#this makes me cackle every time without fail

[chippdhearts]

CRIME SHOW MEME (CSI EDITION) ☆ [1/3] Scenes

[mediumgayitalian]

Nico really fucking hates capture the flag.

Well, not always. Last week was fun. Last week was the annual Everyone Against The Stolls (to atone for their crimes), and Nico got to chase Connor around at top speeds, cackling, committing his shrieking and begs for mercy to memory. That was nice. That almost made him forgive the fucker for digging a trench under Nico’s unwelcome mat for him to fall into at seven thirty in the godsdamn morning.

But tonight’s game is boring.

He’s been standing, alone, at the base of the flag for the past forty bajillion hours. He’d raised a few dozens skeletons to spar with at first, since animating them to fight himself isn’t technically against the rules, but that got dull fast. (It isn’t much fun sparring with a partner who doesn’t have a brain. He already has to do that enough with Percy when he comes to visit camp.) He’d climbed the various trees around the clearing, or at least he tried until he got reamed by the dryads for climbing on a manner that was too annoying (?), and tried his hands at a few summoning spells. Nothing held his interest long.

And now he’s just standing, doing nothing, and he’s not allowed to leave. He has to stay in this stupid spot on the off chance that someone comes stumbling over to fight him for the flag.

“You’re our best swordsman, she said,” he says mockingly, beaming the nastiest vibes he can manage in Piper’s vague direction. “We need you on our defensive line, she said. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”

His checks his watch. He groans. He looks critically over the grass, looking for a softer patch, and when he locates it he throws himself dramatically upon it, groaning louder.

“This sucks!” he yells, to no one.

“Will you shut up!” shouts back the dryad he pissed off earlier. “For the love of photosynthesis! Fuck!”

He bites his tongue hard to hold back laughter. (If he can avoid getting his entire cabin overgrown with prickle bushes again, that’d be great.) “Sorry,” he calls, trying with everything he has to sound contrite. Convincing his father to fight the Titan War was easier, actually. Acting is not his calling.

“Hmph!”

At least listening to see if she’ll come out and yell at him again provides something to ease his boredom. Yes, he’s going to regret bothering her, but in his defense, solo guarding is cruel and unusual punishment. He’d rather sit by an outlet with a fork and see if he can poke and let go fast enough to avoid dying. That at least would be interesting.

A rustling of leaves recaptures his attention, and he pauses.

“Holly?”

When no one answers, which is odd because she’s taken every opportunity in the last hour to either insult him or pelt him with stones, he lifts his head.

“You’re not going to scare me, dude. I had my fear glands surgically removed to become a better soldier.”

Not true. Obviously. But a fun bonus of being the camp weirdo is that no one doubts anything he says. He’s working on convincing everyone younger than him that he needs weekly tributes of chocolate delivered to his door every Friday or the dead are going to take over the world. So far, it’s working.

“Look, Holly, I’m sorry about the zombie, okay, I promise it didn’t mean to sneeze part of its brain on you —”

The rustling sounds again, only this time Nico can see that it’s not Holly’s tree, and in fact she is nowhere to be found. Alarmed, he jumps to his feet, shifting so he’s balanced on the balls of his feet, poised to attack. Is Piper’s plan failing? Has someone actually managed to make it all the way over here without getting (gently, probably, although they lost the last game and Piper gets cranky without dessert) maimed?

The rustling sounds for a third time. This time, an armoured someone stumbles out of the underbrush, tripping over their own foot and nearly landing flat on their face.

Nico has his sword at their throat in a millisecond.

“Wo-oah, Morbius. That’s probably my least favourite sword you could stab in me.”

Nico goes bright red. “I have never wanted to stab you more than right this second.”

Will, chest plate skewed to the right, quiver completely empty, and black paint smeared under his eyes, snickers. He puts a finger on the tip of Nico’s sword and pushes it away from his neck.

“The opportunity was right there, babe. I couldn’t not.”

“You really, really could. In fact at all times, you should remember these words of wisdom: shut up.”

“…Damn. Inspiring.”

Nico rolls his eyes, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the smile on his face and the obvious pleasure in his expression. He’s even feeling merciful enough to accept Will’s kiss, although his sword keeps a good amount of distance between them. (Will’s on the blue team, after all. It would be unprofessional to be fraternizing with the enemy.

…Well, too much, anyway.)

“What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the other archers, sitting in trees and causing havoc.”

Will shrugs, grinning lazily. “I quit. This game is senselessly violent and I’m Against It On Principle. I’m a pacifist, you know.”

“Uh huh.” Nico raises an eyebrow. “I assume this doesn’t count you choking Cecil out in a headlock, this morning.”

Will opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He closes it again.

“Cecil is my mortal enemy,” he grudges after a moment. “He doesn’t count.”

“‘Course not. Not like you cried for two hours when he went to visit his mom last weekend or anything.”

“Will you — stop saying I cried. I barely teared up, okay. Barely.”

Nico can’t quite force down the stupid grin that pulls across his face, matching Will’s, nor can he resist grabbing the leather straps of his boyfriend’s armour and hauling him close.

“You better not be here to distract me,” he mumbles, leaning close and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Will hums, settling his hands on Nico’s hips.

“Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Drama queen.”

“Excuse — I am the least dramatic, I’ll have you know. I’m a pinnacle of solemnity. I am a shining beacon of stoicism. I am — mmfh,” He trails off. “Okay, doing this now, mhm.”

Nico smiles triumphantly into the kiss. Will, he has found, is very easy to shut up, despite his long-running nickname of Motormouth. It’s almost like he has an off button that can be accessed only by Nico sticking his tongue in his mouth. Nico is doing his civic duty, honestly. He should be compensated for his service.

(‘Course, doesn’t hurt that Will smells, like, really good, all the time, and his lips are soft as hell and he is actually quite the kisser, in fact. That is definitely a fun bonus.)

He smooths his hands over Will’s shoulders, travelling up the sides of his neck and settling in his hair. Will keens, slightly, when he wraps a finger around a frizzy golden curl and tugs, slightly, when he scratches his nails along his scalp. The rush of power at the feeling makes Nico dizzy, and his sword clatters to the ground as he busies himself with more interesting — and important — things.

Like pulling more of those sounds from his boyfriend’s throat. Or making his knees buckle, again, like he did the other night — gods, that was good, it made Will flush scarlet and Nico feel like he was fuckin’ floating, to have Will so needy and touchy and totally at his mercy —

“Free line to the flag! Go go go go!”

Nico startles, whirling towards the sudden cacophony of noises. To his horror, what looks like half the camp, helmets shining with plumes of blue, comes pouring into the clearing, weapons raised, voices mixing in one long, victorious shout. He lunges for his sword, but before he can grab it, two strong arms tighten around his torso, pinning his hands to his side.

Immediately, he knows he’s been set up.

“Oh, you — fucker!”

He feels the curve of Will’s grin against his neck. “First shower privileges for a whole month, baby.” He noses along his jaw, pressing an apologetic kiss to his cheek. “Couldn’t resist.”

Nico struggles, aghast, watching the once-red flag shimmer in Lou Ellen's hold to a bright, shining blue. “I am breaking up with you, you traitor, you Iago, you vixen — ”

Will snorts. He ducks down and pecks Nico on the lips, again, and again, and then shifts to his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his temples, his forehead, and all over his face, making louder and louder mwah sounds until Nico is laughing, punching his shoulder and shoving him away.

“Okay! Okay. Let me go, you villainous toad. We will discuss how much you’ll have to grovel for my forgiveness after Piper finishes yelling at me for getting distracted.”

Will presses one last kiss to his nose, smiling cheekily before stepping away, heading towards his boasting team. “Enjoy that lecture! Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nico rolls his eyes, resting his aching cheek in his hand. “Love you too, asshole.”

[moncharrow]

You Failed to Dom Ellie, Now....

a/n: THE AI VOICE WAS SLUTTYYYYYYY GIRL. also small blurb. sometimes i am horny sometimes i am soft. shoot me a req for either mood :3

content/warnings: 900 words, smut, top! reader (failed), top! ellie (success), use of a strap (ellie wears, reader receives), refers to it as ellie's cock lol, afab gn reader, one (1) spank, mention of cellulite if that bugs u idk bae its a beautiful natural thing

After months of having Ellie fuck you into the mattress, you try your hand at dominating her. Nervously, you clamber atop her, the anxiety quickly fading as you fall into a familiar rhythm of bodies grinding and hot breath across soft skin. The foreplay is confident and Ellie fleetingly believes that this might be a new dynamic you can explore together, but she changes her mind the second she notices the way you struggle to please yourself.

Your cocky grin disappears, replaced by a bit lip and eyes endearingly pinched shut in concentration as you slowly slide yourself up and down the silicone strap. You let out a gasp, trying to angle yourself in a way that properly fucks into you, but for the love of god, it's nothing compared to what Ellie can do to you.

Your girlfriend slips back into her usual role, grasping at your hips and purring patronizingly below you. Her fingers caress your skin, making you shiver and twitch. "Poor thing. Let me take care of you." You smack her hands away, letting out a noise that you wish sounded tougher than the pathetic whine released.

"No! No, I got it. Lemme do this..." You grumble, your hand coming onto her bare abdomen to stabilize yourself, hoping that maybe you can find the leverage to get this going. Unfortunately for you, you forget how unbelievably ripped she is. Lean, taut muscle clenches under your spread fingers when your light touch caresses her. The realization is enough to make you weak and your elbows give out. You pathetically collapse on her chest, panting, whining because you just know you'll get made fun of for this until you die.

Ellie chuckles condescendingly and pets your hair. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "So how was that for you?" She jokes like she does every time you finish having sex, knowing it annoys you to no end.

"You're fucking mean," you grumble, hitting her shoulder.

Without warning, she harshly digs into your waist, the pads of her fingers leaving red ovals on your back that will become tender, plum bruises by sunrise. Ellie brings your body down onto her cock at the same time her hips slam into you, immediately finding your most sensitive spots. "If I was mean, I wouldn't do this for you, would I?" Her voice is sultry and deep, words rolling off her tongue like velvet, making you clench. Ellie plows through the resistance and chuckles at your reflexive reaction.

You try to backtalk her and defend yourself, fumbling over your words as the syllables and diphthongs melt together to become a garbled mess of pleasure. Ellie cackles, ramming faster into you as you admit defeat and bury your head into her shoulder.

"Nah...if- fuck- if I were mean, I would let you try to take care of yourself." She breathes heavily when the attachable base rubs deliciously against her puffy clit- you weren't the only one suffering from the lack of stimulation. She grunts, grinding into you and rolling her hips. She knows your body better than you do, like she has a map of your pleasure points ingrained in her mind. Her muscle memory forces out noises you didn't know were physically possible. "You don't know how fucking pathetic it was watching you. Nothing feels as good as me, huh?"

You can barely hear Ellie's dirty talk, the sudden intense pleasure making your ears ring and eyes cross, but you're brought back down to earth when she slaps your ass. She admires the reverb and cellulite on it as you whine. Perfect, she thinks.

"I think I asked you a question. You're not gonna try that again, are you?" She leans into you, face right against yours, and nips at your jawline. Hot breath fans against your ear and you shiver as she uses the low tone that drives you crazy. "Are ya, pretty?"

She slows down to hear your answer, the echoing slapping of skin gradually idling. "No," you sniffle, "I won't." Your body is completely limp against her, hands gripping Ellie's perky tits for dear life as you stare down at the way she bucks up into you. The dusky purple strap disappears into your pussy, pulling out with more milky strings every time. A bit of your cum is forming a ring around the base, and Ellie's pre soaks through the towel under her. You're both so incredibly turned on by each other, and releasing the tension is always animalistic and messy.

"And why won't you?"

You know that whatever answer you give won't satisfy Ellie, so you settle for lolling your head into the crook of her neck, kissing her clavicle.

"Answer me. You're so spacey today, focus." Another sharp slap on your ass wakes you up immediately.

"'cause you're better at it than me." Ellie grins, her tongue swiping out of her mouth to lick her lips. You see that she changed out her tongue piercing, and you make a mental note to try that out later.

It's when her eyes darken, flipping you over and pinning your hips down that you know what a bad mistake you've made in trying to dominate Ellie. It simply can't be done.

But at the end of the night, you wonder if you actually suck at topping, or if you just did it to have her pressing her tits into your back as she fucks you <3

and as a treat...

[zan0tix]

Forgot abt this doodle LOL

That art in the corner inspired this and its in like literally every dirkjake pmv on youtube it makes me cackle every time it windows movie maker pans in over 2010s breakup music without fail

[gay-dorito-dust]

I’m obsessed with Beetlejuice now, and the original film came out in ‘88, so that means Ford didn’t get to see it. So what if the reader, after he came back, asked him to the theaters to go see a rerun of it? And ofc he says yes, but it doesn’t click until a little bit later that he basically just agreed to go on a date with you

Halloween was a beloved holiday to the townsfolk of gravity falls, for you however your favourite part about this was that the local movie theatre would host reruns of beloved movies, but not more beloved to you then the movie Beetlejuice.

You’ve watched it countless times and countless times more when the theatre first started doing their re runs, so much so that every summerween and Halloween the employees had come to expect your arrival without fail. You were pretty certain you were single-handedly saving the theatre with your constant visits but you didn’t care, for as long as they kept the tradition of keeping Beetlejuice on their list of reruns, you would be there to throw your hard earned money at them.

So when you found out through Stanley that Ford hasn’t ever seen Beetlejuice due to…certain circumstances that he had just gotten out of, and finding it criminal before deciding to take matters into your own hands as you quickly ventured into Ford’s room; completely forgoing knocking as you found him sat on his bed reading a book…well was before you burst through his door, triggering him into reaching for his gun that he kept on the bedside table out of instinct.

‘Y/n you scared me my dear.’ Ford said in relief as he sets the gun back down on the bedside table.

‘Sorry Ford but I’ve got something really important to ask of you.’ You said as you rubbed the back of your head sheepishly.

Ford sets down his book to give you his full attention as his kind, wise eyes looked deep into your own. ‘Ask away my dear.’

‘So the theatre is playing some reruns of some movies for Halloween, and I was thinking if you’d like to come with me, tonight?’ You asked as you found yourself playing with the hem of your shirt out of nervousness, hoping that you weren’t bothering him by asking or preventing him from doing something important.

Ford on the other hand only smiled wider at your request, feeling a warm, fuzzy feeling within his chest that he wouldn’t acknowledge until after your minor interaction. ‘I don’t see why not, I would love to join you tonight my dear.’ He agrees and your eyes brightened as you exited his room, poorly concealing your excitement, as he heard your celebratory yell of ‘yes!!’ from inside his room. He was happy that you were happy, however you wasn’t the only visitor Ford has that day as soon after, Stanley was stood at his doorway with a smug look.

‘Heard you agreed to go on a date with y/n tonight.’ Stan said, Ford furrowed his brows.

‘A date? When did I-oh’ then it hit him, when you asked him to accompany you to the theatre. He assumed that you meant as a family outing with the kids and Stan, only to remember that you didn’t mention the kids or Stan but only yourself and him. Poor Ford must’ve looked red as a tomato as he buried his head into his book, much to Stanley’s amusement as he cackled, holding his sides while his face became beat red.

‘Have fun on your date! Make sure you give me all the details when you get back lover boy!’ Stan cooed as he left his flustered brother, who was now ripping apart his wardrobe in hopes of finding something nice to wear for your date tonight. ‘Y/n is going to eat him alive.’ Stanley added as he high-fived Mabel on his way towards the living room, the two of them having succeeded in masterfully pulled off the greatest match making of their lives.

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

Sinstagram | L. Morningstar

Warnings: Lucifer being a slight menace to society, Reader is also a fallen angel, fem reader, bestie Angel Dust, mother reader, older sister Charlie, kinda wholesome, Lucifer being a good dad and an amazing husband, semi suggestive(?)

Word Count: 1.1K

A/N — sorry if it's kinda all over the place, I've been stuck in a horrendous bout of writers block and just barely had the motivation to sit down and write for Lucifer, my love 😭

"No fuckin way!" Angel Dust cackled from two rooms over and immediately you heard his footsteps coming towards you. It could be one of two things — Val posted something weird as fuck or he uncovered pictures of the two of you absolutely plastered from three months ago.

"What's up?" You asked, looking away from the paperwork Charlie had you doing for the hotel, while she took her younger siblings out. Some of the stuff she didn't understand, even with the help of Vaggie or Alastor, so you stepped in to help as you were a manager at a hotel when you were sent to earth for work — it was a way to blend in that unironically gave you experience.

Angel stopped before you, a smirk falling upon his face filled with glee and suggestive glances. "You check your phone in the last few minutes?"

Confused, you shook your head 'no' and set down the small stack of papers that had been stapled together so you could view them with ease. "I've been working for the last few hours to make up for being gone with Lucifer all weekend, so it's on silent. . . Angel, what's going on?"

He leaned across the counter and turned his phones screen to face you. It was Lucifer's most recent Sinstagram post. For a moment, you were confused until your eyes scanned the caption.

'She calls me apple the way I be in cider 😏🍎'

Immediately, you blushed and covered your blazing cheeks with your hands. "Oh my." You breathed out. That blush immediately became a flush of mortification when Angel clicked on the picture and it showed that he had tagged you. Your Sinstagram username stared back at you.

"So, you and the short king got down and dirty on your weekend retreat, huh?" Angel Dust smirked, turning his phone back to himself to scroll through the comments that were rolling in by the second.

"Well," you began, unsure of where your words were going to go. "I am his wife. . . It's a natural thing that married and apparently unmarried people do. . . Yes, it's only natural."

Angel snorted. "You ain't gonna hear any complainin' from me, [Y/N/N]. . . So long as there ain't anymore little Lucifer's running around anytime soon."

"About that. . ." You trailed off.

Angel Dust opened his mouth to reply.

As if on cue, the front doors of the hotel opened, Charlie and Vaggie entered, each holding one of your children — the former exorcist angel holding your sleeping daughter. She had your hair but Lucifer's eyes and rosy cheeks.

Your son was wide awake, bearing a striking resemblance to his father and older sister, but with your eyes.

It was clear just by the way he was buzzing that they had gone to LuLu World. He was always energetic coming home from such an exciting trip, whereas your daughter was out cold halfway through the ride back home every time without fail. It was likely a sugar crash.

"Looks like someone had fun." You removed your hands from your face and stood from your seat, rounding the desk.

"We all did. . . Thanks for letting us take them out, [Y/N]. I wish you and dad could've come with us and made it a family day." Charlie smiled brightly at you.

"We will soon, I promise. . . Thank you for taking them while I got some work in."

"It's no problem! I love them — they're just the cutest."

Your son practically jumped out of his sister's arms when you got close enough for him to wrap his arms around your neck. He went on and on about all the fun stuff the four of them had while you finished up working, until he fell asleep mid sentence.

You chuckled lightly and asked Angel to bring your daughter out to the limousine that was waiting out front of the hotel. He arrived a few minutes later and your daughter acted as if she was beginning to wake up, until she was strapped into her car seat and the driver started the vehicle.

"One more Morningstar, huh?" Angel questioned before you could close the door behind you.

You smiled, chuckling slightly. "Just one more. He convinced me this time."

A couple minutes later you were on your way, watching the buildings fly past your window. You decided to check your phone finally. The post had over a million likes and had just over six thousand comments. You liked the post, the blush creeping up once again. At some point you had to stop caring — you were in Hell and there were people doing worse things than being romantically involved with their partners.

It wasn't long before three of you arrived home and Lucifer threw the front door open before the vehicle could even stop. When the driver opened the door, Lucifer was there to see his children after a long day.

"Look at my babies!" He gushed quietly, tears springing to his eyes as he watched them sleep so peacefully.

You snickered and he turned to you.

"And my beautiful wife! Hi! I love you so much!" He kissed all over your face while placing one of his hands on your belly — you weren't showing yet, but would be in the next few weeks.

"I love you too, Luci. . . Let's get them inside. I want them to be in bed before you and I have a talk about what we do and don't say on Sinstagram when we'll be apart for hours." You whispered the last sentence, caressing his cheek.

His eyes widened and he gulped before chuckling nervously.  "You saw that, did you?"

"I sure did. . . Apple." You could've sworn he was gonna pass out from the tone of your voice, but he instead cleared his throat and unbuckled one child while you handled the other.

The two of you got inside and put the kids to bed, silently thanking Charlie for making sure they ate something other than sugar before they came home.

Then there was a lot of talking. Definitely just talking. . . Yeah. . . Talking. 👀

A few hours later, the two of you laid together, Lucifer laying his head on your lower abdomen. "I know I said one more. . . But what if we had more?"

You laughed lightly, raking your fingers through his hair. "How many more are we talking, Luci? I'd consider one more after this, but then we wouldn't have an even number. . . Charlie adores her siblings, but I think another after our littlest Morningstar would be pushing it."

"She always wanted a big family. . . Lots of brothers and sisters she could spend time with. She used to beg Lilith and I all the time for siblings, but I won't push you. I understand your concerns. I'll be happy regardless of what you decide." Lucifer declared, looking up at you with his pretty eyes.

"We'll see. . . I love you, Lucifer. You know that, right?"

"I know. I love you so so so so so so much." He replied. 

The post in question and the image that gave me the idea for this in the first place (the first pic expands more, fyi 🙂):

[thepersonnamedsam]

heyy🤍

I was wondering if u could kindly write a little something about period cuddles and comfort with lando, thank you in advanceee

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: headcanons about period cuddles with lando

warnings: period pains, blood

note: i am so sorry it took me sooooo long to write your request!!! pls accept my apology, please!!!!

masterlist / taglist

it had started again, your period

what it meant for you was; pain, pain and more pain, it was unbearable

800mg of ibuprofen every 6 hours, warmth and curled up either in bed or on the couch was usually the solution for the week

when lando wasn’t around

if lando was there (which usually wasn’t the case), you cuddled - always

„baby, please let me help you, i can’t stand to see you in pain“

you smiled through your pain and just told him to go and buy your favourite snack

he called carlos - he for sure has some womanly advice for the youngster

c: „why did you not cuddle with her, cabrón?“

l: „she didn’t offer it, i didn’t want to overstep“

as he returned home with more than half the store, he slowly approached you

„baby? are you sleeping? do you want cuddles?“

you whined and nodded your head

„c‘mere baby“

his arms snaked around your abdomen, his warm hands rested on your lower belly, massaging lightly, trying to ease your pain

„does it feel good? am i doing something wrong?“

you told him he did everything right, which he let out a sigh

his body warmth made you feel sleepy

„just go to sleep, baby, i’ll be here when you wake up, promise“

his steady breath and light massaging let you fall asleep easily

your breath slowed and your eyes closed, lando knew you were finally asleep

he didn’t want to get up, but your hot water bottle had started to get cold

so he got up as slowly and as silently as he good, without waking you up

the hot water bottle was taken out of your grip and lando started to boil water in the kettle

he also tried to make you some sort of dessert, but he failed miserably

he put the now freshly hot water bottle in your grip again and turned on the tv

when you woke up, your favourite series was paused on the screen and lando was just scrolling through instagram

„good morning baby, how was your sleep, you in any pain?“

you nodded and he handed you a cold glass of water and the next batch of ibuprofen

„has it been 6 hours already“, you has asked him

„yeah, i got this period app where it lets you document your medication. now i always know when your next periods gonna be“

you were surprised about his engagement

actually you weren’t, he’s your boyfriend and a bloody good one at that

but it’s still lando

„press play already!“, you demanded

„alright“, he laughed and pressed play on the remote

he lightly started to caress your neck with soft kisses

a kiss there

a kiss here

it felt so good

„please don’t stop baby“

„never.“

you could never survive another period without lando

even if that meant travelling to grand prixs with him and sharing his time with racing

but it didn’t matter, because he was still as affectionate as ever and never stopped comforting you through your pain

even when you started crying over charles dsq in texas

he brought you to the ferrari garage to comfort charles - more for your comfort, but it didn’t matter

charles had to promise you, that he was fine and that he’s not gonna quit and accidentally end up on a ranch as a cowboy

lando thanked charles multiple times that day

or when you saw a little kid tumble and fall to the ground - you instantly started crying with the kid

lando hugged you and promised to help the little kid (even tho he was cackling up inside)

or when he had to get roscoe from lewis, because you needed cuddles but the race was about to start

you watched the race from his drivers room and cried when he drove into the points

you could get very emotional

but lando loved that about you

let’s be honest, that man loved everything about you

he still wasn’t sure how you were his girlfriend (lando norrizz)

but you loved him very much

°°°

@ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @biglittlesecret, @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21 , @youkissedareaderinthedark , @mikauraur , @thybulleric , @lpab , @fdl305 , @mellowarcadefun , @teti-menchon0604 , @vildetry06 , @bibissparkles , @aurora-maria , @lunnnix , @sya-skies , @Buckywifeyy , @dakotali , @rechtrecht , @noncannonships , @1eclerc16 , @pitlanebabe , @sopheeg , @avengersheart , @thatsadsmallchild , @peachiicherries , @idkiwantchocolatee , @callsign-scully , @mehrmonga , @badbatch-simp24 , @lissyontour , @din0nugs , @elliegrey2803 , @gay-for-victoria-de-angelis , @10vely-yutazen , @daggersquadphantom , @azriel-the-shadowsinger , @i-love-scott-mccall , @darleneslane , @mikauraur , @heartmetaphor , @darleneslane , @ellswilliams , @thxtmarvelchick , @nataliambc , @dontjudgeabookbythecover , @hockeyboysarehot , @thehistoryone

[tetzoro]

BEAUTIFUL, BEAUTIFUL TETSURO — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. kuroo tetsuro !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : sometimes you have to just stand back and admire how beautiful your lover truly is.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : sappy, sappy fluff. kuroo appreciation fic — WC : 1.1k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : a little love letter to beloved tetsuro. please enjoy ᰔ dividers by @/cafekitsune.

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

there’s something to be said about how falling in love with someone enhances their natural beauty. the change isn’t noticeable right away, no, it happens slowly over time as you peel back their layers and discover who they truly are. the attraction grows stronger as your bond builds, leaving you awestruck when you finally realize.

objectively, kuroo had always been attractive. dazzling smirks and mischievous eyes that instantly had you head over heels, yearning to uncover every mystery that laid beneath his surface.

but as you grew closer and learned the many things that made up kuroo, you fell deeper into him in such an intimate way that you could never truly untangle your soul from his — not that you’d ever want to. everything he was made of was stardust — magic that shone through him and radiated the kind of beauty you would only hear about from myths, the kind that your mind couldn’t even fathom if you tried.

and yet here it was right before your eyes, paired with an amused smile that never failed to make you fall just a little more.

“what?” he asks, looking down at you, curiosity swimming in his amber eyes.

you can only look up at him in awe as you both stepped outside, the midnight blue sky melting into the dead of night, only pockets of starlight twinkling through the dark curtain shone past it, illuminating the man before you.

the moonlight kisses him, gently caressing his features before weaving itself through the shadows of his dark, unruly hair, revealing just how alluring he really is.

the kind of beauty that deserved the world’s undivided attention. to stop and stare in awe as the man before you goes about his life. how could someone make the mundane so effortlessly charming?

“nothing.” you smile, your hand finding his, folding your fingers into each other perfectly before giving them a gentle squeeze. “you’re beautiful, that’s all.”

kuroo tosses his head back and laughs wholeheartedly — the sound filling you with wonderment as his cackle echoes throughout the air, sweet satisfaction turning everything in you into mush as you watch his cheeks blossom into multitudes of pink and pretty reds.

your fingers splay on his chest, finding the familiar thump of his heart before curling your fist into itself, almost longing to touch deep within him the way he seems to have done to you.

his free hand comes up to catch yours, holding it near and dear to him as his attention shifts back down — gazing at you with so much love, completely over the moon from the compliment that spilled from your lips.

“i think you carry all the beauty in this relationship, sweetheart.” his voice is pure honey, sickly sweet that makes it all too easy for you to drown in.

“i love you, you know that?” you beam up at him. loving kuroo was as easy as breathing, one of the most simple things in the world yet held the very essence of life.

something intangible that seeps down into the marrow of your bones, nestling there as a comfortable weight and without it, you might as well float away.

“maybe.” he quips, shit-eating grin taking up his gorgeous face. “but i always love hearing you remind me.”

sharing the same breath, he closes the gap with a murmur of i love yous, soft lips gently caressing yours as if he had all the time in the world to explore the depths of your soul.

and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he does. the two of you getting lost in each other like you’ve done a million times before. strong arms encasing you in a warm embrace, sealing you off with a kiss as his lips write the most beautiful love letter you’ve ever received.

and what is a kiss if not a love letter?

the moment kuroo’s lips touched yours is when the words begin to bloom. a thoughtful greeting, followed by all the words he longs to say, words he’s said time and time again for you to hear.

carefully crafted just for you, a series of unspoken sentences filter through you. thoughts, feelings, every emotion poured into you with each glide of his lips against yours.

the ghost of the words from the tip of his tongue laid onto yours, signing off with the swirl of his signature.

and in the end, the envelope sealed shut with his saliva, a token of him for you to carry. pulling back with hopeful eyes as he’s already eager for your reply, the taste of his name lingering on your tongue.

a reply you’re all too equipped to return as you reconnect your lips with his.

you sigh in a sweet serenity as his tongue prods your mouth open, a noise he easily devours. kuroo chases for more, desperate to eat up all the saccharine sounds that slip out of your grasp.

after a moment or a millennium, he pulls away, strings of fate forever connecting you, twirled in the safety of your shared saliva. even as the liquid falls, coating you in his favorite gloss — the bond remains. kuroo’s fingers reach up, swiping along your swollen lips to catch your shared love on his thumb.

your heart quickens, threatening to flutter out of your chest as you watch him bring it to his own mouth, reclaiming it as his own little souvenir of the tender moment you shared — cherishing it like he does with every piece of you.

“ready to go? don’t wanna miss out on our dinner reservations because we decided to skip straight to our dessert now do we?” the playful lilt in his voice tells you all you need to know — he wouldn’t mind doing that one bit. but unfortunately, someone had to be the responsible one tonight.

you can’t help but giggle — magical and airy that rings in his ears, a declaration of love that has him swooning for you all over again. there’s a brief pause, both of his hands finding yours once again, intertwining them before he gifts them each a delicate kiss, a promise of more to come when the timing is right.

“i suppose.” the words drag out of your mouth, paired with the quick roll of your eyes. kuroo knew it was all in good fun though, a smirk slinking along his face in amusement from your dramatics. “but only if you make it up to me later.”

“oh love, i’d never dream of leaving you unsatisfied.”

thank you for reading ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ᰔ

[punkitt-is-here]

Hi, hope you're having a good day!!

A while ago I bought one of your Modnay funny orange stickers! I have it on the back of my phone. It's held up extremely well and I love how it looks, but my favorite part about it is how it's turned out to be an instant giggle switch for my best friend. The first time she saw it I was messing with my phone while we were hanging out, could not understand why she'd started cackling out of the blue until she just yelled "MODNAY???"

She hadn't read your comics before or heard of Susan Taxpayer (she has now!) but Funny Orange was really living up to his name for her. We quickly discovered that any time she saw the sticker she'd just start laughing her ass off about it. So of course I've used this to my advantage. Any time she's stressed or sad I'll just walk over with my phone, show her the sticker and go "Don't be sad!! Modnay!" And every time without fail she loses her shit. It's become a bit of an inside joke between us b/c she's just incapable of stopping herself from laughing any time she sees it. It's great. Worth every penny.

I don't tend to send asks a whole lot so forgive me if this is weirdly worded, but I thought you'd really like hearing this story. I hope it makes you smile as much as Funny Orange has for us :D

oh my gosh, this is supreme. thank you for sharing!! :DDDD

[otomiyaa]

Diluc x Ticklish Male!Reader

Romantic + 11. “So, what will be your next excuse to tickle me?” Requested by @blue-little-angel for my 1K Followers Event🌻

You started it. Really, anyone would say you literally asked for it. But how could you help yourself? When Diluc was tying his hair in one of those pretty ponytails with his hair tie in his mouth, looking so gentle, charming, vulnerable, beautiful...

Well, your hand just acted on its own!

You reached out, tickled him and watched his adorable reaction unfold. The delight of watching him yelp with his arms shooting down, and seeing the blush spread on his cheeks, it was quite short-lived.

You went from giggling triumphantly to cackling your head off the moment he lunged at you, his fingers digging into your sides for a fitting tickly revenge.

"Cheeky little guy, you thought that was funny hmh?" he said with his hair tie still between his teeth as he tickled you, his attack calm and calculated, yet so very torturous.

"Yehehes! I'm sorry-ackhahha! Dil-Diluhuhuc wahahait!" you laughed, and you tried to jump up and get out of his reach, but this was a game easily won by him. You always failed at tickle fights against your evil boyfriend, no matter how much you tried to win.

It was a combination of those ticklish sensations and the way Diluc would always look whenever he tickled you: so charming and elegant, it made your entire mind and body go weak.

And it happened a lot, actually. Whether you teased him physically or verbally, whether he was trying to be romantic, playful or vengeful, or whenever you were too tired in the morning or too energetic, Diluc would find a reason to tickle you.

It became clear to you that he just enjoyed this way of showing affection, and you might like it even more. Despite the somewhat uncharming noises you made every now and then...

"Heehehehee NAhh! Not thehehere!" you howled when his wiggling fingers reached under your shirt. You weakly grabbed his hands but were unable to stop them from making you laugh. Diluc smirked at your attempts.

"You'd say that no matter where," was his soft answer, and with one hand he swiftly took the hair tie out of his mouth and put it around his wrist. He then pulled you tightly against him into a warm and comfortable hug, but, not without the tickles.

"Eyaaahaha! Okahahay I'm sohohorry! Yehehes?!" you laughed, kicking your legs in hysteria. Diluc merely scratched your tummy and sides and was able to turn you into such an embarrassing orchestra of sounds and noises with only little effort.

"Hmm," Diluc hummed, staring absent-mindedly in the distance while his fingers continued to scribble all over your ticklish areas.

"One more time," he suggested.

"I'm sohohorry for tihihickling you!" you howled, trying the more specific way. And it worked! Diluc only tickled you a little more after that, then he finally stopped.

"Whew. This time, I kinda deserved it," you agreed breathlessly, and you pulled your shirt back down to cover up your tummy which still felt ticklish even when Diluc's attack had stopped seconds ago.

"Hmm," Diluc responded quietly, and he nodded. You smirked, thinking it was so funny that for such a quiet guy, he sure was very tickly.

"So, what will be your next excuse to tickle me?” you asked, and you noticed from the way Diluc blushed that he wasn't ready to suddenly be confronted with his repetitive ways of punishing you, teasing you, and so on.

"Well... I-if you keep giving me reasons to..." Diluc looked you in the eye and paused mid-sentence, changing his mind. He then gave you a tender kiss on your lips and smiled.

"I mean... why would I need an excuse to tickle my boyfriend?" Diluc asked, no longer looking flustered. The one who was blushing like crazy: it was you again. Eep. 2-0 for Diluc! You collapsed against him and couldn't stop smiling, covering your face with your hands while you gathered your breath.

In the meantime, Diluc finally successfully finished tying his hair, looking even more beautiful. You were truly so lucky to have him!

[goldenroutledge]

par for the course

pairing ⤜ rafe cameron x fem!kook!reader

word count ⤜ 3.2k

summary ⤜ in which you forgive your childhood nemesis, rafe cameron.

a/n ⤜ season one reminiscent? i’ve had a draft of this piece forever so i decided to finish it!

rafe cameron masterlist

© goldenroutledge || do not plagiarize, repost, or translate my work in any way

The slam of your bedroom door echoes through your house and the fall onto your bed is cushioned by the decorative throw pillows on top of it, drowning out your exasperation for the moment. A deep exhale fell past your lips as reality sunk in. The nags of your parents reached an all time high so far this summer, as they went on and on about how you were going to be stuck in the house with nothing to do.

Unfortunately, your explanation didn’t cut it. In the back of your mind, you were well aware that your friends would be busy doing their own things. You just chose not to believe it until it came true. John B and JJ became camp counselors for some group of kids over the summer, those poor kids. Pope decided to fill his free time with summer classes, and Kiara was tied up at The Wreck. And with John B going away, Sarah didn’t have a reason to stick around either, much to your displeasure. She’d decided to visit her cousins overseas. Not that you really blamed her, or any of your friends for that matter.

But it was slightly embarrassing to have nothing to say when it was your turn to reveal your plans for the next few months. Any other time, you’d always assumed your plans would be with any one of them.

And now, your problems were a whole lot bigger. Judging by your lack of plans, your parents went ahead and made some for you. And with the last person you would’ve wanted to spend your summer days— or any days at all— with, Rafe Cameron.

Both of your fathers had worked together in the past, and they still kept a friendship because of it. If that’s what you call two middle-aged businessmen drowning in drinks and making small talk at the occasional kook event.

To put it simply, Rafe had it out for you. Just the mention of his name made you shudder; your horrific childhood experiences with the boy forever carved in your memory.

His bratty behavior towards you began at about age 9 or 10. For instance, when you wouldn’t budge off of his favorite swing at the park. It would be impossible to forget how he popped one last bubble from his piece of bubblegum, faded pink and chewed thin, before wading it up and planting it right in your hair.

You lunged off the swing towards him immediately, screams of terror piercing the serene island air. He ran in circles, cackling mischievously as you chased him. All for Rafe to ‘take back’ his spot on the swing while he had you distracted.

As years went on, the memory became less and less vivid— except for that moment when he popped in another piece of gum, one bigger than all his teeth combined, before shouting: “Thanks for keeping’ it warm for me.”

And without an inkling of remorse, he began swinging gleefully while you ran to find your mother, hot tears cascading down your cheeks. The tear stains remained for another day or so. The sadness and frustration was simply too much for your nine year old self to handle. Not to mention the wad of gum that had to be cut out of your hair later that day. And it was all Rafe’s fault.

So it couldn’t be chalked up to anything less than betrayal, really. For your parents to coordinate summer golf lessons with your childhood nemesis. It was pure treachery. Especially after your strong argument of course, not failing to mention the dreaded gum incident. Only to be told off by your mother, as she assumed any child of Ward’s would mature into nothing short of an upstanding citizen. If she only knew.

Days later, you were throwing on a Ralph Lauren polo and a tennis skirt to match, hating every minute of it as you knew what was to come. You couldn’t deny how the material hugged your body just right; and a shred of your subconscious hoped that Rafe would notice too.

For no reason other than revenge, of course. How dare he terrorize you as a child and not be consumed with regret years later? His unforgivable acts couldn’t go unpunished.

Grabbing your keys and phone, you sped off in your car without so much as a goodbye to your mom before leaving. No amount of time could help you process what you were in for, and no amount of forethought would make this reunion any more bearable.

-

Scanning the cream colored walls of the Island Club, it didn’t take long to spot the tall Cameron leaning up against one of its pillars, scrolling on his phone with an expression of pure boredom. His foot tapped the floor occasionally, his eyes lifting every minute or so in search of you.

Just two taps on his shoulder was all it took to grab his attention. Rafe’s lips spread into a smirk just as quickly as he turned around to meet your irritated gaze. That stupid smirk, one you knew all too well.

“Long time no see, Y/n. Missed me?”

“Not a chance in hell. I’m here against my will.”

“Yeah, right. I bet you were just begging for a chance to see me again.” Rafe whines dramatically.

“Delusional as ever, huh, Rafe? I guess some things never change.”

“Childish as ever, huh, Y/n? Good to know we agree about something. And to think I had hope that you’d leave the hostility at home.”

“Didn’t you get suspended from the Academy for fighting? Twice?”

His expression shifts from smug to scowl.

“That was a long time ago. You ready to get started or what?”

You smile at him with faux innocence, glad to have landed a punch in this endless match between you two.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

—

The silence remained as thick as molasses, tension lingering that not even the sharpest of machetes could slash through.

Rafe steered the golf cart in silence, movements hasty and abrupt as an expression of his frustration. Your memory wasn’t as short as he’d expected; and now he was subjected to a summer of what he anticipated to be vengeful torture.

Lost in thought, he came to a stop at your destination. And by the looks of it, you were more than ready, willing and able to carry on without him as you began teeing up.

“Aren’t I supposed to be teaching you how? Isn’t that the whole reason why we’re here?”

With a sigh, your eyes darted to the clear blue sky, silently praying to a higher power to keep you sane. “I’ll ask for your help when I need it.”

You resume lining up your footing and the club with the ball, envisioning your swing before Rafe interrupts once again.

“Why bother showing up here if you’re gonna act like a bitch?”

“I was sent here against my will, remember?”

“So you say.”

“And I’m not a bitch. Not to those who don’t deserve it.”

“I couldn’t tell the difference.” Rafe scoffs. “And I never said you are a bitch, I said you’re acting like one.”

A cold chuckle makes its way out of your throat at his blatant contradiction. “You do not wanna go there with me, Cameron.”

After the mumble fell from your lips, you were set on taking a swing at the golf ball. Until Rafe opened his mouth once again, as if he was just waiting for you to swing, to piss you off even further. Provoking you at this point.

“Actually, let’s go there. I’d love to go there. Please enlighten me as to why you feel entitled to be so rude to me. Especially since I am the one doing you this little favor, aren’t I? Giving you a break from those losers on the Cut you love so much.”

“Isn’t it disrespectful to talk when I’m trying to hit a ball?” You query, quoting his very own words during an encounter with the notorious blond pogue. “Learn some etiquette, my friend.”

“Pathetic. So it’s Maybank? He’s been whispering in your ear? What, is he your boyfriend?”

“As if I haven’t experienced enough of your obnoxiousness firsthand. Trust me, I hate you plenty on my own. And he’s not my boyfriend, idiot.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning at your defensiveness. “Though from what I hear you have some ‘losers’ of your own these days. Barry, isn’t it? Would be a shame if Uncle Ward found out.”

Rafe rolls his eyes at your disingenuous mention of his father. Sure, your fathers were somewhat close friends, but for some reason, it made his blood boil. “What’s it to you? Don’t tell me this is your attempt at blackmail.”

You shrug, grip still firm on the golf club. “Not necessarily. Have to admit it does feel good to get under your skin, though.”

“Touché.”

—

You moved through the golf course rather quickly, nearing its end. Both of your intentions were evident that you were eager to get home, and best of all, away from each other. Rafe slides into the driver's side of the cart, but doesn’t pull off immediately.

“You never actually answered my question, by the way. About why you’re being such a pain in the ass to me.”

You stop scrolling on your phone to look at him, trying to understand his purpose for bringing this up again. “You don’t happen to have some sort of short-term memory loss, right?”

“You said you hate me plenty on your own. But what fucking reason have I ever given you to?”

“Oh?”

“I told you to go there, didn’t I? I’m giving you a chance to let out your grievances. And that’s one more than I should, you know patience isn’t my strongsuit.”

“Can’t a girl just hate Rafe Cameron with no strings attached? I’m sure it’s not the first time.”

He looks over to you, blue eyes staring into yours. “You and I both know there’s always strings attached.”

“What can I say, Cameron? Guess it’s just par for the course. Or are you so desperate to know because you crave my validation?”

“What can I say, Y/l/n? I guess you wouldn’t be able to understand what it means to learn from your mistakes.”

“You’re full of it.”

“No more than you are, peach cake.”

“Just drive us back to the club already.”

“Not until you confess.” He protests, dangling the keys in your face before sliding them into his pocket. Rafe leans back, unintentionally manspreading as he does so, and drapes an arm over your shoulder. “We could be here all day.”

The exasperation was pretty much dripping off of you. His antics felt so familiar in the most intense way possible, and it made you want to scream. He was the same Rafe bullying you out of the playground a decade ago. The same Rafe you were now wondering had you misjudged. Or judged a little too harshly over some measly childhood rivalry.

“Primrose Park.”

“Excuse me?”

“Primrose Park.” You reiterate. “Don’t feign amnesia. I know you know.”

“How could I forget? I was the king of that place for years.”

“King? More like dictator.”

He shrugs. “I had a delicate ego back then.”

“As well as no patience or manners. If I didn’t know any better I would’ve thought you were raised by wolves.”

Rafe chuckles, amused by your memory of him as a child. “Blame it on Uncle Ward.”

“Sarah and Wheezie were always sweet as pie, so I don’t know if that’s fair.”

“Probably just caught me on a bad day, Y/n. I, too, am sweet as pie.” He defends, eyes twinkling as he smiles.

“Like hell you were! Do you recall wading up your gum and sticking it in my hair? Does that ring a bell?”

His eyebrows furrow as he recollects the memory.

“When we were kids at the park, you got all pissed that I wouldn’t give you a turn on the swings, so you spit your gum in my hair.”

He chuckles at first, but his laughs grow much louder as he ponders the memory.

“It’s really not that funny, Rafe. My mother had to cut that chunk of gum out of my hair.” You remind him. “You’re lucky I don’t shave your damn head right now!” You take a swat at his cap, knocking it to the ground as he’s struggling to get his laughter under control.

“And after all these years you never forgave me? It’s been decades, Y/n.”

“You never apologized.”

“Well I’m sorry, now. If that means anything.” He mumbles the last part, apologies being a foreign art to him. “But you should be thanking me, actually. You have no idea what you were in for had you stuck around.”

“What?”

“Henry Haberstroh. He was gonna give you another one of those stupid bouquets of weeds.”

“The dandelion bouquets?” Your mouth hangs open at the revelation, remembering the boy with an incessant crush on you. A crush so intense in fact that he wouldn’t stop giving you bouquets of dandelions he’d picked from the grass— not until you’d agreed to a playdate with him despite being painfully uninterested.

“The gum idea was more of a last resort but I thought you might wanna get out of there. I mean, dandelions? You’re allergic to bees.”

“And how do you know this exactly?”

“As King of Primrose Park I was privy to information. And was subtlety ever Henry’s thing? The kid was a blabbermouth. He never shut up about you.”

“Well I must say I’m impressed, Cameron. That’s quite a scheme you pulled off. Not that you’re forgiven or anything. But Henry was a creep.”

“Couldn’t take a hint to save his life, either. I don’t think I’ve seen you run away from someone so fast, not even from me.” Rafe teases, nudging your arm with his as you giggled.

“The bees!”

Rafe gives you a look of disbelief, knowing damn well it wasn’t the pollinated dandelions you were running from.

“Seriously, I’m really allergic! But you already knew that?”

“What kind of secret admirer doesn’t know his admiree’s allergens?”

His blue eyes lock with yours, smiles replacing the scowls on both of your faces from earlier. You raise an eyebrow at him in question.

“Shame on Henry.” Rafe critiques, realizing the implication of his words.

“Yeah. Shame on Henry. But I wouldn’t call us even quite yet, so sleep with one eye open just in case.”

The two of you share a genuine laugh for the first time all day, before Rafe begins driving towards the next hole.

“Remind me to lock my windows when I get home.”

—

You move towards your ball once again, but gaze at your target uneasily. Maybe you still had a thing or two to learn about the sport. Rafe leans up against the cart, arms crossed and biceps stretching the fabric of his shirt much thinner. The tension was almost gone in comparison to how you started the afternoon. Almost.

Now looking at Rafe, it felt different. How could you be angry anymore? Holding a vendetta against him took too much energy at this point when it was no longer warranted.

To your luck, you could excuse the fiery feeling rising to your cheeks as a result of the sweltering sun. No matter how hard you tried, your former memory of him melted away. You could no longer see Rafe as the pesky little boy he once was. Perhaps a symptom of heat stroke, you thought. Hopefully it would be temporary, you still had the whole summer with Rafe ahead of you.

“I almost forgot you’re supposed to be teaching me how to play this joke of a sport.” You gripe. “Will you show me?”

Rafe bites his bottom lip to avoid cracking a smile. That you had finally cracked, giving in to ask him for help. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Leaning off the cart, Rafe saunters over to you. “I need you to start on your form first. May I?” He offered, gesturing to set his arms over yours for some adjustment.

With a slow nod, you decide to taunt him further. He’s not gonna get away that easy. “You’re not chewing any gum are you?”

“No, Y/n.” He responds, and you can just hear the smirk in his tone. Hearing your name roll off his tongue makes your stomach flutter— now feeling his body against yours, the heat increasing tenfold.

“Hold the club firmly, and swing through the ball, not at the ball.” He guides your arms with his, mimicking how to prepare for a swing. As his head peers over your shoulder, you swear you hear his breath hitch at the faint aroma of your perfume. Rafe almost seems relaxed, doing the movements with you a few times over again before stepping back to let you try it.

You do just as he taught you, and Rafe repeats the instructions under his breath as he watches you take your swing.

From the woosh of the ball leaving the grass, your eyes follow as it lands in a close proximity to the cup. With a scream of victory, your hands collide with Rafe’s in a high five, before wrapping your arms around his neck, his hand instinctively falling to rest at your waist as he pulls you into a hug. “Atta girl!” He marvels.

“I did it!” You cheer, smile beaming off your face. Once the initial shock wears off, you realize whose arms you’re engulfed in, stepping back from the embrace abruptly. “Uhm- I’m sorry. I didn’t…” You begin, trying to explain yourself and your sudden outburst of physical affection.

“Don’t apologize.” Rafe assures, reaching his hand out for yours. You accept it with a shy smile. “You did great for your first big swing. Can’t say I’m surprised, though, you do have one hell of a teacher.”

“He’s not bad.” You confess. “Actually, better than I thought.”

Rafe quirks an eyebrow, his cerulean orbs gazing into your eyes, finding for once they held not one drop of bad blood while looking back at him. He steps forward, the space keeping you both apart dwindling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t tell him I said that, it’ll go straight to his head.”

His eyes flicker from yours then to your glossed lips, which is the final straw before giving into your growing urge to kiss him. Rafe’s free hand clings to your cheek immediately as he deepens the kiss; as if a magnetic pull between you two had clicked.

Pulling away, the surprise on Rafe’s face is evident, but the confidence in his voice made it impossible to tell a difference. “I’m glad to see you came to your senses and forgave me.”

“Jumping to conclusions already? What makes you think you’re forgiven?”

Rafe shrugs, and that familiar look of pride returns to his expression. His thumb grazes across the apple of your cheek, and his hand gives a gentle squeeze to your waist. “Call it a wild hunch.”

taglist @ilovejjmaybank @missevi @nxsmss @cameronsrafe @msgorillagripcoochie @bibliophilewednesday @tovvaa @rudybarnes @annab-nana @reawritesthings @moniamaybank @outerbankspreferences @laneylaneylaney @jjpouggues @milkiane @mildkleptomaniac @whcclxr @mrs-cameron @alanniys @amourology @luversgirl @fallingwallsh @scenesofobx @bradleybeachbabe @chrisevansfuturewife @drewstarkeysbitchh @littlementalpolaroids @destourtereaux @iammirrorball

[muddyorbsblr]

timeless

See my full list of works here!

Summary: While doing some research to help out Mobius on a 'moonshot project', you and Loki come across a startling revelation about your lives. All your lives.

Pairing: TVA!Loki x TVA!Reader

Word Count: 3.5

Warnings: some talks of smutty times, but overall this is just fluff [let me know if i missed something!]

Things to be aware of: established relationship, talks of soulmates, references to my other stories

"I really don't get why you're in here bugging me for something to do, Y/N," Agent Mobius chuckled, shaking his head as he thumbed through another folder's worth of records that he hadn't told you quite yet what they were for. "No high-level variant threats have been reported, timelines are--well, they're relatively stable. Things are quiet for a change. I say enjoy it while it lasts and go on a vacation or something with Laufeyson. Just don't--"

"Don't cause any Nexus events, yes yes, Mobius, we know." A smile broke out on your face at the sound of Loki's voice cutting off the TVA Agent, your cheeks nearly aching from your grin widening when he walked up behind you and long arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. "Thing is we already have partaken in quite a handful of adventures across the timelines, indulging ourselves in the…numerous pleasures and luxuries that they have to offer."

One look at how you were reddening with the implications of your boyfriend's words had your fellow Agent scrunching up his face in feigned appalment. "Time and place, you two, jeez."

You and Loki shared a confused look when an analyst from another table yelled "And you did it at my birthday dinner!" and rendered Mobius into a cackling heap, laughing into his sleeve to muffle the sound.

"Anyway…" you spoke up, making the grey-haired agent look back up at you. "Are you sure there isn't anything we can help with? Doesn't even have to be high-level, I'll literally take up a timeline reset caused by a woman at a grocery store grabbing a can of peaches instead of a can of mangoes, I'm getting antsy here."

"Alright alright fine," he sighed, motioning toward you and the god behind you. "It's something of a moonshot but we've been trying to find proof of the existence of soulmates throughout the timelines, so we need concrete cases that no matter the circumstance, no matter the obstructions between two souls, they always find each other and they always end up together."

"You mean like in that TV show where they've got fairytale characters in like Maine or something and there's this couple that constantly goes--"

"I'll find you, I will always find you," you and Mobius said at once, causing you both to break out into laughter.

"Exactly like that," he confirmed when he calmed down some. "Preferably without the cheesy catchphrase because in case you do find one I would actually prefer to not include in my report that all soulmates have some line they tell each other that's so cheesy it's pungent."

"Right so…soulmates, no cheesy lines, across the timelines. Got it." You gave him a little salute before you went off to the shelves, holding Loki's hand as he followed a few steps behind you.

"Darling we have been scouring through files for hours. Perhaps it's time to report back to Mobius. Tell him that every pair we've found so far have broken the pattern at some iteration down the line. The most we've come across is a pair that were together for five iterations of their lives before the sixth showed they never even met in that lifetime."

Your shoulders slumped over when you placed your latest folder on your pile, of failed attempts, just about  half the size of Loki's own little mountain of case files. Maybe he was right; every possible lead you'd found all ended up a dud, and that alone would be proof enough that this was all a wild goose chase of an assignment for Mobius.

Then again, he did call it a moonshot, so the realization didn't smart too much.

The frustration you felt began to melt away the moment Loki's hands touched your shoulders, leaning into him when he started working at the knots that he found with expert precision. "Okay, you're right," you sighed. "Let's go tell Cubey his moonshot's a single needle in a city of haystacks."

He placed a kiss to the top of your head, using his seiðr to stack the case files into neat stacks arranged by file number. "Thank the Norns that ridiculous magic dampener fractured some when the timelines diverged," he mumbled, chuckling into your hair. "Now how about I bring us to a nice hot spring and we could simply…enjoy one another's company?" You let out a giggle when his hands traveled down your sides, lightly grasping your waist and pulling you against him.

If only you could have silenced the little voice in your head when you were just seconds away from him whisking you off to Jökulsárlón or Hakone, clad in a dark emerald bikini that your lover would peel off of you as he made good on his promise for you both to enjoy each other's company.

"I can nearly hear the thoughts forming in your mind, darling," he cooed, pressing his lips to the back of your neck, chuckling against your skin when you wordlessly confirmed what he'd said by slumping over again. "What is it?"

"Just one last try?" You wouldn't ever let yourself live it down if you'd gone down this road and not looked at this particular set of files.

He let out a sigh, his slightly cool breath tickling your skin before pressing a tender kiss to the back of your head. "One last attempt. And if we reach another dead end--"

"You can whisk me away to any destination of your choice and have your wicked way with me," you finished for him, letting out a little yelp when he brought his lips to the spot between your neck and shoulder, playfully nipping at the skin.

"What a deliciously reckless promise, my love," he teased, smirking against your neck when he proceeded to lightly suck at the sensitive skin and you had to bite your lip to muffle the whimper that slipped through your lips. "I look forward to collecting on it in a short while."

He rested his chin on your shoulder, still holding you close when you called out for a bit of assistance on your final hunch. "Minutes?"

Your eyes squinted to adjust to the sudden brightness when the orange hologram appeared on the desk in front of you. "Well hello there, lovebirds. What can I do for y'all?" she asked with a small wave of her cartoonish stick arm.

"Could you pull up our files?"

"Well sure I can, Y/N! How much of your files are we talking here?"

You shared a look with Loki before you answered, "All of them?"

"Before I hand 'em over, I think it's best y'all know from the get go that you're about to deal with thousands of files. It'll take a whole lotta time before you can sort 'em all out," she cautioned you both, already giving you a digital visual of how many files she'd already begun to pull up.

"Minutes, as I've come to understand it, we variants apparently have all the time in the world," you countered, shrugging your free shoulder and giving the living hologram a little smile. "We can take it."

"Alright well suit yourself," she comically shrugged both her hands before making the files that were already on the table disperse and go back to their original locations throughout the library shelves before stacks upon stacks of folders materialized in their place. All of them sectioned off into two sides. "Have at it, y'all."

You picked up the first folder from the stack closest to you, your brows knitting together already once you read the name on the file. "Minutes, I don't think this is mine, it says Eve but that's not--"

"Your name?" she finished for you. "Darlin', Y/N is your name in this lifetime--Well, the lifetime you came from before your Nexus event, you get what I mean. The file you're holding is from another lifetime, heck, might even be from another timeline. But one look at that file and you'll see that that's you. All of these are you. Doesn't matter if you're goin' by a different name, the soul remains the same."

The air left your lungs when you opened the folder to find a picture of you with pale skin and matted ivory hair on the front of the file. Only thing was that this version of you wasn't quite human in her lifetime. In fact centuries of it were spent as a vampire.

A few moments later she spoke up again. "Well then that's my cue. Happy sortin', y'all!" And then she disappeared. Leaving you and Loki alone with your couple thousand files each to rifle through.

Had you been there on a different objective, you would have spent a bit more time thumbing through the pages that detailed the life of this version of you, rubbing elbows with numerous prominent figures throughout history and having her fair share of trysts with a handful of them. But your only focus was her most prominent affair. Her great love.

When you reached that page, you felt yourself go breathless once again looking at the picture that stared back at you. "Loki," you breathed out, holding out the file to him so he could see for himself. The god's eyes widened at the photo in front of him. The ebony hair may be matted and the skin somehow even paler than his usual complexion, but there was no denying it. This Eve's companion throughout her years, this Adam, was another lifetime's iteration of Loki.

He began to rifle through his own stacks of folders, finding the one that had the same variant number and interlocked his and your folders together, starting a new stack at the center of the desk. "If you're right, and this yields the moonshot result that Mobius has been searching for, you can pick the destination and have your wicked way with me."

"Why Mischief, how reckless of you," you said coyly, batting your eyelashes at him. "What if I wanna tie you up?"

"It's endearing that you believe you could, my darling." He lightly poked your side, quickly pulling you into his arms the second you started wriggling and giggling in his direction. "But if that is truly what you want then I can promise not to break out for an hour."

"Two," you countered.

"Ninety minutes."

"Deal."

"Now if I'm right and this leads to another dead end, I whisk you away to any destination of my choosing for a fortnight, no tempads, no missions, and not a stitch of clothing on this glorious form of yours." His lips skimmed the side of your face, pressing a kiss to your cheek when you let out a squeal at his finger deftly undoing the top button of your shirt. "Do we have a deal, my love?"

"Okay okay," you relented, turning your head to steal a quick kiss before bring your attention back to the folders you were about to sort through. Before you could pull away, his free hand went up to the back of your head and deepened the kiss.

"What if I told you I've been plagued with visions of stripping you bare and laying you out on the desk before me? That I'd been thinking of enjoying every delectable inch of you as if you were my own personal dessert board?" You let out a gasp at the lustful image his words had conjured in your mind, allowing him to easily lick into your mouth and turn you into putty in his arms the moment your tongues met.

"I'd say I'm not surprised," you breathed out when he pulled away, placing your hand over his before he could undo a third button from your shirt. "But the faster we get this done, the faster oneof us will be at the other's mercy and maybe you can even bring that desk fantasy of yours to life." You pressed another quick peck to his lips before managing to wriggle your way out of his embrace, jutting your chin at his side of the desk. "Pick a file, Mischief."

The next file had you and him initially on opposite sides of the Battle of New York, your story starting in Stuttgart when he had clones force you down on your knees and the injuries from that encounter permanently damaging you. A handful of times throughout the day of the actual battle, he went out of his way to save your life, ensuring your safety from a fatal fall and even the Hulk; the document even had a mention of him asking Thor of what came of you after he was apprehended because you weren't among the Avengers that saw him off to Asgard, only to find out the true extent of your injuries. Then he found himself back on Earth to serve his sentence and falling in love with you, using his magic to undo the physical damage that he dealt you. And then you two went on your own adventure to have 'do-overs' in places that held bitter memories for him, from Stuttgart to Asgard and even the balcony in Stark Tower.

Another file saw Loki as an English baronet named Thomas Sharpe, and you as his final wife and a sort of partner in crime. Initially you teamed up to play a dangerous game of sneaking around his ancestral home to gather and send out evidence that would put his incestuous and murderous sister Lucille behind bars, and somewhere along the way you two had genuinely fallen in love with one another.

You then found a good handful of scenarios where you both lived in the Avengers Compound, having a bad case of mutual pining and both of you being too hesitant and overcome with doubt that neither of you made a move until the situation practically forced you to confess. One even involved you photographing him for an Avengers calendar where he stripped for you during his session.

"Yeah, this definitely sounds like you," you joked when you showed him one of the pictures from the photoshoot in question where he laid on his side on a white bed wearing nothing but a pair of white boxers. When you opened the next file, you let out a whiny groan out of sheer frustration and disappointment.

"Darling, that is a sound I only wish to hear when I elicit it from you. What's wrong?"

"Might as well just lie down on the table right now because there's no way this isn't a dead end." You waved the file in your hand in the air.

"Much as I would thoroughly enjoy claiming this particular prize, perhaps we need not be so hasty, my love. Tell me what would be such a hindrance that you'd be ready to give up your theory--"

"Place of Birth: Asgard," you read out, cutting him off. "Born to Lady Sif of the Warriors Four--"

"Alright well Sif would surely have some choice words with me if I courted you but--"

"And the Crown Prince Thor, God of Thunder." You gave him a look as if to say "This is why", the realization dawning on him as well that yes, this would be the dead end that would grant him his victory. And yet for some reason, you decided to keep on turning the pages. "Gotta be honest, though, I thought that what would break our streak is if we never met in these--Oh what in the Game of Thrones Targaryen nonsense is this??"

"What is it?"

"The streak isn't broken yet," you croaked out, the disbelief entering his eyes as he frantically started searching for his corresponding variant file. "We were married for two and a half thousand years."

"I surrendered my claim to the throne of Asgard for you," he declared in astonishment. "We have children in this timeline." His voice began to hitch at the end, making you immediately close the distance between you to lace your fingers together.

"Looks like even something as monumental as being your brother's daughter couldn't stop us," you noted with a little smile, breaking out into a full grin when your comment made Loki exhaled in a rather loud chuckle that traveled across the library. You took your two folders and interlocked them, adding to the pile in the center. "Let's keep going."

It was several hours later that you two had finally found your way back to the desk that Mobius occupied, the more tenured agent pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing at the inner corners of his eyes in clear frustration.

"You still got nothing, Cubey?"

"One of these days I'm gonna find a name for you that's just as annoying, Y/L/N, just you wait," he groaned, his posture visibly slumping when he saw the interlocked stacks of folders that you were carting around. "What in the name of the Alioth is that?"

"We found one," you proudly stated. "Proof that soulmates exist and…only some of them have a catchphrase."

"That's just one?!" he boomed, immediately getting shh'd by a more elderly analyst a few tables behind him to which you and Loki shh'd her right back without missing a beat. You nodded your answer to Mobius. "So what's the catchphrase?"

"I was made to be yours," you began, letting go of the cart to hold your hand out to Loki.

"And I yours," he finished, lacing your fingers together before draping his arm over your shoulder and pulling you closer to him.

"Wait a damn minute," Mobius said suspiciously, pointing a finger between the two of you. "Are you two trying to tell me that the first and so far only case of soulmates we have on record is--"

"Us," you finished for him, nudging the cart in his direction with your foot. "Every single lifetime on every single timeline accounted for."

"What about your own?" he questioned. "You both mentioned that you'd never met your timeline's version of each other prior to your Nexus events."

"Well see that's the thing. These files only cover everything prior to a variant's Nexus event, or what the events were in their own respective sacred timelines. We met each other after our Nexus events. So maybe our souls never found each other in the lives that we left behind because…we were meant to find each other here."

"Huh…" he mused, looking carefully at the two of you. "Could be. Nice catch, you two. I knew I made a good call giving you a partner, Loki."

"My darling mortal is quite brilliant," your lover beamed, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. "I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude for our introduction."

"Well, you really don't have to but if you feel so compelled, I'm willing to take a jet ski and a vacation to Miami if you two can swing it."

"We'll call you if anything serious pops up, just keep your tempad charged," you shot back, extending your free hand toward him to shake. "But really, Cubey. Thank you. For introducing us. For vouching for me and making sure that I didn't get pruned during my trial with Rennslayer--"

"Otherwise you might have crossed paths with that one-handed variant in the Void and who knows what nefarious and depraved intentions he would have had with you," Loki interjected, resting his head on yours.

"You have a Captain Hook variant?"

"Nah it was a president," Mobius answered with a wave of his hand. "Got his hand bit off by an alligator."

"So…a Captain Hook variant."

"Yeah, you know what you're right. Loki has a Captain Hook variant. You'll meet him soon enough when you get sent on a mission to the Void. Loads of highly dangerous variants usually find themselves there when they try to escape processing."

"If he even dares touch you I'll divest him of his remaining hand," Loki grumbled, once again pressing his lips to your temple. "That heathen can find his own variant of you. You're mine."

"All yours," you beamed, bringing your joint hands to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. "And speaking of…we're off for a few weeks, Cubey. We have a date to get to."

"Please don't get arrested for indecent exposure. Or public fornication," the senior agent groaned. "That's a timeline I'll need therapy for if I have to be the sorry ass to reset it."

Neither of you responded other than a little wave and a thumbs up in his direction as you walked away, the god giving you a dimpled smirk as you two made your way to your shared apartment.

"Where shall we head to first, little mortal? A hot spring? Or perhaps a nice scenic tundra? Or perhaps a cherry blossom forest? I can already picture your beauty with the backdrop of the falling petals…"

He stopped listing options when he saw you shaking your head, mirroring his smirk with one of your own. "Bedroom first. And give me your tie. You owe me ninety minutes."

A/N: I'm so glad to finally get this out for y'all to see! This was originally supposed to up weeks ago for something but some of my own revelations were made (translation: I got bitch slapped in the face by reality) which led to the postponing of this story. Anyways, I hope y'all liked it even if it is kinda cringe and silly. I'm always gonna be cringe and silly, so manage expectations accordingly. 🥴🫡

Also if you got all the references within the files (except the OLLA one that's a freebie) I officially love you. 💖💛

'everything' taglist: @sailorholly @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 8: TERMINAL PARADISE

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

He likes to braid your hair while you braid Suguru’s. He thinks of bringing the bed from his room into yours, pushing the two twins together to fit the three of you. Looks at you both with puppy eyes.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content (18+ mdni) , unprotected sex, high/drunk sex, dubcon, somnophilia, oral sex, threesome, the boys being........ evil?

ੈ✩ wc: 7.7k

ੈ✩ a/n: what's upppPP i'm a little tipsy rn but. here is chapter eight. title from the adrianne lenker song. anyways this chapter is very self-indulgent but as i read it back it makes me like. sad. i shan't elaborate. it's very stupid olympic sex i'll tell u that. belligerent fucking if u will

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

June, 2009

Heat sticks onto you like a leech. You’ve started to think you’ve become one, what with the dark side of your technique. You walked the halls feeling like a white deer that failed to blend into a thicket.

You latch onto your boys like a leech, too. Fighting for space in the same sky in between the sun and the moon. Suguru likes to tell you you’re the stars in small ways, always a gleam in your eye despite mostly feeling dim. There isn’t much time for moping anymore, Satoru tells you. It’s the summer, after all. 

It’s quiet on Onjuku Beach. Well, quiet enough, save for the occasional splashing and the sound of Satoru’s cackles as he swims underwater and pulls Utahime’s ankle. You hold back laughter, watching her lash out like she usually does, Satoru running away like a little kid.

You take a bite of watermelon, the juice dripping out of the corner of your mouth. When you feel Suguru’s weight on the blanket next to you, you give him a slice. He wipes your mouth with the pad of his finger and tastes it on his tongue. He’d gotten accustomed to grooming you like that. Braiding your hair and sticking petals in it in the spring. Rubbing your shoulders with suntan lotion.

You glance at him afterward, when he’s not looking, grappling with the urge to bite him on the shoulder. You think that maybe Satoru would. You aren’t sure if you have the same privilege.

The afternoon drags on, barely changing the summer sky as the tide stays consistent between you and the moon. Shoko and Utahime had headed back an hour before, leaving Satoru’s head in your lap and Suguru seemingly napping underneath a Murakami novel. 

You’d scrunched your nose up at the sight of it—Norwegian Wood. You’d teased Suguru about it, accusing him of being pretentious with a secret love for hollow female characters. He’d rolled his eyes, tipping back a beer, teasing you for bringing No Longer Human.

“Talk about dysfunctional and sad,” he sneered. 

Satoru’s damp hair isn’t helping the shiver of your thighs, the sheen of your smooth skin now riddled with goosebumps. He’d teased you for taking the time to shave every part of your body before the mission, something you never did. Keeping up your appearance when you didn’t need to for him. Suguru likes a bush, too, you know. 

You flushed when he said that, like your face was on fire.

Being day drunk is fun, you decide. Haziness suits the three of you.

You’re sweltering, to say the least, considering the late afternoon sun is setting in a place that hits you directly. Suguru stirs. You feel his warm breath on the side of your thigh as he rises, rubbing his eyes. 

“You think I tanned unevenly?” he asks, squinting at you.

You shake your head, smiling. He smiles back, yawning just before he snaps the side of your bikini bottom without warning. You wince in surprise, blushing.

“Wanna wake up the prince?”

“But he looks so sweet when he’s asleep,” you sigh. “And so quiet.”

“Real fuckin’ quiet,” Suguru laughs. He pauses as he looks at Satoru, as if skimming his face for something. He flicks his nose with his finger, making Satoru flinch and whine.

“C’mon, Satoru. Up.”

He mumbles something in between a whimper and a slurred mutter, nuzzling his nose into your lap until you feel his hot breath fanning your cunt. He whines even more when you shift, attempting to get to your feet and put on your cover-up when he latches onto your wrists with his hands. 

“We gotta go,” you coo softly. 

He obliges with a pout. Satoru had rented a house with an ocean view for the three of you to stay in, much too luxurious for a mission that would only last a few days. But he had the expendable funds, and he refused to stay in a hostel like you had suggested. 

He continues his petulant attitude, his stride like that of a child on vacation. It did feel like a vacation, if you had to be honest. The curses you’d exorcised the day before were hardly exhausting.

It’s only been three days in Onjuku, but you think that the boys are plotting against you.

It’d started the first day, Thursday, after a few exorcisms and one Special Grade made of tongues that they were able to kill in record time. Satoru had insisted on showing as much skin as possible, citing the heat. He was wearing your favorite shirt of his, unbuttoned to show off his alabaster skin, unblemished by anything at all, not even the hot sun. 

He’d also insisted on dessert for breakfast, pointing out the novelty shops along the coast of the local town with the titillation of a real tourist, as if he hadn’t spent weekends there as a child. That’s how the three of you ended up eating popsicles for breakfast.

He was being annoyingly sly, pinching and prodding at you all morning like a little boy. He’d insisted on mimosas before noon, Suguru oddly going along with his antics at your expense. You’d had popsicles at the beach after. Satoru wouldn’t stop staring at you, blinking through the brain freeze as his mouth went to work on something strawberry-flavored. He was obscene with it, his tongue moving in languid movements, disgusting you but burning your skin at the same time.

His lips were stained bright red for the rest of the afternoon, but it looked so beguiling that it had you distracted for the rest of the day. You knew you could have him — he had never played hard to get — but something would gnaw at you telling you the opposite. Made him like forbidden fruit, deluding you.

For one, he was either missing your signals or feigning oblivion, a game that you willingly became a pawn to. He had always taken up too much space, but now he was tugging at your hair like you were twelve again despite your protests. 

And then, when you were brave enough to sneak a hand on his thigh underneath the dinner table or cuddled a bit closer to him in bed, he did nothing. 

Suguru was less obvious about teasing, which made you feel like you were crazy. 

It started with small grocery runs. Suguru accompanied you after Satoru refused to go on the principle of having enough money to dine out for every meal. It felt domestic to pick vegetables with him. Both times, he’d thrown in a treat or a drink that he knew you would like without asking. He’d praise you after the day’s work in ways that set your guts on fire.

He had also, it seemed, picked up the same habit as Satoru of tugging your hair to get your attention. There had been fleeting touches to your waist, too, when he would simply be passing by you after you were done showering. Absent-mindedly, as light as an apparition. Shifting bodies as casually as two people passing in a crowded bar, yet it felt like a car crash to you.

He’d continue that for the second day. Even yesterday, when you had been using the outdoor shower to rinse off after the beach, Suguru had walked in with a drink to offer. Despite still being in your bathing suit, you had felt scandalized by his gaze alone. 

Now, on Saturday evening, you’re alone with him in the beach house while Satoru attends a meeting in Shinjuku against his will. 

Suguru lays on the couch lazily, his tongue jutting out to lick the side of a joint in between tea-flavored papers. You walk into the living room with a yawn, having just woken up from a short nap after reading on the porch. At twilight, the sky flushes pink and purple above the horizon. 

You think about what to eat for dinner, thinking about the prospect of cooking with Suguru alone, which should come as a wholesome, harmless daydream, but truthfully makes your face warm. There are plenty of restaurants down the street, some that even delivered, you recall from a brochure left on the counter. You were intrigued by a seafood restaurant that Satoru had promised to take you to—

“Want a hit?” Suguru’s voice interrupts your ruminating.

“Oh,” you blink. “Um, sure.”

He chuckles as you join him on the couch as if he can read your mind. “It’s like Shoko’s cigarettes, I promise.”

“I know,” you frown, pouting. “I’ve smoked weed before.”

“Last time we passed a blunt around, you kept talking about how it’s against the law.”

“It is!” you mumble, shrugging.

“Yes,” Suguru grins. “And we’re sorcerers that wield magic and kill monsters.”

You roll your eyes, taking the joint from his fingers. He hands you a Zippo, the very one that you had gifted to Shoko months before. You’d have to remember to pocket it afterward to give back to her. 

Suguru chuckles when you take a hit and inevitably cough. When he takes it back, he huffs and exhales a cloud towards your face, grinning with ivory teeth as his Adam’s apple rolls back. You can’t help but fixate your gaze on it.

He taps your knees in a rhythmic pattern with his fingers when you take the next hit. Already, your vision is vignetted with hazy white, but every movement between the two of you feels incredibly sharp, as if you’re wielding the Six Eyes in a dream. Your mouth feels dry, your lips bitten down by your teeth. 

Suguru had been too lazy to change after the beach, barely in the mood to shower until the dampness of his swim trunks had gotten to him. He’d changed to another pair of shorts, the inseam short enough to allow exposure of his tanned thighs, and not bothering with a shirt because of the humidity. Even this close to him, he still smells like sea salt. His long hair was slightly textured, naturally tousled by the ocean.

You sink into the couch, sighing. You feel as though you're overheating. Despite this, Suguru is next to you, thigh to thigh, the spot in between you burning. 

His lips feel chapped, his tongue dry from cotton mouth. He thinks about sticking it down your throat.

The radio that comes with the house is old as shit, something inexplicably adorable enough to be in a vintage shop but not practical enough to own considering it would buzz every few minutes. The signal is weak, crackling as Tatsuro Yamashita plays at a low volume. 

Suguru throws his legs over your lap as he inhales, passing the joint to you but not releasing it. Instead, he merely holds it to your mouth himself, lighting it with Shoko’s Zippo.

Normally, you’d shake yourself after a session, splash your face with cold water before you would start imagining things. You were addicted to the feeling of his fingertips, the sensation exacerbated by your high. The last time you were like this, you’d pictured Suguru’s mouth on your cunt, the image bombarding your mind throughout the night. You numbed the urge with alcohol, still taking bong rips until you threw up in Shoko’s trash can.

You don’t think you’re hallucinating this time. His fox eyes point at you and descend down your face and jaw. 

“No more,” he says.

“Why not?” you whine.

“Your eyes are glazing over,” Suguru chuckles. “So fucking gone.”

“I'm not,” you sigh, pushing his legs off of you and leaning into his shoulder. 

He welcomes you with open arms, allowing you to lay your head on his chest. He smells like his sunscreen, coconut from his fragrance, salt from his body. His skin is incredibly warm too, but so is your entire body, particularly your chest. You can feel your heart beating. You can feel his palm on your thigh. Scorching.

So touchy with you. You wonder if he’s high on anything else. Maybe that was why he was so affectionate today.

Suguru stretches his legs across the couch, your body like a doll’s in between his thighs. He cracks open the can of beer beside him—when had he gotten up to get one?

It’s more humid at night. Or maybe it was the slick of his skin. Either way, you think your hair must be matted with sweat, a messy braid loosening at the back of your head. Strands spin in between Suguru’s fingers like loose threads of a sweater.

“You’re excited.”

“What?” you squeak out, surprised. His voice interrupts a miasma of inebriated thought loops, dripping desire bombarding the forefront of your mind. 

“Your heart’s beating fast,” he observes. “And you get real horny when you're high.”

"I don't—”

"Don't think Shoko and I don't notice Satoru stealing you away when we smoke," he laughs.

His fingers curl around your jaw, lowering to feel the quickening pulse of the right side of your neck. You’d surely smell like him by the time you shower tonight. Coconut and sea salt and beer.

You shake your head.

Suguru had been at a deficit with you for the past six months. He would dream about your cunt sometimes, the sight of you on New Year’s permanently etched into his brain. He and Satoru still looked at the same magazines they’d collected in adolescence, spilling ropes of white to the same pages that had always gotten him going, but you were still more prominent in his head.

He would think of your mouth parting from the sensation of his fingers pushing through the slick of your pussy. Your tongue exploring the underside of his neck.

Satoru has been overly possessive ever since the school year started. Suguru had started to believe that he would never have you again and that he should accept it. He didn't feel particularly entitled to you. The Six-eyed sorcerer had his claim on you since he was a child, anyway—Suguru would learn to get over it.

But now, here you are, in his lap. Your breath quickens at the feeling of his hand on your thigh. Suguru could bet that you were soaking through your panties, perhaps from the moment you found yourself alone with him.

Lately, Suguru wants you more than he wants Satoru.

He loved Satoru so much, more than he thought he was ever capable of since he’d met him at fifteen, but he constantly dreams of the softness of your skin instead. He liked that you were pliant, desperate. It’d be easy to coax a reaction out of you, letting him in the crux of your thighs with just the tiniest amount of teasing. Suguru knew that you would say yes to him as eagerly as you would to Satoru, your mouth already watering. It made him feel insane.

Your cheeks heat up when you feel his dick hardening beneath you. Prodding at the small of your back, the only thing separating you is a thin piece of nylon. 

“Aw,” he purrs. “You have a freckle right here.”

“Do I?” you breathe, your eyes lowering down to where Suguru’s finger strokes the inside of your thigh, the tip of it caressing a dot of dark brown. So tiny that you hadn’t even noticed it yourself. 

“S’cute,” he whispers. You shiver, then. His hot breath all over your neck is intoxicating. When his fingers skim your collarbone, he notices it’s hot to the touch, your pulse twitching the same as it does when he’d called you princess. 

You swallow thickly, turning to face him in his lap. He says your name with a heaviness that has your heart sinking to your feet.

“Can I kiss you?”

You don’t answer, merely turning your head to melt into him. High out of your mind.

He’s careful with you. His lips are soft despite being a bit chapped, his aftershave prominent in the air with notes of sandalwood. There’s intent to it, something you didn’t often feel with Satoru over the past few weeks. 

Your hands cup his jaw almost immediately, while his own hands cup the flesh of your thighs. They slide up to squeeze your ass, which forces a mewl out of your mouth. 

He didn’t think his cock could get any harder, wanting to burst from his shorts. It hurt.

“You’re so warm. You got a fever or something?”

“No,” you breathe.

“Your skin is burning. Wanna take this off?” he grins. A shark smile. His fingers skim the hem of your dress.

You do it without him begging. He doesn’t even have to convince you — you’re peeling it off, exhaling at the feeling of the thick air around you. Even with the slip of fabric off, you still feel so fucking warm against him.

You yelp when he grabs your breast, squeezing it along with his tongue on your nipple.

“Suguru—”

Your whine falls flat. You don't remember if you were meaning to scold him or to beg for more. He smiles with his forehead pressed to yours, his hands smoothing up and down the skin of your sides.

“Pretty,” he muses. 

“Pretty,” you repeat. He’s beautiful underneath you. 

A beat passes. You don't know who closes the distance first.

It’s a gnash of limbs, of lips, of teeth. Devouring each other. The weed made you so fucking wet, dripping into his lap through your panties. He doesn’t bother with them, pulling them to the side to fuck into you without a warning. You don’t even recall him taking out his dick.

The feeling of him makes you want to cry.

He groans at the bulge of your lower stomach, his cock carving out the gooey parts of you for him to nest in. The flush of your cheeks makes you look like a flower. Your cunt blooming for him, hot and tight.

You feel like you’re being split apart, like the skin of a mandarin orange unfurling beneath his hands.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he sighs, gaining control of his voice. Humming instead of growling, like he’s sinking into a warm bath.

You think it would burn if you weren’t so wet, his girth thicker than Satoru’s. 

He holds you by the hips, thrusting into you at a slow pace, breaking you open. Making a mess of your insides. 

“Does Satoru fuck you this good?” he grins.

You’re too breathless to reply. As if you even could, your face feverish at his taunting. You didn’t think you could survive a grip harder than Satoru’s, but despite Suguru’s gentle demeanor, his hands on you are brutish. 

You kiss him, licking up the taste of beer and weed, slightly herbal from the papers. He moans into your mouth when you grip his hair. It’s soft in between your fingers. Like real silk. 

Suguru had dreamt about this for months.

“You look so pretty,” he grunts, teeth bared. “Fuck. Thought about this for so long.”

You whine at his admission. His cock is impossibly deep inside you, coupled with the sensation of your limbs melting like boiled sugar. You roll your hips, cunt spasming around him already. Your nails make crescent-shaped marks on the meat of his broad shoulders, mirroring the same ones that he had made from gripping your waist.

Suguru’s hand holds the crux of your neck, tipping your face upward to look at him dead in the eye. Everything in your body is cloying heat, making it difficult to keep your eyes wide open, but he forces it from you with deeper thrusts. His fingers coax your mouth open for you to suck on, making you whimper, making you choke on his digits. 

There’s a flash in Suguru’s eyes, the smallest gleam that you had recognized in Satoru. Something predatory.

“Knew you’d be a good girl,” he whispers in your ear. “You think about me like this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whimper.

He pulls back, leaning back on the couch to let you have your rut, your pace eager like a starved puppy. Part of him wanted to mark you up just to piss Satoru off, though he knew the bastard would probably like it anyway. 

“How do you think about me?”

“I—Suguru—”

“Tell me,” he teases, his smile serpentine. He pulls out to flip you over, your tits pressed against the arm of the couch. “Like this? Pulling your hair?”

"I think about your mouth. About your cock inside me," you say. Mindless. Under his spell.

The stretch from behind feels somehow deeper than before. He groans at the way your back arches, your hair in his fist. Your knees are already chafing from the leather beneath you, the back of your thighs burning from slapping against his skin.

“Close,” you choke out.

“Yeah,” he sighs, biting your shoulder. “Cum on my cock, princess.”

You could pass out like this, you think. Your vision is already spotty, air stolen out of your lungs from the brevity of his movements. Your mouth hangs, wide open and slack as a pitchy moan rolls out.

Suguru follows soon after you — he can’t help it when you sound like that. He’s addicted. Desperate to live inside you like this, high in every earthly sense. He has half a mind to pull out before he spills, but he can’t pry himself from you.

Still dizzy, you lay on him while he cleans up the mess in between your thighs, his cum nearly leaking onto the couch. You’re surprised when he grabs the back of your neck to kiss you again. Neither of you keep track of how much time passes as you make out like teenagers. You feel almost faint in his arms.

“Fuck, you’re still high as shit, aren’t you?” Suguru says, squishing your face in between his hands. He slides his dick back into his shorts, light soiled from precum. If he hadn’t put them on again, he probably would’ve been too tempted for another round. Even with your hand palming him while you made out, you were clearly in another dimension.

Looking at him makes you feel raw. Like letting him fuck you was the same as volunteering your heart on a pulpit.

“Dinner.” It feels strange to use your voice. Swapping spit with Suguru wasn’t doing much for hydration.

“Yes,” he chuckles. “Want to go to that restaurant?”

“Mm,” you whine, slinging an arm around his neck. “Let’s do takeout.”

Satoru manages to slip back late at night, long past the time you and Suguru had fallen asleep on the couch with the television on. He smirks at the sight, hovering over the two of you like the Grim Reaper. Suguru would surely snap at him if he was awake, but for now, the Six Eyes examine every contour of each of your bodies fit together like clasped palms. 

The room smells like sex. Or maybe Satoru is projecting, his jaw only now relaxing after keeping his teeth so gritted during that stupid fucking meeting with the higher-ups. He kept thinking about you, distracted by the sight of you at the beach, your bare legs splayed out on the sand. 

Suguru probably got to you first. Of course, he would. It makes Satoru bite his cheek, but it also makes the butterflies in his stomach feel like daggers.

He stills when he hears you hum, mumbling something unintelligible as you bury yourself in Suguru’s chest. It’s so soft, so innocent, yet Satoru has to excuse himself to your shared room so he can wrap his hand around his cock.

He thinks about your mouth when he’s close and decides not to finish. He’d rather feel you against him instead, skin to skin.

The sound of you mewling in your sleep is adorable to him — you do so in his arms as he lifts you bridal style, prying your body from Suguru’s grasp. When he puts you down in the bed, you look angelic.

Satoru rubs your thigh, prying your legs apart gently so he can suck kisses into the skin. You twitch, your breath heavy. Indulging in your dreams while Satoru indulges in his. 

You squirm, stirring when you feel his tongue in your cunt. You’re already so wet for him, pliable and ripe for him even in your sleep. He tastes salt, the aftermath of his best friend’s release, and he laughs.

“Satoru,” you mumble, your voice still in a dream-like haze.

“I’m right here, baby,” he murmurs, licking a stripe from your clit to your belly button. “Missed me?”

“Mm.”

The air is thick with tension as he rises to slot his body behind yours. Satoru pumps his cock once before he slides into you without much warning. Despite being wet, your cunt burns.

“Sator—” He covers your mouth. 

“So fucking tight,” he groans. “Thought Sugu would’ve loosened you up, huh?”

“Hurts,” you whimper. 

“Take it,” he sighs. “Take it for me.”

His teeth on your shoulder make you dizzy. You still feel like you’re dreaming, but the stretch he has in between your walls makes it all too real. Satoru knows he doesn’t deserve you like this, but he’d decided the moment he stepped into the house that he would be selfish tonight. 

He fucks you like he’s starved. 

Even in the wine-dark night, he senses his best friend all over you with his Six Eyes. You’re covered in him. 

You pant into his palm until he descends his hand to your throat, pulling you taut against him so that your back arches. He doesn’t bother with making you cum, mostly circling your clit to get you wetter. Inside you, he feels boneless, washed away of his irritation. 

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Oh, fuck. ‘m sorry, baby.”

“Too much,” you whine.

He shoves his fingers into your mouth the same way Suguru had done hours before.

With a mean cant of the hips, you can feel his body slacken after warmth fills up your cunt. Your voice is high and needy on the comedown. You taste blood in your mouth from biting down on your lip too hard, chapped from all the kissing of today. 

“Love you,” he mumbles, his mouth on the nape of your neck.

He falls asleep soon after, leaving you with your thoughts, still half-drunk on him, barely lucid. It makes you sick, the way you want him, the way you let him use you. But you liked it. You liked his violence and possessiveness as if his actions were love letters.

Satoru had you weaned on something so saccharine that you stopped caring about the possibility of it spoiling. You welcomed the rot anyway. You had your own to wield with your bare hands.

August, 2009

You dream about them sometimes. You were shocked that the boys didn’t have any more games to play with you during that weekend, the two of them collectively ignoring the smell of sex in the air and the casual touches. They still touched you in their own ways. Reminding you of yourself. Your role as a toy.

Sometimes, you dream about them together with you as the voyeur. You’d see their broad backs, sweat pooling into a navel. Tongue-kissing. They were both too large to fit on the dorm bed together, you’d imagine. 

Satoru gets clingier. If that was even possible. He sleeps in your room instead of his more often now, leaving his clothes tucked messily in your bottom drawer. It’s almost domestic, the way he starts sweeping the floor like it’s a shared house, the way his toothbrush kisses yours in the chipped mug on the bathroom sink.

Even when he's not physically in your room, his presence always lingers. The amount of belongings left behind that are Satoru's continues to increase. Video games he forces you to play with him. Manga piled up on the corner of your desk.

He likes to braid your hair while you braid Suguru’s. He thinks of bringing the bed from his room into yours, pushing the two twins together to fit the three of you. Looks at you both with puppy eyes.

It’s during this time that you realize how touch-starved Satoru must’ve been as a child. He had clung to you then, too—always playing too rough, always finding a part of you to hold whether it had been your hand or your braids to pull. From an early age, he’d always needed that relief. Something to sink his teeth in fully.

He’s more than willing to wear his heart on his sleeve for you, which you find endlessly amusing. It makes him dopey, almost stupid in his affection for you. You’d consider yourself a girlfriend if either of you would say it out loud. Neither of you do.

Suguru likes to sneak up on you in small ways that evade Satoru’s watchful eyes. Like the times he sleeps in your dorm when Satoru is busy on a mission. Suguru will indulge your interest in movies that are more cerebral—psychological thrillers and slow cinema. Satoru doesn’t have the patience for it, always opting for a slasher horror or an action film. Suguru likes to be quiet with you in these instances. Likes to stroke your hair when you rest your head in his lap. Likes to fall asleep in your tiny bed, his larger body engulfing yours.

You’re being shared between them, though you aren’t sure of the conditions. You don’t have the guts to ask. You don’t even notice a significant change. Being attuned to the boys in physical and emotional ways is almost second nature to you, now.

Between July and August, the three of you are a set. 

A crowded bed. Weed-induced makeouts. Someone’s hand snapping the waistband of your shorts and slinking downwards. Sometimes, you can’t distinguish their touches. You don’t care to.

August is golden light waking you from sweet slumber. August is liquid gold in the sky reflecting on smooth skin. Bare knees hanging from rooftops. 

The summer loosens you up, much to Satoru’s delight. Enough to convince you to be more social, at least.

One night, your dorm is crowded—Shoko supplies the weed and Utahime supplies the alcohol.

Strip poker again. A unanimous decision because the school had poor ventilation and there were too many of you for your single box fan to air out the room. Shoko calls the game off knowingly—Satoru’s making his eyes at you again, drunk and high off his ass while you’re occupied with conversation. Any more clothing items stripped off and the rest of them would be kicked out of the room. 

You all settle on a movie drinking game, then. Something stupid, something American that Yuki picks out. You think it’s funny that she hangs out given her anarchist values on sorcery.

Satoru is, of course, annoyingly clingy and annoyingly cute. Hogging up all your attention the second you lean into Suguru in the slightest bit. You almost want to scold him, maybe spray him with a bottle like he’s a cat.

He doesn’t bother to put his clothes back on—not all of them, at least. He leaves his shorts on, though you think they must be a size too small given the inseam. You’re still clad in shorts and a crop top, giving Satoru any excuse to touch any expanse of skin between your hips and ribcage despite the number of times you complain about being too warm.

The girls get too drunk too fast. Yuki falls asleep in Suguru’s lap while Shoko and Utahime end up making out without caring about who’s looking. 

The minute the three of them are out your door, Satoru’s lips are on yours. Teeth adamant on biting into the flesh of your bottom lip like a predator. He tastes like strawberries this time. You can barely keep up before you register that Suguru is behind you, laughing, cursed energy flickering.

Despite everyone’s departure, the room feels smaller. 

Satoru has never been so eager to show off like this, believe it or not. He usually waits until the two of you are alone, though your reaction time is always too slow and the flippant speed that he takes you the millisecond you get privacy together is always too fast.

Maybe sometimes, Suguru would be asleep nearby while Satoru would tease you to sleep, but he’d never be a part of it. Certainly not in the same room.

So it has you deeply flustered now, just like it had been those many months ago in the late hours of New Year’s Day. Rushed and torrid. Two pairs of snake eyes on you. Getting torn apart by two sets of hands.

It seems that your suspicions on that beach weekend were correct.

Satoru’s been bringing up Suguru when he fucks you lately, asking you if you think his other half is more attractive. If you’re thinking about Suguru while he’s inside of you. 

Of course, you don’t answer—you never do. But Suguru seems to be in on it, given the amount of times he bumps into you, the way he’s started to call you Twigs. He seems to be everywhere, all the time, the exact second Satoru isn’t around. Like a scab that won’t heal. 

He buys you lunch often, likes to treat you after studying the more practical parts of Jujutsu. Plays with your hair absentmindedly just like Satoru does.

He’s doing it now, making your scalp tingle as he presses his mouth gently at the nape of your neck—a stark contrast to Satoru’s tongue in your mouth. 

“You gonna let Suguru watch, baby?” Satoru mumbles against your jaw, his breath hot. “Or d’you want him to join?”

You nod dumbly, barely aware of yourself. It’s how Suguru manages to get your shorts off so swiftly. His hands caress your shoulder blades with palms outstretched underneath your shirt. Your own pair of wings. 

It’s too easy—like picking apart petals off a rose. Rough as the boys are, they don’t need to be. You’d fold over for them without much convincing. You can tell how much they love that about you, how Satoru probably whispers about it to Suguru in between classes when you aren’t watching.

So sensitive every time I touch her. Like it’s her first time all over again.

“Suguru,” you whine. “Kiss me.”

He laughs and looks at you like a shiny new toy. Precious. Suguru is somehow more boyish when he’s high, his cat-like smile as lazy as his slurred movements. He’s always graceful despite the posture problem he shares with Satoru. When he smokes, there’s a lightness within him. Rolls off the shoulders like water falling.

He’s perfect.

Satoru preps your cunt with his mouth. You cry out immediately, feeling the vibration of him beneath you. It was good that they cut you off from the joint considering how many beers you and Utahime were passing back and forth. You’re light enough now to feel every lick and suck so acutely, Satoru’s mouth making a mess of you. 

Suguru works on your neck, then takes your nipple in his mouth. You swallow a moan. Kitten licks from both of them and you’re already convulsing.

“Think you broke a record, princess,” Suguru grins.

“Best girl,” Satoru sighs, biting into the meat of your thigh. 

“C’mere. Let me taste her.”

You expect Satoru to huff in protest or move out of the way, but he doesn’t. He leans over your body and presses his mouth to Suguru’s, licking into it obscenely with a small groan. Your eyes widen with fascination, cheeks blooming.

“How is she?” Satoru smirks.

“Perfect. Just like always.”

You whimper in response. They both smile at you; God and the devil. You swear their faces blur into each other.

“That turn you on, baby?”

“She’s so cute,” Suguru muses. “All fucked out already.”

Something divine awakens in your blood. You want to indulge in them, be their pet. It’s like your brain is melting into a pool of desire, dripping out of you. You blink slowly, feeling a pressure in your stomach that bleeds of desperation.

“Want you both,” you pant. Your lashes flutter when Suguru feels the slippery plushness of your walls with his fingers. “Fuck, want it so bad. Need it.”

“So fucking wet, holy shit,” he groans. “All this for me?”

“You?” Satoru frowns. “I’m the one who made her cum.”

“And I’ll make her cum on my cock.”

“Dude—”

“You need to learn how to share, Satoru,” Suguru chuckles. His fingers are incessantly scissoring into you, yet the two of them bicker as if you aren’t there. “You owe me for getting us in trouble last week.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault that we both forgot to put up a veil—”

“Shut him up, will you, sweetheart?” Suguru interjects. “Shit, he’s hard as a rock.”

You whine when Suguru removes his fingers, but he’s quick to fuck into you. It’s whiplash, the stretch of him. Satoru rolls his eyes and leans in to cup your face with his hand, kissing you while his other hand pumps up and down his cock.

“Oh,” you gasp.”S-Suguru…”

“Does it hurt, pretty?”

“N-no. Feels too good.”

“Feels better than Satoru? Yeah?” he sneers.

Satoru glares at him, exhaling a groan in between annoyance and desperation as he palms himself. 

“You know, I was gonna fuck her face but now I think that’s your job.”

“I’ll fuck you after, relax,” Suguru chides. “I wanna kiss her.”

He leans down. His messy bun has fallen out of its scrunchie — it’s one of yours. Even when he has his usual hairstyle, he keeps it around his wrist sometimes. Now, his hair tickles your face as he kisses you, hand to your throat to hold you in place while your hips quiver at the sheer girth of him. 

“Satoru, c’mere,” you whimper.

He kisses you deeply before kneeling in front of you, his cock hovering over your face. You take him in your mouth, the flushed skin of his dick tight and throbbing underneath your tongue. You like the way he groans and pulls your hair, mirroring the way you were just pulling on Suguru’s hair when his face was buried in your neck. 

“Holy fuck,” Satoru moans. His thighs twitch. Suguru’s right – you look fucked out, eyes rolling backward. Must be the drugs. Then again, Suguru’s hitting every sensitive spot inside of you at a relentless pace.

“Such a good mouth, Twigs.”

If you weren’t getting fucked, you would’ve cringed at that. You hate when Satoru calls you that in bed. 

“Good cunt, too,” Suguru rasps. “Perfect cunt. Fuck, do you feel that, baby? Feel me up to your stomach?”

You moan around Satoru’s cock.

Satoru’s eyes are blown wide, a drop of blue expanding against the stark white of his sclera. He used to dream about this. His two favorite people in the world. It had occurred to him just then how much he wanted you both in the back of his mind. Wanted to consume you both in one bite.

He pulls out of your mouth, stroking his cock slowly as he watches. 

You whine something unintelligible. Begging, mumbling. “Faster.”

“Any faster and I’ll cum, baby,” Suguru groans. 

“Don’t cum inside her,” Satoru warns. “I’m still pissed at you for the last time.”

Suguru merely laughs. “Come over here and open your mouth then, pretty boy.”

His thrusts are getting sloppier but rougher. The impact of him is dizzying, the hand he has wrapped around your throat making you lightheaded. You can only stare with a parted mouth, fascinated by the succulent pink of his lips as he focuses on making you cum. You’re too out of breath to even tell him when it happens. 

It turns you inside out. Liquefying your body like treacle.

“You’re so cute when you cum, baby,” Satoru coos, squeezing your breast.

“Fuck, fuck, Satoru, c’mere,” Suguru slurs. He pulls out of you then, pumping himself over Satoru’s tongue until his cum spills onto it. He swallows and scrunches his nose.

“Battery acid.”

Suguru laughs, then looks back at you. “You’ll have to weigh in on who tastes better, princess.”

“My turn,” Satoru grins, his eyes a bit feral. 

You yelp when he manhandles you and gets you into his lap. He starts marking you up. Bites you a little too hard as if he’s trying to wake you up. When he thrusts into your cunt, you gasp, feeling him all the way into your guts. You spasm around him, still sensitive from Suguru.

He holds your hips and fucks into you at a steady pace while Suguru comes to caress your back, licking over your shoulder blades. 

“Satoru, you’re going to make her look like a domestic violence victim with the marks you’re making.”

“She likes it,” Satoru pouts.

“Fuck, ‘m hard again,” Suguru groans. “Lay her down.”

“No, I want her like this.”

“Too fucking bad, I want you like this.” Suguru pulls at you until your back hits the mattress and Satoru rolls his eyes, gripping your hips with bruising force as he drapes your legs over his shoulders. 

Suguru bites Satoru’s neck, peppering it with kisses. Watching them in front of you is tantalizing, makes you clench around Satoru harder. 

“Shit, you like that, baby? You like looking at us?” Satoru moans.

“Y-yes.”

Suguru spits in his hand as he preps Satoru from behind. It’s minimal, given how impatient he is. He reaches over to your bedside table, fumbling with a bottle of lube. It doesn’t take long until his cock fills Satoru to the brim. 

“Jesus.”

“Shut up and take it.”

Satoru feels too hot, too full. The feeling of Suguru’s cock in his ass inadvertently makes him bury himself even deeper into you, and he’s already on the brink. Suguru reaches over Satoru’s body to press a thumb to your aching clit until you cum with a strangled cry. 

The boys try to time their stuttering hips at a similar rhythm, but Satoru feels like he’s losing his mind. Caught up in between both of you, melting, barely lucid. Eyes squeezed shut with his mouth falling open. 

“Tell me you love me.”

You blink at him, wondering who he’s asking. The flush in his cheeks makes him look exhausted, spent. Drunk over the bacchanalian mess of it all.

“Love you, Satoru,” you whimper anyway. “I love you.”

He moans at that. Gasps when he feels the stretch of his hole split open on Suguru’s cock.

You watch with tears in your eyes, overstimulated from your orgasm. Over Satoru’s shoulder, Suguru locks eyes with you and smirks, not letting up eye contact nor the stimulation of your clit with his fingers. He doesn’t care that you’re convulsing underneath them, doesn’t care that hot tears are streaming down your face. He always thought you looked beautiful when you cried. It’s sick of him, maybe, but he wants to be the one to make you do it, even when it’s not his cock inside of you.

“Shit— Sugu—”

Satoru hits his peak, filling you with his cum when Suguru hits the perfect spot inside him. He’s whimpering. His eyes are glassy.

“Fucking shit, you’re tight,” Suguru mutters. “Gonna cum.”

“Not inside,” Satoru whines.

“You’re a fucking brat,” Suguru chuckles. 

Of course, Suguru disobeys, cumming inside Satoru with a guttural groan. Once he pulls out, Satoru collapses on top of your body, face buried in your hair.

You whine. You’re overheated, smothered. Your body feels as though it’s been rearranged multiple times like malleable clay in each of their hands. It’s a miracle that Satoru pulls his dick out of you at all.

“The hell was that?” he asks Suguru, out of breath. Suguru simply smiles, ignoring him.

“Let’s run her a bath. Poor baby looks like she’s gonna pass out.”

He’s right, admittedly. You aren’t even sure if you could get up if you wanted to, which is why Satoru scoops you in his arms. 

“We can’t all fit in the tub,” you mumble.

Satoru laughs. “Yes, we can. But fine, we’ll just shower after you.”

The two of them handle you like glass. The swapping of washcloths and soap bottles makes the ordeal ritualistic. Suguru runs his fingers through your wet hair while Satoru lifts one of your legs to scrub. 

“Little princess,” Suguru says.

“You guys treat me like a pet.”

The two of them exchange a glance. Unreadable. But there’s something of a knowing smile in Satoru’s expression.

“You’re just precious s’all. Perfect girl.”

You sigh, sinking into the water. Something turns over in your stomach, but you’re soothed by the sound of Suguru lightly humming behind you. They’re gentle with you. It’s ironic.’

Suguru kneads your spine and presses kisses to your wet skin. The smell of sex dissipates and the scent of Suguru’s shampoo wafts under your nose instead—he’d left it in your bathroom one weekend when Satoru was out on a mission. You have a suspicion he did it on purpose to get a rise out of Satoru or to make you smell like him. You didn’t mind either way. 

Every touch feels blistering as much as it feels soothing, somehow. White-hot, too noticeable, yet the feeling of their hands lets you exhale. Maybe it was the sex. You couldn’t even really look Satoru in the eye, not really. Something in the face was constantly changing, as if he was slowly transforming whenever you were joined together in ways that were beyond you.

He’d gotten rougher. Meaner in the hips, even if his kisses were meant to cherish. He’d get too eager. He always was, to be fair, but it’s been ferocious from him. Bruising your hips with the force of his hands, handprints adorning your ass. It would be Suguru to pick up the pieces, to soothe you with sweet nothings despite his cock splitting you open. It was only a few times since the beach trip, but it was as if they planned it together.

You realize this now in your post-sex haze. Steam in the air as heavy as your lids. They wanted to take care of you so badly. They just had to ruin you a little beforehand.

[your4local4geek]

Just finished some more '03 drawings!

Prompts from: @goopyskele @cnwolf-brainrot

(I'm still taking '03 requests/ideas, and working on the current requests I have :])

I haven't drawn klunk surprisingly enough- so this was fun, I need to draw the Lil goober more often :]

Genuinely one of my favorite scenes in 03, it makes me cackle every single time without fail

[bloody-bee-tea]

Beetober 2024 Day 7 - Choke hold

Shouta doesn’t know why he’s still doing this. It’s been years at this point and even though he claims often enough that he’s not a masochist, he must be, deep down, because there is no other explanation for why he always ends up at Hizashi’s place right before he goes out for one of his public appearance thingies.

Shouta doesn’t show up to those, never. He’s not invited to any of these things, because it’s his goddamn job to not be in the spotlight as a hero and it’s not as if he has any fashion or make-up advice to impart to Hizashi, so he shouldn’t be at his place right before one of them, either.

Hizashi likes to pretend otherwise, though, always showing off possible outfits he could wear, but Shouta knows that the decision has been made long before he arrives because most of the time Hizashi and his dates match.

And Shouta really doesn’t want to think about that.

He huffs out a harsh breath before he lets himself into Hizashi’s apartment and is immediately met with a flurry of activity, even though Hizashi is alone at home.

“Shou, you made it!” he calls out as he rushes past him, doing god-knows-what and Shouta rolls his eyes.

“I always make it,” he mutters under his breath and he wonders why he can’t stop.

He already sees Hizashi every day at work, and then on joint missions and also in his private time because they are best friends, so there really shouldn’t be a need for him to be here right before one of Present Mic’s public appearances as well.

There’s no need for him to be here and yet he is, simply because Hizashi asks. He always asks, without fail, and Shouta never manages to tell him no.

“You decided on an outfit yet?” Shouta asks as he follows Hizashi deeper into the apartment, taking in the mess all around, because Hizashi is by no means a neat or organised person, which is surprising considering he somehow manages three jobs at once.

Hizashi’s only answer is a considering hum, which tells Shouta that yes, he has decided on an outfit—or an outfit has been decided on for him—and no, he’s not going to admit that and instead submit Shouta to at least half an hour of fashion show for—whatever reasons.

Shouta never understands why Hizashi feels the need to torture him so, but it’s probably because Shouta fucked up big time in his last life or something like that.

It’s the only thing that makes sense for this hell he finds himself in.

“You’re so messy,” Shouta grumbles under his breath as he puts some pillows back on the couch, folds up a shirt that is haphazardly thrown over the couch and when his way leads him past the kitchen, he quickly puts a few glasses and a plate in the sink as well.

“Stop being such a good housewife and come help me decide on a shirt,” Hizashi calls out from his bedroom without even sticking his head out to check what Shouta is doing and that, too, is maybe a part of their routine by now.

It’s been years, after all.

“Not a housewife,” Shouta says, almost on reflex and he vehemently denies how Hizashi’s following cackle makes warmth unfurl in his chest.

He has gotten good at hiding all outward signs of the love he holds for Hizashi, so none of that warmth shows on his face when he finally steps into the bedroom, only to briefly fear that he stepped into a warzone.

It’s worse than it usually is and that alone makes Shouta frown.

“Everything okay?” he asks, because Hizashi only gets this purposefully messy when he’s upset about something and when Hizashi turns around to him with his perfect Present Mic smile plastered on his face, Shouta knows that something definitely is wrong.

“Now why would you think that something wasn’t okay?” he sing-songs, shuffling in front of his closet as if nothing at all was wrong, but of course Shouta knows better.

He has known Hizashi for years, he can look straight through all of his bullshit.

“Because you’re like—” he gestures at the entirety of Hizashi and tries his best to not let his eyes linger on his exposed chest—“this.” He finishes almost awkwardly, but Hizashi deflates where he stands and then looks downright murderous for a second, before he gets himself back under control.

“My—date for the evening is someone I told my manager to not say yes to,” he finally admits and Shouta doesn’t flinch at the word date even though he wants to.

“Then cancel,” Shouta immediately says, because it’s just that easy, but Hizashi simply gives him a look.

“I can’t cancel, tonight is a charity event.”

“So? There will be enough high-ranking heroes around then, let them do the work for once,” Shouta simply shrugs, because he doesn’t understand how Present Mic has still not managed to make it into the Top Forty, but is being asked to come to every big event there is, simply because his presence gives it that much more credibility.

Something there is definitely wrong and Shouta will forever hold a grudge.

Present Mic should be Top Ten at least.

“It’s for orphans, Shou,” Hizashi sighs out and Shouta knows that there’s no way he won’t go.

Not when this is a little too personal for him.

“Then tell your manager to get rid of your date,” he suggests next and Hizashi huffs.

“Can’t do that either, they promised to pay a hefty sum if they are allowed to go with me, and for all that I really don’t want to, it’s for a good cause.”

Shouta bites his tongue instead of saying what’s on his mind, because Hizashi hates it when he says that his feelings matter too, that he should take care of himself as well, but going by the look Hizashi knows anyway.

“Shirts, then?” Shouta says after a moment of silence, hoping to dispel the almost awkward atmosphere in the room and thankfully Hizashi follows his lead because he immediately holds up two different ones.

Shouta pushes some clothes to the side so he can sit on the bed and then he subjects himself to their usual spiel.

He somehow manages to survive until Hizashi checks his watch and lets out an unhappy sigh.

“Time for me to go,” he mutters and Shouta fights the urge to reach out for him and tell him to stay.

Hizashi is not going to, he knows that, and it’ll only make things awkward again so he simply nods and leads Hizashi to the door.

“Phone, keys, something for your throat in case things go sideways?” Shouta asks, routinely by now, and Hizashi nods for every point.

His manager will have his directional speaker, because the bulky support item usually doesn’t pair well with whatever suit Hizashi is wearing and his dates have expressed displeasure about that in the past.

“Good, then have a good—” Shouta starts but he’s interrupted when Hizashi pulls him into his arms and hugs him tight for a moment, releasing him before Shouta can get his bearings and do anything, like hugging him back for example.

“Thanks for being here tonight,” Hizashi mutters and then he’s out of the door before Shouta even manages to open his mouth.

Fuck, Hizashi must really hate his date for the night, Shouta thinks and then tries very hard not to think about all the people Hizashi has taken out on these things before, because that way lies madness, though he is kind of grateful for the fact that none of the dates ever pick Hizashi up at his home, so Shouta never has to see them in the flesh, only in pictures and news clippings afterwards.

His manager always makes sure to pick well-known celebrities; actors, models, musicians, sometimes even fellow pro heroes and Shouta hates them all with a passion, especially so because he could never measure up to any of them.

He might be a good hero, reliable in what he does, and he might even be a good teacher and friend, but he’s definitely not beautiful enough to be taken to these kinds of things and Shouta knows it. Hell, Hizashi himself does not get tired to remind Shouta all the time that he looks like a tired, homeless hobo and pining helplessly after one of the most radiant heroes out there is not helping him any.

Shouta knows that everyone looks beautiful on Hizashi’s arm, but Shouta has never been uglier than when he’s filled to the brim with jealousy and not even Hizashi’s charm would be able to make up for that.

Shouta allows himself one minute exactly to wallow in his helpless crush and his misguided jealousy, allows this choke hold Hizashi has on him still, even after all these years, to take his breath away and then he packs it all away again before he turns around and gets to cleaning Hizashi’s apartment.

If he hates his date this much, he’ll be agitated when he comes back home and for all that Hizashi doesn’t mind a little clutter around, this mess will stress him out, so Shouta is just being a good friend by helping to prevent that.

It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Hizashi will call him a good housewife for it again.

~*~*~

Shouta paces in his bedroom. He has no goddamn idea how he let Nemuri talk him into this and there is no way he’s going to leave his house like this. He didn’t even know he could look like this and it’s honestly kind of upsetting to look into the mirror and not recognise who’s staring back at him, but he guesses that was kind of the intended effect.

Nemuri had promised to make him look hot after all, and Shouta has to admit that he kind of does. Maybe. It’s just—he’s not used to seeing his face like this, bare and shaven, his hair artfully done up in a bun that looks effortless but took Nemuri the better part of an hour to get right and there’s a reason he doesn’t wear skin tight clothes, because they are uncomfortable and make it hard to move.

Incidentally they also make him hot, if Nemuri is to be believed and Shouta has to admit that his thighs do kind of look good in the pants she wrangled him into.

None of that changes the fact that Shouta almost feels sick with nerves, though, and he asks himself again how he let Nemuri talk him into this, because this is madness.

This is absolute madness and there’s no way he’s going to go through with it.

It doesn’t happen often that a date cancels on Hizashi for a function or another, and it happens even less that Shouta and Nemuri hear about this before the event starts but as soon as Nemuri had heard the news a dangerous glint had entered her eyes and Shouta had known he was fucked.

Well and truly fucked, because he is supposed to be Hizashi’s date now.

Shouta has no idea how Nemuri convinced Hizashi’s manager to go along with this, and Shouta is actually in no rush to show up in tabloids or the news, to have his identity speculated about—or god’s forbid, revealed—and he might actually feel a little sick now.

I’m not going, he quickly types out to Nemuri who only sends him a thumbs-up back and dread curls in Shouta’s stomach.

She’s planning something. She’s planning something else and it’s going to lead straight to Shouta’s death and he doesn’t even want to think about what Hizashi will say when he sees him like this.

Shouta thinks he might throw up if Hizashi finds him beautiful like this because this is not him. He doesn’t look like this, he doesn’t do effort for his outfit and if this is what finally gets Hizashi to look at him Shouta is going to hurl himself off a very tall building. Without his capture weapon.

He’s still freaking out, trying to decipher what the thumbs-up could mean when he hears his front door open.

“Shou? Are you here? Nem said you needed to talk to me?” Hizashi’s voice calls out and Shouta goes cold before blinding hot rage overtakes him for a second.

You’re dead, he sends Nemuri and then throws his phone onto his bed before he crushes it in his hand.

“Shou?” Hizashi tries again and his voice is considerably closer than it was before and Shouta debates for a very serious second if diving under his bed and hiding there is a valid option.

Before he can make up his mind though, Hizashi sticks his head into the room and then promptly freezes where he stands.

“Uhm,” he intelligently says and Shouta wants to die where he stands when he sees how wide Hizashi’s eyes have gone. “What is going on?”

“Nothing,” Shouta bites out and tries to revel in the way Hizashi drags his eyes down Shouta’s form, but it only stings.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Hizashi asks after a long moment and Shouta tries very hard not to notice the way his eyes linger on his thighs and his neck and instead busies himself with planning a murder.

Nemuri has laughed her last villainous laugh, Shouta will make sure of that.

“No reason,” Shouta says, clenching his hands at his side and desperately missing the weight of his capture weapon around his neck right now, because it’s always a good hiding-spot for him.

“Sure,” Hizashi slowly says as he steps fully into the room and Shouta dies a little inside when he realises that their colours match.

Of course Nemuri would make them match.

“Shou, seriously, what’s going on?” Hizashi asks again, his eyes raking over Shouta again and it hurts in a way Shouta was not at all prepared for.

“Stop looking at me,” he hisses out and abruptly turns away from Hizashi. “Don’t you dare look at me!”

It’s unreasonable and Shouta hateshates acting unreasonable but he has always been bad at handling his own emotions and especially so when it comes to Hizashi.

“Okay,” Hizashi’s soft voice reaches out and Shouta instantly feels bad. It’s not as if Hizashi has done anything wrong, not really, but Shouta can’t seem to get a grip on himself. “Why though? You look—”

Shouta cuts him off before Hizashi can tell him just how he looks because he doesn’t want to hear it. Can’t hear it and not break under it.

“Because it’s not even me,” Shouta grits out, hands reaching up as if to tangle in his capture weapon only to meet air.

He feels horribly exposed like this.

“And I hate that you’re only looking at me now,” he adds, his voice shakier than he would like around the admission but he had seen the interest in Hizashi’s eyes, had almost felt the way his eyes moved over him and it’s not fair.

Shouta shouldn’t only get to have this when he’s so far from being himself that he barely even recognises his own reflection.

“Shou,” Hizashi softy sighs out and then startles Shouta by dumping something on his head but the shock only lasts for a second before Shouta recognises the familiar weight and shape of his capture weapon.

He immediately tangles his hands in it, ducks his head to hide behind it and it makes breathing a little bit easier. He’s not sure if he hates that Hizashi knows him so well.

“Don’t,” he says, again, desperation leaking into his voice, because for all that Hizashi pretends to be a stupid airhead when he’s Present Mic, he’s far from dumb and he’s incredibly emotionally intelligent.

Shouta already admitted too much, he knows this, and he doesn’t want to hear Hizashi’s no doubt gentle rejection.

“I hate that you’re only realising now that I’ve been looking at you,” Hizashi says, despite Shouta’s clear order and Shouta stills.

Hizashi doesn’t give Shouta time to process his words before he steps in and moulds himself to Shouta’s back, arms coming up around him to hug him to his chest and Shouta’s head spins.

“I’ve only ever looked at you,” Hizashi whispers right next to his ear and it sends shiver after shiver down Shouta’s spine.

“Don’t—don’t lie,” he manages to get out because he has seen Hizashi’s dates and Shouta is nothing like that.

He’s not beautiful like they are.

“I’m not, Shou, come on, I’ve never lied to you,” Hizashi mutters and Shouta hates that he’s right.

Hizashi makes it a point to always be honest to a fault when it’s them, no matter how ugly it might be and Shouta’s eyes burn in an entirely unfamiliar way.

“I’m not like your dates,” Shouta whispers and Hizashi’s arms around him tighten for a moment.

“And I wouldn’t want you to be. Hell, there’s a reason I make my manager deal with all of that because I can’t be bothered. I don’t care about any of them; I usually don’t even remember their name afterwards. They are part of the job, Shou, that’s all. And I never take the same person twice.”

Shouta doesn’t know if that’s true, but if Hizashi says it, then it must be and it makes breathing a little bit easier.

“I might clean up nice, but—this is not me,” he then tries next and Hizashi huffs out a laugh.

“No, it’s not. I mean, yeah, you do clean up nice—real nice, even—but I kinda miss your gruff look already. I like knowing you’re comfortable in what you’re wearing, how you look. You never cared about that before.”

“I’ve cared about it for ten years, because I knew I wouldn’t ever catch your eyes like this,” Shouta admits and now Hizashi laughs for real.

“Shou, you caught my eyes the moment you stepped onto the field and then proceeded to wipe the floor with me. You were gruff, and tired but so, so determined and you were more radiant than the sun that day. I’ve never stopped looking at you even once since then.”

It takes Shouta’s breath away, to hear Hizashi state it that plainly and it feels as if everything slots into place after that. All the times Shouta looked at Hizashi only to find his gaze already on him; all the times Hizashi knew where Shouta was without having to think about that; all the times the unspoken trust between them filled every nook and cranny of whatever room they were in, to a point where their friends complained when their eyes so much as met.

It all makes so much more sense now.

Shouta turns around in Hizashi’s embrace and for all that he’s mostly certain that he’s not misreading this, he still buries his face in Hizashi’s neck, just to avoid his gaze for a moment.

“You laughed after I flipped you out of bounds that day, and I don’t think I’ve heard anything more beautiful since,” Shouta quietly says, offering his own admission in face of Hizashi’s and he feels Hizashi nuzzle his hair.

It’s going to undo Nemuri’s work but Shouta couldn’t care less.

“I’ve loved you all this time, and I’m sorry I couldn’t make you see that,” Hizashi says and Shouta’s heart almost beats right out of his chest.

“It’s not like I could make you see it, either,” Shouta gives back, almost feeling giddy with the knowledge that they’ve been in the same boat all this time and he almost melts into Hizashi’s arms when he feels the lips he pressed to his temple curl into a smile.

“Better late than never,” he decides, pressing a kiss to Shouta’s skin before he pulls back, finally looking straight at Shouta.

And it’s so much now that Shouta knows what to look for, but it’s overwhelming in the best kind of way.

“We’re not going out today,” Hizashi decides and cups Shouta’s cheek in his hand before he frowns. “Please don’t shave again, this is weird,” he then mutters and Shouta barks out a laugh.

“It feels weird, too, so don’t worry, it’s not going to happen again. And what about your event?”

“Not happening, they can deal without Present Mic for a night. I have more important things to do.”

“Like what?” Shouta asks with a raised eyebrow and doesn‘t blush when Hizashi kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Stare at you some more, probably,” he cheekily says before he rests their foreheads together. “But please get changed first. You do look unbearably hot like this, but I can also see that it makes you uncomfortable and I think it would be more on brand if you wore a shirt with a cat print for our first date.”

“I can get behind that idea,” Shouta agrees, incredibly reassured by what Hizashi is saying and so he dares to lean in, to steal a kiss for himself. “I can get you a change of clothes as well.”

“Offering me your clothes on our first date? Moving fast, huh?”

“You have your own drawer in my closet,” Shouta reminds him and is suddenly hit by how domestic they haven been all these years.

“Yeah, I do, don’t I?” Hizashi mutters as if it’s only dawning on him now as well and Shouta thinks that this might just work out perfectly.

Clearly they are on the same page and have been for a decade and it’s not at all time wasted, but well-spent instead.

Because it was spent together.

[sunnynwanda]

Hi, how are you doing? I hope you’re finee❣️

Can you write a snippet with a huge fight scene and a lot of action (you can include some weapons or gadgets if you want!). Make the villain or hero very angry at their nemesis cause they feel too much tension between them. If you want, make it spicy. Ik it’s hard to put some suggestive things here but that’s exactly why i am curious to see how you will make it! No forcing tho, i would be happy with a fight only too

Two to Tango

Warnings: Suggestive. Slightly spicy. Language. Minors beware. P.S. 'Sternchen' means 'little star'.

They sense the weapon aimed at them, an imaginary red dot dancing over their strained back. Their body fails to match the speed of their gut feeling, causing them to turn with a seconds' delay. The electricity shocks their shoulder, piercing through their arm and shoulder blade. It hurts like a bitch, and with a loud hiss, Hero retreats behind a wall, cursing under their breath. Villain's triumphant cackle riches their ear a few moments later.

"Is our brave Hero scared of a little tickle?" Their tone is taunting, a smug smile undoubtedly tugging at their thin kissable lips. "And here I thought you could take it."

Hero grits their teeth in annoyance. "I'll show you a little tickle, bitch." It's a promise, not a threat. Hero doesn't know what they are going to do yet, but they intend to pay back tenfold for every single time Villain's weapon has fired today.

"Tsk tsk tsk," Villain sings, cocking their newest toy again. They were dying to test it for weeks now, and Hero seemed the best target to do so without actually killing someone. "Watch your language, Sternchen. We don't want to ruin your goody-two-shoes reputation now, do we?"

"This was the fifth fucking time you've zapped me tonight," Hero snaps. Villain came dangerously close to discovering their true personality this time, and - Hero was sure of that - Villain would live to regret provoking that revelation. "Fuck off already."

Today's patrol was meant to be a short round around the city. Hero was exhausted from the shit of a week they had and in desperate need of a break. They had intended to finish their round and spend the evening in bed, eating junk food and watching mindless rom-coms - a guilty pleasure of theirs. Yet here they were, hiding behind a wall with a half-numb arm while Villain closed in on them.

"And where's the fun in that?" Villain rounds the wall only to discover Hero long gone. They look around, confused and slightly on edge. Something tells them to avoid getting caught at all costs tonight. The shock effect from their gun didn't last all that long, but Hero's irritation sure did. Villain did not test their weapons to know for sure, especially not on themself. "Hiding from me, are you? It takes two to tango, darling. You're gonna have to come out."

When no reply follows, Villain pauses. They could bet they heard Hero's voice from this exact spot moments ago, yet they are nowhere to be seen. They scan the area, holding their breath to hear any shuffling of Hero's clothes.

Where the fuck did that fucker go? Villain thinks to themself, still too wary to lower their gun. They couldn't have just left, right? The floors sure look empty. Wait a second.

Villain fails to complete the thought when Hero lands behind their back with a loud thud, and before Villain can even register the situation, they are pushed face-first against the wall. Hero twists their arms harshly, pinning them near the small of their back and pressing one knee to the back of Villain's to effectively immobilize them. Their weapon clings on the concrete floor, sure to be scratched.

Villain should probably focus on what's gonna happen to them instead. Their cheek is flush against the cold stones, their chest heaving in sharp inhales from the discomfort of the position and suddenness of their capture. Shit, they were fucked.

"Hey, it's dusty here," they attempt to sound light-hearted but can feel the anger radiating off of Hero in raving heat waves. Definitely shouldn't have gotten caught. "You're gonna ruin my costume."

"Oh yeah?" Hero's voice is sheer venom that sends a chill down Villain's spine. They refuse to acknowledge the pleasure and anticipation it carries within. "Does it look like I fucking care?"

"You obviously don't," they bite back, earning a disgruntled huff from Hero, who steps on the handle of their gun with their toes, lifting it up into a position that allows them to grab it without releasing their hold on Villain. "You wouldn't dress like you do if you had any regard for fashion... or any damn taste, really?"

Okay, Villain knows they are in no position to be cocky at the moment, but they can't help their smart mouth. The fact that their comment earns a dark chuckle from Hero has nothing to do with the warm feeling in their stomach - it's pure satisfaction from a successful jab, nothing more.

Hero's breath fans over the shell of their ear in time to draw them back from the pointless argument with their mind.

"Want me to show you my taste then?" Hero purrs, but there is something sinister in the brush of their lips against Villain's jaw. They press their hips further against Villain's half-bent form and use a combat knife to rip a large cut through Villain's expensive leather suit.

"What the fuck?!" Villain's voice is incredulous. They look down in disbelief, trying to free their hands from Hero's grip in vain.

"Shut your mouth, or I'll keep going," the knife grazes against the exposed skin of their upper thigh, too light to cut but enough to send a shiver down Villain's leg. Hero was surprised at the rush of pleasure that shiver sent through their bloodstream, attributing it to the adrenaline from their battle.

You keep telling yourself that. Their inner voice is interrupted by Villain's actual one.

"Shit, fine," Villiain surrenders, as if there is any other choice at this point in their predicament. They definitely overdid it with the teasing today. It didn't help that Hero was in a mood, either. "Just stop."

"Good villain," Hero pats their cheek, withdrawing the knife from their thigh and going to release Villain's hands. It would have been all done because, honestly, Hero was exhausted and had no intention of retaliating today of all days.

It would have - had Villain had any control over their goddamn mouth, that is.

"Motherfucker," the word rolls past their lips before they can consider the consequences of voicing it. Hero's hold tightens around them almost instinctively, their leg returning to its position behind Villain's knees. If they thought they were fucked then, now they are fucking done for.

"You wanna repeat that?"The knife returns as well, only now it's against their throat, grazing their skin with a kiss of the cold metal. And Villain will be damned if they don't hear a rasp in Hero's voice. "I said repeat that."

"N-no," they breathe out, feeling a bead of sweat run down the side of their face and over their neck. They freeze when Hero kisses it, their tongue hot and wet against Villain's feverish skin.

They barely contain the whimper that threatens to spill past their lips when Hero drops the knife, instead wrapping their hand around Villain's throat. They squeeze harshly, choking a torn exhale out of Villain, and pull their back flush against their chest, another arm winding across their torso. It takes Villain a minute to register their hands are free of Hero's iron hold. Free yet entirely useless as they flex at the sensation Hero's tongue wrecks in its wake.

"It takes two to tango, darling," Hero whispers, nibbling on the sensitive spot beneath their ear. Villain's head drops against Hero's shoulders, exposing their neck to Hero's impatient mouth. They struggle with their mind, trying to come up with a response, but fail miserably upon contact with their own gun.

"Hero," they startle, twisting their head to look at their nemesis when a numbing pain pierces through their hip. "Fuck, fuck! That hurts!"

They jerk away, but Hero maintains their hold of them. Something tells Villain they would collapse to the floor had they not.

As if on cue, they let go of Villain's body, and Villain's knees buckled under them, muscles still numb from the shock of electricity. They lean against the wall, sitting down to collect themself. And that's one shot. How the fuck was Hero able to walk around after five?

Hero grabs their gun again, snapping it in half before discarding the pieces. Villain brings a hand to cover their watering eyes. They aren't sure what's causing them more distress - the pain imposed on them or the sensation ripped away from them. They expect Hero to leave and are determined to keep their eyes shut until they do, but when an arm snakes around their waist, their eyes fling open against their will. They perk up as Hero pushes another arm under their sensation-deprived legs, pulling them up in bridal carry.

"And here I thought you could take it," Hero murmurs, pressing another kiss to Villain's temple. Villain's irises are dilated, tears still pooling in the corners of their eyes. Their pettiness be damned.

"How are you fucking alive after those?" Villain questions, noting that Hero pauses, unsure where to take them - their apartment or Villain's lair. "I can't feel my legs."

"I'd much rather you said that for an entirely different reason," they mumble under their breath, but Villain hears.

"You wanna repeat that?" They let out an amused chuckle, staring at the thick blush creeping up Hero's neck.

"N-no," their voice is small. Villain finds it amusing after everything they took the liberty of doing to them. "I'll take you to my place in case you still need assistance. And to make it up to you."

"Uh-huh," Villain quirks an eyebrow but nods, a satisfied smirk finding its place on their face as Hero's blush intensifies. "Solely for that purpose."

Hi, love! I'm doing quite well, although busy - as indicated by my relative absense here. I hope you are fine too!

Can I just say I absolutely loved this request! It had my fingers itching to get to the keyboard from the moment I read it. I'm not quite sure if I've followed your idea but I still hope you'll like it. I sure had an absolute blast writing it... and I kinda love them. They felt exceptionally alive. Although, the hero/villain duos always do.

Thank you for the request and thank you to everyone for reading. Love you,

Sunny xo

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