core; you enjoy helping people, you love making the world better. That’s why you work like a dog for the company-- you know it’s improving the lives of its customers. If Toshinori wasn’t sick, you know he’d be doing even more too.

On the other hand, being nice has led to your own detriment many times. Touya has hurt you, your parents, and now even Aizawa. And you can’t even blame Aizawa, can you? Texting him was your mistake--

You rest your forehead against your desk. There’s still a sticky spot from when you spilled your coffee yesterday. God, yesterday feels so close and yet so far away. How does a man yoyo between yelling at you, sending you his weiner, then telling you that you’re embarrassing? The idea of ‘always wanted you’ goes flying out the window.

Just as you try and put yourself to work, you hear it. The familiar lopsided stomp. Fuck, it’s him, probably looking for his afternoon coffee. He’s been by much less than usual, a fact you’re very grateful for, so you haven’t even thought about the pot since before lunch. You glance over and see it’s empty. Crap.

As you start to get up, the sticky note catches your eye again. Be mean. That’s right. Why are you popping out of your chair for this, this, this--- total fucking cunt? Your chair squeaks with the force you sit down with. You try to embody Katsuki with your face - furrowing your brow and yet keeping your mouth unaffected-- and your worst nightmare turns the corner.

You keep typing and hope Aizawa doesn't notice that it's the same words over and over again, hit in the same rhythm. P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l. He waits a long moment, then clears his throat louder. You don't gift him your attention until he grumbles something under his breath, shifting his weight on to his other leg. Just as he begins to say something, you interject.

“I had more important things to focus on,” you lie. “You can figure out how to brew coffee, Mr.// Engineer.”

You throw in that last bit without thinking, but the bite rolls so easily off of your tongue. It’s nothing like your usual tone, but it feels so, so right. From the corner of your vision you can see his literally reel back, blinking hard,

“That’s how it’s going to be?”

You don’t respond. P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l. Your fingers shake from the adrenaline boost. Ochako was right; don't even give this man the time of day.

“It's going to be like that?” He yanks the pot from its stand. “Fine.”

You have to muster all of willpower not to grin as he starts slamming open the drawers and scrounging around for supplies. It takes a whole ten minutes before he presses brew, then another five before the pot is almost half full. The whole time he grumbles to himself, leaning his whole weight against the flimsy table.

This is good. Too good. The vindictive rush of power feels almost sexual in the way it satisfies. Teeth dig into your lip as you hold back a smile even harder.

Embarrassment? You'll show him what embarrassment really means.

Finally, he pours himself a cup. He doesn't fill his thermos nearly as much as he normally does, most likely trying to leave as quickly as possible. Just as he starts to turn, you get up out of your chair and walk over. You take one of the little disposable cups from the stack and take your time adding three sugars and two cream, each one at a time, as he lurks there. Then, you pour the coffee, thick and oddly gritty into your cup. You finally meet his eye when you take a swig.

Aizawa’s face is set hard, small eyes narrowed even tighter. His lips are screwed up with annoyance, wrinkling his low bridged nose. Pissed would be an understatement. Just as you brace for another yelling match, he turns away, marching down the hall.

“Enjoy the fucking coffee.”

Oh, Katsuki was right. Being mean tastes good.

….This coffee, however, does not.

330 notes · View notes

piftamere · 9 days ago

Text

twenty - not fair (wc : 1.5k ; cw : suicidal ideation?)

like most nights for the past two weeks, it’s late and she’s out, stumbling along a poorly lit road. she’s out of money for a cab or a bus, she has nothing but her own legs to carry her home. her balance falters every couple steps, the alcohol in her veins making each a gamble.

the cold bites at her cheeks, leaving them raw. she shivers, crossing her arms tighter. her breath puffs out in white clouds, mixing with the scent of exhaust as cars pass by, their headlights illuminating her in sharp, blinding light before leaving her in the dark again.

she knows she’ll have to face her roommates eventually. she dreads it, the poorly disguised disappointment, the questions she’s too tired to answer. the weight of their concern is suffocating even from here.

so she takes the long way home, dragging her feet over the pavement, her boots scuffing with each step.

her path leads her to a bridge, its iron railing slick with condensation. the wind picks up as she steps onto it, passing through her clothes and sending her hair flying in all directions. strands stick to the tacky remnants of her lip gloss, she wipes at it with the back of her hand, leaving smudges of gloss and tears she hadn’t noticed falling.

the river below churns and shimmers, reflecting the faint glow of the moon. the water’s surface flows and dances, alive. she steps closer to the railing, gripping it with trembling hands. the metal is icy against her palms, grounding her.

she leans forward slightly, the movement more instinctive than intentional, and looks down. her feet climb onto the bottom of the railing. the river seems to call her, its voice soft and insistent. she lets out a shaky breath, her eyes tracing the currents below.

her thoughts drift to her father. the way they often do when she’s drunk and alone. she had forced herself not to think about him since his departure. her mother refused to speak of him, her anger rising whenever his name was mentioned, instead choosing to numb her grief with alcohol. with no one to share the ache of his absence, memories of him sank slowly into oblivion.

she wonders what he thought about on the day he left. did he think of her when he made his decision? she’s not sure which possibility hurts more: that he did and she wasn’t enough to make him stay or that she didn’t even cross his mind.

she wonders who she would think about, in his place. her fingers tighten on the railing, knuckles whitening, and she leans forward just a little more, the wind whipping against her face.

suddenly, her foot slips, the slick surface betraying her already unsteady balance. for a terrifying instant, she nearly topples over, the world tilting. her hands grasp frantically at the cold metal, nails scraping against it as a gasp tears from her throat, her heart hammering in her chest.

she stares into the deep end for while, trying to calm her breathing down.

her pocket vibrates. it startles her, and she fumbles clumsily to retrieve her phone, her hand slow and clumsy. she swipes at the screen, her vision blurry. her first instinct is to call atsumu.

she doesn’t know why, not exactly. maybe it’s because she knows he’ll answer, even if she doesn’t deserve it. maybe it’s because he’s the only one who won’t ask questions she can’t answer. maybe it’s because she hasn’t heard his voice in two weeks and she misses it. or maybe it’s just because she’s drunk and tired of being alone.

the phone rings once, twice, three times. she almost gives up, her thumb hovering over the screen, but his voice cuts through the silence of the night.

“…yn?” his tone is groggy, but there’s a hint of concern in his voice.

her breath hitches as she presses the phone closer to her ear.

“…hi,” she whispers, barely audible over the wind.

there’s a pause, just long enough for her to start doubting herself, before his voice comes through again, steadier this time.

“where are you?” he asks, and she can hear sheets rustling as he sits up.

she swallows hard, her throat sore. her gaze drifts back to the river below, the water still moving, still calling.

“on a bridge,” she replies, her voice wavering. “’s cold.”

there’s a sharp intake of breath on the other line, and she can practically feel him waking up fully.

“stay there,” he says, firm. “i’m coming to get you. just… just don’t move, okay?”

she nods, though he can’t see it, her grip on the railing loosening slightly as she steps away. “okay.”

atsumu puts on a hoodie and sneakers with shaky hands, the phone clutched tightly between his ear and shoulder. his heart is pounding, he’s worried- no- terrified. her voice had sounded so small, so fragile. no matter how hurt and mad he is, he can’t let anything happen to her.

he’s halfway down the stairs of his apartment when he hears a loud bang through the phone. his blood runs cold.

“yn?! yn!” he yells, nearly tripping over his own feet as he sprints down the last few steps, fumbling through his pockets searching for his car keys.

no response. the silence is deafening. he’s running now, his breathing ragged as he calls her name over and over. he jumps into his car, driving way above the speeding limit.

“still here,” her words are slurred. relief washes over him briefly, but he’s still on edge.

his hands grip the steering wheel so tightly it hurts. he listens closely to her shaky breaths coming through the phone, making sure she’s there.

the drive seems endless, his eyes frantically searching for her in the horizon.

when he finds her, she’s sitting on the ground, her back against the railing, her knees drawn to her chest. she looks so small, he barely recognizes her. the first thing he notices is the scrape on her knee, blood trickling down her leg. then her hands, the skin around her nails raw and red, like she’s been picking at it for days.

he calls her name softly, taking off his sweater and handing it to her. she shivers as she pulls it over her head, and atsumu hates himself for the way his heart flutters seeing her in his clothes.

“come on, i’ll take you home,” he says gently, trying to help her up. but she resists, shaking her head.

“no. not there,” she mumbles, curling up on herself.

“okay. my place then,” he concedes, and she follows, holding onto his arm as he guides her to his car.

back at his place, she sits on his bed, her head lowered as he kneels in front of her with a first aid kit. his hands are gentle as he cleans the blood off her leg. she watches him silently, her gaze heavy and full of regret.

“you’ve lost weight,” he says quietly, more to himself, his voice tainted with worry, but he doesn’t press her. he doesn’t need to. the guilt in her eyes speaks for her.

he looks up at her as he places the bandage on her wound, and their eyes meet. the intensity of her stare makes his breath catch and his chest tighten painfully. he tries to ignore it, pretending to smooth the dressing over, but she leans forward.

she doesn’t know how to make it up to him, to make him forgive her, so she does the only thing she knows.

her face is so close to his, her breath mixing with his. panic sets in as he realizes what she’s doing.

“yn…” he starts, but his words trail off when her lips brush against his. he draws back slightly, his heart hammering in his chest, but she follows him, her lips chasing his.

for a moment, his resolve falters and he kisses her back. but then he pulls away, his hands gripping her shoulders.

“don’t,” he whispers, his voice cracks. “please. just go to sleep.”

her eyes search his, and she whispers, “sleep in bed with me.” it’s not a demand, it’s a plea, her voice trembling. he hesitates, his resolve crumbling as he nods.

he lies next to her, wrapping an arm around her as she scoots closer, pressing her back against him. the scent of her shampoo is intoxicating, clouding his senses. but as they lie there, knots twist in his stomach, the weight of her betrayal pressing down on him.

“you can’t do that,” he exhales, his voice low. “call me in the middle of the night, scare me to death so i come to your rescue. it’s not fair.”

“i know. i’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

he’s silent for so long she thinks he’s fallen asleep. then, quietly, he speaks again, his voice unsteady.

“i get so lonely for you i feel sick,” atsumu admits, his words trembling. she tenses up next to him. “i hate myself for how much i miss you.”

her breath hitches, but she doesn’t say anything. she just presses closer to him, her presence both a comfort and a torment. sleep pulls her under quickly, but he lies awake and the ache in his chest remains.

fun facts

nothing fun to say sorry

author's note

well...

play dumb! - next

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iliketangerines · 8 months ago

Note

helloo could i request a fem!reader throating a creamy blueberry popsicle in front of mk11 kuai liang? reddened lips from the cold, taking great care not to let the cream drip - i'll leave whether or not the reader is self-aware and how much kuai liang loses his cool to you ;)

losing cool

a/n: mmmmm...old man kuai liang...i love him so much

pairing: kuai liang x gn!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), blowjobs

it was an unbearably hot summer day, the sun was blazing overhead, and the training grounds provided no shade or relief to the trainees

even Kuai Liang could feel himself sweating and gradually heating despite his cryomancy, and he found himself coating his hands in ice to feel some semblance of coolness

lunch break had finally come, and all of the trainees had rushed off to the kitchens to pour themselves a glass of ice water

thankfully, the cook had provided all cold dishes today and added no further heat to the already sweltering day

Kuai Liang oversaw the room, watching as the initiates ate their food and complained about the heat of the day, and he saw you in the other corner of the room doing the same

you were one of the mentors, already having completed your training, and one of the few that could match Kuai Liang’s fighting prowess

he can see the way sweat droplets gather on your forehead and how your skin was slightly flushed from the heat, and then you glance at him

Kuai Liang gives you a nod and turns back to look at the initiates, pursing his lips together and hoping that the nod had passed as natural and that it looked like he wasn’t staring at you

finally, as the first few trainees finished their food, the cook brought out a large cooler and opened it, showing packaged popsicles that the cook had bought in the nearby village especially for this day

almost immediately there is the sound of chopsticks clacking hurriedly as they rush to finish their food and grab one of the rare sweet treats

soon, the trainees disperse with their popsicles in hand, left to their own devices for the next two hours, and the chef finally brings out food for the mentors and Kuai Liang

it’s a quiet murmur in the dining room as the chef takes the empty dishes and plates, and you sit right across from Kuai Liang, quiet as you eat your food

he can see the way your eyelashes flutter and how you focus on eating your food, always so focused, always so determined and serious

turning back to his own food, Kuai Liang finishes up the cold noodles quickly, and he stands up to grab his own popsicle from the cooler

there’s a variety of flavors, but he chooses the corn-flavored one, a small childhood memory he shared with his mother and older brother

you soon finish your food as well, and he sees that you grab a blueberry-flavored popsicle and then you sit back in front of him and unwrap it

it’s already dripping, condensation building on the surface and slight drips of the cream starting to fall off and hanging on the bottom

you waste no time, dragging your tongue along the base of the popsicle and humming at the taste as your eyes light up in delight

Kuai Liang can’t help but replace the image of the popsicle with something more lewd, and he nearly chokes on his own as the thought intrudes in his head

you are his prized mentor, one of the best, he shouldn’t be thinking of you like that, and yet he keeps watching you as you lick up and down the popsicle

it’s almost torture as he watches the blue coat your tongue, and then your wrap your lips around the tip and suck on it

he can see how it bobs slightly from how your tongue licks at the tip, and Kuai Liang looks back down at his own popsicle and hurriedly takes a bite out of it

suddenly, the room was more stifling than before

Kuai Liang lets the flavor melt in his mouth and dares another glance back up at you, and he coughs at the sight of the popsicle halfway down your throat

your lips are shiny and red, and you looks so focused, eyebrows furrowed and eyes slightly squinted as you eat your popsicle

you look at him coughing, and you ask him if he was alright in that sweet voice of your, and Kuai Liang waves you off, nodding his head

you’re just eating a popsicle, just a blueberry flavored popsicle, but he can’t stop thinking of you on your knees and in between his legs

would your tongue drag along the length? would you dip your tongue into the slit and listen to him groan? would you take him just as well?

he squeezes his free hand and finishes off the rest of his popsicle, hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt, and he bows to the mentors before taking his leave

closing the door to his room, Kuai Liang wastes no time in pulling down his pants, leaning against the door and stroking at the hard length

his hands are calloused and rough, but he knows that your mouth would be soft and wet

he can’t help but imagine his fingers buried in your soft hair and your lips stretched around the girth

you would look so beautiful, so gorgeous as you tried to take him deeper and deeper, Kuai Liang lets out a moan at the thought

would you look just as focused? so determined? or would your eyes be hazy and teary as you bob your head up and down?

your moans would be so sweet, and he wants to know what you would do if he held your head down on his cock

perhaps you would choke and gag, struggling to breathe as he held you down there, or perhaps you would take it well and just stare up at him through those wet eyelashes

Kuai Liang groans, hand pumping quickly at his cock, and he groans as he cums, his seed splattering onto the floor and staining his hand

the image of your face covered in his cum flashes across his mind, and he closes his eyes as he imagines you sticking out your tongue for him and then happily swallowing him

he opens his eyes and breathes heavily, staring at the white on the floor before he finally tucks away his softening cock and walks off to the bathroom to clean off the stain

you haunt his dreams, and Kuai Liang isn’t sure how much longer he could take it

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silverskye13 · 4 months ago

Text

The Best Seat in the House

Summoning Helsknight is easy. Their souls are so inextricably tangled, they are nearly the same person. It's terrifying. It's exhilarating. Its

Welsknight is flying through the end. He has the coordinates to his destination memorized, like a lodestone in his heart. There is something about a person's blood sweeping so deep into the ground that makes the connection almost physical, like a thread pulling. He thinks this must be what sends doves and pigeons home. Why salmon swim upstream. There's something about blood

It's mutual, this dance. Hatred and disgust and thrill. It's beyond words, somewhere deeper, in the roots of teeth and the marrow of bones. Inextricably tied, souls and blood.

Helsknight is the perfect knight.

Tenets. Poise. Form. Kit.

Bloodlust.

Helsknight is the perfect knight.

They don't talk anymore. They don't need to. Words fail. Words circle and circle and circle and go nowhere.

It reads our thoughts.

Helsknight isn't waiting for him when he lands, but Welsknight can feel him on the other side of everything, like an itch beneath his skin. Like if he just found the right place, the source, where the itch is the most intense and bothersome, he could set a blade to his skin and dig Helsknight out.

In a way, that's what he's doing.

And yet they play the game.

By the time Welsknight has folded his elytra and put on his breastplate, Helsknight is there. The itch in his skin is crawling across the surface, spider legs and teeth; a brand, a flaying. He turns to face his other half.

Helsknight is a perfect knight. He's a fortress, a wall, and he's right there with a sword in his hand. Welsknight's strongest images of him are of blazing eyes in the depths of a blackened helm, all netherite and embers. Maybe it's hels that scours him black, the baking heat and unending fire. Maybe it's just that he's standing by Wels, and Wels is light and life and brilliance and

Welsknight is not a perfect knight. If he were, Helsknight wouldn't exist.

And the universe said the darkness you face is within you

There is something brutally honest about a battle like this, here, bared for the void, and the universe. A person can lie with words, but swords, like angels, can only speak the truth. In the face of death, they can only be who they are.

Helsknight is death and terror. He must be, because that is what Welsknight feels every time they meet.

One step, two, a mirrored circle across the end stone. There is no dust here to kick up, no gravel to throw. This island in particular is stark and flat. No upper hand, no useful terrain. Three steps, four, swords in hands. No shields, only armor, and the places it fails. Welsknight's breaths are long and loud and reverberate in his helm, wash back across his face with heat and condensation.

Helsknight is sparks and smoke and perfect form. The red plume in his helm sometimes sparks with the glimmer of his eyes. There is no moon in the End, and Helsknight's fire is an island of firelight in starry black.

Silence draws out between them like a blade.

Five steps

Six

And the universe said

Helsknight springs first, because he always does. Welsknight can feel his impatience like goosebumps, a phantom thrill of expectation. Welsknight meets him, because to be too far to one side is to be too close to the End. The ringing clash and slithering screech of metal on metal is like lightning and thunder in the perfect silence. They test each other, feints and parries.

Helsknight is impatient, and Welsknight shudders with it. He is always impatient. It's a thirst for blood, and a thirst for efficiency, and pride in the decisiveness of his hand. Helsknight would kill him gladly in one stroke if he could. His is not the joy of suffering, but the joy of superiority.

And yet they play the game

They break apart. Welsknight needs time to recover and reassess. Neither of them is wounded, but Helsknight is powerful and sure, and Welsknight's wrist stings, and his elbow twinges. Too many solid strikes caught instead of deflected. Too many tests done wrong. Mistakes. Too many mistakes.

Helsknight is humoring him. There is derision in the air like the scorn of distant thunder. It makes Welsknight mean, feeling it passing over. If Helsknight wanted, he could press his advantage until Welsknight was off the edge of the world. Welsknight can feel his other half's sense of superiority. It stokes the embers of Welsknight's own pride. He wants to rip the smugness out of Helsknight with his bare hands, bloodied to the elbow.

The red in Helsknight's eyes glimmer, a dare, an invitation. Come and try, he says, come and try. He says it with every line in his body, with the way he holds the point of his sword just a little too far out, a Fool's Guard. An invitation to where the plates of his armor gap at his armpit, reticulate near his waist. An invitation in the tilt of his head, slightly upwards, to look down. Slightly upwards, where the gorget and the helmet separate to show a hint of vulnerability.

Helsknight is a fortress.

And yet they play

One step, two, circling. Swords pointing and guarding. Three steps, four, Welsknight only knows he's caught his breath, because the heat of it is rolling across his face again. His hair is sticky with sweat, and threatens to thread into his eyes. Five steps. Helsknight blinks slowly, boredly. The bloody red light of his eyes winks out and returns. Six steps.

Welsknight attacks first this time. It's a lunge he knows will miss, but he sweeps the blade up anyway and feels the clamor of disrupted momentum as he's deflected away. Helsknight bursts forward a fist and punches Welsknight hard in the center of his breastplate. It kicks away some of his air, surprises him, surprises him again when that same hand snaps up to grab his gorget and pull, threatening to drag Welsknight off his feet. Helsknight's knee comes up and Welsknight catches it, throwing his shoulder into Helsknight's stomach.

They fall hard on the stone.

And yet they

It's tangling limbs, and wrestling, and that little bit of air Welsknight lost is felt, because he can't catch his breath. They're both on top of and below each other. The horizon is yellow and black and stars and stone, twisting. Swords are useless this close, but they grip them desperately anyway, because to lose a weapon is to lose the fight.

Helsknight is the first one who manages to get to his feet. He is a dark tower rising, the kind of thing that eclipses and imprisons. Welsknight can taste blood in his mouth from Helsknight's elbow ringing hard against his helm. His vision is a spattering of stars and colors that aren't supposed to exist.

Helsknight waits, impatient and seething, for Welsknight to get back to his feet. Sometimes, Welsknight wishes the flower of chivalry wasn't so good at reducing him to a pile of steel and guts. He might bring himself to respect it, if it didn't.

Welsknight is tired. He can't catch his breath. His vision still tilts slightly.

Helsknight is a dark tower risen.

Take a breath now.

Helsknight springs. When his sword lands on Welsknight's, it sends lightning through every nerve. Welsknight retreats a step.

Take another.

Another. Another. Metal on metal. Welsknight's only thought as he parries and steps backwards, is that he continue to circle.

I will tell the player a story.

Helsknight's satisfaction is cloying. It fills Welsknight's mouth with a taste like vinegar and rot. Welsknight's guard breaks. He can see his mistake and do nothing about it. Helsknight's sword shivers and rings as it rebounds off his chest plate and plants its tip in Welsknight's armpit, where the plates in his armor gap. The wound isn't deep. It dips in and out of his skin so quick and seamless, Welsknight feels the trickle of blood long before he feels pain.

It contains the truth safely, in a cage of words.

Helsknight's two-handed stroke steals Welsknight's sword from his hands. Welsknight leaps the next sword strike, rolls, and gets a cut on his ankle for his trouble. Standing is a labor.

He still can't catch his breath.

Helsknight's blade has so little blood on it, only the handspan at its tip glitters darkly. Why, then, does Welsknight feel so shaky. Dread of the inevitable prickles his spine, and chasing it like a hound is Helsknight's vindication. I knew I was better, I am always better.

Why do we even play these games?

Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story

Helsknight waits for Welsknight to pick up his sword. He is a shark circling, mad for a few drops of blood. Welsknight stands in the center of the island and waits, turning, for Helsknight to spiral towards him. They are a disaster, a collision course, gravity pulling. They are the inevitable, and their blood pulls them to each other just as much as thought and wit and loathing.

A lodestone in their souls.

Helsknight springs.

And yet they play the game

Welsknight gets a single lucky strike. His sword tears between two of Helsknight's plates, and he feels the soft resistance of flesh against his blade. It's low on Helsknight's hip, painful, but far from deadly. Helsknight proves it by slamming the pommel of his sword into Welsknight's faceplate. If it weren't for the nose guard, his nose would be broken. His eyes still phosphor from the hit, a world of infinite, blinding stars. His feet are kicked out from underneath him.

And the player started to breathe faster and deeper, and it realized it was alive

Welsknight reaches for his dropped sword again. Helsknight doesn't back away from him this time. Welsknight deflects the stab that would have killed him, swings the pommel of his sword against Helsknight's knee.

You. You.

Helsknight drops, a hand on his battered joint. Then he lunges, and they are wrestling again. Blood from Helsknight's wound spatters Welsknight, makes one of his hands slick. He holds his sword in both hands and uses it as a staff, trying to ward away Helsknight's blade locked against it. With the force of his shoving, and the weight of him bearing down, Welsknight's arms are giving.

You. You.

His arms are giving. The crossed blades are too close to his neck. He kicks. He grunts.

Helsknight is a dark tower, the kind that eclipses vision. His eyes are red stars in the dark, distant and bloody.

You are alive.

One of Welsknight's arms collapse. His brief hope this might pitch Helsknight off-balance flickers out before it can really settle.

Helsknight is a perfect knight. Tenets. Poise. Form. Kit. Bloodlust. Bloodlust. Bloodlust. Welsknight can feel it like a wound on his skin. Like blood in his eyes. Like iron on his tongue. Like a netherite blade so close to his neck he can't catch his breath.

I want to help them speak the word they fear.

Helsknight kept his blades sharp. It probably had something to do with perfection. In the moment before blade touches skin, Welsknight searches his other half. He finds what he expects to see.

Disgust at what is happening, and blood and pain and struggle. Resentment at being brought here only for this one thing, for this spiral to an end. Vindication of his skills, pride in his efficiency, disdain for Welsknight's clumsiness.

Welsknight does not find what he expects, as well.

He does not find remorse.

He does not find guilt.

He finds only a subtle annoyance where those things should be, disdain that Welsknight bothers to search at all.

Welsknight smirks. He doesn't need the reminder that his other half is evil, but it is nice to know, even if he's lost, he's still right.

The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.

Helsknight is alone on an island in the end. He is surrounded by the remains of Welsknight's gear, and the spattering of his own blood against the end stone. Whenever Welsknight dies, when they fight here at the end of the world, with nothing to distract each other from each other, it feels like Helsknight has woken up for the first time in a long time. The smothering thoughts, emotions, intensities of his Hermit lift and dissipate, and it feels like he has finally caught his breath for the first time in years.

Helsknight sits on his knees on the stone until his joints ache, and his hip burns, and his leggings are a mess of blood, and he breathes. Long, deep, like cold water in a desert.

Finally, he stands. It takes effort. He has to use his sword as a crutch. But he stands. He looks out at the nothingness, at the end, at the jaws of the universe in every direction.

And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream.

Helsknight snorts derisively.

"I would rather sleep," he says.

He vanishes back to hels.

#rns ficlets #helsknight #welsknight #the end poem #swordfighting #blood #talking to my partner and going insane #they sent me a cool new song [inspiring]#and then they let me gush about my hels / wels fighting in the End as a part of their spiralling headcanon #and then they dropped the banger line on me: yeah that makes sense -- so the universe has the best seats in the house #and im #im #on my hands and knees im still thinking about kt #yeah youre right babe of course they fight where the universe can see why woildnt they yy uhhshhdhhshaahahhhhhhh #anyway im #im going to bed now #<- wont be able to sleep for hours probably

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baekhyunsbestie · 1 month ago

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rated E for everybody........for now :)

thinkin’ about jealous fratboy!baekhyun—your best friend—who can't stand it when you laugh or give even the slightest bit of attention to chanyeol.

it's like a switch flips inside him, and suddenly, his whole demeanor changes. frustration rolls off him in waves, thick and plain to see, like a storm cloud gathering above his head. his usually playful pout deepens, his cheeks flushing a cute, almost embarrassed shade of pink, but he's doing everything in his power to act like it doesn’t bother him. the facade barely holds, though. as soon as kyungsoo picks up on it and calls him out, baekhyun’s whole body stiffens. his hands shoot up in mock defense, as if trying to ward off the truth, his flustered denials stumbling over his words. he’s stubborn as always, but even he can’t stop the pink creeping all the way up to his ears, betraying him in the most adorable way.

kyungsoo, ever the keen observer, settles back in the lounger on the frat house's sun-drenched backyard, idly nursing his drink. the cup in his hand sweats with condensation, beads of water gliding down its surface as the summer heat wraps everything in a sticky embrace. his eyes, narrowed ever so slightly, drift to baekhyun, who’s sitting across the yard. kyungsoo's gaze sharpens as he takes note of the way baekhyun keeps shooting seething glares at chanyeol. the latter is obliviously lost in an animated conversation with you, too wrapped up in his own excitement to notice the tension radiating from the other side.

baekhyun’s sunglasses, perched low on his nose, do little to conceal the simmering irritation and jealousy bubbling just beneath the surface. kyungsoo doesn’t need to see his eyes to understand exactly what's going on; the furrow of his brows and that ever-present pout of his reveal everything with a clarity words could never match.

kyungsoo’s lips twitch as he watches the scene unfold, his voice cutting through the air, quiet but sharp. “you’re staring again.”

baekhyun jerks his attention away from you and chanyeol, offering kyungsoo a sharp glare. "fuck off," he mutters, brushing off the comment with an exaggerated tch. but it’s the faint pink tinge creeping up his neck and coloring his cheeks that gives him away—kyungsoo knows exactly what’s on his mind.

chanyeol is mid-sentence, animatedly recounting some outrageous story, and you’re hanging on his every word, laughter bubbling up effortlessly as you give him your undivided attention. it’s like you’re in your own little world, and it drives baekhyun insane. he stands there, fists clenched at his sides, watching you with an intensity that borders on impatience, barely managing to hold back the storm of frustration brewing inside him. what the hell is so funny that you're giggling like that? why can't you look at him the way you look at chanyeol?

finally, unable to swallow it any longer, baekhyun snaps, his voice cutting through the conversation, sharp and biting. “hey, losers, you forget the rest of us are here, too?” his tone is more petulant than anything resembling maturity, like a child throwing a tantrum, and it hangs in the air like a challenge.

chanyeol lets out a snort, turning just enough to shoot baekhyun a sly, amused glance. “aawww, what’s the matter, baekhyun? feelin’ left out?” his grin stretches impossibly wide, smug and infuriating, as if it were specifically designed to make baekhyun’s face flush an even deeper red.

kyungsoo, sitting to the side, doesn’t even try to mask his amusement. he’s barely holding it together, his drink spilling from his lips as he stifles a laugh at baekhyun’s visible discomfort, clearly enjoying the show as baekhyun digs himself deeper into the pit of his own jealousy.

chanyeol leans in just a little closer to you, nudging his shoulder against yours playfully. his grin widens, and his eyes gleam with mischief as he glances at baekhyun, then back at you. the spark of jealousy radiating from baekhyun is almost palpable. “sorry, but we’re not interested in adding another,” chanyeol teases, his voice light, but dripping with playful challenge. he shoots baekhyun another knowing glance before adding, “ever heard of 'three's a crowd'?”

baekhyun’s face, already flushed with frustration, is now on fire—blushing not just with anger, but with something else, something deeper. his entire face burns red, and it creeps down his neck, his ears turning a shade darker as his throat tightens. you can feel the tension building, thick in the air, and it’s impossible to ignore. baekhyun is caught in a storm of emotions, and he’s fighting to keep it all together. his usual scowl has evaporated, replaced by something raw and uncertain. it’s clear now: baekhyun doesn’t know how to navigate this—this feeling, this jealousy, whatever it is that’s eating at him.

but that’s not what finally sends baekhyun spiraling. no, it’s when chanyeol, with that smug grin that baekhyun already wants to slap off his face, casually reaches up to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. his fingertips graze your skin, featherlight and deliberate, and then—because of course he can’t just stop there—he leans in, whispering something that makes you laugh.

and it's that laugh. that laugh. the one baekhyun has always thought of as his, the one that feels like warm sunlight breaking through clouds after a storm, the one that’s always made him feel like he's the center of your world. but now, it’s chanyeol—of all people, his annoying, loud, frat brother—pulling it from your lips, and baekhyun feels like he's falling apart.

no matter how many times he tells himself it’s nothing, that you're allowed to laugh at someone else’s joke, the knot in his chest only tightens. every time your eyes light up at chanyeol’s words, that rush of possessiveness cuts through him like a hot knife, burning at the back of his throat. it’s irrational, twisted, and completely unnecessary, but it doesn’t change how it feels. he can’t shake the raw sting of jealousy, the sharp, desperate urge to pull you back, to make that laugh his again.

he tells himself he’s overreacting, but the twist in his stomach, the way his hands flex with the need to do something, anything, tells him otherwise. it’s possessive, primal, and no matter how hard he tries to fight it, it’s completely consuming him. and he’s losing control.

kyungsoo notices it before anyone else—the way baekhyun's tension is reaching its breaking point. his clenched fists, the color draining from his face as frustration swirls in his eyes. he’s on the edge, and kyungsoo can practically feel the storm brewing. sehun, just emerging from the kitchen with a cooler packed with more beers and seltzers, plops down onto the lounger beside him, a grin tugging at his lips as he observes the scene unfolding.

"baekhyun’s finally losin’ it, huh?" sehun asks casually, cracking open a can with a satisfying hiss. he lifts it to his lips, then fans his shirt, trying to cool himself off from the heavy summer heat that clings to the air. his eyes flicker between you and baekhyun, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

kyungsoo sighs to himself, finishing the last sip of his drink before tossing the empty cup into the trash. he glances over at baekhyun, whose fists are clenched at his sides and whose gaze is fixed on chanyeol, practically burning holes into him with every lingering look he gives you. kyungsoo shakes his head, a small, amused grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “god, he’s fuckin' hopeless,” he mutters, almost to himself. then, with a sigh, he starts making his way over to where baekhyun is standing, the tension in the air so thick that it’s clear baekhyun is on the verge of snapping. if chanyeol doesn’t stop eyeing you up and down like that, it’s only a matter of time before baekhyun pounces.

kyungsoo, sensing the brewing tension, glances at baekhyun before casually suggesting, “hey, i think we need to go on another beer run. we can take my car.” his voice is steady, but there’s a hint of urgency in it, a silent plea to get baekhyun out of there before things escalate with chanyeol.

baekhyun, already on the verge of snapping, opens his mouth to tell kyungsoo to fuck off and leave him to deal with it, but then you cut through the air with your voice, interrupting chanyeol mid-sentence. “ooh! can i come with? we could really use some chips and dip. you guys never have anything to snack on.”

baekhyun freezes for a moment, his attention snapping to you. without a second thought, his ears flick as if he’s been pulled out of a trance. he snatches the keys from kyungsoo’s hand with a decisive motion, his grip firm. without uttering another word, he grabs your hand, his fingers curling around yours as he tugs you toward the side gate, the tension in his body still palpable.

he doesn't even glance back.

#spoiled annoying lil babyyyyyy #baekhyun fic #baekhyun series #exo fic #exo series #baekhyun #fratboy!baekhyun #lisawrites

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cherrychaiparadise · 2 months ago

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the cold water of my heart (christ, it's boiling over)

Maybe you should’ve just left it at that, let the moment pass. But some part of you knew that it wouldn’t, that even if you had, another would rise in its place. The swirling water acting like a shield from the outside world, stranding you and this handsome man in some place out of time. Outside of reality, where normal didn’t apply. So, you let yourself loosen, let yourself voice the desire you’d been burying deep within your chest for the past hour or so, maybe longer.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader (no physical description, except for hair below the shoulders and is wearing a bikini) summary: you and frankie get it on in the hot tub rating: 18+, minors dni tags: ski resort au, hot tub sex, soft dom frankie, exhibitionism, praise kink, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple play, dirty talk, begging, frankie morales has a filthy mouth, frankie is tired, mentions of the tf boys word count: 7k

crossposted on ao3!

divider by @firefly-graphics

He leaned back, letting the gentle rumble of the water beat into his sore shoulders. The years of service had finally begun to take their toll on his body. Muscles tense and weary, joints cracking against each other, tendons pulled tight, strung together like a misshapen marionette.

Shouldn’t have let the guys fuckin’ drag him into this, Frankie thought. Sinking further below the surface of the bubbling water, letting a jet pound into a particularly stubborn knot that had tied itself together in his upper back, just between his shoulder blades. But they’d insisted, Benny going as far to joke that this was the “Better, more legal, snow.” That’d earned him a hard elbow to the rib cage from Ironhead, no matter that the younger Miller was the fighter.

They’d been supportive, though. All of the guys agreed that it would be a much needed trip. Reminiscent of their youths, Will and Ben especially, who’d grown up in Colorado and had been sweltering in the Florida heat for years. Frankie had reluctantly come along, never having experienced much of the cold, but never one to sit on the sidelines while the rest of the crew did some stupid shit like blowing their hard earned money on a ski resort.

And Frankie thought that Pope was just looking forward to teaching clueless women to snowboard. Using the excuse to put his hands on their waists, whisper words of encouragement softly in their ears. Cheeky fucker was right, too. Frankie’d seen him with at least three different women today alone. Meanwhile the only woman Frankie had in mind was the masseuse at the resort spa, maybe he’d book an appointment tomorrow. Despite the hot jets and warm lights, the jacuzzi wasn’t enough.

It was late, and his fingers had long since wrinkled into that weird, spongy texture. He considered getting out, heading to the queen sized bed that awaited him in his shared room with Santiago. Shared. Frankie grimaced, remembering the last woman Pope had been working up. Her too loud laughs at his dumbass lines, the way she’d shrugged off her puffer jacket, even though it was well below forty that afternoon. Maybe he’d wait out here a bit longer, maybe he still had more muscles that would loosen.

The area was mostly empty, too cold for the majority of vacationers, despite the nearly scalding temperature of the hot tub. Sequestered into a hidden pocket behind the hotel section of the resort, tucked away in a small trail off the pool, which was also silent. Puddles sitting silently on the gray stones neatly worked around the circular tub, a mixture of condensation and melted snow. White, hardened snow more condensely packed along the iron railings surrounding the patio, fairy lights weaved beneath old snow. Creating an ethereal glow through the millions of frozen crystals, almost setting them aflame.

Music and laughter drifted faintly from the main lodge, where the resort was hosting its first Christmas party of the season. Where his friends were likely warm with wine or wandering hands along a woman’s arm. Likely both, for Santiago. Frankie chuckled to himself, glad to be alone. He loved the guys, loved that they were having fun, but he was just… fucking tired.

The oldest member of the team, long since out of active combat unlike Pope. Or Benny, who was still young and quick on his feet, fucking fighting for sport. Even Will, who spoke for a living, had remained running endless drills or sparring with his brother. Leaving Frankie stiff and aching, his stomach softening into a plush curve. Not that he minded, he could care less about his physical appearance, really. He was just sick of being a step behind, sleep catching up to him an hour or so earlier. Feeling like he had to work twice as hard just to keep up.

A shrill, groaning creak broke him from his melancholy thoughts. Opening his eyes, Frankie straightened, lifting his sagged body out from under the water. His breath hitched at the cold air on his shoulders, the gust of icy wind brushing through his damp hair. He felt his eyes adjust, tracking the distant figure approach through the key-coded gate. Huddled together in a pale blue towel, shoes slapping against the wet floor. The warm lamplight curling around the soft silhouette to reveal a woman, her hair falling freely and limbs shivering profusely as she shuffled towards the steamy glow of the hot tub.

Frankie tried to keep his eyes down as she settled her things into the wooden chair, notably right next to his. Tried to focus on the colorful bubbles, the foam bubbling along the water’s surface, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, being alone in a hot tub with a stranger this late into the night. Part of him was surprised she was still getting in, to be honest.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked. Striking him with the soft timbre of her voice, slightly rough, as if she’d been out in the cold for too long.

He lifted his head to respond, voice nearly catching in his throat as he drank in the sight of her. Midnight blue bikini clinging to her curves. The bottoms cut high along her hips, revealing the slope of her ass. Top drooping low, arching along with the swell of her breasts. He had to avert his eyes at the outline of her nipples, clearly hardened in the cold winter air, poking through the thin fabric of her swimsuit. Fuck, and he’d been trying so hard to make her feel safe, and here he was fucking ogling her at his first glimpse.

“Yeah, no problem.” He said, tongue heavy in his mouth. Hoping he hadn’t taken as long to respond as it’d felt. But he must’ve done something right, because she smiled brightly, a puff of her warm breath drifting past her lips as she thanked him. Floating up to mix with the steam rolling off of the hot water.

The water rippled against his bare chest as she stepped in, her hand barely brushing against the metal railing, leaving fingerprints in the visible condensation. He tried his hardest to find the tile floor of the jacuzzi through the thick bubbles when she hummed at the warmth of the sauna as she lowered herself beneath the frother surface.

Only then did Frankie feel safe enough to look up from the imaginary point on the floor, now that her too-soft looking body was hidden beneath the white fluff of the bubbles. Her eyes had fallen shut, lashes whispering against her cheeks. Lips slightly chapped from the harsh mountain winds, moisture already creeping its way along the smooth slope of her shoulders. Droplets of water spattered across her collarbone, carving a path down towards the crevice between her breasts. Head leaned back against the curved edge of the pool, smaller particles of water clinging to her hair.

Shit, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d seen. Like a siren washed up from the sea, enchanting unsuspecting men with her otherworldly allure, only to drag them back with her to the watery depths.

Maybe he should’ve gotten out earlier after all, escaped his fate, because he was completely and utterly fucked.

The water felt heavenly wrapped around your nearly freeze-dried skin, you had to fight back a moan. The December sky was painted above you, bright splatters of white and yellow and blue painted across a black canvas, the moon hung full overhead. The slowly changing hues of the bubbles mirroring the heavens above. It was stunning, the space around you.

Not to mention, the man in front of you.

Broad chest dappled with a light sweeping of freckles. Brown hair mussed and curling upwards from the moisture in the air. Strong, curved nose and almost sorrowful brown eyes. He was beautiful, you thought, nearly rivaling the sky above and waters below. Suddenly aware of the lack of space between the two of you, no more than four or five feet apart.

You glanced up at him, surprised to find him already looking at you. A soft shade of pink spread across his cheeks, already flushed from the heat. You pursed your lips, fighting back a grin at his response to being caught. “Avoiding the rest of the world too?” you asked, trying to build a bridge across the small space that separated you.

The man’s eyes widened for a moment, before meeting your own as he spoke, and again you were struck by the roughened edge to his voice. A stark contrast to his otherwise soft demeanor. “Something like that,” the edge of his lip tugged upwards as he tilted his head to the side. “Mostly just my roommate… ‘ve got a feeling he’s got another, prettier roommate in mind, if you know what I mean.”

You bit your lip, feeling your smile spread across your cheeks at his joking answer. “I’m sure he appreciates it.”

He snorted, an abrupt, unexpected noise which he quickly reigned back in, as if its escape had been just as much of a surprise to him. “Nah,” he shook his head, curls bouncing with the movement, lip still curled up into a small smirk. “Doubt that fucker even notices I’m gone.” His words were harsh, but his features held nothing but fondness.

Smile still comfortably spread across your lips, you slightly shifted forward and gave the man your name. Who knows, you were at the same resort, maybe you’d run into him again.

He swallowed, as if taking in the consonants and vowels, the way the sound of your name curved in the air, before returning it with his own. “Frankie,” he leaned forward, arm outstretched towards you. His hand was warm against your skin, grip firm as he politely shook your own. You couldn’t help but notice how much bigger his hand was, the way his fingers stretched all the way around the outside of your hand, nearly connecting with his thumb. Leaving your skin feeling cold as he pulled away. “You here alone? Or…”

You quirked a brow. Forward, wasn’t he.

“Shit,” he choked, face immediately flushing with color once again. Water splashing against his chest as his arm jerked out in panic. “That’s- that came out differently than I’d mean it to,” he laughed quietly, running a hand through his hair, damp curls pulling back before quickly coiling back into place. You smiled, finding his flustered state endearing. “I just meant if you were here with friends, too. I kinda was brought as a hostage by my buds…” he trailed off again, clearly struggling to properly formulate his thoughts.

“Nah, not friends,” you met his eyes, trying to convey your reassurance. “I’m here with my family. Never too old to grow out of annual family vacations, apparently.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “That’s sweet. That your family does that.” He’s right, it was. You almost asked about his family, but caught yourself, worrying that would be too invasive. “My mom’d take me to her parents for the holidays every year. Don’t know how she did it, ‘know I must’ve been a little shit in a car for seven hours.” He chuckled to himself, eyes softly glazing over as he relived the memory.

You didn’t know how much time passed after that. Alternating between amicable banter and comfortable silence. The two of you sharing stories and watching the lights change color. Humming along to familiar holiday tunes drifting from the lodge and listening as the occasional owl hooted from the snow-covered pines overhead. Laughter echoing between you, bouncing off the water, fizzling into the air along with the pop of the bubbles. You’re not sure how, or when it had happened, but somehow the two of you had drawn together, closing the small distance once between you.

Steam curled around you, hazy ribbons floating in the air, and you briefly wondered if they were what drew you together. Wrapped themselves around your relaxed forms, around your wrists and ankles and tugged and pulled until the two of you sat side by side, bare feet occasionally bumping into each other with the gentle push and pull of the jets.

Feeling the delicate skin of his ankle graze against your toes, droplets of water splashing into your lap as he gesticulated while speaking. Finding yourself enraptured in his movements, the plush curve of his lips when he spoke, the way his biceps pulled taught and chest flushed when he laughed.

How his brown eyes fell to your lips when you smiled. Dropped even lower when you’d lean forward or turn a certain way. He seemed to track your motions the same way, going as far to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Stealing your breath as warm fingertips brushed featherlight against the wet skin of your cheekbone. Lingering as he pulled back, fingers softly curling along the counters of your face. His thumb barely kissing the edge of your lips as he finally let his hand fall back to his side.

“Warm,” you murmured, eyes fluttering shut at the loss of his heated skin.

“Hm?” his brows furrowed slightly, even though you knew he understood the meaning behind your statement. Just as affected by the headiness of the thick steam and lulling rhythm of the bubbles and the closeness held between your bodies. You opened your eyes to find his head tilted, and under any other circumstances, you would’ve taken it as confusion. But not here, not now. Not with him. His eyes unabashedly on your lips, wet and glistening and waiting.

You leaned closer, the tip of his aquiline nose just brushing against yours. “Frankie,” you breathed against his mouth. Your eyes flittering up to his, finding them dark and hooded and wanting. Nearly begging, begging you to let him, to confirm that you wanted this, too. Normally one to wait, to follow the lead, you hesitated for a fraction of a second before pushing the past aside. You didn’t want to wait, you already knew the answer. He was asking for both of you with those big brown eyes, shining in a way that looked like he was in physical pain from waiting himself.

“Please.” It was more of a warning than a request, giving him a moment to deny you, to tell you you’d been misinterpreting this entire situation. He responded with a soft exhale and a sharp raise of his brows. As if he was begging you as much as you were him. Letting yourself give in, give the both of you what you desired, you took in a breath of the warm winter air and pressed your lips to Frankie’s.

Frankie’s mind seemed to spark and fizzle like a faulty wire before finally clicking back into place. Commanding his heavy arms to rise, wrapping around the silky skin of your waist, tugging you flush against him. He smiled internally at the quiet gasp he’d drawn from your lips, fresh confidence driving him to deepen the kiss. Running his tongue along the outer edge of your lips, faintly tasting sweet chocolate and the tang of the chlorine. His hand lifted up to cup the back of your head. Fingers tangling with the damp hair at the base of your neck. Shifting positions so that his touch traced along the curve of your spine, causing you to shiver beneath his touch.

Only seconds had passed, yet he found that you were an instrument he wanted to play till the sun’s golden rays overflowed from the mountaintops. To master the pull of your strings and dips of your intricate curves. Draw sweet melodies from you all night until his hands could no longer work. Until your body had completely melted into the silky water of the jacuzzi and the firm pressure of his touch.

He bit back a groan as you pulled back, leaving wet handprints on his chest that quickly evaporated into the humid air. Already, your lips were swollen, hair clearly messed where his hand had been tangled with your locks. Your chest heaved as you inhaled, his eyes brazenly dropping to your tits. Nipples hardened in the winter breeze, practically begging to be pulled between his fingers and twisted till he draws sweet cries from your lips. Eyes brightly reflecting the warm glow of the lights, darkened with a shadow of something else. Like a siren, he thought once more. Yet he found himself more than willing to fall, to dive headfirst if it meant more of this. More of you.

Your lips parted as if you were going to say something, but no noise came out. Instead you leaned back into him, threading your small fingers into his hair. A rough noise escaping him as you tugged, pulling him back into your wanting mouth. Your tongue dipping past his lips. Again that warm sweetness and cinnamon filled his senses as he let you take your fill. Loving the heady blend of sensations. Little blossoms of pain at his scalp laved over by the wet caress of your mouth on his and the satiny strokes of the hot water.

He would happily let himself drown in your mouth, he knew. But he wanted to taste more.

Tilting your neck back, Frankie ruefully separated his lips from yours, noting the needy whine linger in the back of your throat. “Shhh, sweetheart, trust me,” he watched you give him a rushed nod, taking the opportunity to bring his mouth to the smooth column of your neck. Shining with the glimmering sheen of water, he began licking up the droplets. Tasting the blend of tangy chlorine and the warm musk of your skin. Feeling your pulse fluttering beneath his tongue, Frankie closed his mouth around the cord of muscle and sucked into your skin.

Your moan rumbled up in your throat, reverberating into his wanting mouth. Fuck, he wanted to draw more and more of those pretty noises from you long into the night. With his mouth, hands, cock, whatever. Anything to keep that sweet song pouring from your lips.

The water swished around him as he repositioned himself, pulling away for a moment so that he was standing between your spread legs. Your knees hugging his outer thighs as he curled over you, moving his mouth back to your skin. Letting his lips wander down your neck, no more than a whisper along the sparse hairs that coated your skin. Bringing his lips to the spot where your neck connected with the tip of your collarbone. Getting a feel for the soft, squishy skin there before using his teeth, gently biting into your inviting flesh.

As another quiet moan fell from your lips, Frankie used the moment to bring a hand to the soft roundness of your breast, finally getting his fill. Shamelessly stroking you in the place he’d been denying himself all night. Head spinning as the weight settled in his palm, warm and smooth and not quite enough through the fabric of your swimsuit.

A whimper tumbled out of you as he grazed a thumb over the peaked bud of your nipple. And fuck him if that didn’t send another jolt of heat straight to his already full cock. Drawing his thumb back, Frankie slowly traced a circle along the outer edge of your areola, not quite where you needed him. Eyes drinking in the deep rise and fall of your chest, the water swaying in rhythm with you. Bringing his thumb closer, just to the base of the hardened skin, before retreating and continuing to rub teasing circles “Frankie, please,” you breathed, voice choked and airy.

“Please what? This not enough for you?” He hummed, a slight pout drawn into the melody.

Your pretty face scrunched up at his mocking tone, and Frankie almost felt bad. Almost. But he wanted to hear more of your pretty noises, hear you ask nicely for what you wanted. “Touch me, ‘s not enough.”

His mouth curled into a sinful smirk, something inside of him drawing tight upon realizing how easy it was to get you to beg. Part of him wanted to wait, to deny you just to see how far you’d go to get what you wanted. Later, he decided. There was plenty more to make you beg for.

Finally letting his fingers return to your aching nipple, he brushed a finger back across the peak, giving your tit a sharp squeeze before pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Needing to be a bit rougher than normal to keep it from slipping away beneath the fabric barrier. The whimper formed, stronger, in your throat and he knew he couldn’t stop. Twisting you between his fingers, almost enough to hurt, but not quite yet. Your hips bucked below the surface, back arching against the tiled wall, bubbles crackling just below your ribcage. “Not-” you whined, brows pinching together, clearly frustrated. “Still not enough, not-,”

You writhed beneath him, body tightly coiled as he continued to work your nipple, having brought the other hand to cup your other breast, wanting to give it a similar attention. Watching the way you’d brought your hands to the sides of your swimsuit, seemingly unconsciously pulling at the skintight fabric, nails digging into the synthetic material as you dragged your hands down your torso.

Gripping the bare skin at your waist, he pushed your body back against the wall of the hot tub, your body nearly weightless in the water, he lifted you slightly to get a better angle before pressing his mouth to your tits, replacing his finger that had been tightly twisting and twirling. Laving his tongue over the chlorine-soaked fabric, feeling the hardness of your nipple beneath. Using a flash of teeth to nip at you through your swimsuit.

Still, you tugged at your bikini straps, not quite pulling them down but playing with them, drawing his darkened eyes to the thin fabric at your shoulders. He pulled back, watching your breasts sway with your heavy breaths, one of the straps falling from your shoulder, exposing a faint glimpse of the rounded flesh at the side of your breast. Thoughtlessly raising a hand to trace along the bare curve, entranced at the give of skin beneath his calloused fingers. “Something you need, beautiful?” His gaze didn’t leave the patch of your partially exposed tits, begging to be freed.

Your eyes were wild as they met his. Dark with need and alight with some proprietary sense of hesitation, of knowing that you were still in a public area. That anyone could come through the iron gates, could see you like this. Flushed and needy and heaving with desire. “I-, I just want more.” Your voice was tight, like he could break you with no more than a touch.

Fuck him. He shuffled forward, letting his aching cock press against your core, only separated by the thin layers of fabric. Clenching his eyes tight at the sudden contact, the way it burned a trail up his spine. Grunting when he saw the same expression mirrored across your own features.

“I need you to tell me, sweetheart,” He leaned down, placing a chaste kiss to your uncovered chest, the fabric peeling down to reveal a peek of the silky skin where the colors shifted. Giving way from tougher skin to the sensitive softness of your nipple. “You want this off? Hmm? Want me to give your pretty tits the attention they deserve? Bet they’re fucking beautiful,” he murmured into the curve of your skin, fingers dancing up your ribcage to land below the swell of your chest. Holding you there as he leaned back, meeting your eyes. Waiting for your permission.

He wanted this. Wanted it here, now, didn’t give a fuck who saw. But he needed you to want it too. “Need to hear you say it, please.” He lifted his head, pressing a warm kiss to your lips, holding you like a treasure he desperately desired to keep close.

You opened your mouth soundlessly, and for a second he was sure you were going to say no. Push him away and tell him to fuck off, that he was a pervert and a creep and everything that wasn’t enough for. But instead, you tugged down the remaining strap, the fine strands of fabric dangling from your shoulders. Remaining material above your chest already drooping low without the support of the straps.

Instinct drew him forward, but his mind kept his hands in place. “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me this is ok.”

Your eyes were nearly black with lust as you spoke, voice firm. “It’s ok, Frankie. Don’t stop.”

He moved like a predator, was your first and only thought, before the straining cups of your bikini top were torn down, breasts spilling out over the wet fabric into the night air. You’d expected the shock of the cold to pierce you, but were instead caught in the heat of Frankie’s gaze on your bare tits, his hands returning to them, almost reverently now that you’d fully revealed your upper half.

“I was right,” he whispered, more to your chest than you, you realized with a sprinkle of amusement. Pupils blown wide as he soaked in your appearance, feeling his hand clench at your side before returning to your exposed chest. “Fucking perfect,” he pinched the hardened bud between deft fingers, and you gasped at the feeling of his skin on yours. Just enough pressure as you silently begged him still for more. Needing his mouth back on your skin.

Accepting your unspoken plea, Frankie closed his mouth around your tight nipple, and you let out a frighteningly loud cry as the wet heat enveloped you. “Fuck, Frankie…” you whined as he give it a suck before laving over the peak with his tongue. Swirling it in his mouth, bringing it between his teeth with a slight pinch and a gentle tug. Eyes flitting up to yours to gauge your reaction. Knowing your face was nothing more than a canvas for the pleasure he painted across you in long, flowing strokes. All the while continuing to work your other breast with his large hand, keeping you suspended between two constant pools of bliss.

Your body wound tight, warm energy swirling beneath your skin. Buzzing across your nerves, so hot it fucking hurt. The backs of your arms ached, the cool concrete digging into your skin, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. Not when Frankie had you arching into him, hips beginning to grind against his. Feeling him hot and hard and digging into the swell of your inner thigh, so close to where you needed him but nowhere close enough. Constantly assaulted by his tongue and hand relentlessly working your sore tits, bordering on the edge of pain and something else.

Briefly you wondered if you could come just from this. If you dropped a hand between your legs, pressed down on your swollen clit that had been throbbing for what felt like hours. If that would be enough. If that would send you over the edge, send you reeling into the ecstasy your body was chasing. “Frankie, shit, I-” it took you a second to collect your words, scattered along with the nerves that lit up your body.

He switched tits while he waited for you to continue, big brown eyes looking up at you patiently, mouth latching onto your other nipple while he lifted his hand to your spit-slathered breast. Nipple glinting in the warm light, slick and shiny with his saliva.

“Need you to touch me- your thigh.” Your eyes locked onto the thick muscle of his leg, watching the tendons clench as he shifted his weight, immediately catching onto your meaning.

Pulling back from your chest with a wet, lewd pop, he braced his arm on the stone beside you, the cords of his bicep flexing with the movement, close enough that you could see the droplets of water beading on his tanned skin. “You’re learning,” he smiled, tilting your chin up with the bottom of his finger. “Asking for what you want like a good girl.”

You nodded eagerly, mind overcome with a deep-set hunger, greedy for the pleasure you knew he could give you. Tongue heavy in your mouth, feeling like you were capable of doing nothing more than sinking deeper into the water, letting its hypnotic pull overcome you while Frankie played with your body like he’d studied it for years.

“You think you could come like this?” he pinched your nipple harder than before, enough for you to cry out in pain, though it quickly melted into simmering pleasure which Frankie immediately caught on to. “Bet you could, bet you want to.” He dropped his mouth to your ear, voice lowering an octave. His words were hot on your skin as he spoke. “Let me give you what you need, please.”

His eyes met yours once again, warm and rich and filled with desire. You’d never felt like this before. So wanted. Like Frankie had made it his mission to give you as much as he could. Not just for you, but for him. Because he enjoyed it, enjoyed bringing you to the edge of pleasure and holding you there, leaving you teetering near the precipice before letting you fall deep, deep into the waves of ecstasy.

“Please,” you repeated back to him, the hiss of your plea being the last thing you heard before he jerked your nipple with a harsh twist and slotted his knee between your waiting thighs. The pressure kissing firmly against your swollen clit and breaking the dam inside of you. Cunt clenching around nothing, spasming as you can feel yourself gush into the billowing water.

Churning waves roaring in your ears as your body tensed and released, shaking with the effort, feeling as if all the building pleasure was pouring out of you, leaving you helpless to stop it. Feeling your vision go fuzzy, like you’d sunk below the surface and everything was glazed over with flashes of light and sprays of water.

You heard Frankie murmur your name against your ear, his hand now gently caressing the flushed skin of your cheek. Hard concrete pressing against the back of your head, you lifted yourself up, slowly opened your eyes to find his own looking back at you. Dark and heavy and wanting. Yet he maintained the gentle brush of his thumb against your skin, slowly drawing you back to the present, even though you knew his mind was just as lost as yours.

“Shit, Frankie,” you smiled up at him, feeling a little silly. “That was- fuck,” you laughed and he pressed a kiss to your lips. Initially soft and quieting, it quickly changed, his own desire fueling him on. You could feel the energy building beneath his skin, his hands dropping lower to the cute little bows that held the strings of your bikini bottoms together. Fisting with the plump curve of your ass, thumb slipping beneath the drawstring, but leaving your remaining clothing in place. Ever the gentleman.

The gentleman who then continued to spin you around, lifting you as he settled into the bench seat, back leaning against the wall, before settling you into his lap. His cock jutting up against your soaked pussy, putting pressure back on your swollen clit and fuck, even with your previous orgasm it still wasn’t enough. Circling your hips, you put a hand on his chest, savoring the feel of his bare skin warm beneath your fingertips. “Frankie,” you ground into him, realizing how fucking empty you felt. “Need you, want you inside me.”

His grip on your hips tightened, hard enough that you knew there’d be finger-sized bruises tattooed into your skin tomorrow. “Fuck, sweetheart, can I?”

You knew that this was risky, fucking crazy, actually. Fucking a man you’d just met in open air, where anyone could still walk in and see, at a resort your fucking family was attending. But you didn’t care, couldn’t even bother to worry. All you could focus on was the burning between your legs, the way your body was screaming at you to be filled. And with the way Frankie was straining beneath you, you knew you’d have to stretch to take him. But god, you could already imagine how it’d feel to be full of his cock, have him deep inside you, murmuring filthy things in your ears while he’d gently rut up into you. And yeah, you didn’t give a shit.

“I’m on the pill, and clean.”

Frankie nodded. “Me too. You sure?”

So fucking sweet, this man. “Please, Frankie. I want you to fuck me.”

Frankie had to bite his tongue to stop himself from cumming right then and there. The determination in your eyes, the deadset desperation for him. He couldn’t wait any longer, needed to be inside you. “Fuck, yeah, ok,” he babbled, fumbling for a moment to pull the drawstrings, moaning when he felt the fabric come free and float away, leaving you bare in his lap and all for him.

“Shit, baby- fuck,” Words temporarily evaded him as he soaked in your appearance. Naked and glimmering with beads of clear water reflecting the light off your skin. Leaving you glowing like a fucking angel and fuck, everything he wanted to do was far from holy, but at the same time he wanted to worship you until the sun rose and set and the silvery moonlight coated the snow once again.

It took him a moment to collect himself, feeling you hot and waiting above his painfully hard cock. The little swirls and arches of your hips causing him to meet your thrusts, jutting up into you even within the confines of his swim shorts. “Hang on a sec, just-” he trailed off, burying his head in your shoulder, your wet hair tickling his nose. Clenching his hands around the delicious swell of your ass, willing himself to focus, needing to last longer than a fucking teenager.

Finally having collected himself, Frankie pulled back, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Only to find you beaming down at him, extending a soft hand to run through his tousled curls and he could help but lean into your touch. Turning towards you to plant a soft kiss to your palm, trying to convey his gratefulness for your patience. Wanting nothing more than to make this good for you, loving the way you’d come apart under him before. Needing to break you apart on his cock.

Freeing his length from the shorts, Frankie took a moment to drag his head along your folds, easily parting for him with the slick that had gathered there. “Fuck, sweetheart, so fucking wet for me,” he murmured as he continued teasing the outer edges of your pussy, collecting the wetness before it was washed away with the water.

You moaned sweetly, breath warm against his neck where you’d settled yourself. Arms thrown tightly around his shoulders as he held you, one hand at your hip, one still firmly planted on your ass.

“You sure this is ok? Out here where anyone can see?” He double-checked out of caution, and something else too. Some sick thrill shot down his spine at the thought of getting caught. Of being seen fucking into you, your tits bouncing as you cried out in pleasure. Letting everyone know how good he’d made you feel.

You nodded against his skin, and he felt something build within him. Reaching between your legs, he slowly parted your folds, notching the tip into your tight, waiting pussy. Savoring the gasp that it tore from your parted lips, hot and moist on his neck. “You sure? Not scared, are ya?” He continued working himself inside of you, the added friction from the water halting his rhythm, but not his determination.

A whimper sounded against him, and he felt you clutching him tighter, nails digging into the smooth skin of his back. Taking the moment, he canted his hips, sheathing another several inches within you so that he was almost halfway in. And fuck, he needed to take another deep breath. The tight heat of your pussy gripping him was almost too much. Combined with the dull pain of your nails piercing his back, he had to be careful. Still, he continued.

“Not worried someone’ll see you like this? Getting fucked in a hot tub? Pretty tits out for anyone to see?” He gave your breast an emphatic squeeze, never tiring of the way the soft skin felt spilling between his fingers. Drawing another whine from your lips, face still buried into his skin. “Nah-ah, sweetheart, no need to be shy,” he gripped your jaw, gentle pressure but still enough to control your movements.

Your eyes were glazed over, a trail of drool spilling from your mouth. Looking perfectly fucked-out for him, and he hadn’t even started. “There we go, baby, make sure they can see that pretty face too, see how much you’re enjoying this.” You moaned something that vaguely resembled his name, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Let them, you know why?” He didn’t give you time to answer before thrusting the rest of his length into your cunt, feeling you grip him as the air fled from your lungs. Brows drawn tight as you accommodated to the stretch. “Because this pussy is just for me. Taking me so well, aren’t you?” You nodded, hips slowly shifting above him as you adjusted to the intrusion. Frankie was well aware of his size, and knew that it often took people a moment or two to get used to him.

“Yeah, there you go, knew you could do it,” he praised, placing a kiss to the soft spot of your neck, feeling your body loosen into him, your walls relaxing around him, giving him room to test out a slow thrust. “So good for me, baby.”

Beginning with a slow pace, Frankie dragged his cock back, feeling your cunt grip him, like you were trying to keep him inside. Grip on your ass tightening, he leaned back in, slowly pushing his length back inside of you, the wet drag heavenly against his cock. Your hips tilted against his as you began meeting his thrusts. Riding him in rhythm as he fucked up into you.

The hot pull of your pussy combined with the pressure of the jets against his lower back was heavenly. Pressing at his muscles while you drained the pleasure from him, milking it from his body, which happily gave you his all. Loving the way your cunt fluttered around him, alternating between deep, stroking clenches and quick little pulses. So fucking responsive.

His eyes transfixed on the bounce of your tits, wanting to suck them back into his mouth, roll your nipples with his tongue more. Taste your skin in his mouth, the sweet combination of winter air and chlorine and the faint trace of your body’s natural musk. Sweeter than anything he’d tasted before. Mind wandering to how your pussy would taste, how you’d leak for him. Let him lap up your juices, fuck them back into you with his tongue until you were nothing but a writhing mess for him to savor.

“Shit,” Frankie felt his pace faltering, clearly spurred on by the thought of getting his mouth between your legs. Maybe later… “I’m sorry sweetheart, fuck- I’m close.” He tried to focus on something else, tried to slow down, anything to slow his quickly impending orgasm. But his body seemed to move on its own, hips hammering into your heat, your tight cunt sucking him in, wet and tight and perfect and fuck- it was too much.

“Want you inside- cum inside me, please, Frankie-” your voice broke off, and he’d been so busy trying to slow himself down he hadn’t even noticed the tears that had formed at the corners of your eyes. The way your breathing had picked up and head had thrown itself back, lips chapped from where you’d been digging your teeth into the plump flesh. Looking just as fucked as he felt.

And whether it was seeing you or hearing your words or the idea of tasting you ingrained into his mind or some combination of the three, Frankie felt that rope inside of him snap. Head falling forward as his hips jerked once, twice, and fuck, he was cumming. Heat flooding his stomach and shooting through his throbbing cock, feeling the warm spurts shudder through him as he poured himself into your soaked cunt.

Panting heavily into your sweat-slicked shoulder, Frankie planted a kiss against your wet skin, feeling your body stir against his. Just breathing you in, listening to the soft bubble of the jets, feeling your pulse flutter against him.

Pulling out, he felt the rush of water around his spent cock. Reaching a hand between your thighs to find himself spilling out of you, cum already being washed away by the rushing water.

He leaned back to find a lazy smile spread across your face, hair plastered to your forehead. Brushing it out of the way, he pressed a matching kiss just above your brow before pulling you into his chest. Loving the way you let it happen, your body melting into his. He let his cheek rest on the top of your head, your hair tickling his flushed skin.

And as he held you, he realized that the music from inside had finally died down. Leaving him alone with the rhythm of your breaths and the melody of the wind.

#pedro pascal #frankie morales #triple frontier #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales x reader

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beabnormal24 · 4 months ago

Note

versainz + cat

I had so much fun writing this, and I have to say I am very happy with the outcome.

Versainz + cat

Max kicks the door open in a way that tells Carlos it’s not the first time he does it like that.

To be fair, Carlos can’t exactly blame him when Max’s arms are all full of way too many shopping bags filled to the brim, though in his defence he had offered to help him. Max had only been his usual adamant self, insisting that he had to be the one carrying their dinner for tonight in a pretty adorable attempt of gallantry that seems almost comical, clashing wildly with the high red flush on his pale face and the furrowed eyebrows that do not hide at all his clear discomfort.

Carlos still swallows his tongue diligently, though, thinking about how he will probably tease Max to death in the bed, after, comparing the redness of his cheeks with the one slowly swimming down towards his navel.

For now, he’ll just let himself enjoy the sight of Max’s apartment.

They’ve only been dating for no more than two months, met each other in a pub where Carlos had been practically forced to go to because Lando kept complaining about how much boring he was becoming, focused on work and clearly no more interested in being the soul of the party like the good old times.

And Carlos, of course, loves to prove Lando wrong.

He had been running late, that night, one last project that James had put on his table right the day before and that he really needed to finish up for the weekend, all the while Lando had kept sending him messages about how his friends were all already getting drunk by that point.

And sure enough, there he had found Max, at the time only one of Lando’s coworker, shit-faced and singing a really really bad cover of Rolling in the Deep. And when Max had almost fallen off a chair in an attempt to make himself heard by the whole pub, Carlos had immediately scrambled to stand behind him as Max had inelegantly fallen between his arms.

Max had blinked up at him, the freckles on his nose glinting in the yellow tinted light of the pub, his full lips slick with the condensation of his drink and his big blue eyes staring at Carlos, all lucid and almost timid.

“Are you my angel?” Max had asked, opening his mouth in awe, and Carlos is pretty sure that was the moment he had fallen for Max, too – although not as literally.

Dating Max is probably the easiest thing of his mess of a life. He’s just as dedicated to his job as Carlos is, doesn’t judge him for being late because of last minute projects and is always willing to massage Carlos’ hair when his headaches get especially bad.

They’ve gone on their fair number of dates, fallen into Carlos’ bed just as many times, but they had never spent time at Max’s flat for- whatever reason, really, it had just been a coincidence.

But last week Max had asked him, all half blunt-half shy the way he always is, if Carlos would’ve liked to have a dinner date at his apartment because he felt like he wasn’t providing to Carlos the way that Carlos was providing to him.

Which Carlos honestly considers ridiculous, since he really loves cooking for Max and leading him towards his bed when he gets extra sleepy after late night dinners. But, again, he can’t exactly deny Max’s offer of doing it for him.

So, now, he lets Max moves familiarly in the walls of his own home as he takes in the surroundings. Much like he expected, every corner of Max’s furniture is filled with a sort of controlled clutter, all the most chaotic stuff covering the surfaces, more than two blankets thrown on the back of his couch, a two speakers’ plasma TV on an Ikea cabinet that must’ve seen better days, for the scratches on its’ sides.

Carlos laughs to himself as he closes the door softly behind himself, watching Max cursing from the kitchen as he lets the shopping bags fall on the counter tops.

“Mi casa-“ Max says, taking a few deep breaths as his body finally seems to deflate. “Es tu casa.”

“That was very bad.” Carlos tells him, but he still presses a quick kiss to Max’s cheek. “Where is the bathroom? I need to wash my hands.”

Max points at a closed door on the right side of the hallway, and Carlos takes off his jacket before reaching towards it. He has to double check, no, triple check as he gets closer to it, but indeed, there is a hole tearing the wood apart, right in the middle of the door.

What the hell?

Carlos washes his hands quickly, looking at his own disgruntled face for just a second before carefully folding the towel back on its rack.

It’s alright, Max is a great guy, he’s- he does have a bit of a temperament, sure, but they’ve known each other for two months now and Carlos has never seen him acting wild. Or, at least, not wild enough to punch a hole through a door.

Carlos takes a deep breath, convincing himself that he’s just acting anxious because he has never been here before and, truly, he is a bit like a dog who needs his time to get used to know places.

Except that, he can’t really fight off the feeling of- something from his skin, his hair standing up on alert.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Max tells him bluntly. He’s already stirring the tomato sauce on the stove, and the domestic scene in front almost manages to make Carlos forget all about the strange sensation of being, sort of, watched? Key word: almost. “Is everything alright? Are you feeling sick?” Max asks, genuine worry painting his face.

Carlos shakes his head, playing with his thumbs distractedly. “No, no. I’m- I’m okay, it’s alright.”

“Do you not like my place?” Max asks, not really hiding the disappointment in his voice. “I know I am not as tidy as you, but I really tried my best and-“

“No, it’s not that!” Carlos rushes to say, placing his hands on Max’s hips. “I love it, it’s so- so you.” He admits.

“Well then, what is it?” Max asks, cocking his head. “You’re making me worried here.”

“It’s just- it’s ridiculous, I know, but I feel like- like I am being watched?”

“Oh!” Max says, chuckling to himself. Carlos doesn’t really know what he’s finding so funny about it. “It’s probably just Sassy, she really likes to hide and stare at strangers.”

A what now?

“Sassy?” Carlos asks, looking around himself to see if he finds- he doesn’t even know what he’s looking for, really. What even is a Sassy like? “Was it the thing that made that hole through the door?”

Max laughs again, this time throwing his head back as he pats at Carlos’ chest fondly, as if Carlos is the one being silly. “Ah no, of course! That was that little idiot of Jimmy. Can you believe that he managed to close himself into the bathroom? I had to use a hammer to break down the door and take him out!”

A Jimmy? A Sassy? What the hell is Max talking about?

“What the hell are you talking about?” Carlos asks, slipping away from Max’s hold to look around in alert.

But Max doesn’t even need to answer him before Carlos’ gaze meets tiny green eyes looking up at him with black pupils turned into sharp flits, malicious.

Carlos barely contains a scream of horror. “Max,” he says, voice in a tremble. “There is a cat on the back of your couch staring at me.”

Max cocks his head over his shoulder, hugging Carlos from behind, but even his warm hands on Carlos’ stomach bring little comfort as the- the cat keeps staring at Carlos like it’s seconds away from jumping at him.

“Yes, that is Sassy and- wait, let me check.” He gets up on his tip toes, prompting Carlos to follow him, and sure enough there is another almost identical cat laying on the blankets folded on the couch, licking its paws. At least, this one is completely ignoring them. “And that is Jimmy.”

“You have cats?” Carlos asks, instinctively pressing himself back against Max’s chest. “Qué diablos-“

“Yes?” Max says, and it sounds rhetorical. Which he definitely should not. “I thought I had told you.”

“You forgot, evidently.” Carlos says though his teeth.

“Well, here are my cats, Sassy and Jimmy.” Max says, gesturing at them. He leans his head on Carlos’ shoulder, hugging his body tighter, just before he freezes. Carlos can’t see his face, but he can clearly picture the cockiness covering his expression. “Oh my- are you scared of my cats?”

“No?” Carlos says, but he can clearly hear the lie in his voice himself. “Maybe?”

“Oh my God!” Max bursts out laughing, hiding his face in the back of Carlos’ neck.

Which is terribly unfair, if anybody cared to ask Carlos’ opinion. He is not scared of cats, alright, it’s just that his mother had never liked them, and she would usually scream at the sight any time they would jump in their house’s garden.

And Carlos just- he just got it through osmosis, alright?

“How can you be afraid of these-“ Max says, interrupting himself with another giggle. “Of these adorable walking hairballs.”

Sure enough, Sassy seems to hear her father’s compliment loud and clear, since she jumps off the couch and quickly paddles her way to Max’s legs. Her long tail flicks close to Carlos’ shins as she elegantly rubs her face against Max’s ankle, and Carlos is actually proud of his own self control for not jumping away from it.

“See? They’re harmless.” Max says, crouching down on the ground to rub a hand under Sassy’s chin. She purrs in delight, her tail moving side to side against Carlos’ leg as she leans into Max’s touch.

Even though it pains him to admit it, it is quite an adorable sight.

“Come on.” Max urges him, patting next to him. “Give it a try.”

Carlos shakes his head vehemently, widening his eyes. “Ah, no, no. Thank you, I’m good.”

Max rolls his eyes, resolving to yanking at Carlos’ arm himself until he’s all but forced to kneel on the ground as well.

“Just-“ Max starts, taking one of Carlos’ hands in his. His palm is soft, the callouses from his pen barely noticeable as they pass over Carlos’ knuckles in a gentle gesture, and he slowly brings Carlos’ hand towards Sassy’s head, pressing it over the morbid fur. “See? Delicate.” Max says, curling his hand over Carlos’ until he is effectively caressing at the lighter spot on Sassy’ head.

She starts purring immediately at his touch, closing her eyes and rubbing her face against Carlos’ palm, her ears folding under the weight of it. Carlos can feel the rumble of her meows through his own hand, and it is a very different sensation than the one he would’ve expected from cuddling a cat.

Jimmy reaches them soon after, probably feeling left out as his sister gets all the snuggles, and he starts demanding attention as well by rubbing his body against Carlos’ knees.

Carlos chuckles delightedly, using his other hand to start scratching under Jimmy’s chin, revelling in the way he quickly starts to purr softly, too, as if there is something magic in Carlos’ touch.

Carlos only realises that Max has disappeared from his side when he hears the click of a camera above his head, and when he looks up to search for the source of the noice, he’s met with blue eyes filled with mirth hidden behind a phone.

“What?” Carlos asks, knowing damn well that Max is fighting the urge to say I told you so.

Incredibly, though, he does not. Instead, he pockets his phone, bending down slightly to press a lingering kiss to Carlos’ lips, sweet, chaste, just a soft peck that soon moves from his mouth to the tip of Carlos’ nose.

Max looks at him, smiling in that way that makes the corners his eyes get all crinkled, and his irises glint with happiness. The same one that Carlos is starting to think he might even love.

“You’re the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

#versainz #max verstappen #carlos sainz jr #f1 #f1 rpf #small fics #pair + a word

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