#these guys take the bait so fucking hard

[sneakystorms]

I have to say there is something thrilling in seeing two bullshit writers furiously attack the vague, nonsensical statements of another bullshit writer

[the-cooler-king]

One of those texts I kind of need to sit on before I decide how I'm going to word it.

I never know how to start these, but I always have an idea on what to say. Your opinion of me actually matters a lot & the implication that you believe that I lie to you or I'm not doing enough is kinda hurtful. It comes across to me like my effort is worthless to you & that what I want doesn't matter at all. I wouldn't bring it up if I didn't think you cared, and I know you're going through a lot and shouldn't have to worry about me, but I'm getting mixed signals that are really throwing me off. What do you want from me? Am I asking too much of you and you don't know how to tell me? I sincerely want to be there for you, regardless of what it looks like to get to that point, but if you don't want me there you can tell me! What you want matters just as much, if not more, to me. I'm not the kind of person to be hostile about things if they don't work out. I don't want to be another source of stress or negativity for you, and I don't want you to be afraid of being honest with me. I constantly question if you're just too nice to tell me you aren't interested anymore, and even if you are, I might need more reassurance than you can give me because I don't think I'm very worth it to anyone for anything. If you don't think I'm trying hard enough then tell me what I need to do to change that! I'm at the point of just not knowing what I bring to your life, if anything at all. You don't need to deal with me on top of everything else, so, I'm sorry for this. Even if you don't text me back I'll feel better once I get it out there. The only thing I've ever been afraid of is not communicating exactly how much I care about you & how much you mean to me - even if it doesn't matter to you, or you don't believe me. If there comes a day where we aren't in each other's lives anymore for whatever reason, I don't want either of us to question what could've been said or done differently or regret not doing more.

[goldfades]

paige bueckers x medic reader blurb

idk why this has been on my mind but here's something to feed you guys while i recover from whatever the fuck last semester was

here’s the thing about paige bueckers: she’s annoying.

not in the throw-your-clipboard, tear-your-hair-out kind of way, but in the she’s-too-charming-for-her-own-good kind of way. the kind that makes your pulse skitter and your cheeks burn, and—worst of all—she knows it.

you’re certain she figured it out the first time she winked at you during pre-season. she’d just finished a shooting drill, her braid swinging like a metronome as she jogged over to your side of the court, flashing that grin—the one that’s equal parts mischief and sunshine.

“think i’m pushing it too hard, doc?” she asked, her hand brushing yours when you handed her a water bottle. your stuttered response? a dead giveaway.

and now, it’s practically her sport. teasing you, that is. not basketball though she’s otherworldly at that too. but here she is, six months post-acl surgery, stuck in the monotony of rehab, and somehow still making you feel like the one who’s sweating under bright gym lights.

“you’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?” her voice cuts through your focus as you jot down notes on her progress for the day. when you glance up, she’s watching you from the training table, her injured leg stretched out in front of her, an ice pack wrapped snug around her knee. her head tilts, blonde strands falling loose from her messy bun, and there it is—that look.

“i don’t even know what you mean by that,” you mutter, knowing full well she’s waiting for you to take the bait.

she leans back on her elbows, her lips curving into a slow smile. “i’m just saying, if you don’t stay close, how am i supposed to recover? pretty sure moral support is in your job description.”

you roll your eyes, even as your heart hammers against your ribs. “pretty sure my job description is making sure you don’t blow out your knee again, bueckers.”

“so you do care about me.” her voice lilts, sing-song and undeniably smug, and god, you’re starting to regret all the years you spent chasing a degree instead of learning how to mask a blush.

you try not to sigh too loudly, scribbling something on the clipboard even though it’s just a nervous scribble now. she’s watching you like she knows—because, of course, she does. she always knows. it’s like she has a sixth sense for your embarrassment, and worse, she’s figured out exactly how to weaponize it.

“i care about all my patients,” you say, finally looking up from your notes to meet her gaze. it’s meant to come off clinical, professional, but the way her eyes sparkle makes you feel like you’ve said something embarrassingly sweet instead.

“but do you care about me more?” she asks, tilting her head, her voice dripping with fake innocence.

you deadpan her. “paige.”

“what?” she grins wider now, the kind of grin that should probably come with a warning label. “i’m just trying to gauge my ranking on the medic hierarchy. am i at least in the top five?”

“you’re lucky you even have a ranking,” you mutter, setting the clipboard down and moving closer to check her ice pack. you’re trying—really trying—not to make a big deal about how close you are to her now. but then her hand shifts, casually brushing against yours as she adjusts the pack herself.

and just like that, your resolve? gone.

“aww, come on,” she says softly, her voice lower now, almost teasingly gentle. “you can admit it. i’m your favorite.”

your lips press into a thin line as you busy yourself with checking the straps on the ice pack. “you’re impossible.”

“you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” she counters, and it’s so smooth, so shameless, that you actually pause mid-motion.

you glance at her, half tempted to say something snarky, but she’s already watching you with this expression that’s somehow both playful and too much. like she’s trying to figure you out and enjoy herself at the same time. it’s unfair, really.

“is this what you spend your time thinking about?” you ask, attempting to sound exasperated. “ways to embarrass me?”

“not just ways to embarrass you,” she says, and the mock sincerity in her tone is criminal. “also ways to make you smile. you should smile more, you know.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, refusing to give her the satisfaction, even though—damn it—you’re already fighting the urge to crack a grin. she sees it, of course. she always sees it.

“you’re insufferable,” you mumble, stepping back to grab another piece of equipment you need for her session.

“but you like me anyway,” she calls after you, her voice sing-song.

you don’t respond this time, opting instead to take an extra moment to gather your thoughts while pretending to look for something in the cabinet. when you turn back around, she’s already back to lounging on the training table, her arms folded behind her head like she’s posing for a magazine spread.

“okay, let’s get serious,” you say, trying to steer the conversation back to anything resembling professionalism. “how’s the pain today? any stiffness?”

she shrugs, but there’s a flicker of something more serious in her expression. “a little. nothing crazy.”

“you need to let me know if it gets worse,” you remind her, stepping closer to start her mobility exercises. “overdoing it isn’t going to help your recovery.”

“yes, ma’am,” she says, her tone light, but you catch the way her eyes soften when she watches you. it’s different from her usual teasing—quieter, more thoughtful—and for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with it.

you busy yourself with guiding her through the exercises, focusing on the mechanics, the angles, the movements. but it’s hard to ignore the way she keeps glancing at you, her smile smaller now but no less present.

“you’re good at this,” she says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

you blink, looking up at her. “at what?”

“this,” she gestures vaguely, her hand moving to encompass the room, the exercises, you. “taking care of people. making them feel like they’re gonna be okay, even when they’re not sure they will be.”

her words catch you off guard, and for a second, you don’t know how to respond. it’s so… earnest. too earnest for someone who’s usually throwing out flirty one-liners and over-the-top winks.

“that’s… my job,” you manage to say, your voice quieter now.

she shakes her head, her gaze never leaving yours. “nah. it’s more than that. you’re more than that.”

and just like that, the air feels heavier, charged with something you can’t quite name. she doesn’t say anything else, just watches you with those impossibly blue eyes, like she’s waiting for you to say something back.

but all you can do is focus on the way your heart is racing, the way her words linger, soft and unshakable, in the space between you.

it was hard to forget the day it happened. the sound of it—a sickening pop that cut through the air like a gunshot—still haunted you sometimes, echoing in your mind when the gym got too quiet. you’d been courtside, clipboard in hand, watching as paige went down. she didn’t get up right away. that was how you knew it was bad.

paige bueckers wasn’t the type to stay down. she played like she was invincible, like nothing could touch her. but that day, she just lay there, clutching her knee, her face twisted in pain. it wasn’t just the physical agony that got to her, though; it was something deeper. you could see it in her eyes when she finally looked at you as you rushed to her side—this raw, unfiltered fear. like she’d just watched her whole world shatter in an instant.

“is it bad?” she’d asked, her voice barely above a whisper as you carefully assessed her knee. there was a tremble in it that you weren’t used to hearing, and it made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

“we’re gonna take care of you,” you’d said, dodging the question because you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her the truth. not yet.

she’d nodded, but her jaw was clenched, her hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the bench where you’d helped her sit. and when the scans came back, confirming what you’d already suspected, the devastation in her face nearly broke you.

the weeks that followed were some of the hardest you’d ever seen her endure. paige wasn’t herself—not the confident, fiery leader everyone knew and loved. she was quieter, angrier, and you could tell she was struggling to keep it all together. rehab was slow and painful, and there were days when she’d show up to the training room with this blank look in her eyes, like she wasn’t sure she’d ever be the same again.

but then, there were the moments when you caught a glimpse of the paige you knew. the one who refused to stay down for long. like the time she’d walked in with her crutches slung over one shoulder, grinning like she’d just won a championship. “figured i should start carrying these instead of letting them carry me,” she’d joked, and for the first time in weeks, you’d seen a flicker of that unshakable determination in her.

those moments grew more frequent as time went on. she threw herself into her recovery with a single-minded focus that was equal parts inspiring and infuriating. there were times you had to physically stop her from pushing herself too hard, reminding her that she wasn’t invincible. but she’d just roll her eyes and flash you that grin, saying something like, “gotta keep you on your toes, doc.”

and now, watching her sit on the training table, her ice pack wrapped around her knee and her confidence radiating from every pore, it was hard to reconcile this version of her with the one you’d seen at her lowest. the injury hadn’t just changed her; it had shaped her, strengthened her in ways that even she probably didn’t fully understand.

“what are you thinking about?” she asks suddenly, breaking through your thoughts. her voice is lighter now, teasing as always, but there’s a softness in her gaze that catches you off guard.

you hesitate for a moment before shrugging, a small smile tugging at your lips. “just thinking about how far you’ve come.”

she raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “yeah? and what’s the verdict?”

“the verdict,” you say, setting your clipboard down and meeting her gaze, “is that you’re still a pain in the ass.”

her laugh is loud and genuine, echoing through the room in a way that makes your chest feel a little lighter. “you love it, though,” she says, grinning like she knows a secret.

and maybe she does. because no matter how many times she teases you, or how much she flusters you, you can’t help but admire her resilience—the way she got back up when the world tried to keep her down.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[evilminji]

You know all those Cults in Gotham?

Bet at least ONE of them could spring for both a Legit Magic User and a Cloning pod.

Because The Wayne's? Hearts of Gold. Long standing pains in the asses. Probably the only thing standing between this gods forsaken wasteland of a city and Their Dark Lord. For GENERATIONS no less!

It's sooooo obnoxious!

So they want to Curse Um dead. Just a good ol fashioned bloodline curse. Destroy um from within, etc. BUT! To do THAT? You kinda need a blood relative to sacrifice!

And Bruce is... well... rather infamously An Orphan With No Biological Kids (at that point).

So? What do you do? Make one, obviously. You send in some of your own on a Holy Mission. Honeypot that playboy! Get us a kid to sacrifice! Our God will reward you etc! But... FFS! What? Are brunettes not your TYPE or something?! Pretty lady! Throwing herself at you!!

TAKE THE BAIT!

But he DOESN'T. Because he's both really used to that behavior, as The Wayne Heir and a False Playboy, AND because? He's fuckin Batman. He can see through your schemes.

Okay.

Okay!

Plan B!

Get us some DNA. We'll CLONE the sucker. That should be doable, right?

........OH COME ON! How?!

Batman: [REDACTED] / Cultists: 0

Fuck it! This is impossible! How are we supposed too... *eyes drift over to the Wayne Family Private Graveyard* .......Idea? Ideeeeaaaa~! Someone get us a shovel!

So they, cultist bastards that they are? Fuckin rob a grave for some DNA.

OBVIOUSLY though, it can't be one of the more RECENT graves! He probably VISITS those! Watches them! No we gotta be SNEAKY! Get one a bit further back! Mwahahahaha! We're so brilliant! Our God is gonna give us SUCH a Good Grade in follower!

A thing that is both REAL and possible to achieve!

So, while a Weirdly FURIOUS Batman? Is just... VIOLENTLY breaking ALL of their bones? Cultist 17 is furiously digging like his life depends on it. Either somebody snitched or Batman was hunting them down! Either way?

Gotta! Get! That! DNA!!! *digs faster*

Ah HA! Got it!

Fucking SCATTER! Run you fools, RUN!!! *everyone bolts*

And AT LAST! They have it! Wayne DNA! Now? Pop that sucker into the machine and make us a baby! Too sacrifice! *relieved noises* Man, that was hard work you guys. But we DID it!

Except??

Theoretical Babies? And "Real, slowly forming in front of me and becoming a human child" type babies? VERY DIFFERENT psychologically. It's ONE thing to sacrifice a HYPOTHETICAL baby... but when you're the guy running and monitoring the Cloning machine? Watching it slowly form and come together into... into a CHILD?

You start asking questions of yourself. Of God.

Of what, EXACTLY, you are willing to do.

What lines you find yourself unwilling to cross.

And yeah, your life was SHIT before the cult. Yeah, you were alone. Adrift. Without purpose. Angry at the world for all of its ugliness and failings. But... sitting, alone, in a dark room? Nothing but the steady hum of machines and the cool light of that pod? You are left with nothing but time... and your thoughts.

And the baby.

The one... the one YOU made.

Almost... he's almost like a son, in a way. Your son. Floating there, innocent and unknowing. Destined to be born, only to die painfully, for a cause he could not even begin to understand. Because he's too young. Too small. Just... just a baby.

The baby YOU made.

Doubt seeps in like mist. Creeping into the cracks forming in your faith. Surely there's another way, right? Why not save up for a better magician? Or... or hire a hitman? Why involve a child? Surely... surely your God would not WANT this, right? Or if He did! Surely, he would want the boy to be able to CHOOSE, right? A noble sacrifice, for the cause?

The pressure builds. Batman is tearing the city APART looking for your fellow Believers. Leadership is pressuring you to get "It" ready all ready.

He's not an "it".

They are dismissing your questions. Threatening and posturing, as you grapple with your faith. Where? Where is the COMMUNITY that you joined? The camaraderie? Every day, Believers are being torn down. The faith has lost so many!

How can this be WORTH it?

Your faith is slowly, cruelly, strangled in your chest. A death, by ten thousand silences, and ten thousand more cruelties.

Your son is ready.

You do not tell them.

The Clone of Bruce Wayne's great-grandfather is small, but healthy, in your arms. A tiny warm body, with a strong beating little heart. You call the police. Leave your phone, call running, on the desk. No one thinks to stop you, as you calmly walk out the back door.

Why would they doubt?

You are Faithful.

You drive. Pray to a God you have lost faith in, beg forgiveness for what you do now. Your beat up old junker of a car makes decent time, as you leave Gotham. Your son, asleep in a carefully made nest of blankets, on the seat next to you. You drive. You keep driving.

Past towns.

Past cities.

Out of the state.

Stopping only to feed your son and fuel your car. You... you can not bring yourself to care about what will happen to you now. You know they will find you. Know this is the end. But something ancient burns in your chest. A caring you never thought was REAL.

You are afraid.

But you will not let them harm your son.

Finally, a town. Far from Gotham. Quite and cheerful. It calls to you.

Here. It... it has to be here.

You find the hospital. Tears choking you. There is a place to drop of children. You've seen them before. How strange, that now you stand before it and HURT. Your arms not listening to your command. You... you have to do this. You HAVE too.

He is just a baby.

He is your son.

You have to keep him safe. And... and that can not be with you.

You gently put your baby boy into the drop off. Press the buzzer. And then? You make yourself walk away.

Get back in your car, and drive. The gun in your glove box will insure they can never pry from you, what you have done. Where he is. He is safe now. He has to be. You... you did your job. As his father. You made sure he was safe.

You can barely see the road, through your tears.

You take your secrets to the grave.

And Danny? He grows up. Is adopted young and never knows different. Both a Fenton and a Wayne. Knowing only one of these, to be his. But... that Wayne? Was a damn fine man. A pillar of his community and a champion of the people.

Got tossed more then a few blessings, in his life.

They weren't the STRONGEST. But they added up. And more importantly? Were hardly the refined magics of the more powerful. They were cast onto "Him". By blood and bone, more often then not. Which was all well and good!

When there was only ONE of "Him".

Cloning technology did not exsist. So why would you word carefully against it? Danny becomes a VERY lucky boy. Survives many things he should not. In fact, the kindness and hard work of his original? Gifted back in magically powered well wishes? By this, he survives something NO ONE could possibly expect him too.

It saves his life.

His template would be quite pleased, knowing that. That his life of good deeds, saved the life of the child he never got a chance to meet. That it protected his children, from even beyond death.

And in Gotham? At long, long last. The program Bruce made in his helplessness and despair, to search EVERY child until the child made of his bloodline was found? Spits out a match.

A Watchtower engineer.

Daniel J. Fenton.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation

[moonchild1]

min yoongi fic rec list (Ⅴ)

hi guys it's been a minute since i posted it's been hectic i recently got a promotion so that's been taking up my time but here's another list of my favourite yoongi fics honestly reading them was so much fun and made me feel happy so i hope you enjoy them as much as i did. remember to please show lots of love and support to these incredible authors and creators and their blogs, don't forget to give them a follow , leave a heart, reblog or leave a kind message i know they will appreciate hearing from you, these fics contain smut so no minors interact feel free to send and share any fics you are currently into and would like to share with me i would love hearing from you guys

a- angst s- smut f- fluff

series

love lockdown by @personasintro f s a (enemies to lovers zombie apocalypse)

belong by @ahundredtimesover f s a (exes au basketball yoongi summer love au)

in the margins by @bonvoyagenoona f s a (enemies to friends to lovers slow burn)

look down on me like that by @here2bbtstrash s a (enemies/coworkers to lovers slow burn)

andante cantabile by @kkulfm-2 f s (regency au unrequited love slow enemies to lovers pianist yoongi)

match made in hell by @ughcore  f s a (arranged marriage doctor au rivals to lovers)

only yesterday by @borathae f s a (strangers to lovers)

dating advice by @taleasnewastime f s a (strangers to lovers)

the deal by @untaemedqueen f s a (strangers to lovers gang/cartel au)

matilda by @babystrcandy f s a (brother's best friend unrequited love)

down the hall by @jjungkookislife s a (brother's best friend)

ink nemesis by @scriptaed f a (fake dating au)

unexpected lovers by @jjkeverlast f s a (fake dating artist yoongi)

love is a dog from hell by yourlocalhoney (ao3) f s a (love triangle friends with benefits) ft.Jungkook

petals by @yoonia f (parents au)

pink bird houses by @54daysormore f a (single dad au)

everytime by @deathbyyoongx f s a (fuckboy exes au)

desolate by @angelicyoongie f s a (hybrid au)

one-shot

first-date bait by @jimlingss f (strangers to lovers)

↬first-date bait drabble @/jimlingss s (strangers to lovers)

wallflowers by @bonvoyagenoona s (strangers to lovers)

shirt by @bonvoyagenoona s a (one night stand idol au)

sugar by @zehakoo f s (ceo au strangers to lovers neighbours)

radio sweethearts by @helenazbmrskai s (brother's best friend college au slow burn)

tongue like candy by @jjungkookislife s a (brother's best friend age gap)

auburn skies by @persphonesorchid f s a (brother's best friend)

black and white by @akinnie75 f a (slow burn)

always & forever by @sugakookitty f s (established relationship wedding au)

hard liquor by @chateautae s (boss x employee age gap)

sweetener by @taegularities f s (enemies to lovers fwb au fuckboy)

soft spot by @cultleaderyoongi f (first date)

↬sweet spot by @/cultleaderyoongi f s (established relationship)

sticks & stones by @xpeachesncream f s a (friends to lovers ex friends with benefits pinning au)

fuck being friends by @strawberrynamjoon f a (friends to lovers college au)

the seventh muse by @wwilloww f s (friends to lovers)

tell me what you want by @/wwilloww f s (friends to lovers)

yoongi’s lullaby by @jiminrings f a (unrequited love friends to lovers soulmate au)

illicit favors by @yoongiofmine f s a (friends to lovers)

snow blanket by @yoonieper f s (friends to lovers)

a wager of lords & love @hisunshiine s (regency au arranged marriage)

an empty home by @7deadlysinsfics s a (arranged marriage) ft. Taehyung

the nanny diaries by @btsgotjams27 f (single mom roommate au)

the good part by @introlxv s (roommate au)

handyman by @borathae s a (rebound au roommate au)

peaches in bed by @/borathae s (domestic au husband au)

don't hold hands by @whatifyoulivelikethat s ( friends with benefits roommate au)

by the time i've figured out what it's worth by @ugh-yoongi f s a (marriage au)

swing life away by @aphrodijin f s a (marriage au)

the little things by @kth1 f s (boyfriend au)

fxck a fxckboy! by @yoongifis s (fuckboy)

cupid's curse by @ressjeon s a (first love au)

dawned in by @aquagustd f s (dilf yoongi)

bad things by @yoonia s a (escort au pining)

close call by @xjoonchildx (mafia au)

↬looking for other myg fics or the other bts members check out my library

[katethetank]

Ok I’ve never written anything before, and I’m obsessed with Steddie content. So without further adieu, here’s a modern day Steddie story where Eddie comes to terms with the hard truth that his husband’s snuggles might be more popular than his world famous band. This kind of got away from me and ended up way longer than I thought it would. Oops.

Content warnings: idk, TikTok I guess?! It’s fluffy and sweet, illusions to smut at the end

Eddie Munson was a notoriously private person. Corroded Coffin was the biggest metal/alt band in the world, and despite the fame, he managed to keep his personal life just that - personal.

There of course had been rumors over the last few years of who he was married to. Among the chunky metal rings that always adorned his fingers, fans couldn’t help but notice the simple silver band on his left ring finger. Paparazzi would occasionally catch him out in public with various women, leading his fans to speculate wildly who his mystery wife was.

But as soon as the rumors got started, they were quickly shut down. He was photographed once stumbling out of a club in New York with SNL star Robin Buckley on his arm. Social media went absolutely rabid and Robin made sure to clear things up the following Saturday on Weekend Update, announcing that she was in fact, a raging lesbian.

Not too long after that, Eddie was photographed clinking wine glasses with accomplished journalist Nancy Wheeler at a romantic rooftop restaurant in LA. When rumors started swirling around them of a secret affair, Nancy’s husband (and Rolling Stone photographer) Jonathan Byers put a stop to it by posting a picture of all three of them on his socials explaining that they were long time friends and out celebrating Nancy’s nomination for a Pulitzer.

Again the rumor mill started churning when Eddie was spotted giving a piggyback ride to pro skateboarder Max Mayfield after one of her competitions. Accusations of him “robbing the cradle” had her immediately posting a video on TikTok telling everyone off, fake gagging, and saying that Eddie was like her big brother. She then pulled Eddie into the frame asking, “Would you losers seriously believe I’d be into this ugly mug?” before promptly shoving his face away. Eddie was only a little offended.

Max’s video kind of blew up though, with everyone demanding more of Eddie’s presence on the app. Reluctantly he started his own account, his first video of him backstage at his sold out Madison Square Garden show, simply flashing the devil horns, sticking out his tongue, and greeting, “Hey assholes!”

It effectively broke the internet.

He was verified within a matter of hours, and had millions of followers within the first day.

Now all he had to do was figure out what the hell he was going to post. He didn’t want to share too much of his private life, but scrolling through the comments, he could see how much his fans truly loved seeing just that brief candid moment from him. So he started sharing bits and pieces behind the scenes at his shows, shots of the guys hanging out on the tour bus, and one lazy morning, a glimpse of his sleep-rumpled self in bed and his birds nest of bed head.

The comments on that last one exploded.

Everyone wanted to know who he was sharing that bed with, asking for a peek at his wife, if she was also famous. Who was he married to for god’s sake?!

He refused to take the bait.

One afternoon he set up his living room for a TikTok live, planning on just strumming his guitar, answering questions about the new album that was coming out, maybe taking some requests for songs to play. While he was glancing at the comments and plucking away at his acoustic, he didn’t hear the front door open, or the footsteps coming towards the room. He startled when he heard, “Babe, I’m home! I got you some more Honeycombs!”

Eddie froze. And the comments went absolutely fucking wild.

“Wait, was that a dude?!”

“Did some guy just call him babe???”

“SPOUSE REVEAL?!?!”

“OMG IS HE GAY???? I LOVE THIS FOR US!!”

“Oh I am so invested in this! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈”

“Honeycombs?! Really?!”

Eddie scrambled to set his guitar down, quickly thanked everyone for tuning in, and cut off the live stream.

Steve stepped into the room with a questioning look on his face. “Babe?… what’s wrong?”

Eddie glanced at him sheepishly mumbling, “We may have just spilled the beans on a live stream.”

“You were doing a live stream? What happened? And wait, what beans?”

Sighing heavily and running a hand through his hair, Eddie stood up and walked over to Steve, wrapping his arms around his waist. “I was doing a TikTok live, playing some songs and talking about the new record. I didn’t hear you come in, and when you shouted that you were home, it was apparently loud enough for everyone to hear. So I shut it down fast before the comments got even more out of control. I didn’t know what to say!”

Steve leaned in and gave Eddie a peck on the nose, hugged him tight, and asked, “Well… how bad were the comments? Do you think people are gonna freak out?”

“Freak out? In a good way, maybe. They all seemed pretty surprised to hear a guy’s voice and were asking for a spouse reveal.”

Steve furrowed his brows and thought about it for a few moments. “What if we did?”

“Did what?”

“A spouse reveal. I gotta admit, it’s been pretty annoying having everyone assume you’re sleeping with our friends! I don’t really like the idea of being in the public eye, but what if we just did a quick video or something to put the rumors to bed for good?”

Admittedly it was a pretty good idea. Eddie liked being able to share parts of his life with his fans, and Steve was the biggest part of his life. It would be nice to show him off for a moment and finally tell the world who put that ring on his finger.

“Yeah. Yeah, ok! Let’s do it!”

Eddie grabbed his phone, opened TikTok, and got comfy on the couch. Steve sat down next to him, cuddled into his side. He started the video with the camera just on himself, took a deep breath, and hit record.

“Hey guys! Sorry to dip out of my live stream so suddenly. I was a little thrown off with that interruption, but thought it would be best to come on here and clear the air. Yes, I’m married. Yes, my spouse is a man. Yes, my favorite cereal is Honeycombs, don’t come at me for that! And this is Steve.”

He tilted his phone so both his and Steve’s faces were in the frame. Steve smiled brightly and did a little finger wave. “Hey everybody!”

Eddie giggled and turned to kiss Steve on the cheek. Even after years of being together, Eddie’s affections still made him blush. Steve turned at looked at Eddie with stars in his eyes and whispered, “I love you babe.”

“I love you too sweetheart.”

They shared a brief kiss before Eddie ended the video and immediately posted it.

He effectively broke the internet again.

Millions of likes and comments flooded in, a huge wave of love and support from his fans. And of course, more questions.

“Shut up, they are so fucking cute I’m gonna puke”

“I’m so sad that the married rumors are true, but omg his husband is crazy hot! Good for him!”

“His name is Steve?! Why is that so adorable?!”

“Find yourself a man who looks at you like Steve looks at Eddie!”

“Who is this Steve?! TELL! ME! EVERYTHING!”

“We demand more Steve!”

“Ok I need more details immediately”

The demand for more Steve content did not stop. Eddie still wanted to keep his private life as private as possible, but Steve had no problem with popping up in a few videos here and there. Rolling his eyes in the background at Eddie’s antics, hands on his hips while scolding the band for being late to an interview, painting Eddie’s nails backstage before a show. Just little glimpses of Steve being Steve. His fans ate that shit up.

One night Eddie was left to his own devices while Steve was out having a “girls night” with Robin, Nancy, Max, and El. Why he wasn’t invited too he will never know. Not that he was jealous or anything. Totally not jealous. He decided to set up another TikTok live while he screwed around on his guitar. About an hour in, the front door flew open and in stumbled a very flushed, very giggly, very drunk Steve.

“BABE! I SAW ARIANA GRANDE TONIGHT!”

Eddie started laughing as Steve made his way into the living room, glancing at how the comments went absolutely apeshit again.

“Stevie, sweetheart, sit down before you hurt yourself.”

Steve took the guitar out of Eddie’s hands and plopped down in his lap. “Babe, seriously! I saw Ariana Grande! Me and the girls went to some club and Nancy got us into the VIP section, and there she was! Just! Sitting there looking all cool and famous! Babe, it was awesome!”

Chuckling, Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve, kissed him on his temple, and pointed at his phone set up on a tripod. “Stevie, you interrupted my live stream again. Say hi to everyone!”

Steve turned his head towards the phone, eyebrows raising up, and smiled dopily. “Oh! Hi guys! Did you hear?? I saw Ariana Grande!” He then quickly snapped his drunken gaze back towards Eddie. “OH MY GOD! Babe! Do you think she’s on here?! Can you message her?!” He turned back to the phone shouting, “Ariana! I’m Steve! We should hang out! Eddie, tell her we should hang out!”

Eddie started cackling and patted Steve’s head like a puppy. “Ok big boy, you’ve clearly had enough. Sorry guys, I’m gonna have to cut the stream short and put this one to bed. And uh, yeah. Ariana Grande, if you’re into hanging out with preppy former jocks who like to snuggle while they’re wasted, let me know I guess. Goodnight!”

Eddie looked down at Steve, who had tucked himself into Eddie’s chest while he was talking, and gave a little kiss on his head before ending the live stream.

“Hmmm… sleepy.”

“I know you’re sleepy sweetheart, let’s get you into jammies and tuck you in.”

The next morning Eddie awoke to a hungover Steve groaning into his neck, and a message on TikTok from none other than Ariana Grande.

“What the fuck?!”

“Hng… too loud.”

“Sweetheart. Stevie. Wake up!”

“No.” Steve pulled the covers over his face.

“Honey, seriously, you need to wake up. You’ve gotta see this.”

“Eds, I don’t wanna see shit, I wanna sleep.”

“Stevie, do you remember coming home last night and telling everyone on TikTok that you want to hang out with Ariana Grande?”

Steve flipped the covers back off and gave him an incredulous look. “I did not.”

“Yeah princess, you did. You stumbled in talking about how you saw her at a club and wanted to hang out with her. And guess the fuck what.”

“…….what?”

Eddie turned his phone for Steve to see the message.

“What the?… ‘Hey Eddie! I caught your livestream last night and my answer is yes! Steve seems like an absolute doll, I’d love to hang out with him’”

Steve looked at him with wide eyes and just stared for few beats.

“SHE WANTS TO HANG OUT WITH ME?!”

His volume made both men wince, Steve immediately grabbing his throbbing head and groaning.

“Yes, sweetheart, apparently babbling drunk gay men are her thing. So, when should I tell her you’re free?”

The following Wednesday, Steve was a nervous wreck. He had cleaned the house from top to bottom, prepped a gorgeous charcuterie board, had wine chilling in the fridge, and checked his hair about 30 times.

“Stevie, darling, sweetheart. You’ve got to calm down.”

“Calm down? CALM DOWN?! Eddie, Ariana fucking Grande is coming to our house! How is this even happening? What if we don’t have anything in common? What if she thinks I’m an awkward idiot? I don’t wanna screw this up!”

Eddie wrapped Steve up in his arms and gave him a tight squeeze. “You won’t screw anything up. Everyone loves you Stevie. Just be you, and she’ll love you too. And if you’re freaking out, I’m a phone call away, alright? I should only be at the studio for a few hours and then I’ll be home before you know it. You two will have a great time! Ok?!”

Steve let out a long suffering sigh. “Ok.”

The doorbell rang and Eddie took his hand, walking with Steve to go greet their guest of honor. As soon as the door opened, Ariana Grande herself was standing there with a huge smile on her face. “Steve! Oh my god, it’s so nice to meet you!” She immediately gave Steve a hug and barley even acknowledged Eddie standing there.

“Ok. Well. I guess I’m not needed here. Have fun you two! Don’t do anything I would do!” Steve laughed and gave him a quick peck before leading his guest into the house.

After a few hours of polishing some tracks on the new album, Eddie headed back home. He hadn’t heard from Steve the whole time he was out, and hoped that everything went smoothly with his new friend. Or whatever the hell this was.

Opening his front door, he was greeted with the sounds of giggles, clinking glass, and… are they watching Twilight?!

He pulled out his phone and started recording as he walked into the living room. “Here I am, coming home after hours of slaving away on our new album to find THIS.” He flipped the camera around to a view of Steve and apparently his new best friend, snuggled under a blanket, wine glasses in hand, a few empty bottles on the table, surrounded by a mess of crumbs, giggling at blue-tinted vampires playing baseball.

He flipped the camera back to himself, sulking “I think I’ve been replaced.”

Internet: broken.

“Did they just become best friends?!”

“Awwwww I want Steve Snuggles!”

“Living for this!!!!”

“#stevesnuggles”

“Wait, did he make her a charcuterie board??”

In the weeks that followed, #stevesnuggles took over social media. Everyone and their mother was gushing about Eddie’s adorable husband, wanting to see more of him, and his snuggles. Eddie couldn’t blame them, really. The man is adorable. But he still wanted to keep sort of a lid on their private life, so he limited most of his posts to just Corroded Coffin content. Anticipation for the new album was amping up, a tour was being planned, and the buzz was buzzing.

Unfortunately with all of the work leading up to the release, Eddie wasn’t getting enough of his daily allotment of Steve Time. He was looking forward to the weekend when his schedule was clear so he could finally have some quality time with his husband and soak up all of those famous snuggles.

Life had other plans, though. Friday afternoon he got a text from Steve saying that it was his turn to host girls night. Again, why was Eddie not invited to these things?? Not that he was jealous. Of course not. That would be crazy. He resigned himself to the fact that tonight, he’d have to share his husband.

When he stepped into their home, he immediately recognized the honking laughter of a tipsy Robin, Nancy’s adorable giggle, but there were several other voices he couldn’t decipher. Thinking ahead, he once again pulled out his phone and started recording.

“HONEY, I’M HO- the fuck?!”

It took him a moment to register what he was seeing. He flipped the camera around to focus on the absurd cuddle puddle on the floor. In a pile of what must have been every blanket and pillow in the house, was the obvious collection of Steve, Nancy, Robin, and apparently now Ariana. But then…

“Sweetheart, why are Rhianna and Taylor Swift on our living room floor?”

Steve just looked up at him pie-eyed and sweetly stated, “Girls night!” to which the bizzare collection of women shouted, “Hi Eddie!”

How many times can you break the internet before it stays broken?

“WHAT. THE FUCK.”

“Ummmmm best girls night ever?”

“How do I get an invite??”

“So Steve is just a magnet for powerful women then. Got it.”

“#STEVESNUGGLES OMG!!!”

Steve snuggles indeed. Eddie was so used to being in the limelight, it was a strange adjustment to have his once under the radar husband be in such high demand. Every time he posted a TikTok of the band, the comments were flooded with requests for more Steve. He did sometimes cave and give the people what they wanted. Quick videos of Steve cooking them dinner while dancing to his god forsaken pop music, sneak peeks of some of their new songs with Steve singing along, and ok, one thirst trap of him working out in their home gym. Eddie was a just a man after all, and his husband was hot.

The album was finally released and sales were through the roof. Corroded Coffin had never sold so many copies before and someone from the label insisted that their TikTok presence had everything to do with it. Was it actually them, or the love for Steve? Who’s to say. Either way, their concerts across the country were sold out in a matter of minutes and the band couldn’t wait to kick off their next tour.

The first show was in LA and Eddie had planned to do a quick TikTok before they took the stage. He started in the hallway backstage, welcoming everyone to the start of the tour, and made his way into the green room. “Alright everyone, let’s check in quick with the band and make sure these dickheads are ready to go! BOYS! ARE WE - Steve?! What the hell?”

He flipped the camera around to the view of Steve happily scrolling on his phone on one of the couches. With Dua Lipa cuddled up on one side of him and Lady goddamn Gaga on the other. What the fuck is his life?

“Babe! Hi! The girls were in town and came by to check out the show!”

“I’m sorry… THE GIRLS?! How do you even know them?!”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him like he was an idiot and said, “Lipa was on SNL and she had Robin get us connected. And Jon did a photo shoot with Stef and…basically the same thing.”

Stef?! Who the fuck is Stef? Wait right… Lada Gaga is a stage name.

Eddie flipped the camera back on himself and just. Stared. “I…I don’t know what the fuck is happening.”

Queue the comments.

“Ok is he like best friends with EVERY icon?!”

“Steve IS the icon! 💅”

“What’s a girl gotta do to get some #stevesnuggles in here?!”

“Omfg Eddie’s never gonna get his own #stevesnuggles now is he?”

“SHARE THE WEALTH”

“I can’t believe this app is free”

From there on the tour went off without a hitch and fans in every city were rabid for the new album. And of course Steve. Goddamnit. He’d occasionally see people in the crowd with “#stevesnuggles” t-shirts, or hear chants of “We want Steve!” Yeah, Eddie gets it. He wants Steve too. For himself.

Eddie took to posting a lot of videos from backstage with the band, sound checks, screwing around with the crew. And of course to appease the masses, some of Steve in his element. Putting on Gareth’s eyeliner, helping Jeff pick out his stage clothes, and rubbing Eddie’s shoulders after a grueling show. Just Steve mother henning everyone.

When they made it to New York, they had an appearance on SNL a few days before their concert. They got to catch up with Robin, meet the cast, and get a feel for what went into producing the show. Eddie hadn’t heard who the host was, not that it probably mattered much since they’d only see them at the end-of-show sign off.

He was in the middle of doing a livestream behind the scenes, walking the legendary halls of Studio 8H when he popped into his dressing room to show off the digs. “And here we have my office for the night…. Uh. Stevie? What? The fuck?” He turned the camera around to see Steve snuggled up with… goddamn Beyoncé.

“Hey babe! Did you meet Bee yet? She’s hosting tonight!”

No the fuck he didn’t meet “Bee!” And sorry, his husband is already on a nickname basis with this Queen?! Who the hell did he marry??

Goodbye internet.

“HOLY. SHIT.”

“Seriously, gay men have all the luck.”

“Two absolute queens, omg”

“BEYONCÉ GETS #STEVESNUGGLES OMG!!!”

“Eddie, your husband belongs to Bee now, my condolences”

“Don’t tell Jay Z”

The show went well even though Eddie was visibly shook by his husband’s new friend. Seriously, what is his life?! How much further was this going to go? He was relieved when the tour finally ended and they could go back to their bubble of domestic bliss. That is, until the next girls night probably!

Once they were back home and settled into their routine, he realized he needed to make some more content now that things have calmed down. Privacy was always important to him, but after a night of taking his husband apart over and over, he smirked and had an idea.

Quietly grabbing his phone off the nightstand, he started recording. Steve with his chaotic sex hair, neck covered in hickies, and curled up sound asleep on Eddie’s chest. A chest that was decorated in tattoos and nipple piercings, as well as fresh scratch marks. Eddie smirked at the camera, winked and whispered “hashtag Steve snuggles.”

RIP internet.

[hoodzgyal]

Real real real real real real real real real real Jason would be so hard to have a genuine relationship with, lucky for those of us who want someone to fuck the shit out of us and then have an ethical target to play mind games with (it's totally okay to do, he likes it, it's like enrichment for him) while you go make him insane by getting a “boyfriend” (re: fwb/sugar daddy) to make him feel like he's -stealing you from your man- everytime you let him hit it, and he thinks he's hot shit you can bring up how your man does x and y and z until you can literally see the steam coming out of his ears and he puts it down on you until you see stars. Ooohhhh my God I need him soooo bad

well yes, yes and yes !!! he gets off on the idea of being able to take you from whatever man you’re entertaining at the time (this the unhealed part of him attempting to cope with his crippling low self esteem and self loathing)

he doesn’t mind being a part of your roster as long as he’s first draft pick. but it’s the way you (intentionally) gush about this other guy: the expensive dates he takes you on, the lavish gifts, etc. and like a moth to a flame, he takes the bait every time.

when it comes to you entertaining other guys, he’s the biggest crashout i know. i wouldn’t even call it jealousy anymore, it’s something more than that. he’d cut you off from your little tirade rasping, “if he’s so fuckin’ great, then why are you in my couch in that skimpy little outfit? huh?”

his questioning has you silent, looking at the ground as the air seems to be sucked out of the room.

“look at me when i’m fuckin’ talkin’ to ya,” he murmurs, large hand wrapping around you neck, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“i’ll tell you why,” he continues, “it’s ’cause he doesn’t do it for ya.”

his thumb presses on your bottom lip, and you grant him immediate access, earning a cocky smile from him.

“you need more than that, angel,” he says a little softer, temper quelled by your obedience, “you couldn’t cut me off if you tried, sweetheart. you need me.”

[candycandy00]

JJK Men as Pervy Mall Santas

JJK Men as Pervy Mall Santas! 

You’re at the mall with some friends right around Christmas time, and you can’t help noticing that the Santa seems to be really fucking hot, even with the fake beard. So your friends dare you to sit on his lap, pose for a photo, and tell him you’ve been very naughty this year. 

Smut. 18+. Reader is an adult! Dirty talk. Very rough sex (all consensual). Oral sex. Hair pulling. 

Gojo: 

His eyes light up when you tell him you’ve been naughty. He subtly pulls you closer against his body and says, “Oh? Tell me all about it!”

“I’ve been a very bad girl,” you say. “I’m horny all the time, especially for hot guys in red suits.”

His gloved hands are moving all over you, in ways no one else would notice. He gives a big “Ho ho ho!” laugh and says, “I’m the kind of Santa who gives the best presents to naughty girls like you!”

Thirty minutes later he’s on break and railing you from behind in the closest supply room, staying in character. “You weren’t kidding about being naughty! This pussy is swallowing Santa’s dick so good!”

He leans forward, his fake beard brushing over the back of your neck. “Ready for Santa’s present?” he asks, right before shooting his load inside you.

Geto: 

Acts completely calm and unfazed when you say you’ve been naughty, even as one of his hands snakes around under your sweater to grope your tits. 

“And what does this naughty girl want for Christmas?” he asks. 

You giggle and lean in close to his ear to whisper, “Your cock in my mouth.”

Still smiling calmly, he pinches your nipple and says, “I think Santa can make that happen.”

On his next break he meets you in the restroom, where you suck the life out of him, trying desperately to get a reaction out of him. He’s still maddeningly calm though, just smiling down at you, not even changing expressions when he cums down your throat.

Toji:

“Naughty girls are my favorite kind,” he says as his hand moves up your thigh. He doesn’t seem to mind that anyone watching closely could see what he’s doing. His fingers slip under the crotch of your panties. 

You hold back a moan, your hands gripping his strong forearm. 

“Meet me in the parking garage in twenty minutes,” he says. “Then you can show me just how naughty you are.”

Later, he has you in the backseat of his car, folded in half, fucking you so hard you can barely think. “Ahhh… Santa, it’s too much!”

He laughs. “Oh? I thought a naughty girl like you could handle me.”

Nanami: 

Gives you a stern look and says, “Naughty girls don’t deserve presents.”

Oh no, he’s not taking the bait! So you change tactics, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I can be a good girl for you, Santa. Let me prove it to you.”

His hand slides up your back and creeps into your hair, gripping it firmly. “If you can’t, then I’ll have to punish you for being naughty.”

A few minutes later he has you pressed into a dressing room in a nearby department store, taking his cock as he tightly pulls your hair back. You whimper as his grip tightens and his thrusts become rougher. “Don’t complain,” he says. “This is what you get for being naughty.”

“I’m sorry, Santa,” you mumble out, your body jerking with each thrust, “I’ll be good from now on!”

Choso:

Blushes and averts his eyes when you tell him you’ve been naughty. But when you purposely squirm around in his lap, you can feel a growing bulge. 

“Oh my, Santa, are you naughty too?” you ask, rubbing your ass into his crotch. 

He glances at your face. “Maybe,” he mutters before looking away again, “but I can be nice too.”

You find out just how nice he can be when he’s got you spread open on the table in the break room, making a meal of your pussy. His tongue circles your clit, making you cry out in pleasure. 

He comes up for air, his face tinted pink and his lips slick with your juices. “Is this what you wanted for Christmas?”

Sukuna: 

Is not amused by your flirting, but is amused by the idea of making a naughty girl cry on his cock. Will just get up and leave right in the middle of his shift, dragging you out with him. Doesn’t care who sees him leave or how many children he traumatizes with his bloodthirsty smile alone. 

Takes you into one of the empty offices and slams you against the wall, yanking up your skirt and fucking you on the spot. 

Loves your pitiful cries as you realize you might have bitten off more than you can chew with this Santa. He’s rough and he laughs when you devolve into a cumming, crying mess while he pounds into you. 

After he cums in every hole you have, he leaves you sprawled on the floor, covered in various fluids. As he walks out the door, he looks at you over his shoulder and says, “Merry Christmas, naughty girl!”

[tojipie]

shiu x fem!reader x toji

content: (fem reader, heavy smut, soo much praise, filming sex, spitroasting, eiffel tower position, threesome, blowjobs, face fucking, cumming on face, aftercare)

summary: just another day at work ! :) nothing raunchy going on here

“fuck, that’s perfect,” shiu mumbles, crouching to get a better shot of where you and toji meet. 

the man rutting into you takes the note as a compliment, bucking his hips back to slam to the hilt. the guttural moan he draws out of you is nothing short of sinful, earning you a laugh from the cameraman.

“oh, the guys at home are gonna fucking love that,” he chuckles, standing to grab a shot of you laying face down, ass up on the leather couch.

a calloused hand raises your face to the camera, squeezing your cheeks into a pucker. you smile, taking note of your fucked out demeanor in the camera reflection. 

“feel good, pretty girl?” toji asks, still gripping your face. 

“mmhm,” you groan, making a show of rolling your eyes back into your head. 

the cameraman looks more than pleased, palming himself over his cheap dress pants. 

“such a treat to have in the studio, y’know that?” he wipes a mascara-filled tear while you look up at him for a brief moment. “driving me fucking crazy.”

the incessant pap-pap-pap of toji’s hips against your ass echo among the walls of the small casting room, nearly drowning out the praise with how hard he’s fucking you. still, you smile, letting the suit-clad cameraman brush your hair from your face.

“where’d you learn how to take dick like this, huh?” toji teases, switching his grip from your face to your shoulders. your scene partner uses his newfound leverage to pull you back onto his cock, groaning at the new angle. 

“only like this with you,” you moan, clenching at the sounds of approval both men give you.

“what, you forget about me?” shiu asks, feigning jealousy for the sake of the scene.

toji leans forward, chest-to-back as he whispers something in your ear. hard, deep thrusts slow to a grind as he speaks to you. you nod, giggling at shiu’s pointed look of confusion.

“what’s wrong?” the cameraman mouths, moving to turn the camera off. you beckon him over to the couch instead, jolting from the pick-up of your scene partner’s thrusts.

the two men share a look as you readjust the camera, gauging the shot in the crystalline glint of the lens. perfect, you think. he was going to love this. 

deft hands make haste with his belt, undoing the buckle ever so slowly. the two of you lock eyes for just an instant as his face contorts into a grin, setting the camera on his shoulder to throw his belt off to the side. 

“oh i get love too now?” he teases, unbuttoning his bottoms and letting you get to work. his ironed suit jacket hits the floor, dress shirt half open. 

“you’ve fucked her before genius,” toji adds, slowing the pace of his thrusts to let you work on the cameraman. he was right, off and on camera even.

shiu’s hard, unbearably so when you free him from his boxers and take him into your mouth. you can practically feel how difficult it is for him to not blow his load right then and there, especially after watching you and toji go at it for half an hour with no stimulation of his own.

“hah fuck— she knows what i like, right?” the question is rhetorical, he wants you to take the bait. 

and take the bait you do, pulling off his dick just enough to swirl your tongue around his aching tip.

the noise you earn is more than pornographic, it’s downright sinful, egging you on as you move to take him to the base. 

“you seein’ this?” shiu gasps, panning the camera up to toji who has since stopped fucking you to watch. thick, deft fingers come up to rub at your clit instead, making up for the lost simulation. 

shiu’s free hand reaches down to nestle into your hair, pulling taught. a quick look to make sure the camera lines up is all he gives you before deft hips snap forward, fucking your throat with urgency.

the two men share a look briefly, chuckling as toji finally ramps up the pace again. thick, hot lengths penetrate you from either side, overloading your brain with pleasure. 

“look up at the lens for me baby,” shiu gushes, losing his grip on your hair to cradle your cheek in his palm. you push back on the cock currently pummeling your walls, eagerly groaning for the camera.

“aww there we go, always our favorite star.”

the praise goes right to your head, throat opening up to allow more of his length in. he hisses at the stimulation, grumbling a soft “fuck this,” before setting the camera down on the coffee table in front of the couch. 

“oh, that’s a good fucking shot,” toji comments, pleased at the new camera angle. the thought of the studio’s loyal fanbase getting to watch you get spit-roasted by the hottest business partners in the industry pushes you closer to the edge.

“fuck, there.” shiu groans, pulling himself from your throat with an obscene squelch. a whoop rings out from behind you, no doubt from toji as viscous ropes of cum paint your cheeks— you swear you hear them high-five each other.

“shit, sorry about the mess,” he doesn’t sound sorry at all, tapping the head on your closed lips with a fucked-out smile.

salty cum floods your tastebuds as you work to clean his manhood off, pulling back with an audible pop and a smile. “s’ okay shiu.”

“that’s talent right there,” the camera man comments, clearly pleased with your performance. shiu tucks himself back into his dress pants, quietly motioning for you and toji to switch positions.

the raven-haired man wastes no time lifting you into the air, thick hands situated under your thighs for support.

the position alone might have gotten you close enough to come had he still been inside you. you’re held against his standing body only by the hands under your legs, back-to-chest as you face the camera. 

you hike your legs up, locking eyes with shiu as you’re lowered onto toji’s dick a final time. 

the stretch is absolutely obscene, filling you to the brim over and over again as he thrusts into you.

“perfect, perfect guys,” shiu leans closer to get a better shot of your face. “just like that.”

“you wanna tell everybody at home where you want it?” toji asks, biting your shoulder for good measure.

“inside—please.” you sigh, laughing at the obscene groan that sounds from behind the camera. shiu reaches down to rub your swollen clit for you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

hot seed floods your body a second time, warming you from the inside out. the things toji pants into your ear are obscene, overwhelming your senses while shiu’s hand deals out tiny pats to your clit.

you both sink onto the couch for the final time, the soft leather cushions embracing your tired bodies. shiu approaches with the camera, flipping through a couple of scenes to seek your shared approval.

you sit quietly as you're wiped down with a wet towel, still attached to toji at your most intimate points.

“tired angel? need to wash off?” he asks, maneuvering you on his dick to straddle him.

“yes please,” you mumble happily, resting your head on his shoulder. two sets of hands gently caress your body, wiping the last drops of fluid from your sweaty skin.

“you’re gonna make us all millionaires, i swear,” shiu mumbles, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head before stepping into the bathroom to draw you a bath.

[maxlarens]

let’s talk about shy and oblivious oscar. like you’ve liked him forever and you keep trying to drop hints to him and he’s just not getting them and like the last time you try and mention something to him about possibly going out somewhere he just is like “oh yeah lando’s been wanting to go there. let’s ask him if he wants to go.” and you get kinda frustrated and just tell him never mind. oscar is like wtf did i do??? so he goes to ask lando if something is up with you and lando’s like “mate how dense can you be she’s liked you for the longest time” and oscar’s brain short circuits at the mere idea of you liking him??!!

maddie babe sorry this took me five years to answer. BUT FUCK ABSOLUTELY! soooooo obsessed with shy/oblivious oscar actually. especially with someone who is like, not so direct, and drops hints rather than outright say anything to him. omfg yes asking him to go somewhere and he's just cockblocking himself�� it's so real because he just doesn't even factor in that you might be interested in him.

this works so well with my slowburn oscar theory tbh; which is where i think he's the kind of guy that is so chill, so happy to go at other people's pace, that he takes relationships at a total snail's pace. doesn't push too hard for anything even if he wants it, meets you where you're at in such an aggressively relaxed way that he makes you think he's not interested. which i guess is also very oblivious of him. if you're not walking up to him and telling him very blatantly that you're interested in him, then he's not taking the bait.

god but when he realises how obvious you've been trying to be, or that LANDO notices, then he's definitely like oh fuck oh shit ive totally screwed it. and probably realises the depth of his feelings and like how much he really wants you when confronted with the realisation that he might not get you.

which is also his quiet confidence thing? he can be slow because he's confident on some subconscious level that he'll get you eventually?

but also yeah still also totally shocked to find out you've been dropping hints like its a full time job. and shocked to find out you like him. and then once he cant be oblivious and obtuse about the whole thing he's a bit of a mess. the pressure gets to him. he can't be quietly confident or calm and shit when he knows that you know that he's into you. he's blushing and tripping over his words and everything🥺

[ckret2]

Fuck you for pulling that bait and switch with the comic on the second to last chapter of the apocalypse shit. Genuinely pissed me off. Give me hope that this’ll be a fanfic that takes a different route than just bashing on cipher because it’s funny and then pulling it away because haha why not right? Let’s just blame the guy literally actually suffering and act as if he’s in he’s in his right mind at all. Oh well who cares. Loved your fic until you pulled that shit

My dude, you're well within your rights to hate the bait and switch. It was a dirty trick, I'll admit that.

But if you think that I was bashing on Bill, that I wrote his grief as funny, or that I'm not fully aware that he was acting irrationally out of pain and despair—then you didn't read the fic I wrote.

You're supposed to be upset he turned down the help he needs. It's not a joke. I want it to hurt that help is so close, but Bill can't accept it because he's grieving too hard to let go of his people. I want you to be furious that nobody but the Ax thinks Bill deserves help, and the Ax alone isn't enough to reach him. I want you to want him to heal.

But we already know he didn't heal then. Because if he had, he never would have done anything he did in canon. Nevertheless, this is a fic about offering Bill a second chance, no matter what, as many times as it takes for him to accept it, even if it takes a trillion years—because, canonically, we know it will.

You can hate the fic if you wanted to read a fix-it AU and didn't get it, that's fine—but do me a favor and hate it for the canon-compatible backstory tragedy it actually is, rather than the bizarre Bill-bashing comedy you projected on top of it after the plot took a twist you didn't expect.

[thebabblingbrookenook]

Love To Hate You

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x Female Reader

Summary: Anthony Bridgerton has been your favorite rival since college. Nothing gets your blood pumping quite like getting under his skin. No matter how much you love to see him squirm, you hate the defeated look on his face at someone else's hands. You never thought you'd see the day when your only worthy opponent would become you're most exciting conquest.

Warnings: 18 & Older - Oral, Rough Sex, Degradation, Praise, Strong Language, Spanking

Word Count: 5.6k

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

Three days.

                That’s how long this merger had been at a standstill.  You’d spent the last 72 hours listening to a room full of grown men performing a metaphorical dick measuring. It was a miracle that your eyes weren’t permanently rolled to the back of your head.

                The only thing keeping you from telling your pompous asshole of a boss to swallow his pride and make a few concessions was the palpable irritation radiating off the man seated across from you at the conference table.

                Anthony Bridgerton.

                Since your college days, you had lived to needle this man. He wore every expression clear as day across his annoyingly handsome face. It was so easy to rile him up, and even more rewarding to spar with him when he came back at you with his sharp, alluring tongue. He had proven himself a worthy opponent – someone who was not only willing to play with you, but who was capable of leaving you a panting, sweaty mess under his designer shoe.

                The crease between his brow deepened with every idiotic word that left his associate’s arrogant mouth. Something about this man’s tone pissed you off. He spoke with the authority that Anthony was allowing him to possess, but it fit him just as poorly as that knock-off suit that stretched too tightly across his bulky shoulders. He would never wear that power like Anthony. Anthony earned his arrogance and wore it like the fucking king he was.

                This guy needed to be humbled in an embarrassingly public way. Bonus points for the emasculation he’d feel once you shredded his ego to a bloody pulp with the ace you were hiding up your sleeve. Not only would this shut up the blundering idiot still talking out of his ass, but it would also piss Anthony the fuck off. It wasn’t hard to imagine the shade of red the tips of his ears would turn as he tried to reign in his temper.

                Squeezing your thighs together under the table to suppress your arousal, you turned to your rival with a knowing smirk.

 “Bridgerton, I knew you were reckless, but I never thought you were sloppy. You’ve clearly taken your eye off your company if you’re letting Vickers here run unsupervised around your kingdom.”

                His shoulders stiffened in delicious frustration at the sound of your voice, but his lips turned up mischievously as he took you in.

“Careful, darling. Do you really want to play that game? I can assure you; my eyes see all.” The aforementioned eyes slid down to where your legs were pressing together in desperation beneath the table. “Every. Single. Detail.”

Fuck. Why did his voice have to be so hot?

Shake it off, bitch. Your pussy can get hers later. Right now, you need to focus on your takedown.

“Oh, is that so?” You smiled back at him, willing him to take the bait.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on your chest just a moment more than was polite.

“I’m a man of my word sweetheart. And control is my drug of choice.”

Oh, this was too good. He was about to lose his mind when you yanked away his high and sent him spiraling into a bad trip.

“So, you were aware that your associate signed contract amendments on your behalf? And if I had to guess, he didn’t read them fully because according to these documents… Anthony Bridgerton consented to the 40% increase over the first 12 months. And then an additional 20% based on profit margins.”

The color drained from his face as your words hit home. A chill ran down your spine at his utterly lethal expression. You were used to his irritation. Intimately familiar with his anger… but this was different.

You could feel it the moment the last shred of restraint left his body. His already dark eyes turned almost black when he fixed them on his target.

“Is this true, Luther?” His voice was deceptively calm, but you could sense the predator lurking beneath the surface.

“Of course not,” Luther lied. “Are you really going to believe this manipulative bitch over me? That’s what she does. Why do you think Morrison hired her firm for legal representation. She’s a lying cun- …”

“STOP TALKING!” Anthony roared. “Finish that sentence and I will shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll be tasting leather.”

The room was deafeningly quiet now. A rush of wetness flooded between your legs when Anthony turned his gaze to you, and you couldn’t stop the little gasp that escaped your lips. Anthony may have gotten his high from control, but you thrived on chaos. And this was the very definition of playing with fire.

“Contracts…” he said, thrusting his hand toward you in a demand.

Victory was all but dancing in your eyes as you slid the papers under his waiting fingertips. Checkmate. This round went to you,

After a diligent assessment of his forged signature, his fingers curled into fists, crumpling the paper in his grasp.

It would be easy to prove the signatures invalid, voiding the contract and rendering it moot. But God, was it worth it to bask in the absolute manic energy he was barely keeping contained.

That simply wouldn’t do. You wanted to see him erupt.

You were in the midst of your plan to stoke the flames when Luther all but did the work for you,

“She’s lying Anthony! Come on, mate. You know me!”

“I do know you,” Anthony deadpanned. “You’re the same conniving, slippery bastard you’ve always been. And we are most certainly not mates. Apparently, you’re also a moron! Do you honestly believe I can’t decipher between my own signature and a fraud? It’s right fucking here in bold black ink, you twat!”

Luther opened his mouth to argue like the true dunce he was, but Anthony silenced him with his glare alone. The danger in his slow, deep voice all but purred over my skin.

“Get. The fuck. Out of my sight.”

“You can’t just fire me! I helped you build this fucking company. You’re nothing without me, Bridgerton!”

“I can, and I just did.” His careful, composed mask was slipping back into place and you already missed his rage. “You’re done here Luther. There won’t be a single person in this industry willing to work with you after I’m through.”

Shoving back forcefully, Luther pushed up from his rolling chair and straight into the woman carrying a try full of coffee orders for the room. It all happened so fast and there was absolutely nothing anyone could do to stop it.

The tray flung from her hands, dumping its contents onto Anthony’s broad chest and waiting lap. He stood abruptly, cursing under his breath, hands frantically trying to shoo the scalding liquid from his body.

When the woman’s hands reached out to assist him, your entire body froze. She was touching him, and you fucking hated it. You were also unsure of how he would react to the blunder. Luther deserved his wrath, but this poor girl did not.

Your heart did something funny in your chest when he gently gripped the wrists of the panicked, trembling woman in front of him.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Bridgerton! It was an accident. Are you okay?!”

“Jeannine…” he soothed. “Jeannine, it’s okay. I’m perfectly fine. Maybe a little wet, but unharmed. So, there’s no need for tears.”

Ugh… Now she was looking at him like she’d just fallen in love with him. You mean, kind of like you were 30 seconds ago? Shut up, brain! Don’t look at me like that. You saw nothing, and I don’t want to talk about it.

Anthony rubbed his hands up her arms to reassure her once more. “I could use a new set of clothes. Could you send for something for me?”

She beamed at him. “Of course, sir. I’ll get anything you’d like. That’s what I’m here for.”

Eye roll. Of course she had called him sir. And he undoubtedly loved every second of it.

“Thank you, Jeaninne. You’re truly invaluable. You know my sizes, and you know what I like, so I have no doubt you’ll choose something that flatters me.”

“That won’t be hard to do,” she blushed up at him.

His answering smile made you want to smack it right off his face. Charming bastard.

“Buy yourself something as well. Anything you want. Cost is no problem. I fear your pretty white blouse is ruined now.”

Yeah, you scoffed. Ruined and conveniently see through.

Jeaninne gave him one last embarrassed smile before retreating from the room. Before she reached the door he called after her.

“Oh, and Jeaninne… If you wouldn’t mind calling security to have them escort Mr. Vickers from premises.”

She replied with a nervous nod before fleeing the room.

You could cut the remaining tension with a knife. Everyone unsure of how to breach the standoff.

Predictably, it was my boss, lulled into a false sense of superiority, who decided to brave speaking.

“Well, well… It looks like the infallible Anthony Bridgerton isn’t invincible after all. It seems my attorney has managed to get underneath all your armor and hit her mark. How does it feel, Bridgerton?”

“How does what feel?” Anthony feigned interest, still wiping coffee from his trousers.

“To know you’re no better than the rest of us mere mortals. You’re just an arrogant boy who was handed his daddy’s company when he didn’t deserve it. Edmund would have never made a mistake like that one.”

Shit.

A small fleck of insecurity washed over Anthony’s features. He recovered quickly, but you saw it. It was an expression that was so out of place on him that for a split second he looked like another person entirely. Someone younger. Less larger than life, and more vulnerable.

It made you uncomfortable. You were the only one who was allowed to push Anthony’s buttons, and even you never wanted to tear him down that far.

Anthony opened his mouth, no doubt to tell your rotund boss to fuck all the way off, but it was your own voice that filled your ears.

“That’s enough! Mr. Morrison, you’re out of line. Don’t pretend to know anything of Edmund Bridgerton. That man would never have even granted you an audience. That’s how beneath him you would have found yourself. If I were you, I’d consider yourself grateful for even getting through the door.”

This meeting was getting out of control quickly. If you knew Anthony, and you believed you did, he was about to cut his losses and scrap the entire deal. He didn’t need this partnership. He wanted it, but he sure as fuck didn’t need it. And from where you sat, that was a dangerous place to be.

If you wanted to cash that big, fat commission check that only came after the ink was dried, you needed to do damage control.

“I think we need to take a breather. Everyone out!”

Mr. Morrison actually had the gall to laugh in your face.

“And I think you need to learn your place. I like you because you’re such a ball busting bitch but make no mistake – I’m the one in charge here. I pay you, not the other way around. So, I suggest you sit down and shut up while the men finish their conversation.”

The air in the room was charged with barely restrained fury. Whether it was yours or his, you couldn’t be sure. Mr. Morrison may have started this war, but Anthony Bridgerton was the one who finished it.

“Speak to her like that again and not only will I cancel this partnership, but I will buy your company outright and dismantle it piece by piece. I’ll sell it for parts while you watch your life’s work burn to ash. Did you think I didn’t know your proposal was a measure of last resort for you? I don’t need you, Mr. Morrison. Make no mistake – I’m the one with the real power here. From my vantage point, you’re the one who needs to learn their place.

Holy fuck…

If Mr. Morrison didn’t get the hell out of this room immediately, he was going to become intimately acquainted with your naked body, because – HOT DAMN! You were pretty sure it was the part of the story where the enemies were about to become lovers.

The look on Morrison’s face would have been funny if your clit wasn’t throbbing to within an inch of its life!

Walking to the door, you opened it and stepped aside, gesturing for him to make himself scarce.  “We can reconvene on Monday. I think calmer heads will yield the best results, don’t you?”

It surprised you when he didn’t try to argue. Anthony’s threat must have done its job.

Closing the door behind him, you locked it and tapped the high-tech keypad to cloak the space in privacy. The floor to ceiling glass immediately turned opaque and the sounds from the surrounding offices disappeared into silence.

You turned to find Anthony leaning against the large boardroom table, arms crossed over his toned chest. His eyes narrowed on you when you took a step towards him.

“I know you’re pleased with yourself, but I didn’t take you for the type to stick around to gloat.”

What a clueless jackass… He had no idea what was about to happen. The two of you had never crossed this line before, but you didn’t think you could survive another second in his presence without your mouth on him. Did he not feel this too?

God, this was going to be so embarrassing if he rejected you. It was a very real possibility. It would make perfect sense with the antagonizing nature of your relationship for him to even the playing field. Was it wrong that it turned you on even more to think about him putting you in your place?

“Shut the hell up, Bridgerton, and take off your pants.” Straight to the point was always the best approach with this man.

Genuine surprise colored his cheeks.

“I beg your pardon?!”

“You have been a raging dick for the past three days. If that vein in your neck is any indication, you’re going to stroke out before we can finish this deal. I’ve put way too much work into this project and spent way too much time in a room filled with guys staring at my tits for me not to get this bonus check. Now, take your fucking pants off so I can suck some of that stress out of you.”

“You’ve been thinking about my raging dick for the last three days, haven’t you?”

The smug turn of his perfect fucking mouth was almost enough to make you change your mind. It felt a bit too much like he was gaining the upper hand.

“And you’ve been thinking about my ass bent over your desk since I stepped foot in here on Wednesday. Don’t act like you don’t stroke yourself to sleep at night to thought of hate fucking me.”

Your fingers went to the buttons on your blouse and started to slowly reveal the lacey black bra beneath. You felt him go still.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice dropping to a sinful register.

“Giving you a better look,” you smirked “Every time I looked up today your eyes were on my tits. Touch them. They feel even better than they look.”

“You’re being serious right now…” he quipped. “What makes you think I would ever want to touch you?”

“Well, for starters,” you said, inclining your head toward his straining crotch. “Your cock looks like it wants to tear through those trousers to get to me. Or had you not noticed?”

You watched, mesmerized as his hand came up to rub himself over the restrictive fabric. Those pants were your new arch nemesis.

“If you want to rid me of my stress, it would be as easy as getting in your car and not coming back. You are the absolute bane of my existence, you know that?”

His surly words were doing nothing but egging you on.

“Maybe…” you purred, stepping into his space. You brought his warm, strong hands up to splay out over your waist. “But I’m also the object of all your desires.”

He growled in your ear when you leaned down to lick the protruding vein running up the length of his neck.

“This changes nothing between us. I still think you are the most infuriating woman on the planet.”

The heat of him looming against your stomach was too much to resist. Your fingers gripped him firmly until you felt him twitch in your palm.

“Are you going to fuck me or not, Bridgerton? If not, I think I saw your brother at the end of the hall when I closed the door.”

You made to pull away from him when his hand locked around the back of your neck, pressing you firmly into the sizable bulge resting between you.

“Don’t you fucking dare. We both know you would eat my brother alive. You’re not that kind of cruel.”

“No,” you agreed. “I’m your brand of cruelty, Anthony. I think someone designed me just for you. The arrogant, entitled prick in need of someone to put him in his place. I’m your comeuppance, baby. Now be a good boy and serve your penance.”

His forehead pressed roughly into yours, trapping you to his gaze.

“You never learned how to shut this smart mouth, did you? You’ve been lashing me with that tongue for 10 fucking years.”

The tongue he just accused of bringing him pain jutted out to show him pleasure, stroking over his kissable lips.

“You don’t want me with my mouth closed, Bridgerton.”

“I don’t know,” he teased. “A little peace and quiet might be a nice change.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. His pupils blew wide when you dropped to your knees in front of him. “You want my mouth wide open, baby. If you want me to shut up, then fucking make me.”

His fingers threaded into your hair yanking your head back to force your attention on his face.

“You are such a fucking brat. You’re practically begging for someone to teach you a lesson. Is that what you want? Do you want to learn your lesson?”

With all the innocence you could muster, you challenged him one last time.

“I’m an exemplary student. I’m hungry for knowledge, sir. Practically ravenous.”

If he was holding on to his restraint before, it was all gone now. His fingers tightened in your hair, sending a pulsing need to your attention hungry cunt.

“Take my dick out and stick out your tongue. I’m going to fuck that pretty face until you’re crying all over my lap. How does that sound? Do you want to choke on this cock for me?”

A whimpered “fuck” left your lips when he sprang free in front of you. You couldn’t think of anything you wanted more right now than to take him down your throat until he was a mindless mess. Licking your hungry lips, you leaned forward eagerly for a taste, but he pulled you back again.

“I asked you a question. Run that mouth one more time and answer me.”

“Yes,” you nodded enthusiastically. “Please, Anthony. I want to choke on your cock. I want to learn my lesson.”

A visible shudder ran through him at your confession.

“Good-fucking- girl. Give me your tongue.”

For once, you obeyed without protest. If you didn’t taste him soon you might actually die.

His hand guided the warm head of his dick along your waiting tongue. His hissed breath matched your rising desire, and you moaned in pleasure. You needed more. What was he waiting for?

“Any day now, Bridgerton.” Antagonizing him was second nature at this point.

With one exasperated thrust, he slid into your mouth effectively cutting off your air supply. His quick, deep pumps had you gulping around his length. Your eyes were already streaming down your face. The fuzzy, euphoric feeling of oxygen deprivation was starting to dance behind your eyes. Your lungs burned with the need to inhale but there was not a chance in hell that you would stop this.

His needy, frantic movements were setting your blood on fire. Your imagination never could have conjured the sounds rumbling from his throat. If this is how you died, you would do so proudly and with a smile on your face. Your tombstone would be emblazoned with bold lettering that you died doing what you were made to do – choking on Anthony Bridgerton’s perfect dick.

Just when you feared that you would have to admit defeat and beg him for mercy, he pulled free from your greedy mouth leaving you a saliva-soaked mess. His labored breathing was going to be your undoing. Getting a rise out of Anthony Bridgerton had always been your preferred pastime, but this way by far your favorite way to do it.

“Is this what you wanted,” he asked. “Do you think you’ve learned your lesson yet?”

You smiled up at him, eager to poke the bear at every turn.

“Nope…” you said, popping the p in a way you knew would annoy him. “You’re a shit teacher, Bridgerton.”

Fire ignited in his rich brown eyes and your pussy all but cried out for help. The promise that one look held was enough to have you clenching around nothing, wishing he was buried inside you.

You let out a groan of satisfaction when he slapped his cock across your face.

“Did I say you could put your tongue away? Stick it back out and leave it there. I won’t tell you again.”

Desperate to taste him again, you did as you were told. He quickly rewarded your obedience with more slaps along your tongue. It was so dirty and debasing, but you loved every minute of it.

His leaking tip was smearing the salty promise of his relief all over your tastebuds. You almost came on the spot when he spit in your open mouth, coating himself thoroughly on your outstretched tongue.

“Wrap your pretty lips around my cock and swallow that.”

For fuck’s sake! You actually might not survive this.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised. “Look how gorgeous you are when you’re doing what you’re told. Now put your hands on my thighs and hold tight. I’m going to ruin all your pretty makeup.”

Before you even had a chance to brace yourself, he was pumping back into your mouth at a relentless pace. It didn’t take him long to find a pattern that was pushing him towards the edge of his release. After a torturous onslaught of punishing thrusts, he rewarded you by holding you down on himself, burying your nose into the hair at the base of his shaft. The scent of him there was blindingly erotic, and you wanted to cover yourself in it. When he thought you had earned a breath, he would drag you off him and leave you gasping for air before starting the pattern over again.

The pressure building at the apex of your thighs was maddening. Removing one of your hands from his thigh, you reached down to ease the aching. No sooner had you moaned in pleasure around his cock did he take it away from you. You instantly felt bereft at his absence.

“Put that hand back on my thigh. I didn’t say you were allowed to touch yourself. That pussy is mine. It’s mine to touch, mine to lick, and mine to fuck.”

Your brain wanted to be obstinate, but your pussy – she wanted to be owned.

But old habits die hard. When he pushed himself back over your tongue, you scraped your teeth along his shaft in warning. It was enough to do damage, but it definitely got his attention.

Sometimes being a brat pays in spades.

Two strong arms snaked around your waist and hauled you to your feet. The abruptness elicited a surprised yelp from you, and you found yourself splayed out face down over the cool surface of the conference table.

His hands found the slit in your tight pencil skirt and ripped upward until the fabric gave way and your panty clad ass was on full display to the room.

The heat from his toned body and his sinful scent invaded all your senses when he folded himself along your back to growl into your ear.

“Why do you insist on testing me?”

Honesty was the only way you could respond.

“Because you’re the only one I’ve found who can handle the challenge. I love that you’re always willing to play with me, Anthony.”

Your hips started to push back into him involuntarily. There was so little separating your neglected, needy cunt from the one thing it wanted most. The tantalizing friction that his rigid erection provided, along with his deep throaty growl was enough to spur you on.

“Come on, Bridgerton. Give it to me. You know you want to.”

“You don’t deserve it after the stunt you just pulled. Only good girls get fucked when they need it.”

You couldn’t help but goad him. “Well, what do obstinate little bitches deserve? I’ve earned my punishment, Ant. Now fucking give it to me before I find someone else to do it for you.”

His leg pushed open your thighs apart even wider leaving you open and vulnerable. It also prevented your throbbing clit from finding even a modicum of relief. The force he used to drag your soaked panties down the ground had your heart racing all over again. You needed him to fuck you into this table until you couldn’t see straight.

His control was slipping again. It wouldn’t take much more to push him past his limit. If you really wanted to, you could have him pounding you with one strategically worded sentence.

As much as you wanted that, you enjoyed your game. You wanted to see what he’d do when left to his own devices.

You screamed, first in shock, and then in pleasure, when his hand smacked against the skin of your ass.

“Fuccckkkkk,” he groaned. “You filthy little whore. You liked that. I can see that hungry, perfect pussy searching for my cock. You’re dripping down your legs, baby.”

Something about the tone of his voice when he called you baby had your heart misbehaving in your chest. It sounded almost reverent. Like he was proud of you for how much your body begged for him.

“Count and tell me you’re sorry,” he instructed.

“One,” you complied. “I’m sorry, Anthony.”

“Tell me why you’re sorry.” His tone was an order.

“I’m sorry you weren’t man enough to handle a little scrape of my teeth.” The rush you got from needling him was unparalleled.

The next blow was even harder than the last and had you lifting onto your toes. If he thought this was a punishment, he was sorely mistaken. You could easily become addicted to his discipline.

“Two,” you moaned. “I’m sorry, Anthony.”

“Tell me why.” The strain in his voice was a dead giveaway to his level of need.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed in front of the boys today. They probably don’t respect you now.”

That earned you a smack right across your dripping core. It was the perfect mixture of pleasure and pain. You felt like you could pass out from the adrenaline rushing through your system.

He asked you again and again why you were sorry, and each time you provoked him a little more. Your entire backside burned with the memories of the sensations his hands had left on you.

He asked you a final time.

“Why are you sorry, baby? Be honest.”

“Honestly,” you paused, braving your next words. “I’m not sorry. Not even a little bit. We should have done this a long time ago.”

One big hand curled around your throat and lifted your back to his front. His lips crashed into yours for a searing kiss. His other hand slid down your stomach and pressed into your clit with the perfect pressure. His fingers circled you as you moaned into mouth.

“Anthony,” you cried. “Please, fuck me. I need you. I can’t take it anymore.”

His body pushed yours back down to the tabletop and with one swift movement he was buried to the hilt. The stretch was exquisite. How had you gone so long without knowing the feeling of his cock moving inside you? That had to be some sort of crime against humanity.

You were both too far gone. It was impossible to savor it. It was quick, filthy, and hurt in the best way possible. His hips drove you so hard into the edge of the table that the bruises were likely already forming. The sounds the two of you made together were obscene. Skin slapping against skin. The desperate protest your wet heat made when he left your body for a fraction of a second and the whimpered thank you it made when you clutched him back into you.

His voice was the thing that truly sealed your fate. He was vocal and he wasn’t shy about it. His groans. His curses. His generous praise. He left no room for doubt. You were bringing him pleasure and he was lost to the euphoria.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck…” he hissed. “I’m gonna come. Come for me baby. Milk this cock with your tight little cunt.”

As if on command, you could feel the orgasm begin to swell. Your muscles clamped down on him, holding him prisoner inside you. You pulsed around him, and you could feel him get impossibly stiffer as he spilled himself into you.

“Yes. Yessss,” he cried out. “That’s it baby. Ride it out. I’m right there with you. You feel so fucking good.”

Breathing was hard, and your legs were seconds away from giving out on you. You winced at the pain when he pulled from your body. His release trying to follow suit, dripping down your thighs. You were a fucking mess.

His fingers collected your combined orgasms, pushing it back inside.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted. “You’re going to keep all of my cum right where it belongs. I’m claiming this fucking cunt, baby.”

His fingers moved from your core to your lips. They were slicked with the evidence of what the two of you had just done.

“Suck,” he ordered.

You were done fighting him. At least for today.

Opening wide, you sucked his fingers into your mouth and tasted the two of you together on your tongue. A little hum of pleasure was all you could express. He had well and truly fucked you.

“Good girl.”

He straightened your body, righting your clothes and wiping the hair back from your sweaty face.

“Don’t move. Stay just like that.”

He moved away from you, gathering something from the other end of the table. When he reappeared at your side, it was with his phone. He pulled the camera up to snap a photo of your sex drunk face and then lifted your skirt again to document the damage he did to your ass.

“You look perfect. Absolutely wrecked.” He turned the phone to show you the picture.

He was right about the wrecked part. Your mascara was streaked all down your face, and your lips were swollen and red from the rough assault he made on your mouth. And you had the matching red hand shaped wilts on your ass cheeks to go with it.

“You’re welcome,” you teased.

“For what, exactly?” He was trying and failing to hide his smile

“I told you I could suck the stress out of you. You look much more relaxed now. Borderline happy even. It’s kind of creeping me out.”

His next words took you by surprise.

“Thank you.”

A loud buzz sounded and Jeaninne’s voice filtered into the room.

“Mr. Bridgerton… Your clothes have arrived, and your lunch is waiting for you in your office. I ordered your favorite.”

You couldn’t help the eyeroll as you continued to button your top.

“Thank you, Jeaninne. You’re the best.”

“You’re shameless,” you accused

“What,” he shrugged. “I like to see how often I can make her blush.”

You huffed in disapproval. The poor girl was probably in love with him.

“Can I ask you something?”

You turned to look him in the face at his sudden change of tone.

“Sure,” you replied. “Ask away.”

“Do you respect me?”

You eyed him in shock. That look of vulnerability was back and you loathed it.

“Is this about what I said earlier? About me embarrassing you in front of your team?”

His silence was the only answer you needed.

“Do I seem like the type of woman who would put your cock in my mouth if I didn’t respect you?”

“No, you don’t.”

“Good.”

You gathered your briefcase and strode towards the door. You only stopped at the sound of his voice.

“I respect you, too.”

“I know,” you smiled. “You wouldn’t play so well with me if you didn’t. Get your shit together, Bridgerton. I’ll see you first thing Monday morning with revised contracts. I’m sure Morrison is chomping at the bit to get this settled after your little pissing contest today.”

Your hand was on the doorknob when he spoke again.

“You want to respect each other again next week?”

You shot him a playful wink before sauntering out of the room. You would most definitely be respecting the hell out of him as soon as humanly possible.

If you were lucky, maybe you could get him to respect you a little less.

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

@eleanor-bradstreet @faye-tale @musicismyoxygen84 @heeyyyou @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @queenofmean14

[spatialwave]

V's All That

Chapter 2 || The Invite

➥ Summary: Jayce Talis, the school's golden boy and a guaranteed pick for Prom King, seems to have it all—looks, charm, and popularity. However, when Kino presents him with the opportunity to win back Mel, his ex-girlfriend and the one who got away, Jayce jumps at the chance. The challenge? To transform Viktor, a snarky outcast who is as far from popular as possible, into Prom King instead. Jayce takes the bait, but he may have taken on more than he can handle. ➥ Word Count: 3.8k ➥ Pairing: Jayce Talis x Viktor || Arcane

🧡 beta'd by @spxllcxstxr 🩷 art by @wapimostosis 🧡 available on ao3

<- part 1. | part 3. ->

“You need to stop showing up uninvited,” Caitlyn’s voice rang clearly in her bedroom, sharp blue eyes analyzing the dozens of homework pages on her perfectly tidied desk. Her hair was tied back into a tight pony, a sign of concentration from the girl who’d spent much of her time reaching academic heights. Ready to tackle her upcoming senior year.

Jayce was sprawled out on the floor next to her bed, his back against the hard, wooden surface, his hazel eyes staring up at the stark white ceiling. He was lost in his thoughts, the day replaying through his head over and over again as he refused to answer Caitlyn.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by a pink-haired girl who stepped over him and stared down with a playful expression of faux sympathy. 

“I think he’s broken, Cupcake,” Vi murmured, cocking her head to the side and holding the football between her fingers just above Jayce’s face. She had it briefly before dropping it, letting the ball fall from her fingers.

He reacted almost instantaneously, swatting it away as it plummeted to his face, eyes narrowing at her in disbelief.

“What are you even doing here?” He grumbled, a frown creasing his forehead.

“Leave my girlfriend alone,” Caitlyn sighed in exasperation, spinning on her rolling chair to face them, her expression offering clear signs of annoyance. Not only was there a mountain of notes to be studied before the end of the day, but having Jayce and Vi around always led to unnecessary distractions. At least it was nice to know they got long—for the most part. “You didn’t come here to sulk, so spit it out. What did Mel do?”

Vi snickered under her breath, stepping over Jayce and collapsing onto Caitlyn’s bed, head hanging off the edge and powder blue eyes fixating on the boy on the floor. Reeking of sadness and desperation.

“Mel didn’t do anything,” Jayce lamented, dragging his hands over his face. Caitlyn cringed at his dramatics. I miss her, but that’s not the problem… God, I really miss her.”

“I can’t believe she dumped your ass. You really fucked that up,” Vi howled out a laugh, the sound vibrant, but was quickly shut up by a warning glare from Caitlyn.

“You’re so funny, Vi. It’s actually incredible. You should consider a career in comedy with all the jokes you have under your belt.” Jayce spat, though there was no real anger behind his words. Slowly, he sat up so he could instead hang his head between his bent knees. It was a pathetic sight that left both girls staring, knowing they had to at least try to mend the poor guy’s obvious broken heart.

Vi let out a quiet grumble, annoyed that she was dragged into the mess Jayce had served them on a silver platter. Since Mel broke up with him a couple of weeks prior, she’d been finding it difficult to find alone time with her girlfriend, but it was hard to blame the poor guy.

Heartbreak was tough, she knew that after a few rough patches with Caitlyn during their past year together. She shed plenty of tears, gave herself a butchered haircut that had just grown out, and spent one too many nights being consoled by Powder while they watched ‘80s romcoms and ate their weight in ice cream and junk food.

Caitlyn, now completely turned around in her seat and staring at Jayce, let out a sigh as she let her stress of the day release so she could focus her remaining energy on him. “What’s the problem?”

Jayce didn’t respond, sulking, his head still hanging pathetically between his knees. There was no response for a moment, silence filling the air until he asked in a quiet voice, “Is it hard to be my friend?”

Caitlyn and Vi exchanged confused glances, unsure of what Jayce was about to spring on them.

“A little–”

“No,” Cait interjected, lifting a finger at Vi and stopping her mid-sentence without even looking in her direction. She focused her attention entirely on Jayce, someone she considered a big brother after years and years of being stuck together at the hip. She knew him better than anyone; despite his flair for the dramatic and occasional immaturity, he had a big heart. For him to feel this way made it hard for her not to sympathize. “Why do you ask? I find it hard to believe someone wouldn’t want to be your friend.”

Sadly, he peered up, eyes shifting between the two girls. “You have no idea, Sprout.”

“Seriously? Mr. Golden Boy is having a hard time making friends. I call bullshit,” Vi said, rolling over so her chin rested on her crossed arms as she stared at Jayce. As a girl from the ‘wrong side of the tracks’ it was hard to feel for the guy who had everything handed to him. 

If Viktor was anything like her, he would be rather bitter about some of the school's wealthier and more popular kids. He wanted nothing to do with Jayce. 

“Again, why are you here?” Jayce snapped, glaring daggers at Vi.

“Oh my god, this conversation is going in circles. Jayce,” Caitlyn clapped her hands together, grabbing his attention and forcing him to look in her direction, “What’s going on? You have to be transparent, or we can’t help you.”

Jayce scrunched his nose, his mind reeling at how to explain the situation, fearing judgment from them. They didn’t have to know about the bet, did they? Was it really that important of a detail to disclose?

Shifting to face them both while still sitting on the floor, he groaned and shook his head, “It’s Viktor.”

Both girls stared at him with puzzled expressions, the name ringing a bell in one of them.

“I don’t—”

“Viktor? Really? That dude Powder hangs out with?” Vi spoke up, raising an eyebrow.

Jayce’s eyes shot towards Vi again, “You know him?”

With a shake of her head, Vi replied, “Hardly. I know they get together to play that weird board game in our basement once a week. The one where it’s like—” She snapped her fingers a few times, trying to recall the information, “They fight dragons and roleplay. Real nerd shit. Mylo and Claggor join in sometimes.”

“Dungeons and Dragons?” Jayce clarified.

The pink-haired girl briefly narrowed her eyes at Jayce, a small smirk forming on her lips, “Didn’t peg you as the kind of guy to play that sorta’ thing.”

“I don’t play,” he scoffed, cheeks warm from embarrassment with a pink colour dusting over his tanned skin.

“Jayce, don’t get me wrong,” Caitlyn chimed in, “but why on earth are you trying to befriend him? He’s not really…”

“His kind of friend. I’m calling more bullshit.” Vi murmured.

“Christ, fine. Let me explain before you jump to any conclusions,” Jayce explained, hands moving with his words. “He’s in my chemistry class, and I tried to ask him for some help today, and he brushed me off like I was nothing more than shit on his shoe. I don’t get it! What’s so bad about helping someone out with some homework? What have I ever done to him?”

Vi raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, but what have you done for him? He’s not entitled to help you for no reason.”

“Don’t you have a 3.9 GPA, Jayce? Why are you even asking for help?” Caitlyn added, trying to wrap her head around the situation. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Jayce brushed her off, running his hands through his perfectly styled hair as frustration consumed him once more. “I never ask for help. Can you just tell me how to get him to help me without judging me?”

Vi stared at the poor guy, huffing a quiet sigh as she sat on the bed, legs dangling off the side. While he buried his face in his hands again, she glanced at Caitlyn. She offered a sympathetic shrug, and Cait nodded, slowly slinking away from her chair until she was on the floor in front of Jayce.

Her delicate hands extended out, fingers with neatly manicured nails wrapped around his wrists as she pulled his hands away from his face.

Jayce was forced to look into her eyes, cheeks flaring bright with embarrassment. He wasn’t keen on asking for help, his pride often getting in the way, especially from someone he considered his younger sister. He was supposed to be the role model here!

“Can I give you some advice?” She asked gently, pulling her hands away to rest in her lap.

“Yeah. I could use anything at this point.” Jayce mumbled, at a loss for motivation as his eyes dropped to his hands that fidgeted together.

Caitlyn took a few short moments to consider her wording carefully. She had never taken advice-giving so lightly, especially with a passionate man like Jayce, who could take things personally. He was rather impressionable.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get out of this, Jayce, and it’s not my place to ask if you don’t want to share, but you could try to put at least some effort into this. Vi’s right, there’s no reason for Viktor to help someone who… well, someone who doesn’t give him the time of day otherwise.” Her voice was gentle, but the words still cut deep for Jayce. A realization he needed but hadn’t been prepared for, shattering the assumptions he carried.

“Goddamnit,” he groaned, trying to fight the small smile growing on his lips despite his frustrations, “I hate that you’re always right.”

“Me too, man,” Vi said from her spot, raising her hands defensively when Caitlyn snapped her gaze to her, “Don’t look at me like that, babe. He said it first!”

Jayce let out a genuine laugh as he watched the two bicker, a rhythm in their relationship that he sorely missed in his own life. Mel was back on his mind again, and she hadn’t really left, had she? Yet, while he lay in bed later that night, he found someone else taking over his thoughts as he tried to sleep: Viktor.

The conversation from earlier that afternoon replayed in his mind like a broken record, the sound of Viktor’s annoyed voice clear as day: “I don’t want to help you.” 

It made him cringe, his stomach churning and twisting as he imagined trying to talk to him again the next day, wondering how he would move past his poor attempt at conversation. He hated how invested he had become in this bet and how he had lied to Caitlyn about the actualities of this, hopefully, soon-to-be-friendship. He never lied to her.

To make matters worse, she was right; Jayce had absolutely no justification to ask for help from Viktor. He was already accepted into several prestigious colleges and was the fourth highest in their graduating class for grades. Where was Viktor on that list? Would Jayce even learn anything from him?

It was easy to fall into the repetition of insecure thoughts, a pattern of negative thinking he thought he had left behind long ago.

Groaning, Jayce rolled over to reach toward his nightstand, his fingers fumbling until they grasped at his portable disk walkman. In the dark, he pressed the play button, wrapping headphones over his ears as the foam earpieces blocked out the distant sounds of cars driving through the suburbs. 

Instead, the familiar sounds of Simple Plan filled his mind and allowed him to drift off to a deep sleep—disturbed only by the loud blaring of his alarm clock at six a.m.

-

“Well, isn’t it the Prince of Piltover,” Kino’s voice rumbled loudly, catching Jayce’s attention as he walked through the halls confidently. There were only a few minutes left of their lunch break, and he’d been trying to figure out where Viktor would be lingering—no time like the present to attempt a second introduction. It was now or never.

The last person he wanted to see was Kino.

“Hey, man,” Jayce said, watching as his friend caught up to his pace, the crowds of students splitting open as they walked through like royalty. Girls gawking at them unashamed, and young freshman boys taking mental notes of how to be like them one day.

“You been avoiding me?” Kino asked teasingly, smirking as he nudged Jayce’s side with a sharp elbow.

“That obvious?” He teased in return, flashing a smile at the other as they turned the corner. It seemed that God worked in mysterious ways, and those ways were handing Viktor to Jayce at the worst possible times.

“Oh, shit,” Kino snickered, stopping in his footsteps in tandem with Jayce. His eyes focused on his friend, noting the nervous expression that flitted across his features, “You still haven’t talked to him since yesterday, huh? Dude, at this rate, it’s going to be prom night before he even says hi back to you.”

“Shut up, Kino,” Jayce hissed, brushing him off with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Can you just… fuck off for a second?”

Kino snorted a forced laugh, covering up the anger that swirled within him, “Yeah, whatever, man. Good luck.”

Jayce hadn’t paid any attention to Kino after that; instead, he paused in the hallway and stared at Viktor like a deer in headlights—unable to draw his gaze away, even if he wanted to. He watched as the tired-looking student stood at his locker, his cane put aside momentarily as he rummaged through his belongings and switched textbooks for afternoon classes.

When Viktor finally closed his locker with a sharp move, he nearly let out a yelp at the figure standing right next to him—wearing a toothy grin and leaning against the lockers much too casually for someone who had pissed him off the day before.

Viktor’s jaw clenched involuntarily, and he reached for his cane, his thin fingers wrapping around the wooden handle as he stared at Jayce with an uninterested and annoyed glare. “Haven’t I already told you no? Is that not an answer you like?”

Yikes. That was harsh.

Jayce let out a nervous chuckle, keeping himself calm and collected at the onslaught of Viktor’s obvious disdain for his presence. “I’m sorry. Yesterday, I came off a little strong, I realize that now.”

Viktor eased for a moment, hating the way Jayce’s laugh made his stomach flutter, shoving that feeling far, far down before it affected him any further. He couldn’t lie; an apology was a nice gesture, but it was far from enough to change his mind.

“The answer is still no,” he grumbled, a single hand tightening the lock of his locker, preparing to leave Jayce behind like he had yesterday.

“That’s fine, I totally get it,” Jayce replied coolly, but his heart was beating hard, and his hands were getting sweaty again. Trying desperately to figure out where he could pivot this conversation, “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

There it was—a gesture that worked wonders on Mel anytime they argued. It usually resulted in a bouquet of flowers and a night together, but he was certain that this bait for Viktor would go a very different route.

Viktor’s eyes narrowed slightly, golden hues sparkling in curiosity. He ignored the looks of passing students, the chatter of them whispering the same thing to each other again and again: ‘Why was Viktor suddenly so interesting?’

Jayce mastered the art of ignoring everyone around him, but it was for good reasons. His ego clearly loved the attention but knew how to give someone his full attention when needed. He wasn’t a total asshole.

“Anything at all?” He urged, that stupid smile on his lips making Viktor want to say yes, but he’d be damned if he’d let himself get caught up in whatever Jayce was aiming for. Jayce may not have paid attention to him, but Viktor had a knack for observing the world around him and would not admit the number of times he’d stared at the Golden Boy himself from a careful distance—usually from the back of the class.

He noted how academics came so easily to Jayce, how he would silently cheer to himself whenever he got an A-plus, or how he looked defeated whenever his performance was less than perfection. 

“Jayce,” Viktor sighed, and oh, he hated how much he enjoyed the way his name rolled off of his tongue, “I really don’t think—”

“Viktor—oh! Hi, Jayce.”

Two sets of eyes looked to Viktor's other side as another student approached them, the same girl with rounded glasses that Jayce hadn’t been able to name. Once more, his mind was filled with a flurry of names, none of them fitting.

“Hi, uh…” Jayce cringed, desperately searching for her name, but it never came.

“Sky,” Viktor stated bluntly, his interest in Jayce disappearing, “Her name is Sky. She is in the three classes we have together.”

For a brief moment, Jayce’s eyes widened in surprise. Viktor had paid enough attention to him to know they had classes together. He wasn’t sure why that made his heart skip a beat.

“It’s fine,” she laughed, shaking her head at Viktor’s bluntness and trying to relieve the obvious guilt rising from Jayce.

“I’m sorry,” the taller student said, a lowly but sincere apology. “Sky. I’ll remember that.”

She beamed, smiling cheerfully from ear to ear at just being able to talk to Jayce. Unfortunately for Viktor, Sky was not immune to the charisma that oozed from the class president.

Viktor looked at Jayce, one of reemerging annoyance, “We have to go.”

“But—” Jayce protested, desperation in his voice, “You didn’t answer my question. Is there, uh…” he stammered, finding it harder to ask with a third-party listening in, “anything I can do to make up for my total shitshow of a favour yesterday? Seriously, I feel like an ass asking a lot from you on a whim.”

Sky perked up, smiling at how she noticed Viktor was ready to pounce if Jayce dared to overstay his welcome. It was one of her favourite qualities of him, the ability to so easily speak his mind and stand up for himself, but she interrupted before he could even utter a word.

She could be selfish for once, couldn’t she?

“You could fill in for our game tonight!” Sky’s voice was full of enthusiasm, excitement palpable.

“Sky.” Viktor snapped at her.

“What? He’s offering a favour,” Sky replied, pushing up her glasses that had slipped down her nose, “Both Mylo and Claggor can’t make it tonight; Powder just told me. It’s going to be a difficult session… we could use the help.” 

She was received by silence as Viktor stared ahead at his locker, begging for this to end and hoping that both of them would get the hint and leave him alone. Sky didn’t let up, though. Neither did Jayce, whose eyes flickered between them eagerly.

“The Duergars kidnapped Miss Fortune,” Sky started on a rant, desperately trying to sway Viktor, “We’re looking at a death wish if we go through with playing tonight without another player. Do you really think a cleric and a warlock can take down the entire Duergar war camp? We’re only level four—”

With a swift motion, Viktor smacked his cane against Sky’s leg, light enough to just interrupt her ramblings.

“Enough. He doesn’t want to play.”

“I’ll play,” Jayce interrupted casually, and he hadn’t expected a look so cruel from Viktor, practically seeing the steam blowing from his ears. Anger simmering below the surface.

“Yes!” Sky beamed as her features lit up, “If you don’t have a character, Viktor has dozens of unused ones, so I’m sure you’ll find someone you like.”

“I don’t want to teach anyone to play. We’ll reschedule.” Viktor doubled down, eyes staring right into Jayce’s. 

“You won’t have to,” Jayce replied confidently. Offering a sweet smile that made Viktor want to reach over and tear it off of his face. “I’ll manage.”

Interest flickered in Viktor’s eyes, intrigued by the confidence Jayce carried so easily. He hardly seemed like the type to pick up a roleplaying game in his spare time, let alone master in, but regardless, this could prove to be a great time to prove how little regard he has for anyone but himself. Maybe a chance to embarrass him right back, a way to show how badly he wanted to get him off his back.

He cocked an eyebrow, “Eight sharp. The address is two-twenty-five Pyke Ave. Don’t be late.”

Jayce perked up, eyes wide like an excited puppy, “Y-Yeah. I won’t be late. See you later, Viktor. Oh, and Sky!”

Without another word, Viktor leaned on his cane and began to walk away while Sky offered Jayce an excited wave before departing with her friend.

Jayce stood alone for a moment, watching the two of them walk away as he smiled to himself. He finally had an advantage. Very few people in his life knew this about him, but before he was the Golden Boy and just a peer among a sea of students in middle school, he dabbled in Dungeons and Dragons. Not quite like others, considering he never played a real game, but he was fond of learning about it. He had convinced his mom to buy him a player’s guidebook—a treasure he read repeatedly but never shared for fear that his friends would make fun of him.

He hoped he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of Viktor, let alone other experienced players. He wasn’t sure if he could handle any more bruises on his already beaten-up ego.

Jayce avoided Kino for the remainder of the day, his mind reeling with the possibilities of the upcoming night and wondering how on earth he was going to manage to get on Viktor’s good side in just one session. After a short while of digging through his closet and making a mess out of his room, he pulled out a dusty book hidden deep in a box of trinkets and old treasures he’d meant to give away the previous summer.

The Player’s Handbook, second edition.

He scoured the pages for glimpses of information, some coming back and some lost over the years of trying to forget this interest existed at one point in his life. He flipped through the book until he was satisfied with the fact that he didn’t know as much as he let on and that this was more than likely going to embarrass the ever-living-fuck out of him.

But anything was worth it to get closer to Viktor.

[hunnysnoops]

ミ★ 𝒟𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒦𝓎𝓁𝑒 𝐵𝓇𝑜𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓋𝓈𝓀𝒾 𝐻𝒞𝓈 ★彡

(+some general)

MASTERLIST

Doesn’t crush often but when he does, he crushes hard

Hot take- we would not choose a study date as a first date

^ I see him as the kinda guy who dates with a long term goal in mind and would want to get to know someone well off the bat

^ Bro is not messing around- he would want a first date where the two of you talk a lot and he can get to know you before committing

^I think his ideal first date would be a movie then a cafe/restaurant. Movie first so there’s a couple hours to ease the awkward first date tension and then coffee/food to talk about the movie and eventually branch the conversation out

He sends those cryptic texts like “be alert…” when there was mugging in town or something

Tags you in every post he sees. You’ll wake up and check social media to thirty messages in your inbox and they’re all from Kyle

The kinda guy to be like “Did you look at the post I sent you about the guy at the bus stop?”

Got his account banned on Twitter and went absolutely ballistic while you tried to calm him down

Runs Hay Day like it’s the navy

Definitely the type to be hooked on his phone until it dies and then complain that you’re on yours “Bro, let’s just talk about the political and economic state of the world right now…”

This might be another hot take but I don’t think he would want a childish partner, he want to be your boyfriend not your dad

^Having to zip up your coat, tie your shoelaces, or cut your food- I don’t think he would mind doing it a couple times but repeating offences would irritate him

Not big on pet names

^ I think he would be one to call you ‘bro’ ‘man’ and ‘dude’ a lot just out of habit but would probably just call you an abbreviation of your name if anything

^ perhaps babe on very rare occasion

HATES PDA

^ I fear I may have many hot takes in this post

^He would be pretty touchy in private but in public? Hell no

^ talks shit about couples who can’t keep their hands off each other in public and absentmindedly wrinkles his nose in disgust

^ the only PDA he would accept is hand holding or a quick hug

Calls and FaceTimes you out of the blue but will immediately hang up if you’re busy or with other people and call back later

He is either the most sound sleeper ever or he wakes up at the drop a pin- either way, he always ends up slinging his lanky arms around you

He’s weirdly good with hair and would have no problem braiding yours or styling it

Super supportive aspiration wise

^ sports games? He’s the loudest in the crowd. Theatre? He’s on the edge of his seat watching. Art? He’s looking at your creations like they’re in a museum.

If you have bad habits (smoking, drinking, etc.) he would try to ease you out of them but if that fails it would definitely cause conflict in the relationship

Has his moments where he snaps at you

Fights wouldn’t be often but they would be big

He would enjoy playful banter and someone who challenges him to improve

I think he would enjoy a lot of the lower beats of the relationship like staying in to watch movies, cooking together, walking and talking, silently enjoying each others company, etc.

He posts Instagram carrousels and every single one has a picture of you in it

Doesn’t even entertain people who try to flirt with him “No, thanks.” “I’m dating someone.” “I’m good.”

Shows you Reddit posts and complains about how obviously fake they are

Gets irritated by bad acting in movies “He called her Courtney Dove, fucking idiot.” “Why does she chew like that?” “Her accent sounds fake.”

Has a secret TikTok account and doesn’t know that you watch his videos on a fake account

He is well aware of rage bait but it still makes him mad because so many people fall for it so he’ll end up commenting anyways

Easily jealous

^ if he sees you talking to another guy he doesn’t trust he’ll insert himself into the conversation and pretend he knows what’s going on

Checks up on you a lot

^ He just has to know that you're okay, he has to be sure that you're safe and that if something were to happen, you would call him without thinking twice.

He wants to communicate but he’s lowkey really bad at it and can’t get in an argument with you without yelling

I imagine him as a runner

^ he’ll probably run to your house at ungodly hours, drink some water, give you a kiss, and keep running

^also lovvvves to show you his stats

He’s really good at cooking and always takes control when you two are cooking/baking together

Didn’t want to dress up on Halloween but you ultimately coerced him into doing a corny couples costume

Has a longer skincare routine than you do

He’s one of those guys to pretend to hate the reality shows and soap operas that you watch- he’ll peak from his phone, then stand from behind the couch and then he’s fully invested in the plot

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Cherry Pie Kiss

Slice Three

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You're cornered and chased by Bartholomew's minions. Separated from Sam and Cas, you and Dean make a run for it. Lust finds you both when you're finally safe. Dean rocks your world.

Words: 3.4k

A/N: This is smutty part 3 of what's now looking like a longer series since I've settled on a cute, fluffy and smutty part 4. At this point I don't think I'll ever be sated in my need for this man but Im so not sorry about it 😂

I do hope you enjoy part 3. If you haven't read parts 1 and 2 check out the Cherry Pie Kiss Masterlist. As always, I value your comments and feedback. Drop a dime and let me know what you think.

Warnings: Smut. Canon-typical action/adventure. Running for your lives. Bit of angst.

*** 18+ Minors Do Not Read or Interact ***

Dean Winchester.  You hate him.  His stubbornness and stoic grace.  His tenacity and faith that, no matter what, you guys will get it done if you stick together.  The way his eyes pierce you down to your soul when he stares.  At least that’s what you try to tell yourself, hoping that others will believe it too.  Truth is, you’re just as stubborn as he is, holding onto this façade when hatred is so far from what you feel.

Dean sits behind Baby’s wheel, having stormed away from the Gas’n’Sip in frustration.  His eyes follow your every move and your body language as you and Sam try to convince Cas, for the umpteenth time, to come with you.  Dean had taken it personally when Cas had refused, and after several attempts at reasoning, bargaining, and begging, Dean had given up, choosing to sit out any further attempts at persuasion.

You look over at the black Impala with its radiant chrome and glossy darkness.  The man inside looks away out to road not wanting the hurt, so plain on his face, to be seen.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” you say to Sam, touching his forearm gently as he continues to reason with the fallen Angel.

You feel compelled to at least try to comfort Dean.  Since you two had talked that night in the dingy room-only motel out in Crocker, you had maintained a stable yet strained connection.  You had still been pissed at him for using you and Sam as bait so you had sent him back to his room with another kiss and the promise of “when I’m ready”.  Since then, you two had never been alone for more than a few minutes; there was always Sam, or witnesses, or monsters.

Dean’s head snaps your way when you pull the door open, his face schooled into that smooth mask he wears when he’s hurt but unwilling to be vulnerable.  Cas’s decision has really hit him hard.

Sliding in the passenger side, you angle yourself towards him and reach to take one of his hands which is picking at the fingernails of his other.  Ordinarily, you wouldn’t risk such a gesture but with Sam a couple of hundred meters away and the height of the dash to obscure it, you’re not worried.

Dean allows the contact, his head hanging.  “Cas made his choice.”  His voice is low and gravelly with emotion.

“Doesn’t mean he can’t change his mind.”  You reason, trying not to throw fuel on the fire.

“He knows where I am if he does.”  He states, matter of fact.  “I’m not wasting another breath on him.”

“He’s your best friend.”

“You’re my best friend.”  Dean looks at you and squeezes your hand which is entwined with his, resting on his thigh.  “You and Sam.”

“I’m just some girl you want to fuck.”  You chuckle, and Deans lips quirk a subtle smirk briefly before he replies.

The words don’t come out, however.  Dean catches movement at the side of the Gas’N’Sip, and he drops your hand to turn over the engine, thrusting the heel of his other hand on Baby’s horn as he does so.

Sam and Cas look in your direction and then see the four figures walking quickly and with purpose, coming between them and the Impala.  Shit!  Angels.  Bartholomew’s minions, no doubt.  How have they found you again?

“Son of a bitch!”  Dean hisses, cranking the car into drive, kicking up stones in the gravel lot as the wheels spin, gaining traction to take you to Sam and Cas.

You fumble your seatbelt, sliding on the seat and right into Dean with a grunt as he swerves to avoid a blacked-out Escalade that grinds to a halt between you and your friends.

Sam and Cas are already on the move, running fast towards the gold Lincoln pimpmobile Cas had somehow acquired, Sam waving Dean off as they scramble into the car and peel out of the lot before the Angels could reach them.  You, however, are stuck.  With the Escalade and four fallen angels between you and the lot exit, Dean turns the wheel, locking it out and put his foot on the gas, spinning the car around with an horrific noise from the tyres.  At the back of the lot is a chainlink fence with a gate that leads to a dirt road which split in two, one branch heading to the highway, the other into scrubland that precedes a dense-looking woodland.  You can lose them in the trees.

Dean winces as he ploughs baby through the chainlink gate, lamenting the damage that is sure to be done, and turns the car towards the highway.

“We can lose them in the trees,” you cry, point to the woods.

“Baby doesn’t have the ground clearance for it,” Dean says roughly, manoeuvring the car through a side-on skid with the heel of his hand on the wheel and his other hand gripping the side of the seat to stop himself from sliding as the car spins.  Once straight, he slams his food on the gas and burns rubber onto the tarmac, heading in the opposite direction to Sam and Cas.

You know he’s right about the car.  The Escalade is 4x4 and sits high which gives it the advantage off road in the woods when the trail inevitably turns to a glorified hiking path.  You’re not even sure the highway is a much better option given that Baby is an older, classic car, but you know Dean keeps her in tip-top shape and she’s got a lot of power under her hood.  That being said, the Escalade could be seen in the rearview, weaving through traffic to catch up to you.

The shrill ring of your phone makes you jump as you try to focus on the road and on what’s behind.  You need to be a second set of eyes for Dean while he’s pushing Baby to create some distance from the Escalade.

“Hey, Sam!”  You sigh with relief, reading his name on your display, putting him on speaker.

“This is Castiel,” the former Angel’s flat tone carries from the phone.  “Sam is driving.  He said I’m too slow.”

You grin big.  That’s a classic Winchester brother thing to do.  From the corner of your eye you see Dean smirk.

“Just tell them we’re headed west and haven’t been followed.”  Sam sighed with mild frustration.

“Damn it’s good to hear your voice, Sammy!”  Dean spoke loudly in that extra deep tone he uses when he is running on adrenalin.  You know he left Cas out because he is still hurt, but you also know he’s glad Cas is safe too.

“We’re headed in the opposite direction,” you explain.  “The vehicle followed us and we’re trying to shake them but they’re keeping up.”

“Pretty soon we’ll run out of traffic, and on the open road we’ll never lose them.”  Dean frowns as he hunts in the rearview for your pursuers.

“Maybe you can head into the wilderness, hole up and set traps.”  Sam offers.  “We can turn around and try to catch up.”

“No!”  Dean snaps.  “You’re both safe.  I want you to stay that way.  Get someplace and lay low.  We’ll get this done and I’ll call you, ok?”

“Dean…”  Cas begins to speak but Dean is having none of it.

“I said No!  Okay?  For once, just do what I say.  We’ve got this.”

You hang up the phone without waiting for a response.  You can see how worked up Dean is, his brain running overtime as he tries to figure out a plan while he’s trying to evade Bartholomew’s lackies on a road full of other cars.

The satellite map on your phone shows a complex set of junctions several miles up ahead where this road meets and crosses with two interstates, branching off in multiple places to service a small city surrounded by a cluster of smaller towns.  It looks promising and Dean agrees.

The junction of the roads has raised on and off ramps that weave in and around the support structures of the main interstate, with frontage roads servicing the branches at intervals.  Traffic is heavy and Dean follows a newer model black Cady onto the interstate by one of the on-ramps, only to cut across the lanes harshly and slip onto a skewed off-ramp, hoping the Escalade will follow the newer Cady.  Slowing down at the end of the off-ramp, he turns to take the frontage road in the opposite direction, heading slowly up the on-ramp for the interstate carriage way going back in the direction from which you had come, so as not to rejoin too soon and be spotted on the other side.

You check all around as soon as you crest the on-ramp back onto the road, praying you don’t see the black government-style vehicle.  Dean doesn’t wait to find out, he puts his foot down and puts a few eighteen wheelers between you and whatever is behind you.

“I think we’re clear,” you say after about fifteen minutes of hypervigilance.

“Don’t jinx it, sweetheart.”  Dean keeps his eyes on the road, the wheel clasped in two white-knuckled fists.

Switching from the interstate to a smaller road and then to another road but still taking you away from where Sam and Cas had headed, Dean starts to relax.  He chances a look at you, to find you looking right back.  The tension in his neck and jaw haven’t melted away yet but he doesn’t have that hard look of focused fury that he usually does when in fight or flight mode.  He doesn’t say anything and neither do you, but the glances between you become more frequent as though you’re both checking on each other to make sure the other is okay, needing to visually check each time.

A sign by the side of the road identifies the beautiful landscape to your left as Black Water Natural Forest, and with the sun beginning to set behind the mountains in the distance, it seems a good place to wait out the sunset.  You point to the sign and Deans nods.  He doesn’t argue, knowing you need a place to park-up off road away from prying eyes to get your bearings and make a plan to meet up with your friends.

As the road gets narrower and the trees get more dense, Dean slows the car, casting furtive glances at you.  It’s making your skin burn, the way he looks at you now, with that hunger in his eyes.  You feel it too.  Weeks of tension built between you, and todays threat to your lives now culminating in a deep need for some kind of release.  You lick your lips, breathing shallow and quick as you try to regain your composure, but Dean isn’t doing much better.  You look at him fully and he all but moans when he sees the look in your eye.

A turn off presents itself that leads to a small muddy lot where hikers can park their cars when they venture out into the forest.  Dean brings Baby to a stop so hard your seatbelt catches you, then he yanks it into park and fumbles for the seal lever.  You unclip your belt as the front seat slides back fully and he reaches for you, helping you straddle his lap.

You waste no time, kissing him fervently as you unbutton your shirt while he tries to push it from your shoulders before it’s open.  Breaths are gasps released between kisses, tongues touching, tasting and tempting more passion, and you succumb to the frenzy of heat that’s born of your need to feel something other than fear.  Your need to feel him.

You’re both a mess of fumbling hands and sloppy kisses as clothes are shucked and skin exposed.  You try to stand, your legs either side of his as you unbutton your jeans and he unclasps his belt.

The loud sound of the Impala’s horn echoes out amongst the trees, startling birds so they take wing and both of you into stillness and silence.

Dean looks at you with panic but then grins and laughs, reaching to tug your jeans down your legs until they’re bunched up around your boots.

It’s awkward but you can still straddle him like this and, as you kneel back onto the black leather seat, he lifts his hips to grind himself impatiently against you.  The desperation in your eyes is matched by the eagerness in his.  He is rapt, eyes absorbing the sights and sounds of your body and of your pleasure as you grind yourself against him.  Your slicked pussy drenching his cock as you slide yourself along his length but deny him entry just when his tip catches at your entrance.

Dean fondles your breasts, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your skin until he reaches your hardening peaks.  His kisses become more suckling then, nibbling them and flicking them firmly with his tongue until you’re almost shaking above him.

“You ready for me?”  You ask, breathless.

“Sweetheart,” he treats you to his classic sultry smirk, “I’ve been ready for you since you moved in.”

You grin, knowing he’s been jonesing for you for that long.  Truth be told, you’d wanted him for longer but the hate you made yourself feel for him was an adequate distraction from it.

Biting your lip, you reach between you, taking his wet shaft in hand and positioning it at your entrance.  Your eyes meet as you begin to skink down on him, inching down in a shallow rocking motion with Dean stroking your hips and waist as you work at it.  He resists the urge to thrust up into you at first, allowing you to get accustomed to him.

When you bottom him out, he presses down on your hips firmly, lifting his just enough to give you a deep pleasurable pressure that has you groaning and your eyes rolling back.

You are tight despite being very wet, and the way you squeeze him has him twitching heavily against your walls.

“Fuck…”  he groans as you begin to move, leaning back slightly so he hits all the right spots inside you.

“I’m not going to last long,” you laugh breathily.

“No problem,” Dean says, his hands gripping your hips hard, helping you ride him a little faster now.  “We’ll get you for two.”

He doesn’t even have to reach down to stroke your clit, you come all by yourself, grinding on him with a sexy roll of your hips he knows should be good for you, your clit rubbing against his soft hair.  He can feel you spasming and clenching around him and it feels like heaven, even better than warm cherry pie hitting his taste buds.

“You feel freaking amazing.”  He growls, pulling you forward to suckle on the delicate skin of your neck.

“Right back at’cha,” you sigh against pleasure.

He rolls you to the side, and lays you on your back on the seat, still buried in you to the hilt.  Looking down at your heated face, your skin glowing from your orgasm, Dean thinks you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, with a possible exception of Baby.  Okay, you’re the most beautiful living thing he’s ever seen.

Looking up at Dean, his brow creased in concentration, his eyes dark with lust, you don’t think you have ever been turned on by anyone as much as this man.  Damn, he’s hot!  Riding the adrenaline of the chase, you had been desperate for an outlet.  Now that is out of your mind, you lose yourself in the man between your thighs, you’re focused solely on the feeling of him buried deep, and the rising tide of pleasure.  The windows steam up as you grind and roll your bodies together, and you think you might combust from the heat of him.

When he meets and holds your gaze, your heart almost stops.  There you see more than just lust, more than just the passion between you.  It’s deep and hidden, secret almost, and it surfaces as affection that softens his eyes.  You reach up to stroke his face as his grinding hips keep their measured pace and he leans into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand, closing his eyes with a tender sigh.

His vulnerability in that moment lances electricity to your core and you spasm powerfully around him.  His eyes flash open and he sees you’re close again but he doesn’t grin cockily like he might have done earlier, instead he leans down to kiss you, leaning his forehead on yours as you grip the back of his neck and look into his gorgeous eyes.  With your other hand on his hip, sliding round to his ass you guide the speed and depth of his thrusts and you roll your hips to meet his.

As you guide him to slow down he thinks he’ll lose the pleasure he’s cultivated so far but he can now feel more of you and it’s more intense because it’s slow and prolonged.  He almost laughs at how it changes everything and he gasps with surprise when he starts to feel his orgasm coming.  He knows he needs to pull out but you hold him on place with your hands and your heels.

“Give me everything,” you moan as you feel him swell.  “I need to feel you, nice and deep.”

Dean groans with pleasure watching your eyes sparkle with heat for him.

“I want it,” you almost beg.  “Want you.”

He nods, biting his lip as bends to your desire.

Spurred on by your permission, Dean thrusts deeper until he bottoms out, moaning your name as he comes deep inside you.  Your walls contract as he fills you, your climax a deep rolling pleasure that courses your whole body.  Everything feels so right, he feels right.  The way you two fit, the way he makes you feel.  It’s like a low-key destiny you’re more than willing to succumb to.

Dean doesn’t just pull out and get off you once you’re both done, he flips you so your lay on his chest.  There he holds you and strokes you back and hips, your hair and your face until you lift your head to look at him.  Then he smirks cockily and you swat his chest.

“You don’t have to look so smug about it,” you chastise him.

“Hey, I keep my promises,” he says with that trademark smirk playing on his plush lips.  “Would’a give you more but we’re kinda on the run here, sweetheart.”

“You can owe me, how ‘bout that?”  You push yourself up and try to find your clothes.

He grins at the confirmation that this isn’t just a one-time deal.  “Hell yeah!  Sign me up.”

You clean up with wipes from your travel bag as Dean calls Sam.  You watch the relieved interaction from the front fender of Baby while Dean paces in the dirt a few meters away.  You apply some flavoured lip balm to your kiss bruised lips as he works out the logistics of meeting up and what to do about Bartholomew.

After the call, Dean beelines straight for you, sliding his hands around your waist and burying his face in your neck, kissing playfully.

“I take it we’ve got a few hours at least until we can meet Sam and Cas.”  You thread your fingers through his messy hair, trailing your fingernails over his scalp which he seems to really like.

“Several.”  He says against your delicate skin.

“Whatever are we gonna do to pass the time?”  You smile as you picture the pair of you fucking all over his car.

“I can think of a few things,” he surfaces with a hungry look, leaning back in to kiss you.

Your soft lips claim his once more as you melt into his arms, the kiss heated and full of need.  Dean kisses you with such force it steals your breath and makes your knees weak, and when he pulls back he looks at you thoughtfully.  Licking his lips and tasting you on them, he grins.

“Cherry,” his eyes go to your lips again, “I like it.”

Dean’s talented tongue makes you forget any quip you might have said, as he lifts you onto Baby’s hood and keeps his promise.

[leashybebes]

I’m obsessed so it’s got to be 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

ilu, that's a lot of emojis! we're mixing it up a bit in this scene...

The club is loud and crowded and full of hot guys. Evan glances over at Tommy. The guy looks like he's about to bolt, like this room full of hot people he might wanna fuck is scarier than the army and running into burning buildings and flying helicopters combined, so Evan grabs his wrist and grins at him. 

"Awesome, right?" he yells in Tommy's ear.

The look on Tommy's face is hard to decipher - still a little freaked out, but also a little like he thinks Evan is ridiculous and like maybe that's taking the edge off some of his nerves. Only a little though - he looks stiff and awkward, and Evan rolls his eyes. Tommy does not look like the primo-grade WeHo bait Evan knows he can be.

"You gotta loosen up, man," he yells. "You look like a cop!"

"How do I look like a cop?"

"Stop scanning for exits! C'mon, drinks, then dance."

Tommy lets Evan drag him over to the bar, lets himself be handed a pair of shots, obediently mirrors Evan when he downs his own. He balks a little when Evan drags him into the crush of bodies on the dancefloor, but only a little, dredging up something that's almost a smile. It's a little awkward - Evan's never danced with anyone even close to as tall as Tommy, but with the bodies pressing in on every side they don't have a lot of choice but to get up close.

"Okay," Evan says, thinking that maybe they should have strategized before they came in, where they had a chance of hearing each other when they spoke at a normal volume. His throat's gonna be sore by the end of the night but if he does his job as wingman effectively, so will Tommy's for much happier reasons. He gets his hand on the back of Tommy's head, tips him closer to shout into his ear. "Let me know when you see someone you like, okay? And hey, nice aftershave!"

When he leans back, it's just in time to catch Tommy blinking and saying something Evan has no chance of hearing. He shrugs happily, turns around and gets his back up against Tommy so they can scan the crowd together.

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