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kafkasmuses · 4 months

Text

lace garters

words : 3,903

tags : 18+!!! mdni! escorts , sex work , reader ! sex worker , vaginal sex , finger fucking , finger sucking , porn with feelings , brothels , oral sex , save a horse ride a whattt

p.s : this is also posted on my ao3!! ( divider by siren4u & gif by drewstarkrs )

billy was a virgin, surprisingly, he didn’t have time for a girlfriend, and the quick fucks from the escorts never enticed him much. many offered, when he would stop quick at towns for a simple beer or to take care of things— he would typically get stopped by the escorts dressed in their gorgeous silks, tight corsets, and sleeves that fall off their shoulders so easily it has your fingers itching with desire to fix it. it would make even the most sane man turn mad, and somehow billy never allowed himself to fall for it.

not until now, an escort stops him before he walks in a bar, “how old are you, dear?”

“19, ‘bout to turn 20,” his voice is smooth and sweet, southern drawl sweeping out with ease.

the girl hums out, tipping out of the way to allow his eyes to another girl standing far behind her, you, “you’re too young for me, dear, you should talk to her. she can show you a good time.”

typically billy would say no, offer a few coins for their efforts and simply walk into the bar like nobody had offered. but something was different when his eyes fell on you, you weren’t like the other escorts, quick to talk to the men and get some money for the events that take within the confines of the motel walls. you were rather looking off in the distance, your position more reserved rather than comfortable. it had him wanting to know more.

to be fair, billy was bored these days, all he did was travel and go from town to town, never leaving a mark on those behind. other than his wanted posters, which by the way, had an awful drawing on it. how the hell was he ever supposed to get a girlfriend with drawings like that made about him? each step is slow, calculated, as he moves over to you. he notices that mid way, your attention seems forced away from him.

are you afraid of him? he tips his head in your peripheral, easily looming over you, “darling.”

your eyes snap to him almost immediately, widening as if you didn’t think it would truly be him, yet you mumble out a, “honey.”

“lady over there told me to talk to you,” his head tips up, blue eyes piercing into you, even through the deepest of the night.

“i don’t want trouble,” you finally turn to him, the smell of musk and gunsmoke filling your nose as he bites through the toothpick in his mouth, “i hear you’re wanted.”

“wanted, but not trouble,” he corrects, smirk tugging at his right lip, “you don’t gotta tell anyone.”

“wasn’t plannin’ on it,” your voice is so sweet, it nearly has him doubling over. you’re teasing him, clearly, but billy has never backed down to a challenge once in his life, he can bet on that.

his eyebrow twitches upright slightly, “how much for thirty minutes, beautiful?”

“you can satisfy me in thirty minutes?” you tease, smile widening at your own joke.

his head cocks to the side, and he can’t help the way he licks his lips, cockiness coursing through his veins, “i probably could in ten.”

you can’t help the way your flesh feels like rubber over molten, cheeks flaring to a new maroon that you hadn’t expected. your eyes dare to match his, the lust unsheathed in the teal of his eyes, “thirty will be just a few coins.”

his hand moves to your jaw, tipping your head up further to look at him with ease, now you have no choice of looking away, “you don’t think i can in ten?”

“i doubt it,” your skin is hot underneath his touch, despite your bold demeanor.

“we’ll see.”

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

the motel carried the same smell as it always did, the mix of mustiness, smoke from cigars, and whiskey. billy’s gut churned as you led him to the room that you always rented, surely, he was cocky at first— then he began to worry if he would even be good enough. he was a virgin, after all, and he’s sure you’d been with mostly experienced men. he doesn’t say anything once the door opens, seemingly every worry dissipates as you look back at him with a different look, your lashes flutter over your eyes with ease, the look is more seductive, siren like.

if you were a siren, consider him the sailors in those tales, lost in the tides and addicted to the song that oozed out your vocals.

he allows you to guide him to the bed, sitting him down on the thin, firm mattress with your hands lingering on his shoulders, “what would you like me to do?”

“i’d like for you,” he trails off, eyes tracing down your body, “to get on your knees.”

your hands leave his shoulders as you ever so slowly kneel down, every movement is well thought out, calculated, your body flowing in the most seductive ways. despite your lowered body, your eyes still remained up at him, the sudden doe look in your eyes making his legs spread ever so slightly. his hand is gentle when it touches your cheek again, pinky lining underneath your jawline as his thumb threatens against your lips.

it’s dangerous, the way you look at him, like your gun is being drawn to him with your finger teasing the trigger.

“and?” you add, his thumb teasing your now open lips. he tried not to flinch when your mouth encased his thumb, the warmth wetness of your mouth enveloping the skin. he finds himself unable to speak, unable to wonder whatever he wants— he wants to be stuck in this moment forever, it was greater than any other treasure he had come across. you were so good at your job, it made him want to know the lengths of your skills.

“suck me off,” he finally speaks, gentle to remove his thumb from your mouth.

it was a statement that you were used to, the firm tone, the expectation to get to it immediately— yet you are somehow surprised when it comes from him, it’s less firm, not like a demand but rather an offer, and there wasn’t a feeling of being rushed. for a man who seemingly had no time for women, he surely had a way to talk to them, to be gentler with them, unlike the other men. it was always cowboys who had the better ways of treating women, respectful with every word, or touch. his eyes are heavy on you, the curtains of your eyelashes blinking up to him, your lips tinted a sweet rouge due to a patted on lipstick, and he finds himself pushing his thumb across your lips, smudging the burgundy ever so slightly.

your hands smooth over the fabric of his pants, fingertips teasing the leather of his belt which accompanied his gun holster as you palmed him through his slacks. the touch of the leather was rich, sturdy and every loop was clean cut, rather than loose and falling apart like many belts you had undone before. you hear him groan as your hand gently pushes against his clothed cock, his back stiffening ever so slightly as a chill runs up it.

he tilts his head to the side ever so slightly as you undo his belt, your fingertips threateningly close to his gun holster as you pull the leather from the metal to loosen it. a chuckle vibrates from his chest, voice lower than usual, “careful, princess.”

he lifts his hips as you tug down his pants, boxers following soon after to slip down to his ankles with ease. a hiss escapes him as soon as his hard dick is released to the cold air, with the opposing blow of your warm air on his tip. he was already so hard, as if he had been aching for a day like this. his hand moves to wrap around his base, hips scooting closer ever so slightly.

“open,” his voice is husky, yet velvety, like the thorn of a rose to the petals.

you’re quick to allow your jaw to fall slack, tongue smoothing out past the burgundy that coats your lips, as if you expected his next command. he taps his tip against your tongue, biting back the groan that thunders inside his every limb at the feeling of the warm, wet muscle. he allows you to take the lead, your tongue following the underside of his dick, memorizing each vein. when you reach his tip, you press a few sloppy kisses to it that has his breathing roughen, allowing you to open your mouth once more and take his length inside.

he sucks in a deep breath, a hoarse groan escaping past his lips when he exhales, allowing his teeth clench on the thin wooden toothpick that still remained in his mouth. his head tips back when you hollow your cheeks only mere seconds into sucking him off, his hat slipping off his head and falling onto the plush of the bedsheets.

his breath becomes ragged with the more you bob your head, allowing the tip to reach the back of your mouth, to the throat. his free hand moves to pass through your hairline, gripping at the beginning of your hair, even through your updo, loosening the tightening of the strands. the muscle in his arms flex underneath his short-sleeved button up, veins popping out every time you reach the base.

“good girl,” he breathes out, the whimper that vibrates around his cock making his release come quicker than expected, hand bunching up your hair as he has to move you back, off his dick to stop his orgasm. he heaves, noticing the way strips of saliva connect your mouth to his dick. he moves his hand from your hair down to your lips, watching the way your mouth instinctively opens then closes around his fingers, sucking them in with pure ease.

he allows you to wet them with your saliva until he pulls them out and mumbles a soft, “come.”

he helps you up onto his lap, the metal of his gun is a cooling sensation on his heated skin as he moves back, reaching under to toss his gun elsewhere. he had his guard down now, despite the large bounties on his head, he was too focused on you, and giving you the pleasure that you deserved. as you straddle him, his fingers dared to touch the bottom of your dress, threatening to raise, “may i?”

your eyes are tantalizing when they meet his, like the threatens of the deepest lust lie within them, and billy is willing to dive in, “you may.”

his hair is messy now, like he never took off that damn hat, and when he did— he didn’t bother to fix the hair underneath.

every movement is careful, meant to be more meaningful than a quick fuck, he raises your skirt until his eyes catch on to a white lace garter that’s propped around your upper thigh. so sweet, the purposeful placement of it all, it’s like a prize for whoever gets to raise your skirt. as you sit on his lap, your arms rest on his shoulders, a hand threatening the skin on the back of his neck as his hands move back around your waist, through the silk of the corset to the strings that hold it together on the back. his eyes are stuck onto you as his fingers begin to tug at the tie of the strings, they were in a harsh knot, but billy always knew his way around things.

kissing clients was typically a line many of the women wouldn’t dare to cross, sometimes not even you, but the way his eyes kept tipping down to your lips had you threateningly close to the now faded line. as the laces of your corset loosen, your head tips down to where your lips barely brush him, you can smell the mint already before even getting a chance. your lips move to close around the toothpick that he kept in his mouth, moving to spit it out and he was quick to chase your lips. as soon as you had spit out the toothpick, his lips finally pressed against yours, allowing your freshly manicured hands to curl through his brunette hair.

the fresh smell of your rose and jasmine was quick to his nose as he inhaled you up close, tongue teasing against your lower lip ever so carefully. there was a certain thirst that billy found himself feeling as he moves to spread your mouth open with his own, allowing your tongues to both clash, the mix of spit and remnants of mint and a cigarette becoming prominent to the taste. he wanted to drink every word from your lips, to suck in your siren song like his life depended on it.

when your hips bucked up against him, needy to feel a form of friction, it had encouraged him to finally free you from the confines of your corset. your lips part when he breaks the kiss, his lips trailing kisses down to your jaw, throughout until he meets your neck, the softness of his kisses making it feel as though doves were flying through the confines of your body. when his lips begin to move to suck on the delicate skin, you hiss, “dear, dear, you can’t leave marks.”

“your rules or brothel rules?” he murmurs against your skin, moving to toss away your corset onto the floor.

“brothel rules,” you hush out, and you feel his lips curl onto your neck.

“then ‘m gonna leave as many marks as i want,” he falls back into your skin, lips taking in the skin between his teeth as he moved to mark you as his own. the desire to have a prostitute as your own was a dangerous game, but billy had been a part of many dangerous games before, and now he was pulling all his money in with the unluckiest of cards— yet he still finds himself with the pride of feeling he will win. his lips pause at one of the pulse points on your neck, noticing how your heat beat quickens, and flutters, was this typical?

he wasn’t sure, but he finds himself praying it’s a good thing. he chuckles as your hands are desperate to unbutton his shirt, pushing each wooden button through the loops with ease, you had done this a million times before, this is the only time your heart is thumping in your chest when you do, though. he moves his hand down to take a hold of one of your wrists, “easy, girl, easy.”

“you said ten minutes,” you remind him, smile dripping on your lips.

“mm, i want longer than that,” he helps you unbutton the last few before taking off his shirt, noticing how your eyes trail down his figure.

“just sayin’ that because you can’t make me cum,” you break into a soft laugh against him, and he can’t help the way a small smile curves his lips as he takes off the dress that you were wearing. your body is alike to the statues you could only dream of seeing in those beautiful stories about gods and women who ruled. women who were worshipped, even as billy knew you for mere minutes, he found himself wanting to kneel at your altar, to worship the ground you walk on. to make you cum would mean more than he imagined at first, he wanted to be that man, to pleasure you in ways others haven’t.

his fingers slip underneath the hem of your panties, immediately exposed to the wetness underneath as it coats his fingers, “can’t make you cum yet you’re so wet for me, hm?”

you bite your lip, allowing your hips to sway against his fingers as pleasure envelopes your every thought almost immediately. though billy wasn’t quite sure about what exactly to do, he had heard the other cowboys speak of this, and he hoped it delivered as much pleasure as they said when he dips a finger inside of you. you’re loose around him, wet, yet sucking him in so easily. he’s quick to add another, finding his rhythm almost immediately and getting cocky with it. he dares to let his thumb tease the edges of your clit, as if he didn’t know it was there and he was merely looking for somewhere to place it.

he notices the way your nails dig in to his scalp, biting your tongue so hard that crimson may bleed from it with ease.

billy had kissed many women, been on the brink of sex, and yet none have reacted the ways in which you do. they were quick to show how they react, every emotion not blanketed behind a curtain of embarrassment but now, despite it being your job to over exaggerate the pleasure, you found yourself shy to make noise. he moves to allow another finger to push inside of you, the pink velvet of your insides encasing his fingers with ease. he hears you gasp when his fingers threaten to curl, and he allows himself another smile. his thumb moves to your clit again, and that’s when your grip becomes lethal, biting your lip no longer becoming a guard for your moans.

“please,” you mumble out, whimpering.

“please what, princess?” you’re putty in his hands, and he’s kneading you with ease.

“i.. i need you,” you moan out, to be saying this to a wanted man, one who has killed, and committed theft, as well as escaped from prison— it was something you swore to never do. yet you were having sex with him and his touch felt so gentle it was as if it never happened, how could a man so dangerous be so kind? you feel a vein pulse from his neck as he finally pulls his fingers out, his eyes following yours as he moves his hand up to his mouth, allowing his fingers to move in between his lips and the taste of you to savor his tastebuds.

your pupils dilate at the sight of him tasting you, skin warming before you can even realize that you’re moving to take his fingers out, replacing them with your tongue as your mouth presses against his again. his hand falls on your waist, other hand guiding his dick to your cunt as he deepens the kiss to feel you moan against his mouth. your tongues fight for dominance, each movement a hunger of it’s own but yours falls submissive as soon as his dick slides into you with ease. your velvet is tighter around him than he expected, and he feels the vibrations of your whines against his tongue, mumbling a small, “you’re so big—“ against his lips.

once you reach his base, you pull away from his lips, a mere string of saliva connecting you both like a lifeline.

now you have the lead to take, your lips connecting with his neck to leave marks on him, you wonder how the other cowboys will react as your hips start swaying on his dick, riding him with ease. will they laugh at him for all the prominent hickeys? there’s no way he could hide it, you’ve heard billy had girlfriends all around in many different towns and parts of the state, what if he went back to them and they saw all the marks? it would trace back to you, you’re sure of it, but something about that fills you with a sense of pride rather than fear. you’ve always adored the outlaws, even though you were raised to be a good christian woman, a good girl. the outlaws were always the sweet talkers, as you were told from the other girls at the brothel. you were told stories about how well they treated the women, their touch being better than most the regulars, their words so dirty you’d only dream of being told it until you had finally heard it.

now you found yourself in love with the idea of trouble, as you wrap yourself in the silks of his touch and the pleasure he gave you. his head tilts back to allow you more access to the free canvas of his neck, his hand raises, then immediately smacks onto the flesh of your ass. the slap tore a cry from your throat, into the skin that coats his neck, and a plain redness forms around the mark of his hand, branding you.

somehow, this was more intimate than your previous affairs, even despite the roughness of the sex. it felt like a wild play of ballet, an opera you would only dream of seeing, the gracefulness of each movement and the sweetness that drips like honey off each sound, even the sounds of skin slapping as you ride him. you taste the bitterness of his cologne as you reach the sides of his neck, sucking the pale skin with a need to create marks that last. he’s fascinated by your every movement, if this truly was a ballet, he would find himself in the crowd, watching the dancer move with such purity even during such a lewd act.

you felt yourself curl as your orgasm builds again, and it seems he is too in the way his hips begin to rock. every movement feels like being coated in molasses, trying to swim through it, the orgasms scorching through your inner thighs to your core until it wracks your body, hitting you harder than it had any other time. you don’t know what it was about him, but you were quick to flutter around him, and that had him pulling out, stroking himself for mere seconds until white stripes fall in messy streaks across your skin.

he pulls you closer when your lips move so your head tilts onto his shoulder, both of your guys’ chests heaving as if you had just been working out, as if you were running towards danger and felt the warmth of it’s embrace reel you in. it was billy’s arms, his eyes closing for a mere second before they open again, “thought i couldn’t make you cum.”

you hate the way you smile so easily at anything he says, the way you melt into his touch, the way even though you were merely a one night stand it felt like you wanted this to be an eternity, you wanted him to be a regular.

“mm, i faked it,” you say with a smile, so clearly a lie.

you move so he slips out of you, your cunt clamping around nothing as it missed the feeling of him inside of you. soon, you reassure yourself as you stand, convinced he will be returning. poor, poor girl, you were just another victim of the sweet talkers with pretty faces. it worsens as your legs become jelly, and he’s quick to stand, hands fastening to your waist and holding it to keep you balanced. his chuckle turns to a laugh, a deep, hearty laugh, “you sure, doll?”

you roll your eyes, pressing a kiss to his cheek, somehow your lipstick remained and it kept the mark staining his cheek as you left your kiss there. then you moved, taking your clothes and putting them on, “goodnight, billy.”

#billy the kid #tom blyth #coriolanus snow #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid x you #billy the kid smut #billy the kid fanfiction #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #smut #coriolanus smut

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a-simple-imagine · 3 months

Text

Perfectly Pathetic

synopsis: when you take an interest in the new girl, regina takes an interest in you

pairing: regina george x plastics!fem!reader

words: 4.6k+

A/N - in the nicest of ways, please DO NOT read this if you don't want to read about toxic relationships. you have been warned. I don't want a repeat of last time. also we need more fics where regina is actually mean so

WARNINGS - swearing, alcohol use, general toxicity, toxic relationships and bullying/vague reference to weight

the clash of plastic trays and idle chatter brought alive the fragile student body of North Shore High School. on the outside this may seem like any other lunch room but inside it was a carefully crafted game of chess. every move was calculated. each person has their place and if you stray too far you're at risk. you're sat next to Gretchen Weiners. known for big hair and keeping secrets, she knows everything about everyone. opposite her is Karen Shetty. she... tries her best and looks adorable doing it. a ray of sunshine if you get to know her. and before you sits the most beautiful woman you have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Regina George. effortlessly perfect but needlessly cruel. she was the most popular person in school and one of your best friends.

perfectly manicured nails stab into the skin of your cheek as your head is yanked in her direction. razor-sharp eyes stare back. "are you even listening?" the answer was no but you didn't want to say that. "what are you staring at?"

a flash of blonde as she looks behind her. you push against her grip to look too. across the room sat Janis 'imi'ike and Damian Hubbard. you hardly ever spoke to them but you were lab partners with Damian. he was funny. today, however, there was a new addition with strawberry blonde hair, a blue checkered shirt and brown pants. you knew everyone at this school to some degree. a curse of popularity. but you had never seen her before. "seems they've got themselves a new friend"

"who cares," her nails dig a little deeper drawing a pained expression as she pulls your head back to face her. She holds your gaze for a moment. a silent challenge. before fingertips glide across your cheek and she goes back to leading the conversation across the table. you pick at the food on the tray with a fork but you can't help but be intrigued. North Shore was boring and predictable. a direct result of being under Regina's control. but this girl was new and you couldn't help but be drawn to that. to the unknown. to the possibility. three pairs of eyes as you push up from the table and march across the room.

"I haven't seen you around here before." was all you could think to say as you approached the end of the table. Janis and Damian share a look before settling on... confusion. You weren't ever particularly mean to others but you were guilty by association. people mess with you. they mess with Regina.

"oh," by the look on her face, she already knew who you were or at the very least your friends. "it's my first day."

"Where did you transfer from?"

"uh... Kenya," she seems unsure. you put it down to nerves.

"you sure about that?" a curious raise of your brow. "'cause you don't sound-"

"we're leaving" stated firmly as three girls breeze past. the blonde leads the way. the other two are just a step behind.

"so what made you move all the way here from Kenya?"

"my mom got a new job."

"couldn't find one-"

the sound of your name echoes through the room bringing the world to a stop. a weird silence settles over the room. "come. now." growled through gritted teeth and paired with snapping fingers. you were being summoned like a naughty dog ignoring their owner. a sigh as all eyes fall to you. waiting to see what you'd do but make no mistake, they already knew the answer.

"I'll see you around." a flash of a smile before you scamper after Regina.

"so your ears do work." is all the girl says as she shoves you through the door. you bite back any comment because that was how this worked. you may be top of the food chain to everyone else but Regina led the pack.

as the final bell for the day rings, you're shoving things in your locker when you spot the new girl. she seems to be struggling to even open it. you watch her for a moment. a smirk settling. this was another chance to talk and this time Regina couldn't demand your presence. "need some help?" it seemed to take her by surprise as a handful of papers drifted to the floor. a small chuckle, you reach down to collect her work and hand it back. "how's your first day going?"

she shrugs, taking the papers. "it's alright."

"anyone giving you any trouble?" you ask, falling to lean against the lockers. people around here were not nice and took every chance to show it. some more than others. She shakes her head. "you sure? if anyone does anything, I can sort them out." you give her a knowing look and she offers a sort of amused smile. "so you do know how to smile, it's cute. are you gonna tell me your name or am I gonna have to guess?"

"it's cady. Cady heron."

"well, cady heron. the trick to these," you tap her locker door with your knuckle. "is to push in and pull up before trying to open it. annoying, I know but they're old." you watch her try again and this time it swings open. "see."

"Thanks." you linger as they shove some of their stuff inside. you notice a few stray stickers on the locker opposite.

"no problem." you push up from the metal. "I can show you all types of tricks to get through this hellscape if you want?" she shuts her locker and you both start walking towards the exit. "number one tip, avoid Regina."

"Isn't she your friend?"

"yeah," you nod. "that's why I said it. She can be... a lot. surely Janis told you that."

Cady looks at you for a long moment. "something like that." you let out a chuckle. Janis probably told her what a massive bitch Regina was. they had a less than favourable history.

"I should go. I'll see you around Cady Heron." as you both go your separate ways, you can't help but glance at her as she walks away.

having a study period just before lunch was both an absolutely ridiculous idea and the best thing to happen to your schedule. it basically guaranteed you didn't do any work whatsoever and felt more like a two-hour lunch period. seems you shared it with the new girl because she was sitting at a table scribbling in a book alongside Janis who was doing her normal embroidery or whatever.

"if it isn't Cady Heron," you comment, taking a seat on the bench. her face brightens at the sight.

"where's the rest of the coven?" Janis asks, not even bothering to look up from her work. "wait- don't tell me, a house fell on them."

"you're so funny Janis," an exaggerated sarcastic laugh.

"I think I can hear children singing... ding... dong the witch-"

"So Cady, how are you enjoying north shore?" you interrupt loudly and the 'song' trails off.

"It's fine."

"you don't talk much huh?"

her mouth opens but falls silent as Gretchen approaches the end of the table. she shoots you a less than favourable look. your brow furrows a little.

"Can I talk to you," pitch a little too high to say no.

"Sure," a shrug. you look at her for a long moment waiting for her to continue.

"in private," Gretchen urges. with a roll of your eyes, you stand up. flashing a smile at Cady, Gretchen grabs your hand and drags you away before you can say anything.

"what are you doing?" whisper yelled at you.

"I was just talking." god this girl was dramatic. you take your usual spot. she sits opposite.

"to the art freaks?"

"dude, it's fine."

"no it's not." she urges quickly, shaking her head "You know how Regina gets."

"Regina isn't here?" and she wouldn't be until lunch. only you and Gretchen share this free period. usually, you spend it listening to her gossip about people. she could not keep a secret to save her life at least not when it came to anyone outside of you and your friends; even then it's dicey. fun for you though.

"All I'm saying is you need to be careful,"

"don't worry. I was only interested in the new girl."

"that's worse," you just roll your eyes. "Regina doesn't like her."

"Regina doesn't even know her," you argue. "none of us do. she's been here like a week."

Gretchen thinks the idea of even wanting to talk to Cady is blasphemy. that it's better to avoid her but you think she's overreacting. Cady hadn't established herself at this school yet. right now she is with Janis but tomorrow who knows? she could be cool. it's a matter of perspective.

a pretty perfect smile does little to distract from playful eyes as you approach her jeep. the blonde is in the driver's seat. one hand rested over the steering wheel. the other typing something on her phone. She had sent a message telling you to hurry up but on arrival, neither Karen nor Gretchen were even here yet. you toss your bag in the back, climbing into your usual spot behind the driver's seat. Karen is usually next to you. "sit in the front, weirdo," she comments. you don't bother with a comeback, just moving to the front passenger seat.

"Where are the others?" you ask, glancing at her. the soft glow of the afternoon sun kissed her skin beautifully. black shades hang on the end of her nose. She really was something to be admired. Regina shrugs and then tosses her phone down. the car roars to life and you're starting down the road before you can think any more about it. it's pretty silent at first. the sound of the radio filling the space. the lack of your two other friends acting as a buffer was sitting weirdly. this wasn't your first time alone with Regina but she's been so grumpy lately. whatever you say feels like an invitation.

"so you like the new girl?" asked casually as she came to an abrupt stop at a red light. you just forward, the seatbelt digging into your neck. it drags up a quick cough but that could also be from surprise. other than that first interaction where she'd summoned you from across the room, you had never spoken to Cady when she was around. Gretchen may be dramatic but she probably wasn't wrong and you really didn't feel like risking it.

"Sorry?" feign confusion was... a choice but it seemed like the better option here.

"you like the new girl," repeated calmly; her eyes drift to you as yours move towards the traffic light. was this the longest red light in history? "right?"

now it's your turn to shrug. you find Cady intriguing but you're not entirely sure if it's interested in the way Regina is implying or just because you were so bored of the every day. "she's cool." a scoff as she pulls away continuing down the road. "you've hardly spoken to her."

"don't need to," Regina didn't miss a beat. Cady definitely didn't fit into what she'd consider cool but then again, neither had you. not entirely anyway and now you're here. you hang out with the most popular people in school. went to the hottest parties. you were currently being driven around by the Regina George. you never understood why or maybe you did and just refused to accept it was that simple. you know what everyone else says. that it's because of the attention you show her. you wouldn't necessarily say they're wrong but everyone gave her attention. She did always say there was something special about you. "I thought you at least had standards."

the rest of the car ride is silent as you think over what she said and Regina keeps to herself. the music is the only thing, keeping you sane until you pull up at the George residence. you always forget just how big her house is until you're there. As you walk inside, her mum appears abruptly startling you a little.

"hey, ms. George."

"hey girls," she singsonged. "how was school?"

"fine," Regina shoots back.

"well if you need anything? a drink? some snacks? advice? I'm here,"

"I'd actually love an iced-"

"we're good," growled as she grabbed your wrist hauling you up the stairs. "don't bother us." a confused look but she didn't let go until you were firmly inside her bedroom. door slammed shut. the blonde tosses her bag down.

"you should really be nicer to your mom, she adores you," you say idly taking a seat on the end of her bed, placing your bag down.

"you should shut up because it's none of your fucking business."

jesus christ. you kinda regret the decision to come over. "I just wanted an iced tea. maybe a little snack."

"god knows you don't need it," Regina comments. wow. okay. she was in a mood.

"what's up with you?"

"I'm fine," she responds. "you're just being so fucking annoying recently."

"I haven't done anything?" you've not been acting any differently so you have no clue what she's talking about.

"just absolutely drooling over the new girl. it's embarrassing." she declares, taking a seat on the bed.

"I..." you stop yourself because you're more confused than anything else. "we've spoken like once."

"liar" she responds. "I know you've been talking all the time," fucking Gretchen. "do you think she's pretty?"

"Cady?" Regina nods. you shrug. "I guess."

"prettier than me?" her head tilts. you can't tell if she was jealous or fishing for compliments; neither was her style. so it was probably a trap.

"no." you wanna say she's being dramatic but that wouldn't end well. She doesn't say anything, hardly even reacts. just cold eyes. Is she expecting you to say more? "of course not." you're waiting for the ball to drop. for her to make a snide comment or something. anything was better than nothing. but it just never comes. she takes out her phone and starts typing. you fall back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. you both just sit in the quiet. you're worried about saying anything that'll lead to more insults. god knows what she is doing on her phone.

"you're so pathetic." Regina eventually says. you'd take offence if you weren't used to it; basically a term of endearment at this point. you can hear her moving but don't bother looking until she's towering over you. dark eyes and a small smile that would seem genuine coming from anyone else. a hand cups your cheek but no nails follow; it's gentle and slow as she runs her thumb over your skin. what was happening right now? "do you ever think about me?" you blink a few times trying to make sense of everything. why was she being so nice? why was she being so gentle? why did she ask that?

"what do you mean?"

a roll of her pretty eyes. "you know what I mean." you did but surely not.

"I... don't know what to say."

"Because I think about you," your breathing hitches as you sit up. looking at her properly. "those pretty eyes," she moves closer. "these lips," her thumb runs over your bottom lip. you swallow hard. "do you wanna kiss me?" you just stare back. a smirk as she ghosts your lips.

"say you wanna kiss me." this felt cruel. you lean in and she pulls back slightly. a finger pressed against your lips. her expression is colder now. sharp. "say it."

"I... wanna kiss you," you dare and that smirk quickly returns. removing her finger, Regina leans in and connects your lips. it's soft and slow. not at all like you imagined kissing Regina George would feel like... until the girl pushes into you and it's exactly like you imagined. fast. forceful. like she wanted to devour you. A hand pushes you back against her massive bed and she moves to straddle your hips. your heart is beating so loudly you wouldn't be surprised if she could hear it.

"still thinking about the new girl?"

"I never-" You feel her press a little harder against your chest so you change your answer. "no." Regina tosses her hair over one shoulder, and a finger under your chin pushes your head up.

"I don't think you should talk to her anymore," Regina states before leaning down to connect your lips once more. "understood?"

you're too caught up in the moment to really gauge how serious she was being so you nod. "good girl." whispered against your lips.

Regina George had always been a lot. She always demanded attention and you often gave her it. you weren't ashamed of that. She knew you'd do anything for her. As did most of the school.

"Hey," Cady suddenly appears beside you in the hallway. she seems a lot more relaxed around you which was nice to see. however, you have not spoken to them since that weird night with Regina. She wouldn't like it. plus Gretchen would probably snitch on you immediately. "so we should probably figure out a time to work on our project." you've been paired up for an assignment in American literature.

"We can do it today after school if you want?" she nods. "I'll meet you out front."

"hey Cady," Karen slides up beside you on the other side, instantly looping your arms. ever the pleasant company. you wonder if she just wanted to see you or get you away from Cady. probably the former.

"I'll see you later," you say to the new girl before turning to your friend. "what do you want?"

"you're coming to Connor's party Saturday?"

"Obviously,"

"I have the perfect-"

"no," you respond instantly. you loved Karen. she was genuinely the sweetest person you know. but at every party, she tries to give you a Karen Shetty special aka a makeover. and every single time you have to say no.

"but I have the perfect outfit for you."

"is it actually perfect for me or just slutty."

"Both," Karen states excitedly. "please," pleading eyes as she draws you closer, hugging your arm. "please please please."

a loud groan. "fine."

"Really?" her eyes light up and circulation quickly returns to your arm. you nod at her which leads to excited clapping. maybe it wouldn't be so bad. maybe it was the perfect outfit for you but also sexy enough to satisfy Karen.

"oh here," you reach into your bag and produce a homemade friendship bracelet. you'd been tutoring some younger students for extra credit but sometimes you just hung out with them. "made them with some of the kids so,"

"ah thank you," she takes it eagerly. you had one for Gretchen and Regina too. only one of them would appreciate it though.

"why were you chatting with Cady?" Karen asks, sliding on her bracelet as she takes your arm once more.

"we're doing a project together," you explain. "you were literally just in class with us Karen."

"oh yeah," she smiles brightly. "I'm starving." you chuckle a little and allow her to eagerly pull you towards the dining room.

you're sitting on the grass. Cady is talking in your ear as you stare into the distance. most students had gone home already. The rest were working on homework or projects or extracurricular activities. you arranged this meeting but god were you bored. no offence to Cady but you kinda wish you'd been paired with Karen so you could be fucking about right now and then rush the work the night before it's due.

"are you going to the party Saturday?" you ask idly.

"What party?"

"oh shit." you forgot she was hanging out with Janis and Damian who definitely wouldn't have been invited. "connor mckay is having a party. The dudes a mess, big house though. you should come,"

"don't think I was invited,"

"I'm inviting you."

"not sure that's how it works."

"Just come Cady," you insist. "you can bring Janis and Damian too if you want. everyone will be too fucked to notice."

"uh, thanks then" she smiles a little, glancing back at her textbook. "I'll think about it."

"you have to think about attending your first high school party?" you question. laying down on your back. "I'll be there," you turn your head to look at them. "it'll be fun." you watch her carefully and soon she smiles.

"Okay, yeah."

"well that was easy," should have just started by stating you'll be there. "Be careful, Cady." you tease, looking back to clouds passing by but you can't help but smirk a little. "I'll start thinking you like me."

sat in the back of Regina's jeep as she fixes her hair in the overhead mirror, Karen inspects your face while Gretchen is copying Regina by fixing her hair. "can we just go in," you insist, slapping Karen's hands away. "before I regret coming."

"Why would you regret coming?" Gretchen questions, looking around at you.

"I feel stupid,"

"you look amazing," Karen urges. "perfect."

"you would say that."

"stop whining," Regina insists. flipping up her mirror. "you look hot. now let's go."

finally. "I'm gonna get so fucked up," you state as you step out of the car. walking beside Regina with Gretchen and Karen a step behind. the party is already alive. started at six. It was eight.

you reach the point in every party where you just don't want to be there anymore pretty quickly tonight. you're suddenly so aware of how annoying everyone is. sat on the kitchen counter, you swing your legs back and forth as you sip whatever was in your cup. Gretchen gave it to you. the party passes around you like you're not even there until an all too familiar blonde appears. "you look sad," you'd mistake that for genuine concern if it wasn't Regina "Already at sad drunk, that's impressive."

"what do you want Regina?" she had basically ignored you since you arrived so why she suddenly thought you were worthy of her presence, you'll never know. Shane was the object of her disgustingly public displays of affection tonight. "thought you'd be too busy with Shane."

"god, you're so obsessed with Shane," a roll of her eyes as she takes the cup from your hand to help herself. you watch her as the red cup comes to painted lips. not a hair out of place. so perfect. Regina was perfect. it was annoying

"I invited Cady tonight," you state, snatching your cup back.

"ew. why? I thought we agreed you weren't going near Cady anymore," technically you did. practically it wasn't that deep. who cares.

"And Janis and Damian but mostly to get Cady here,"

"desperate to hang out with losers," Regina sighs. "is she here?"

you shrug. "too many people. too big a house. I haven't looked, to be honest."

"Well," a hand finds its way to your thigh, running up and then down softly. "if you're good tonight maybe I'll give you a little treat."

"don't," you push her hand away. "go back to your boyfriend."

"he's not my boyfriend,"

"well whatever he is," you jump down off the countertop. "you made it very clear that I'm not what you want."

"you're so dramatic," she pushes up too. "I hate when you get drunk."

"Whatever."

"fuck sake," Regina responds. "you act like I said we're together or something."

"you're such an asshole," you huff. "I'm gonna find Cady."

"good luck with that,"

there are so many people at this party. you're not sure who half of them even are but they all seem to know you as you stumble around after the new girl. a constant barrage of 'hellos' and 'you look hot' in various forms. it's tiring. annoying. and you're about to give up and go find Gretchen so she can rub your back to make you feel better when you spot her. She was looking as awkward as ever. "you came." shouted over the thump of the music

"yeah," her face lit up. "Damian too. Janis said she'd rather jump off a bridge than come so..."

"That sounds... exactly like her," you nod. "I like..." you glance at her outfit. Regina would hate it. you don't love it. "your outfit. very school teacher chic."

"Thanks," she replies. "I didn't have anything to wear so,"

"it's cool. I'm just happy someone here isn't gonna irritate me- do you want a drink?"

"Sure," she nods. "do they have juice?"

"uh... probably somewhere." who asks for juice at a party? "I'll check. stay here."

you wander off back to the kitchen in search of some juice. your first stop is the fridge which is very stocked. you briefly scan for anything open, sweet and edible before just grabbing a carton of fresh orange and deciding that will do. pouring her a glass before heading back. she's still in the same spot only a particular blonde in the tightest little black dress has decided to strike up a conversation. you immediately know something is wrong. Regina can't stand Cady. it's why you told her you admitted to inviting her so easily. You wanted to piss her off. you can't make out what is happening but as you make your approach the redhead leaves. Regina turns to you with a sugary sweet smile betrayed by her eyes. "hey baby girl, feeling any better?"

"What did you say to her?"

"why do you have a glass of" brow knitted as she tapped her nail against the glass. "orange juice?"

"What did you say to her?"

"who?" you let her have the glass and she takes a sip. a visible look of disgust. "is there anything in this?"

"It's just fresh orange,"

"what the fuck? are you trying to sober up or what?"

"it was for Cady," you explain. "what did you say?"

the blonde shrugs. "she just had to go. not my fault." you don't believe her. why would you? She has a track record of being a conniving person who'll make trouble just for the sake of it. it'd be naive to think she didn't do anything."

"Why do you have to be such a fucking bitch all of the time," you grumble loudly. a hand snaps around your wrist and suddenly you're yanked closer to her. hot breath sending a shiver down your spine.

"I let you off before because you were all sad and tragic but don't think you can ever talk to me like that," growled in your ear before she abruptly shoved you away. "Cady left. get over it."

"she only left because you said something,"

"she left because she realised you don't like her," the blonde snapped. such a pretty poison came in the form of Regina George as she turned her gaze on you. She was pissed but kept it quietly contained to just beneath the music so nobody else had a clue. "that you've just been stringing her along. pretending to be her friend. all because I wasn't showing you enough attention," she's close again. too close. she wasn't physically that tall but right she seemed massive as she loomed over you. her eyes flicker to your lips and back up. did she wanna kiss you or kill you? neither seemed smart. "she realised that you belong to me."

"I'm not a dog Regina."

"you sure about that," a mean glint in those pretty eyes. "you wanted my attention. you got it." she shoves the orange juice back in your hand. it's contents splashing your hand. "don't cry about it now." and with that she turns on her heel and disappears into the crowd

// NEXT

#regina george #regina george x reader #mean girls #mean girls 2024 #renee rapp #mean girls fanfic #regina george fanfic

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slytherinslut0 · 7 months

Text

Fred & George Weasley- Ours

Word count: 5k

Info: your friends with benefits, Fred and George Weasley, see some guy getting a little too close to you at a party; and decide they need to show you exactly who you belong to.

Tags: 18+, PURE SMUT, Threesome, Praise Kink, Degredation Kink, Oral (f receiving), Double Penetration, Anal, Good Sex, Forced Orgasm, Begging, Teasing.

"Who the hell was that guy?" Fred huffed, slamming the door shut to the quaint little study room he and George had just dragged you into not ten seconds prior. "I mean, he had his fucking hands all over you!"

George nodded, crossing his arms over his chest as he leant against the desk. "All over you...in places only our hands should go..."

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your tight black dress against your thighs. You'd been sleeping with the twins for a few months now, mostly a fun, friends-with-benefits type of deal; but lately they'd become far more possessive, far more protective than usual. Sometimes it could be a little much, but you couldn't deny that their passion for your body made the sex other-fucking-worldly.

Sometimes it was fun to purposefully get them going, just to see how far they'd take it.

"What's the matter with you two?" You said, your innocent eyes darting back and fourth between the fiery haired twins, trying not to get distracted by the power of their strong, athletic builds; each of them towering over you as they waited your response. "Last time I checked, this wasn't a relationship. Not sure why you guys are getting so jealous."

Fred cocked an eyebrow. "Pretty sure we made it clear last time that you were ours...."

"...and only ours." George finished, the two of them drawing closer.

You swallowed, your heart racing with excitement at the direction you knew this little conversation was going in. You pulled your lip between your teeth, trying to hide your smirk as you backed up from them, attempting to keep space between your bodies as to not give in so quickly.

Pissing them off more only added to the fun.

"I don't belong to anyone," you whispered, voice a low murmur; cunt clenching as you watched a mischievous grin spread across Fred's lips; George's eyes narrowing in challenge. "And certainly not you two."

"Hm," Fred hummed, eyeing your body from head to toe, smirking as he snuck George a brief glance, the two of them circling around you now; like predators stalking their prey. "Sounds like she needs to be reminded of her place, doesn't she George?"

George smirked, wetting his lips. "She sure fucking does, Fred..."

Fred nodded. He'd had enough of the playing. "We're leaving."

Without hesitation, Fred and George each grabbed one of your wrists, George's warm breath washing over your ear as he whispered, "and don't try to fight it, princess..." his teeth grazed your earlobe. "You want us to make you feel good, don't you? You know we never fail to take care of you..."

Your head spun, oxygen missing you. Gods, of course you did. "Y-yes... you're right..."

"There's our good girl," Fred hummed, his lips ghosting over your other ear, lids fluttering shut at the collective sensations. "We're going to fucking worship you...make you feel things that no one else could ever, ever match."

Your breath hitched. "Oh..."

"That's it," George murmured, "you're ours, and tonight, we're going to make sure you know it."

Sensing that your defiance had now entirely crumbled, the twins shared a quick glance before they released your wrists, and moved toward the door without another word. Fred walked first, you in the middle with George trailing behind you, everyone in the corridors shooting you acknowledging glances as they eyed the three of you suspiciously, even though it was well over midnight and the party was coming to a close anyway.

As soon as Fred pushed open the door to his dorm room and ushered you inside, he locked it behind him--not wasting even a single fucking second before he looped his arm around your waist and tugged you against him; his back hitting the door as he held you snug to his frame, gripping your hips as he pressed your ass tight to his crotch. George stood in front of you, taking a moment to worship your body, taking a moment to watch your face as Fred's lips attacked your neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive flesh with relentless urgency.

Unable to hold off any longer, George stepped forward, running his hands over your curves, eyes stark with lust. "You look so fucking beautiful tonight..." he murmured, softly pressing his lips to yours. "We couldn't wait to get you alone."

Fred hummed, nipping your earlobe. "And now that we have..."

"...we're going to make the most of it." George whispered, breaking the kiss.

Your lungs stalled as you watched him slowly drop to his knees before you, his hands gently urging your feet wider as he gazed up at you with an intense desire, watching you lose yourself as Fred tilted your chin to the side and crashed his lips to yours, inhaling a sharp breath through his nose as his tongue fought with yours to be the one in control.

George hummed, one hand exploring your thighs and hips, eyes intently watching the small ministrations of your face as he slipped his other hand under your dress and teased your clit through your panties; sending sharp bursts of ecstasy through your veins.

"You deserve to be worshipped, pretty girl...to have every inch of you adored..." George whispered as he slipped his fingers under your panties, teasing your throbbing core. "Look how fucking wet you are for us already..."

You gasped into the kiss, fighting to pull away and catch your breath but Fred's lips were relentless, working your mouth as though he wanted to map your taste into memory; to devour every single inch. Your eyes rolled as George slowly pushed a finger inside you, carefully stretching you open, his lips grazing and teasing the sensitive crevice of your inner thigh.

"Mmm, does that feel good, princess?" Fred purred, breaking the kiss, panting mouth falling to your jawline.

You nodded, unable to find words, head falling back onto his shoulder as he looped a hand under your thigh, pulling it up toward your chest and holding it there as to give George better access to your pussy--a smirk crawling across his lips as he watched you pant and squirm in pleasure from his ministrations, pausing only briefly to tug your panties down your thighs and toss them off to the side.

"So beautiful...so needy..." George murmured. "We're going to make you feel so good, love..."

Fred groaned, nodding in agreement. "Pleasure you until you can't take it anymore,"

Fred pressed his lips back to your neck, his free hand roaming up your stomach and groping your tits over the fabric of your dress--he groaned against your neck as you pulsed against him, feeling George's warm breath caress your folds as he brought his lips to the crease of your inner thigh again, teasing you.

"George..." you breathed, desperate for connection, your hands weaving through his hair in attempt to coax his lips to your pussy. "Please..."

With a mischievous smirk, he met your eyes, holding your stare as he pressed his lips to your swollen clit, his skilled tongue lapping at your juices and mixing them with his spit. You moaned, body lost in overwhelming pleasure, back arching and eyes rolling, but Fred held you firm against him; one hand still holding your leg up while the other held your chest--lips working your neck, teeth peppering it with purple possessions marks.

"Fuck, you taste so good, princess..." George purred, voice muffled against your pussy. "So fucking sweet."

You moaned, head falling back, and Fred's hand slithered up from your tits and tightened around your throat, ridding your oxygen supply and inflicting a delicious, intoxicating buzz on your lips. Your mouth fell wide in an open pant, George's lips sealing around your clit and driving you directly toward the brink of an explosive, earth shattering orgasm.

Fred groaned, lips grazing your ear. "That's it...we love hearing you make those pretty noises for us.."

George's tongue delved deep into your wetness, flicking, swirling, and teasing with calculated expertise. He offered no respite, driving you closer to the edge with each skillful lick--your legs shaking, one hand gripping his hair while the other was latched onto Fred's wrist for dear life, your body utterly at their mercy as the two of them inflicted their usual intoxicating dominance over you.

"Look at you, so helpless and eager to please..." Fred's voice was a mere breath in your ear, his hand leaving your throat and trailing down your body, slipping behind your back and down past your ass, bringing it to your dripping heat. You moaned before he'd even sunk in, but when he did, your entire body convulsed, the pleasure of their collective movements driving you dangerously close to exploding. "Fuck, you're so tight and wet..."

Fred curled his fingers inside you, their long length driving you utterly insane, scissoring and curling against your tight walls while George continued his oral assault on your clit, humming as your trembling grip on his hair tightened.

Your eyes squeezed shut. You were dangerously close. "Oh...Oh, Gods-"

Fred growled, low in his chest. "That's it, little slut...take it. Take it all. We want to hear you scream for us."

"Cum for us, princess." George murmured against your pussy, only seconds before he latched onto your clit again, swirling his tongue in a way that sent you tumbling straight over the edge.

"Oh, yes...fuck-fuck!"

"That's right. Give in to us, baby," Fred growled, his voice darker than the midnight sky "...surrender to the pleasure we're giving you."

Your sight blanked, ears ringing and head falling back as you came around Fred's fingers, George's skilled tongue working expertly to swallow your orgasm as best as he could, neither of them stopping until they were completely certain you were past your high. Your entire body was on fire, liquid magma coursing through your veins, heating every square inch of your bloodstream as you fought to catch your breath.

George hummed, placing soft kisses along your slit and up toward your mound. "Are you going to admit your ours now? Or do we need to show you more of what we do to you?"

You huffed, fighting through the sensations as he teasingly licked at your pussy, softly enough to make your head spin and your body squirm. "I-I'm not...I'm not yours..." you said, purposefully trying to escalate them. "I'll never be."

George halted his movements, cocking an eyebrow as he met Fred's eyes. "How about that, huh Fred?"

Fred huffed, amused, and you felt his hot breath wash over your neck. "Entirely humorous, I'd say."

George stood up to his full height, peering down at you with a dark, predatory glint in his eyes, one that made your stomach twist with arousal.

"If you're not ours...then you're just some slut for us to use then, yeah?" He whispered, smirking, sneaking another glance at Fred; the two of them basically communicating with their eyes.

You swallowed, and Fred's teeth grazed your ear. "So you wouldn't mind if we just took control, used your sexy little body for our own pleasure, right?"

Your lips parted, your pussy clenching with need. Gods, this is exactly what you fucking wanted--you were so excited you couldn't even hide it if you tried.

"I..." you couldn't find words as Fred released your thigh, pulling your hips against his throbbing bulge, George's hands roaming your curves--tugging on your dress and bunching it up your hips, up your stomach, gesturing for you to raise your hands as he tugged it up and off your trembling body.

Your mouth was drier than cotton, and George smirked, wetting his lips as he eyed your newly exposed body, his pupils dilating when he realized your lacy, dark red bra was a matching piece to your panties that had previously been discarded to the floor at your feet.

"Look at you..." he murmured, running a hand up your hip and toward your breasts. "Such a filthy little thing...wearing this under your dress..." he grazed your nipple, twirling his thumb until he felt it harden under the fabric of your bra. "Who were you wearing this for, if not us? Hm?"

The arrogance in his tone drove you crazy, and as Fred trailed his hand along your other hip, moving toward your pussy again, your lungs stalled, breath hitching.

"You've been aching for this, haven't you love?" Fred purred, teasing your clit with a brief swirl. "Don't worry, we're going to show you exactly who you belong to..."

George grabbed your wrist, "that's right...you're nothing but our little fucktoy, and we're going to prove it."

Your lips parted, but you didn't even have time to think as George tugged you over toward the bed, Fred trailing behind you. You could hear him fumbling with his belt, and your stomach leapt up into your throat as George released your wrist to do the same. In practically no time at all, the twins had rid themselves of all their clothing--their hard, throbbing cocks making your mouth water and your pussy clench as you stared, unable to peel your eyes away. They were fucking hung. You always managed to forget just how big they were.

George smirked, and you moved toward him, wrapping your small hand around his thick length, his head falling back as you softly pumped him, reaching beside you to do the same to Fred. Each of them stood there for a moment, eyes squeezed shut and chests heaving as you stroked them; twisting your fist and smearing their pre-cum around the heads of their cocks--your entire body screaming with fucking need at the display.

After a moment, George gathered himself, and brought his lips toward your ear. "Are you going to be a good girl for us?"

Fred's lips found your other ear, your hands still slowly pumping their lengths. "Are you going to let us have our way with you? Hm? Give yourself over to us completely?"

As George smacked your ass, leaving your cheek burning and tingling, you yelped; mischievous smirks crawling across both of their lips. Gods, you wanted them inside you. You couldn't take even a second more of waiting.

"Yes..." you whispered, increasing your motions, head falling back as they each attacked a side of your neck. "Please...take me..."

"Mm." Fred hummed, smacking your other cheek now. "That's what we like to hear, princess..."

George moved toward the bed, laying down on his back on the edge, legs dangling off the side. He motioned for you to climb on top of him, and without hesitation, you did--his big hands finding your hips and holding you firm against his chest, your thighs straddling his waist as you rolled your slick cunt against his length, his jaw tensing and throat bobbing as he swallowed, lips finding your neck.

Fred came up behind you, his long fingers ghosting down your back, caressing the smooth curve of your ass. George brought his lips to your ear. "You want us? Hm?"

You didn't even need to think. "Yes!"

"Beg for it..." Fred cooed from behind you. "Beg for us to claim your perfect little body, to use every one of your delicious fucking holes..."

Your breath hitched, your stomach leapt with excitement. "Please-fuck-please, fuck me..."

"That's it," George groaned, angling the head of his dick so it was pressing at your dripping core, his voice a dangerously deep growl in your ear. "That's our good little toy...fuck-"

His words were cut short by his groan of pleasure as he sunk into your tight wet heat, thrusting up into you in one slow, sensual thrust; stretching your walls open slowly and cautiously--for as dominant as the twins were, they never took it too far. They were always careful with you, gentle when they needed to be, and it drove you fucking insane; in the best way possible.

"Oh...fuck-George..." as he sunk in to the hilt, he paused for a second before he slowly pulled out, Fred's hands running all over your body, adding to the already overwhelming sensations flowing through you.

You moaned, eyes rolling back as George began to increase his pace, fucking up into you as his arms held you tight to his chest, his breath growly and husky in your ear. You felt Fred's hands leave your body, only for a brief moment, until he returned one to your hip, followed by a warm liquid sensation dripping down your back and sliding over your ass.

Fred massaged the sensual liquid into your skin, moving down toward your ass, grazing the tight rim with one of his fingers, the sensations making you clench around George.

"Shit-you're so fucking tight..." George breathed, slowing his pace to an agonizingly slow speed. "You need to slop clenching around me like that, princess...or else..."

As Fred pushed his finger inside you, pressing against your inner walls, and you moaned, entire body overwhelmed by the fullness--you'd done anal before, but never at the same time as being fucked, and so far, it was an incomprehensible experience--entirely fucking mind-numbing.

"I-I can't help it-oh, Fred-fuck!" Fred snuck another finger inside your ass, and he continued to twist and scissor you open, your entire body tensing, an overwhelming fullness washing over you. George groaned as you clenched around him again.

"Shh, relax..." Fred cooed, slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of your ass, matching the slow ministrations of George's cock. "Breathe...feel your tight little ass stretch open for me..."

As he pressed in a third finger, your vision blanked, and you were so encompassed by pleasure you couldn't even comprehend it--if three of his fingers felt this fucking intense, you couldn't even begin to imagine what his cock would feel like. His fingers curled inside you, stretching you wider, your face washed with crimson, body glistening with sweat--you'd never felt more defenceless and dominated, your entire body succumbed to their primal power.

George, however, was struggling. "Fred, any day now..." he groaned, hissing the words through barred teeth. "She's got me strung out on the gallows here.."

Fred huffed, slowly pulling his fingers out of you. "I think she's ready for me...aren't you, princess?"

As George paused his movements, you could finally take a second to think, to breathe. Admittedly, you were nervous, but you knew the twins would never hurt you, would never do something to cause you unwanted pain. You knew you could trust them to take care of you.

With a small whimper, you nodded. "Yes...I am."

"Good girl...we're going to claim every one of your pretty fucking holes..." Fred groaned, pressing the sticky head of his cock against your ass. "Our perfect little plaything..."

He squeezed more warm liquid over your ass, trapping a deep breath in his lungs as he worked in the head of his dick. With a deep breath, you allowed your body to surrender, allowed yourself to relax into the moment. The intensity of their touch was all-consuming, and as Fred finally worked his thick length inside your ass, all three of you groaned in pleasure, Fred and George hissing through their teeth as you squeezed and clenched around them, your tight walls pulling them deeper inside of you.

"Oh, fuck..." Fred groaned, "tight...so fucking tight..."

Fred clung to your hips, George's arms still wrapped tight around your shoulders, hugging you to his chest as he slowly resumed fucking up into you. When Fred had fully sheathed himself in your ass, he held himself there, grip rough enough to bruise, drawing in another hissing breath through his teeth. He was massive, reaching places in your body you didn't know were possible--and between him and George, you felt overwhelmed, overtaken, your head dizzy with pleasure.

George brought his lips to your ear, his pace quickening. "You like that, princess? You like taking us both like this?"

Fred smacked your ass, leaving it stinging. "She does...she loves being our toy...dirty little slut..."

Your breath hiccuped in your lungs. "Oh-"

Was the only thing you could even attempt to say, the intensity and the pressure building in your core with every thrust, their movements becoming more forceful and insistent--mercilessly dragging you dangerously fast toward the soaring heights of ecstasy.

"Shit-" Fred's voice was a breathless pant, smacking your ass again as he slammed his hips against you. "That's it, take it...our little slut can handle it, can't she?..."

Every word from their lips drove you further into the oblivion, and by this point, you were only halfway cognizant of the sounds and words leaving your mouth. You were gone, vanished, transported from this reality and floating off somewhere in another--the level of surrender and submission you were experiencing was like nothing you've ever felt before, being used solely for their pleasure; used as their fucktoy for their carnal desires was something that you only imagined happening in your fantasy. You were so encompassed by pleasure you were certain you were going to explode without needing any clit stimulation, which was something that almost never happened to you.

"Fuck-you feel so good..." George groaned, his fingers digging into your shoulders as though he was trying to shatter your bones. "So tight and wet and eager for us..."

"Shit-" Fred moaned, his hands bruising your hips. "You feel so good wrapped around us like this...you love it, don't you whore?"

Your body felt like it was being pushed to its limits, your ears ringing as the twins increased their paces even further, slamming into you with a primal force, the sounds of their strained grunts mixed in with your wanton moans and the sounds of smacking skin being the only thing filling the thick, steamy air.

"Yes-yes!" You practically screamed, voice shaking. "I-I love it.."

Fred groaned, slamming into you. "That's right...our little whore likes it rough...fuck-"

Pleasure coursed through every fiber of your being as they dominated you in the most primal and exhilarating way. With each thrust, you were pushed closer to the edge, the pleasure mingling with the degradation in a deliciously sinful cocktail. George let loose a low moan in your ear, a sound so deliciously satisfying it pushed you dangerously close to your edge--holy fucking shit you wanted to cum. You needed to cum.

"Shit-I feel you...I feel how bad you need to cum, isn't that right, princess?" George's voice was a mere breath in your ear, his pitch strained with desire. "Tell us how bad you want it..."

Fred's hands left your hips, exploring every inch of your body, one of them snaking around in between you and George and caressing the front of your thighs. You knew he was going to tease you, you knew they'd never let you get there that easily. Your clit was throbbing, screaming, wailing in need--and although you felt so fucking good you could probably get there without it, you knew it would feel so fucking good if you did.

"P-please..." it was a pathetic cry of desperation, hardly loud enough to hear over the sound of their skin slamming against yours.

George whimpered in your ear as you clenched around him, Fred groaning as you squeezed. You moaned, far too fucking loud, and George brought a hand to your lips, shoving two of his fingers past your teeth as he growled his words into your eardrum.

"You're so close baby...but you’ll have to do better than that if you want us to help you get there..."

Fred's hand inched closer to your clit, teasing over your mound. "Tell us that you're ours, tell us that no one else could make you feel like this...no one else could ever take all of you like this..."

The ache within your core was intensifying by the second, the desperate longing for release almost unbearable. George shoved his fingers deeper into your mouth, eliciting a gag from you and he smirked, growling through his teeth.

"Look at you, princess...we've taken everyone of your holes...every part of you has been claimed by us..." he breathed, jaw tensed as he spoke. "Show us who you belong to."

When he slipped his fingers from your mouth, Fred's own fingers found your clit, grazing it, and your entire body flinched; desperate for connection.

"Please! Please, I'm yours...I belong to you guys, please!" Words left your lips in nothing more than babbling desperation, you fucking needed this; so, so bad. "Gods, let me cum...let me cum for you..."

Fred's free hand smacked your ass again, his fingers continuing to tease your clit. "Looks like she's finally begging for it, George..."

George hummed, gripping the back of your neck and holding your eyes to his. "That's what you want princess? To cum on my cock, hm?"

You flinched as Fred swirled over your clit again, the two of them fucking you deep, filling you full, their pace relentless and their arrogance suffocating as they relished in the clear power they held over you in this moment. They got you right where they wanted you, and they weren't scared to hold you there; making you wait, holding you hostage over the edge of pure ecstasy until you utterly shattered in their hands.

"Yes!" You wailed, meeting his dark, primal eyes, sweat glistening his forehead; his reddened locks sticking to his skin. "I want to cum on your cock, please!"

Another smack on your ass, another deep thrust from Fred. "Music to my ears..." he purred, breathless. "Should we grant her wish, George?"

"I think so, now that she's admitted her place," George grinned, brushing his lips over yours, fingers squeezing the back of your neck with enough force to bruise as he fucked deep into you. "I'd say she's earned it, Fred..."

With a satisfied groan, Fred's fingers connected, twirling over your clit with a relentless pace, shutting down any brain power dedicated to speech. Instead, your body was vibrating with pleasure, liquid diamond coursing through your vessels, making you moan and drool and babble their names. You were at the fucking brink, ready to pour out, bones ready to break from your skin as they drove deep into your holes.

Your back arched and your fingers found George's hair, gripping the tendrils as though you were trying to rip them from his scalp. "Oh-yes! Fuck-yes!"

Fred's fingers swirled with insistence, George nipping your jaw as you were right there-so close- "go on whore, cum for your fucking owners."

Your body flatlined. "Oh! Fuck!"

The two of them tipped you into euphoria, pleasure overriding your self-control as you shook and convulsed on their cocks, every muscle between your legs pulsing and clamping down while your vision turned to a black sea of stars. Your ears rang and you were sure you fell unconscious as the most powerful orgasm you've ever experienced ripped through you, shredding every single shred of nerve you had inside you.

"Fuck-you're squeezing me so fucking hard..." George groaned, so loud it shook your ribcage as it reverberated through you. "You're going to make me fucking cum, princess..."

"Fuck," you muttered, head spinning as you came down from your high; not getting very far before the pleasure started to build again, their relentless pace utterly consuming your existence. "Fuck..."

When Fred's fingers didn't pull away from your clit, you wailed, trembling and shaking from overstimulation, but Georges hold around your waist held you firm in place against him, their cocks slamming you deep as you wailed, brain entirely unable to function.

"Oh-fuck-I can't...Fred..." you said, reaching back to try and pry his hand from your clit, but George caught your wrist, collecting them both and pinning them behind your back.

"Oh, yes you can," Fred breathed, slamming you deep. "We're so close...you can cum again, alongside us, little slut.."

Your eyes locked on George, his pupils so large they swallowed up well over half of his irises entirely; a dark, primal lust encompassing his gaze. You could tell he was close, his lips parted and brows furrowed in concentration, you could tell he was holding himself back for whatever fucking reason. He was lost in pleasure, lost in the heat of your tight pussy clenching around him as Fred worked you toward your third climax of the night, fucking deep in your ass and hissing through his teeth.

"Shit-" Fred hissed. He was close too.

George's lids fluttered, "cant...hold on...much..longer.."

Without much cognitive warning, your third orgasm built quick and fast, slamming into you like a hard shot to the gut, and you screamed--unable to silence yourself even if you fucking tried. Your high washed through you like a tidal wave, rippling through your body with uncontainable force, your entire corpse shaking violently against George's chest as wave after wave of ecstasy rolled over you, swears and sounds and drool pouring from your lips without consciousness.

"Fuck-fuck-" George groaned, head falling back against the mattress, grip tightening on your wrists. "I'm-gonna-fuck-"

Fred's fingers remained on your clit, working you through your high as the two of them collectively shattered against you, their bodies tensing and breath sputtering in their lungs as they spilled their hot cum inside of you, fucking you through the remnants of their highs until they were utterly spent.

For a moment, no one moved, everyone fighting to catch their breath, to return back to earth. When Fred pulled out, all that you could do was whimper, your body a collection of sweat and cum and fluids; every nerve ending in your system tingling with lingering pleasure.

"Look at you..." Fred whispered, slumping down onto the mattress beside you, helping you get yourself off of George. "Completely filled and claimed by us."

As you rolled off George and collapsed down onto the mattress between them, they each wrapped their arms around you, holding you tightly between them as you all laid there panting, bodies awash and glistening with sweat.

"All ours..." George murmured against your neck, lids fluttering. "Isn't that right, princess?"

You sighed in satisfaction, nodding softly as you melted into their collective grasp. "All yours, boys...all yours."

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rinhaler · 6 months

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🥲👉🏾👈🏾I was gonna say could do Stepdadcest with Gojo ft your stepbrothers Sukuna and Yuji? Like you usually do "things" with Gojo but your stepbrothers are becoming really jealous cause they want some of you too. So it's like you're getting passed around-

(This is so embarrassing for me because I'm not usually into this type of thing but it's hot)

hi bb im sorry this took so long! ive been having a tough time irl and i found this req very challenging but i hope it's okay for you! thanks for sending it it was so yummy! (also pls never be embarrassed here it's v hot and i welcome it and you)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, stepcest, running a train, multiple creampies, belly bulge, daddy!kink, fingering/rubbing, tit sucking, blood mention, slight degradation, praise, spanking, male masturbation.

words: 1.5k

“Sukuna!” you yell, doing all you can to wriggle away from him. But it’s hopeless. His cock splits you open as he effortlessly raises you up and down the length again and again until your brain turns to mush.

“You’re being too rough with her, dude.” Yuuji sighs, fingers rubbing your puffy clit as you’re bounced on your oldest brother’s length. “Am I right? Is it too much for you?” Yuuji asks, holding your chin carefully so that you can look at him.

You nod, biting your lip as you do your best to balance your body while Sukuna fucks up into you. He snarls, fucking harder when he notices your hips trying to meet his thrusts.

“S’that why you’re trying to get off on my cock? Hm? Look at you, getting off on your big brother like a little whore.” Sukuna teases, his fingers digging into your sides, nails piercing the skin hard enough to draw blood. “S’okay, don’t be embarrassed.”

Your face flushes with heat as you hear his lewd language, your eyes scrunching closed to shut out the humiliating situation you found yourself in. Yuuji looks up at you innocently, monitoring your facial expressions as he carries on teasing your clit. His face moves up your body, latching his lips around your tit and suckling without letting up on the sensitive bead between your folds.

“What’s going on in here?” you hear the all too familiar lilt of your stepfather’s voice as he enters the room. You gasp, humiliated that he’s caught the three of you in this predicament. You want to scream, hide, run away. Anything to leave your stepdad’s line of vision as he stares at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before.

Your brother’s barely register his presence. Sukuna’s thrusting shows no intention of slowing while Yuuji tries to pull you away from him.

“That’s enough, it’s my turn.” he tells him, pulling you away from his older sibling and pushing you down into the mattress. Your shoulder blades are flat against the bed as you stare up at him caging you in. “Don’t wanna hurt you… but I can’t wait.” he warns you, sliding his tip up and down your slippery flesh before pushing into you.

“Fuck.” you exhale, wet eyes blinking up at Yuuji as he starts to rock his hips.

“Stop it.” Satoru huffs, approaching you all coolly before cupping your face. “She’s only used to daddy…” beaming blue eyes bore down into your own as he monitors your facial expressions while Yuuji continues using you as his own little toy.

“’m s-sorry daddy—”

“Ah… enough of that. You made your choice. So let your brother’s finish what they started. Go on, Yuuji. Fill her up.” your stepfather commands, even going as far as to press his hand on Yuuji’s lower back and helping him grind into you.

It was no surprise to Gojo that Yuuji met his end quicker than he’d hoped. He knew he wasn’t a virgin but by no means experienced. And your step father is all too familiar with how your tight, petite cunt could bring a porn star to an instant ruin. Your little hole is akin to a siren luring sailors to their deaths after the promise of love for a lifetime, your warm heat is too much for Yuuji to withstand for too long.

And Sukuna teases him, embarrassing him as he grunts loudly and stuffs you full of cum. He doesn’t stop, though, his softening cock still humping into you again and again, overstimulating himself until he’s shuddering and close to tears. You mewl, cutely, as he kisses along your jaw and whispers sweet nothings against your neck.

“Say thank you to your brother.” your step father commands, smoothing your hair down whilst his eyes pierce your soul. You aren’t sure if you are thankful or if his demanding stare pulled the response from you, but you find yourself nodding and thanking your brother sweetly, kissing his lips as he slowly withdraws himself from you. “Now, Sukuna, how do you want her?”

Your eldest brother growls with a sinister smile. He doesn’t even bother to answer, flipping your exhausted body so that your ass is in the air and your face is in your pillows.

He slams his hips against you in one fell swoop, bottoming out in your gummy walls with no remorse. You aren’t sure he’ll last so long, either, considering he’d been fucking you for some time before Yuuji took over. But it hurts. God, it hurts. He’s a little bigger and slightly thicker than his younger brother, his tip relentlessly rams into your g-spot until your vision goes white.

“Stay with us, sweetheart. Stay with daddy.” Satoru whispers, pushing your tousled hair out of your face as he commands your focus again. You can barely look at him, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as your big brother fucks you so ruthlessly yet perfectly. “You’re doing good, kid. You’re gonna cum for us, yeah?” he smiles and you begin to moan.

Yuuji can’t help but play with himself as he hears your pretty moans. While Sukuna digs his fingers into the fat of your ass, spanking you as he tries to fuck himself into you at the deepest possible angle.

“F-Fuck, fuck—!” Sukuna pants, spilling a copious amount of cum inside of you alongside your other brothers. You were getting so full, and you feel so warm. But you know you’re not done. You still haven’t came and there’s only one man left.

“See, boys, this is why I don’t share.” Satoru speaks as he scoops you into his arms. You do your best to keep your brothers loads inside while your daddy pulls out his cock, it’s hard to do so when a simple tilt of his head tells you that he wants you to straddle him. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, daddy’ll take care of you…” he assures you. He spits on his hand, stroking his cock a few times before lining it up with your hole. You bite your lip as you lower yourself down.

“You look so pretty…” Yuuji smiles at you, his thumb rubbing your cheek briefly before withdrawing to watch how your dad stretches out your tight little cunt.

His hips rise and fall, the base of his cock and the fluffy white pubes stimulating your sticky clit again and again as your generous daddy does all of the work. The creamy ring forming is almost enough to make him blow his load in an instant. He can see how spent you are despite not cumming. How weary your body is after dealing with your clueless brothers for so long. But he’s here now, and he’ll always know how to best take care of you.

Yuuji and Sukuna can’t help but admire the way your tits bounce with each and every thrust you endure. They can see a stark difference in your pleasure, being with the most trusted man in your life who knows every ridge of your tight walls. They admire the way you moan so beautifully and unashamedly for your daddy. Whatever energy you lacked comes racing back to you as you ride him in search of your orgasm.

Satoru’s fingers dig into your hips, raising you up and down his length with an anticipating fervour, expecting you to crumble at any moment.

And you do.

You both do and you are practically screaming in a newly discovered pitch as your cunt clenches around your daddy. Sukuna spanks you, his palm stinging your flesh each time an expletive spills out of you. Words you have no hope of controlling or recalling as you lose your mind and body to your daddy.

And he fills you perfectly.

Ropes and ropes of cum filling your womb to the point there is a visible bulge. And he smirks. Still managing to rut into you as he moves you onto your back once again to show Yuuji and Sukuna your swollen tummy. He pulls out, carefully, a little spilling from you before pushing your legs up into your chest.

“Watch…” he looks at your brothers before all of their eyes focus in on your puffy pussy. His fingers splay across your stomach before slowly pressing down. He gasps, slightly, and your brothers eyes widen and fill with lust as all three of them watch the considerable amount of cum seeps out of your cute little hole like a leaking donut. “Oh, princess, you’re so gorgeous.” Satoru compliments you. You’d hide your face in embarrassment if you weren’t so tired.

“Adorable. She’s like our own personal cum dump.” Sukuna speaks, trying not to laugh but unable to hide the teasing smirk on his face.

All you can do is look at them. Feel them, inside and out. The feeling of their cum dripping out of you will be a memory that stays with you forever. And seeing their eyes raking all over you makes you feel so special. Of all of the girls in the world. All of the beautiful, perfect, experienced girls in the whole wide world, all three of them chose you.

Your daddy chose his daughter.

And your brother’s chose their sister.

All three of them couldn’t help but want to fuck you.

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heliads · 10 months

Text

Something More

Based on this request: "a jealous four. reader isnt oblivious and sees the way four looks and acts with her but she gets tired of him taking long to shoot his shot so she starts flirting with another dude to make him jealous"

request sourced freshly from wattpad

masterlist

Something in this room is driving you mad. You can feel the weight of it pinned directly between your shoulder blades like a knife, following you relentlessly no matter where you go. You can pace back and forth across the training room, you can traverse the whole of the Dauntless complex, but you still know it’s there, he’s there. Watching. Waiting.

Four.

It is not an aggressive stare, this, it does not make you afraid, far from it. Four is not a threat to you, nor, you think, he will ever be. He is simply looking, simply observing, but for some reason that act has the power to completely throw you off kilter.

Maybe it’s because he is only ever looking at you like this. Yes, that must be it. Four is an instructor, he has the responsibility to watch everyone here to keep them from harming themselves or others, but something is different when he’s around you. Instead of passively observing, he’s well and truly looking at you, like he likes what he sees and wants to see more, too.

You try to put it out of your mind. Four is not your concern here, or not so anything more than the fact that he’s one of your initiation instructors and you’re trying not to get dropped before you enter the faction properly. It’s not Four’s fault if you get distracted by his attention. It’s not Four’s fault if it only ever leaves you wanting something more.

As time goes on, though, and that something more never comes, you start to chafe against the constant pressure of his attention even more than before. He treats you differently than the other initiates, but only slightly, only ever enough to make you dream of the possibility of something changing down the line. He’ll never give you more than the time of day, but from the way he won’t ever stop his constant affiliation with you, you can’t escape the idea that maybe, just maybe, he wants that something more just as much as you do.

The end of Phase One of Dauntless initiation draws ever closer, and Four fails to act on anything he may or may not be feeling. You could be wrong, of course, he could mean nothing by his ever present attention, but you’re not willing to take the risk of letting a small something fade away and be forgotten once initiation is over.

If Four will not do something, well, then, the burden of acting on these impulses falls to you. Tricking an initiation leader into revealing his hand won’t be the easiest task in the world, but you’re not one to back down from a challenge. Four should know that, seeing as he’s so inclined to marking your every action. He should know that you would provoke him like this, and he should have seen it coming from quite far off indeed.

You need one more person in your scheme to get under Four’s skin. You find your target with ease— Thomas, a dark haired boy also in your initiation class, close enough to your rank that you won’t have to worry about keeping him close but just enough below that you’ll be able to drop him without needing to fear retaliation. Thomas is fast, smart, strong, all the things that would perhaps give someone like Four cause for concern. In short, he is perfect, and so the plan is laid.

Next morning, you ask Thomas if he wants to spar together the next morning, just to practice. He nods readily; you’re one of the best people here, it’s why you thought Four started paying attention to you in the first place, up until the point when he stayed there in your corner even when you made mistakes. The two of you head to a fighting ring near the side of the training hall, and if you specifically chose the one right in Four’s line of vision, well, no one needs to notice that but the two of you.

You jump up and down, trying to get some blood back into your muscles. Across the ring, Thomas does the same. He grins at you, evidently proud that you’ve chosen him of all the other eligible fighters. “Hope you aren’t looking for a victory, Y/N, because I’m going to kick your ass.”

He’s grinning, though, so you smile back. “You wish. When we’re done, you’ll have more broken bones than everyone in the med wing combined.”

“Promise?” Thomas asks, laughing, and lunges for you. You roll just in time, hitting the ground right before him.

Usually, this is the part where you get right back up again, ready to take him down for good. However, your primary motive for this little endeavor isn’t necessarily to win, just to get someone’s eyes on you. So, you stay down, grappling with Thomas so he has no choice but to pin you, up until the point where you escape out from under him and do the same.

Thomas raises a brow suggestively. “You know, I may have lost that round, but I’m kind of happy anyway.”

You grin. “Does that mean you’re fine with losing again? I’m sure my ranking and I won’t have any problems with that.”

Thomas opens his mouth to retort, but he’s cut off by the sound of an irritable shout. It’s Four, arms folded so tightly across his chest that he looks a few seconds away from breaking a rib. “Focus, initiates! You’re not here to talk.”

When you glance over at him, you can’t help but smirk at how furious he looks. Everything is going according to plan, then, he’s jealous, just as expected. He may be in charge of everyone here today, but damn if you can’t play him like any other. Looks like all that talk about so few fears and so much bravery doesn’t stand in the face of plain old envy.

In a great show of reluctance, you get off of Thomas, extending your hand to help him up. He takes it, knuckles lingering over yours for a few moments longer than necessary. You can just make out Four’s silhouette over Thomas’ shoulder, how every fiber in his body seems to radiate with barely controlled anger.

You can only push a ruse so far before it becomes too obvious, though, so you drop Thomas’ hand and get back into a fighting position. This time, you try a little harder to win, exchanging punches and kicks for a good period of time before ‘accidentally’ dropping your guard and letting Thomas tackle you around the middle. He’s obviously in the mood to play around too, and takes his time spinning you in the air before placing you carefully on the ground.

“You better watch yourself,” he says, breath uneven from the exertion of the fight, “I think I’m catching up to you.”

You look up at him, eyes half-lidded. Thomas’ dark hair falls around his face, given the impression of a halo by the light right behind his head. All of a sudden, though, he’s ripped away, and the blinding light falls onto your face to reveal a newcomer. You didn’t hear Four climb up onto the platform of the fighting ring, nor did you detect him coming so close until he pushed Thomas away from you.

Four’s face is a dark slate, devoid of any emotion except a sharp, cold fury. His voice is clipped when he speaks, and when he tells you to meet him outside, now, Thomas actually jumps out of his way. Thomas flashes you an apologetic look as you go, but you can’t find it within you to return it. After all, this isn’t a punishment, not for you.

In fact, this is exactly what you wanted. A scene, a public show, some sign that Four would be willing to transgress his perfect picture of leadership to make his feelings known to you. You may have forced his hand more than a little, sure, but all’s well that ends well.

The door slams shut behind you, abandoning both you and Four to the dark emptiness of the hall outside the training room. All the other initiates are somewhere inside that cavernous chamber, running laps or practicing their form, and the other Dauntless are at their jobs. No one would see the two of you, then. No one would see what transpired here at all save you and him and the beating tension between the two of you.

Four’s face doesn’t lose its chill even when Thomas is out of sight. “Do you want to tell me what that was?”

You shrug as casually as you can. “I was sparring with a friend. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“Oh, really?” Four asks, “A friend? That’s what you call whatever that little display was?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell him. It’s far more fun to play the innocence card as long as you can, it certainly doesn’t help Four’s temper.

Four scoffs. “Of course you do. You think I didn’t see how often you were looking at me? That whole time you were with him, purposefully going easy so he could keep his hands on you. You think I wanted to see that?”

“I don’t know,” you repeat, “You haven’t given me any reason to think otherwise. All you do is stand there and watch. Maybe one of us had to do something.”

“So that’s what this was?” Four asks, brows raised, “You wanted to do something? I’ll show you something.”

You’re expecting the kiss, you have been all morning, but that doesn’t stop the breath from leaving your lungs in one rapid rush when it finally happens. His hand is on the back of your neck, keeping you there, with him, in that moment. It feels like drowning, but the thought of living after this is such an inconceivable notion that you’d rather just let the waters claim you whole.

He breaks away eventually, unfortunately, and even in the shadows of the corridor with his face only bare millimeters away from yours you can still tell that he’s proud of himself, corners of his lips twisted up in victory. “Was it worth it?” He asks slowly.

You let out a half-laugh, a needy breath taking over the rest. “It was,” you decide.

“Good,” he tells you, and kisses you again, just so you can be sure. Perhaps jealousy has its merits after all.

divergent tag list: @rogueanschel, @with-inked-solace, @gods-fools-heroes, @23victoria, @manyfandomsfanvergent, @imwaysthelastchoice, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @crazyhearttragedy, @alex-1967s-blog

#four #four imagines #four x reader #four oneshot #tobias eaton #tobias eaton imagines #tobias eaton x reader #tobias eaton oneshot #divergent #divergent imagines #divergent x reader #divergent oneshot #divergent four #divergent four imagines #divergent four x reader #divergent four oneshot

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navybrat817 · 10 months

Text

Where We Left Off

Pairing: Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You're in love with your best friend who is determined to make the most of your vacation together. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Light angst, friends reconnecting, unrequited feelings (or so you think), slight feels (it's me), future fun, Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning) A/N: New AU called Reconnect because why not? Meet Dreamboat and Butterfly. For @the-slumberparty 's June's Monthly Challenge : Bikini and Beach, and Smut Hub Summer Camp Bingo @sagechanoafterdark: Choose Your Vibes: Summer. Thank you @flordeamatista for the inspiration and pre-reading! ❤️ Any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was a couple of summers ago when you realized you were in love with Bucky Barnes. When you looked back on your friendship, you wondered how it took you so long to realize it. Like how his smile made your heart race whenever he looked your way. Or how you found a solid ground and safe space together, each of you able to confide in the other.

He made you feel safe.

"You're my best friend."

Nothing more.

You stared out the living room window with a sigh, the beach house blanketed by the heavy sound of rain. While it had been bright and sunny just minutes ago, the sky was now dark and misty. You shivered as you wrapped your towel tighter around your wet body, enchanted by the summer storm instead of going to your room to change. It figured you'd buy a new swimsuit for the trip and only get to wear it outside for a minute.

"So much for lounging on the beach."

You smiled softly as you glanced at Bucky beside you, who ran a hand through his long, soaked hair. He hadn't bothered to keep his towel after the two of you rushed back inside, clad in just his blue trunks that matched the shade of his eyes. You scolded yourself for letting your gaze roam along his sun kissed, muscular body.

You didn't have the right to look at him that way.

"Yeah. So much for that," you said, the towel doing little to keep you warm as the air conditioner kicked on. "Maybe our punishment for getting started without everyone?"

Steve, another one of Bucky's best friends, put together a weeklong trip for the gang. So far, you and Bucky were the only two at the beach house. Everyone else wasn't going to be there until the evening. That was why you went for an immediate swim once you picked your room. The storm would likely put the group behind even more and now you were stuck inside with Bucky.

Why had you agreed to show up early?

Why did you have to be alone with him?

Why do I have to love him?

"Maybe," he said with a stretch, drawing attention to his wide chest. "Since it doesn't look like it's slowing down at all, why don't we cuddle on the couch? Catch up a bit?"

"Cuddle?" you scoffed, the sound more bitter than you intended as you turned to face him. "Why would we do that?"

A flicker of hurt passed over his eyes before he blinked it away. "Well, for one, you're cold. I can practically hear your teeth chattering," he replied. He wasn't a fan of being cold either, but he always ran warm. "And two, cuddling never bothered you before."

Your stomach flip-flopped. Bucky was right. He was the only male friend you ever snuggled with. Whenever you had a bad day, he didn't hesitate to throw a heavy arm around you and pull you against his chest. On good days, he found an excuse to keep you plastered by his side. He used to do it so often that most people assumed you were dating.

Wishful thinking.

"I'm sorry," you said, giving him the nicest smile you could manage even though it hurt to do so. "Been awhile since it was just the two of us and even longer than that since we cuddled."

The day it clicked that you saw Bucky as more than a friend was the day he introduced you to Dolores. Everyone called her Dot. The beautiful redhead looked good on his arm and you wondered why it wasn't you in her place. But you put on a brave face and smiled, even as your heart shattered. Because Bucky's happiness meant more than your feelings.

It didn't stop you from crying alone in the darkness where no one else could see.

"That's my fault," he whispered, sliding his fingers into his hair again and tugging harshly on the strands. You noticed he did that when he was upset. "And I'm sorry."

"Friendship goes both ways," you pointed out.

"You never faded out of my life when you dated anyone."

They weren't you, Bucky.

"I guess she was different," you smiled sadly.

The two of you still hung out and messaged each other while he dated Dot, but it was always as a group and the daily messages dwindled to chats here and there. You had the feeling that Dot didn't like you very much. In a way, you didn't fault her for that. Maybe she saw through you and knew you wanted Bucky.

Yet he was the one who broke up with her.

"You're allowed to be mad at me," he said as he took your hand and crossed the room to the couch. "I'd be mad at me."

"Right now, I'm just cold," you said, not wanting to dwell on the past. What good would it do?

He nodded slowly, almost like he was disappointed in your response. "Okay."

You shrieked when he pulled the towel away. It wasn't like he hadn't seen you minutes before in your bikini and you swore his gaze lingered on you long enough to consider it staring, but what was he doing? "What the hell?" you asked, but made no move to cover yourself.

Maybe I want him to see that I'm desirable.

Bucky let out a breath as he looked at you, your shivering having nothing to do with the cold. "You said you were cold, so let me warm you up," he urged, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch before he took a seat. "Please?"

Silence fell over you as you sat down beside him. He wasted no time putting the blanket over you and wrapping his arms around your shaking frame. You breathed in his familiar scent and found yourself fighting off tears, a bittersweet swirl of longing and comfort settling in your chest.

Because he embraced you as if you meant something to him.

"I missed you," he whispered, running a hand along your back.

Your heart clenched, focusing on the rain falling outside in a melancholy rhythm. "I missed you, too."

"But we have each other again."

"I wish that were true," you whispered.

Why did I say that?

His hand stilled, but you were too afraid to look at him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Panic bubbled in your chest. You couldn't just blurt out your feelings like this. "I just mean you went from a constant to a fleeting moment in my life," you said, which was the truth. "I don't want things to fizzle after we leave."

Bucky used to be the brightest star in your sky. Then he became the shooting star you missed making a wish upon. But you would forever watch the sky if only to get a glimpse of his bright light.

"I'll make it up to you. I have this whole week to start," he promised, rubbing his chin along the top of your head. "I don't care what Steve has planned. I'm all yours."

You squeezed your eyes shut because you knew you'd cry if you didn't. He wasn't yours. Not really.

"I'm yours, too, Bucky."

I always will be.

Surely Bucky will sweep us off our feet, right? Love and thanks! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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the-modern-typewriter · 6 months

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Encouragement: your prose has such a physical, tangible element that is so rare and immersive and incredible! Your descriptions don’t just feel real, they make me feel like I am real inside the story (if that makes any sense haha). Thanks for sharing your talent so generously!

Prompt request: a sword fight between the protagonist and antagonist, including all the witty banter and sexual tension, that ends with the protagonist on their knees, sword under their chin, pretending not to be terrified - and whatever you think should come next :)

"It's been a while since we've done this," the antagonist murmured. Their intent gaze tracked every step, every breath, that the protagonist made around them on the arena sand. "I was starting to think I wouldn't get the pleasure again."

"You like being cut to ribbons and knocked on your arse, sire?"

"Well, you do it beautifully." The cruel monarch's eyes gleamed in the sun. "What can I say? It's inspiring."

It wasn't what the protagonist had expected. The last time the protagonist had challenged them and won - bargaining for the safety of their entire village - the antagonist had been livid. They'd never lost before.

There was no lie in the antagonist's eyes though. Only a strange admiration that made something in the protagonist's stomach bottom out.

The antagonist lunged in the brief distraction that comment caused.

The protagonist parried just in time - then they were off. The air rang with the clash of their swords, with the sound of their panting breaths and pounding hearts.

The crowd roared hungry behind it all. It was a long-awaited rematch after all. A talented tyrant and the only upstart to ever beat them on the field. A nobody.

The protagonist was swiftly made aware of the fact that the antagonist had vastly improved since their last match. Everything about them was sharpened to a deadly purpose. The protagonist's heartbeat quickened.

It struck them, for the first time, that they might not win again.

They paused many minutes later with both of their blades locked in place, their faces inches apart. Sweat stung the protagonist's eyes.

The antagonist grinned. "As I said, inspiring. I'm so glad you came back."

"You made it hard not to."

"You made it hard not to spend the last three years thinking about you."

The protagonist swallowed.

The improvement was impressive. The antagonist was as gorgeous to watch in action as they were horrifying to fight against.

"You're still not winning," the protagonist said. "Go back and train for another three years. Then, maybe."

"Your arms are trembling."

The protagonist wrenched back, at that, and lunged anew. The problem was that their arms were shaky with the effort of blocking and evading the antagonist's blows.

The two of them had always had different styles. The protagonist was fast, light on their feet. They'd mostly trained for multiple opponents. The antagonist had trained for this. They were far stronger than the protagonist was in the force of their blows. Before, they'd been much slower. Now, they were still slower - but only just. There was no respite.

The longer it dragged on, the more the fight tipped into the antagonist's favour. The protagonist had always won by dispatching their opponents as swiftly as possible, but the antagonist was a siege weapon. They didn't even seem tired.

"Would you like to get on your knees for me now," the antagonist asked, "or would you like me to knock you to them? I don't mind either way, when it's you."

The protagonist snarled, too breathless for words.

They'd managed to draw first blood, just like last time, but since then...

The antagonist tipped their head, a mocking incline of acknowledgement. Then they were bearing on the protagonist again.

The protagonist didn't remember hitting their knees, some time later. They were too concerned with their sword wrenching out of their hand, landing out of reach, for the dull pain of it to register.

Cold, unyielding metal pressed cold against the flushed skin at their throat.

The protagonist finally went still. They had one hand planted on the sand to catch themselves, head bowed where they'd frozen. Beneath the cover of their hair, their gaze flicked around desperately for an angle they could use.

Could they tackle the antagonist's legs? Make a dash for their blade again? A grab for the antagonist's sword instead?

Not with that blade held so firmly, so confident, against their jugular.

The antagonist nudged the sword up against the protagonist's chin. The protagonist tipped their head back up, careful not to make any sudden moves.

"Hands behind your head," the antagonist said.

The protagonist met their eyes, then slowly did as they were told. Their chest heaved.

The crowd, for all of their baying racket, felt distant. Inconsequential.

Nobody would challenge the antagonist if they slit the protagonist's neck. They probably wouldn't even be surprised. Fear licked up the protagonist's spine.

"Tell me you surrender," the antagonist said, softly.

"I don't."

"You don't want to do this nicely?"

The protagonist said nothing.

"Tell me I'm a better fighter," the antagonist said. "Tell me I'm the best you've ever fought."

They absolutely were the best the protagonist had fought in a very long time, but that was also absolutely besides the point.

"We've both won one." The protagonist's jaw clenched. "We'd have to go a third round to decide that."

"Mm." Something shifted on the antagonist's face, there and gone in an instant. "By all means. Can you get up?" They tapped the protagonist's chin with the sword again, that time breaking skin. The protagonist felt blood trickle down their neck.

The protagonist started to rise. They crumpled just as quickly, with a startled hitch of breath. Their tired legs abruptly felt like jelly. They'd no idea how they'd got so exhausted. They-

"Your blade," the protagonist said, in accusing disbelief. "What did you-?" The antagonist's talent was by no means fake, but they'd also clearly had no intention of leaving a rematch and their reputation to chance. Their blade, and the thin cut on the protagonist's neck, was tainted by something.

"Oh dear oh dear," the antagonist said. "It seems you've pushed yourself too far. You should have yielded with dignity."

"Bastard."

"Surrender."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll give you enough of a dose that you can never pick up a sword with those impressive hands again. I respect you greatly. You will give me the respect I deserve in return."

The protagonist stared at them. They shouldn't have been stunned. They knew the antagonist's reputation.

The smirk had vanished from the antagonist's face. So had the flirting, if it could be called that.

"I surrender," the protagonist said. Their vision hazed.

The antagonist dropped the blade from the protagonist's throat, sheafed their sword, and offered a hand.

With everyone watching, the protagonist took it.

The antagonist hauled them up. The protagonist's vision tunneled.

"Good match," the antagonist said, sounding sincere. "You really are incredible." They yanked the protagonist in close, to press their lips to the protagonist's ear. "If you can walk out of this arena without collapsing, I'll even let you go. I just had to prove I could win, you see. People talk. They get ideas."

The protagonist made a small, involuntarily strangled sound.

The antagonist's thumb caressed their racing pulse. "My god, though." Their voice dropped. "You look even more enticing than I imagined beaten. You really shouldn't have been interesting. I thought you'd cave like everyone does."

The antagonist clapped their shoulder and stepped back, beaming.

The protagonist made it all of three, stubborn steps before they hit the dust.

#sword fighting #antagonists #antagonist x protagonist #protagonists and antagonists #writing #short story #fiction #sword fight #enemies

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imagining-in-the-margins · 1 year

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Peaches & Cream (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer can’t get enough of you. Request: Baby Reid is so pussy drunk that he’s unfazed that he’s overstimulating you because he can’t get enough + Spencer overstimulating reader 🤤 Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Oral sex (female receiving), overstimulation Word Count: 1k

MASTERLIST

Spencer Reid has always been an odd man with eclectic tastes. Most people see him as something innocent. You were once convinced of the same. But within a few months of knowing him, you had become intimately familiar with his proficiency at a few things in particular. Things that were far from innocent.

The first sexual encounter you had with him was about what you expected. He was insecure but eager. He tackled the challenge of you with the same scientific curiosity he had for everything else.

If there was one thing that surprised you, however, it was the vigor with which he pursued a very specific activity. He outright begged, complete with slurred speech and pawing hands.

"Please," he begs, "You taste so sweet."

Like peaches and cream.

You were charmed by his pitiful behavior, and, eventually, you relent. You grant him full, unadulterated access to your body. There, you know you will learn the true extent of his proficiency.

Spencer looks down at you, already writhing against satin sheets. His pupils are blown and his mouth, though parted, are curved into a smile. Every few seconds, he licks his lips.

Despite his enthusiasm, he takes his time down your body. Every inch down, he places another kiss. At first, they are chaste pecks, but the closer he gets to his goal, the longer they last. By the time he gets to just below your belly button, he is practically drooling with anticipation.

His tongue runs across your stomach. You suck in a quick breath at the juxtaposition of hot and cold.

He smiles just before he finally captures his prize. He uses both hands to push your legs apart, and he fills the empty space immediately. There is no hesitation before he runs his tongue along glistening folds.

Your whole body shudders.

He does it again, this time deeper. Heat on heat, his tongue draws along each fold like he was memorizing the petals. Each stroke showed an immense appreciation for you. It was something akin to worship.

Within seconds, you realize an undeniable truth: Spencer will never be happier than when his face is buried between your thighs.

That knowledge alone is enough to drive you wild, but it is difficult to focus on it long when the man at your altar is becoming bolder in his admiration.

When the tip of his tongue circles your clit, you gasp. Your hands abandoned balled up sheets and instead rooted through his hair.

He pauses, sucking in a similar breath. It brings with it a coolness, a stark contrast to his mouth that lasted less than a second. There were no protests when you started to pull. Spencer would move maybe half an inch each time, carefully accounting for the differences in your sounds.

Curious and capable as ever, he made sure that every action led to an even more delightful reaction from you. He was not easily dissuaded from his conquest, either.

In fact, the more you squirmed, the harder he went. To keep you where he wanted you, he placed a heavy forearm against your waist. When even that didn’t provide him enough control, he slipped two fingers into your aching heat.

“Spencer!” you squeak.

You realize he probably can’t hear you when your thighs are covering his ears.

But you can hear him. You hear the sloppy sounds of his tongue and lips as they lavish every inch of silky skin. Even louder, you hear—you feel—the wanton sounds of his groans. The sound waves penetrate your skin and stoke the ever-growing fire.

“Spencer,” you try to whine even louder.

Your fingers tangle in his hair while your thighs start to slip in their attempts to push him away, just for a second.

The next time you try to say his name, the sound catches in your throat.

His fingers are curling, dragging down sensitive, fluttering walls without any sign of stopping. His mouth, now as wet as the object of his desire, slides easily up your folds. It stops just as they reach your most sensitive point.

Spencer’s arm is holding you down even when your hips start to buck. The pressure intensifies the already overwhelming feeling of his fingers as they stroke you, unhurried and insistent as ever.

Just as you close your eyes, his tongue begins drawing lazy circles around an almost painfully swollen pearl.

All at once, you come undone. Your muscles tense, pushing him away and pulling him closer all at once. It feels like a lifetime of pleasure condensed into a single moment.

“Oh, God,” you keen as the pleasure quickly morphs to pain, “s’too much!”

But all he heard was your praise. He was drunk on the feeling of fluttering walls and the sticky sweet taste of your release.

“It’s too much!” you sob.

He stops long enough to growl, “One more.”

Then he’s gone again. He keeps going until he fulfills his quest. Until your shaking ceases and you turn limp. Until you are sobbing with pleasure, with tears coating your cheeks. Until the only thing he can hear is mangled versions of his name.

When you fall apart again, he finally relents.

He draws his fingers out of you slowly so he can watch how you twitch. He looks at you with a sated, glistening smile.

“Sorry,” he chuckles when he realizes what a mess he’s made of you. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

The tenderness he usually carries returns quickly. By the time he is close enough to kiss salty, damp cheeks, he is the same sweet boy he (almost) always is.

But after a few innocent kisses, you notice a more sinister pressure of his erection against your stomach.

“We can stop,” he whispers against your cheek.

You know it will be too much.

Yet you smile when you answer, “Don’t you dare.”

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

Looking for more to read? Check out my Masterlist here!

Reid Taglist (Everything Reid): @mrs-dr-reid , @dreatine , @hopefulfangirl24 , @laurakirsten0502 , @dontcallmekittens , @rintheemolion , @andreasworlsboring101 , @imsuperawkward , @wentz2005 , @lovejules888 , @dashneydanger , @materialisthicc , @violetspoetic , @mslowlife

Complete Taglist (All Works): @cynbx , @emsma11 , @mediocre-writer , @fightingdragonswithwho , @andiebeaword , @jayyeahthatsme

Thanks for reading!

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert

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dailyadventureprompts · 3 months

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Tableskills: Making a Game of It

Recently I learned a bit of an unspoken truth that I'd brushed up against in my many years of being a dungeonmaster that I'd never seen put into words before: If you want to liven up whatever's going on in your adventure, figure out a way to engage the players in some kind of game. It's simultaneously the best way to provide a roadblock while making your player's victories feel earned.

This might seem redundant, since you're already playing d&d but give a moment of thought to exactly what portions of d&d are gamified. Once you learn your way around the system, it becomes apparent that D&D really only has three modes of play:

Pure roleplay/storytelling, driven by whatever feels best for the narrative. Which is not technically a game, nor should it (IMO) be gamified.

Tactical combat with a robust rules system, the most gamelike aspect.

A mostly light weight skills based system for overcoming challenges that sits between the two in terms of complexity.

The problem is that there's quite a lot of things that happen in d&d that don't fall neatly into these three systems, the best example being exploration which was supposed to be a "pillar" of gameplay but somehow got lost along the way . This is a glaring omission given how much of the core fantasy of the game (not to mention fantasy in general) is the thrill of discovery, contrasted with the rigours of travelling to/through wondrous locations. How empty is it to have your party play out the fantasy of being on a magical odyssey or delving the unknown when you end up handwaving any actual travel because base d&d doesn't provide a satisfying framework for going from A to B besides skillchecks and random encounters (shameless plug for my own exploration system and the dungeon design framework that goes with it).

The secret sauce that's made d&d and other ttrpgs so enduring is how they fuse the dramatic conventions of storytelling with the dynamics of play. The combat system gives weight and risk to those epic confrontations, and because the players can both get good at combat and are at risk of losing it lets them engage with the moment to moment action far more than pure narration or a single skill roll ever could.

I'm not saying that we need to go as in depth as combat for every gamified narrative beat (the more light weight the better IMO) but having a toolbox full of minigames we can draw upon gives us something to fall back on when we're doing our prep, or when we need to improvise. I've found having this arsenal at hand as imortant as my ability to make memorable NPCs on the fly or rework vital plothooks the party would otherwise miss.

What I'd encourage you as a DM to do is to start building a list of light weight setups/minigames for situations you often find yourself encountering: chase scenes, drinking contests, fair games, anything you think would be useful. Either make them yourself or source them from somewhere on the web, pack your DM binder full of them as needed. While not all players are utterly thrilled by combat, everyone likes having some structured game time thrown in there along with the freeform storytelling and jokes about how that one NPC's name sounds like a sex act.

A quick minigame is likewise a great way to give structure to a session when your party ends up taking a shortcut around your prepared material. Oh they didn't take that monster hunter contract in the sewers and instead want to follow up on rumours about a local caravan? The wagon hands are playing a marble game while their boss negotiates with some local mercahnts, offering to let the party play while they wait. The heroes want to sail out to the island dungeon you don't have prepped yet? Well it looks like the navigator has gone on a bit of a bender, and the party not only need to track them down but also piece together where they left the charts from their drunken remembrances as a form of a logic puzzle.

Artsource

#tableskills #tabletop inspiration #dnd #dm tip #dm tips #dm toolbox #d&d #dungeons and dragons

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seravphs · 9 months

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — IDOL! GOJO x ROCKSTAR! FEM READER

Gojo loves the untouchable. You’re an off limits rockstar who thinks he’s an idiot. The only thing he can do is take that as a challenge, right?

wc — 6.8k

tags — non detailed mention of idol industry EDs, pride and prejudice type energy tbh, reader is a little superior about being in a rock band and not “selling out”, Gojo has an annoying habit of pointing out their hypocrisy, sneaking around because you’re public figures, nsfw jokes, minor nongraphic blood

Gojo’s not your usual type. He’s too pretty for that, with those long lashes like a doll’s. They’re stark against his pale skin when he flirts with you, peering alluringly at you through half closed eyes like the cheap tricks that get his fangirls to scream will work on you.

He’s too easy to break for your taste, but from what you hear on Twitter, that’s why people like him. There’s something charming about the gap in his image that draws people in. People are dying for a taste of vulnerability because he's so cocky, but it's easy to make him beg.

There’s a million clips all over the internet of the moments he’s caught off guard, carefully hoarded instances in his career where a genuine embarrassed flush comes over his cheekbones, made into gifs and Tik Toks and YouTube videos.

That’s not your thing.

You like people with tough hearts and tougher reputations. People who could take the beating of public opinion without a flinch, not some soft spoken idol who needs his management to hold his hand through an apology. You like your fans, but they know their limit with you.

It’s not love, not like with an idol. It would never be, you made sure of it. You’d quit before you ever issued an apology for dating someone.

You hate to be a stereotype almost as much as you hate the idea of becoming a pushover, but you’ve dated a string of bad boy exes who were all exactly what you would expect for the lead singer of a rock band. A little rough around the edges, dark and smoldering. Men who would wear your red lipstick marks like a badge of honor. People who had never even heard of something like an idol image.

Maybe that’s why no one saw it coming. You were safe, established. Gojo was out of your usual pitch.

It’s too bad for the fans that you’ve always been a bit of a daredevil. Trying new things has never scared you. You’ve always been willing to test your limits to find the gold in the muck. That’s how you grow.

That’s how you ended up here, sitting thigh to thigh with the boy wonder of the idol industry.

“Aren’t you playing a dangerous game here?” You ask as he nudges even closer to you, far beyond what you’re sure his fans will permit. You’ve heard horror stories about the lengths people will go to if they see their idols even look at someone of the opposite gender.

“Why, you scared?”

“You wish. You’re the idol here. It’s your reputation on the line.”

He smiles at you, saccharine sweet. “I don’t like letting other people control me.”

That earns your begrudging respect, even if his bony knee is knocking into yours. He’s so lanky it makes you a touch concerned. Shoko’s girlfriend is an idol, and she’s constantly sneaking her food under her manager’s notice.

That’s another reason why you could never be an idol. Letting someone else dictate your life like that sounds like hell. It was hard enough to convince you to be here in the first place.

Your band doesn’t do promotion, least of all you. It’s all homegrown talent and homegrown fans, but you’re in stasis. Your growth has plateaued. Like all artists, you’re beholden to bills to pay to keep the music going. You’re big enough to know when you have to make sacrifices.

It’s nothing personal. That’s just the industry, from pop stars to idols to bands like you. If nothing else, you all share the solidarity of giving anything for the music. You just think you have a harder limit for anything than idols do.

The host kicks off the segment before you have time to do further analysis.

“Welcome back to Hot or Not, the variety show where we pit your favorite internet heartthrobs against each other! Please welcome today’s guests - they may not be the duo you expect!”

The camera pans to you and Gojo. His smile is instant, soft and natural, as real as if he were genuinely overjoyed to be here. You have to give him props for that, at least. He’s good at his job.

As soon as the camera pans to you, his expression flickers and returns to bored disinterest. He yawns, his teeth pearly white. Veneers, maybe. His tongue flicks around the sharp tip of one canine, his smirk nearly fanged. There’s the feature he’s so famous for, the one that has him edited into cat reaction memes all across the internet. Kitty Gojo and his kitten fangs.

He’s a grown man. You think you’d jump off a building before you let your teenage girl fans put cat ears on you and coo at you.

To each their own, you guess. Gojo didn’t seem that perturbed by it. To be fair, he didn’t seem perturbed by anything.

“Let’s start with Gojo! Remember, if you don’t feel like answering a question, we’ll put you in a surprise challenge with your partner.”

“Sure,” he says easily. “I’m an open book.”

“Let’s start easy. What’s your favorite song off your new album, Blue Spring?”

Gojo makes a face. “Pass.”

“Sorry, maybe you didn’t understand the question-“

“No, I got it. That’s boring,” he says. “Give me the challenge.”

You’re amused despite yourself, and fighting not to let it show. There’s the troublesome personality you’ve heard so much about. He wouldn’t be half so popular if he wasn’t so pretty, but that attitude and that face made for a dangerous combination.

The host is trying to salvage the situation with an easygoing laugh. Backstage, you hear someone mutter, “Gojo is gojo-ing again.”

It’s all so funny until you realize he’s dragging you into his mess as they set up the challenge.

Your host explains the rules too quickly for you to catch in their entirety, but it’s something along the lines of a staring contest. You’re supposed to do everything in your power to make the other lose a straight face, with words or actions.

“Are you allowed to do this?” You joke as they start strapping the electrodes on you to measure your heart rate.

“What do you mean?” Gojo’s mussing his hair up so he looks more artistically roguish.

“You know, just being an idol and all. I figured you wouldn’t be able to do things like this without your fangirls jumping on you.”

“Ah,” he says, scooting his chair closer to you. You’re knee to knee as they finish the last details of fiddling with machine. “You’re one of those types?”

“And that means?”

“You think I’m an idiot because I’m an idol.”

“I didn’t say that,” you protest, watching the monitor to make sure your heart rate isn’t jumping with your words. It’s just a game, but you’re competitive.

“No, but you’re thinking it. What else? Maybe you think idols are also soulless grifters?”

You wince. It’s not that you think so terribly of idols, per se, you just understand and recognize their need to please their company. They’re products before they’re people.

“I got it right, huh?” He’s pleased with himself.

“Am I wrong?” You retort. “You’re really going to tell me you love singing your overproduced pop music for the tween girls who will buy anything you put out as long as you’re pretty enough?”

“Aren’t you here too? Lot of talk for someone who’s sitting right next to the sellout. You know what they say about birds of a feather…”

It’s all in a whisper, so no one else hears - or sees your startled reaction to find out the pampered show dog has a little bite in him. You could retaliate, but if you’re being honest?

This makes you respect him more.

He’s right, anyway. You did sell out by being on this show.

The machine beeps. He smiles, slow and sweet - or at least it would be if you didn’t already know there was an edge to it. “I win.”

“Wow!” You’ve never found the host more annoying. “That got heated at the end, didn’t it, folks? Do you mind sharing what Gojo said?”

You smile at the camera in a way that feels more like you’re beating your teeth. “It’s a secret.”

You’re not mad at him. If anything, you’re impressed. The person you’re really disappointed with is yourself.

So he’s not what he thought you were. So he challenged your biased preconceptions on idols. So what?

It doesn’t mean anything, but you can’t get him out of your head.

The rest of the show is an easy and welcome distraction from your inner turmoil over the possibility of maybe potentially tolerating an idol. Throwing out witty answers and being neck to neck with Gojo in winning mini games is much preferable to having to experience emotions. It’s only when it’s over that the problems start.

You watch as he gets up, biting your lip and debating to yourself. It’s only when he’s halfway out the door that you make your decision. You’ve always been a do or die kind of girl.

“Hey. Want to get dinner?”

You just want to make sure he’s eating. No other reason.

His manager frowns behind him.

“We’re in a weird spot,” he says. “The only thing around are convenience stores.”

“That’s fine,” you say. “We can get instant ramen.”

“I’ve never had instant noodles,” Gojo says.

“Seriously?”

“No, not seriously,” he scoffs. “Just what kind of lives do you think we lead?”

“Deprived ones,” you toss over your shoulder as you lead him towards your monster of a customized car.

“Oh, no,” his manager is beginning, but Gojo is already sliding comfortably into the passenger seat. His poor manager looks nervously at you as you turn the keys. “Are you sure that thing is safe?”

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “If this thing crashes, I’m in here too.”

You don’t think that reassures him, but your own manager will handle it. You pull out of the parking space and head for the road.

Gojo’s impatient. He tries the handle almost before you’re done parking. You’re like that too - always ready to move. This time, you’re one step ahead. You lock the door before he can leave. He gives you a startled look and glances outside again, clearly weighing his options.

“Relax,” you say. “I’m not a crazed fan. Put these on before we attract an actual stalker of yours.”

You toss him a hat, sunglasses, and a mask. You’ve started keeping them in your car ever since you’ve been hanging out with Shoko and her girlfriend, who was famous enough to get recognized in the street for her autograph. He wrinkles his nose but obediently puts them on.

It doesn’t do much to hide his overall air of Gojo-ness. He steps into the store like he owns it, which he very well could.

The steam rises from your bowls and coats Gojo’s sunglasses. You’re surprised he can see inside, but he has no trouble navigating. He tells you he has 20/20 vision.

One thing leads to another and suddenly he’s bragging about his perfect grades when he attended school. He’s a natural genius, which isn’t really a surprise.

“I thought you were supposed to be a bad boy,” you tease. His glasses are slipping down his nose. You reach out to push them back up before anyone notices. His eyes are rather remarkable, after all. Anyone would be able to tell who he was at a glance.

“Me?” He gives a choked laugh. It sounds nice. You’ve haven’t heard it before, not during the show. He was more polished then. The ways in which he rebels against being an idol show up unexpectedly. “Nah. That’s all Getou. He’s the one with a hidden face. You wouldn’t believe what he’s like when the cameras are off.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” you joke.

“I’m serious,” he whines. “I’m pretty sheltered. Grew up rich, you know?”

Who doesn’t know? The Gojo name is pretty famous. One of the biggest conglomerates in the entire world, it broke major news outlets when the heir chose to be an idol instead of the next president.

He’s always been in the public eye, but kept separate like art at a museum. You have a nasty tendency of wanting to ruin things that you’ve been purposefully warned away from. It’s sort of a thing of yours, a bad habit you haven’t put too much effort into breaking. The more impermissible something is, the more likely you are to try, like a cat knocking a glass of water off a table.

Corruptible isn’t the exact right word, but it’s what comes to mind. You want to mess him up a little. Put your grubby rockstar hands on him and leave smears behind so his fangirls see his tainted reputation. You don’t, of course. It’s just a passing thought that you wouldn’t risk actually jeopardizing his career for.

It would just be nice to see him live a little more freely.

The temptation clears with the last of your noodles disappearing into your mouth. There are things that are off limits for both of you. Those are just the sacrifices you’ve made for your dreams. That’s all there is to it.

It’s so good you sigh at the loss of it, mourning your empty bowl. Gojo’s almost done himself. The minute he finished his noodles, he lets out a breath to mirror yours, then laughs once he catches himself.

“Come on,” you say. “Let’s get you home.”

You think that’s the end of it. There’s no reason to go any further. You met an idol and he obliterated your previously held prejudices. You’ll never meet again.

That’s not quite how it works out.

When your manager offers you another chance to see Gojo, it’s nonchalant. “Remember that idol you were partnered with on that variety show? I know you don’t like those types, but you seemed to tolerate him well enough. There’s another-“

A yes flies out of your mouth so quickly it’s embarrassing.

Your manager pauses. His eyes narrow. “Didn’t expect you to be so eager, but okay.”

Your face burns with embarrassment. This isn’t like you at all. Even with your exes, you had been cool and level headed. Always the prize, never the one to give chase.

He’s interesting, you try to rationalize it to yourself. You like interesting. Life was mind numbing without a kick, and he was the latest thrill. It didn’t mean anything more.

It’s another variety show. Apparently the two of you had been so popular as a pair that they wanted more.

Gojo’s in the makeup chair when you arrive. The artist is scolding him for blinking while she applies his mascara. He’s whining about his dry eyes.

“Don’t be a baby,” you say, dropping into the chair next to him.

“But that’s what I’m best at!”

“You’re so weird,” you laugh.

The makeup artist groans. “Please don’t encourage him.”

Only Gojo would take that as encouragement. He rolls his eyes and receives a light swat across the shoulder for his troubles. You play around on your phone while you wait for her to be free, but soon grow bored. Instead, you watch her swipe powder across Gojo’s face and dab cream onto the apples of his cheeks.

“Stop staring,” he says.

“How do you know I’m staring? Your eyes are closed.”

“I can feel it.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” he says, and you know he’s just messing around at this point because you’re an incredible liar. It’s your best quality.

Falling into banter with Gojo is as easy as breathing. It’s no trouble at all to replicate it on the show. From the shadow, your manager gives you a double thumbs up. Dork.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that you’re doing this to drum up popularity for your tour. You’re not the only one having trouble. Gojo pulls you aside after filming wraps up to give you his personal number on the phone he’s not supposed to have.

At night, you get an alert that you’ve received something from Gojo. It’s not a message. It’s a notification that you can save three tickets to your digital wallet.

A speech bubble pops up.

Come to my concert, he says. I got you VIP seats.

Gojo’s impressed you, but you still don’t know about the rest of his band. You’re not sure you want to watch pretty men lip sync and grind on the stage for two hours, but when you tell Shoko, she offers to bring Utahime. That’s conveniently three, so you might as well.

VIP seats don’t include backstage, so you’re surprised when security comes to retrieve you. There’s no backstage pass for this concert, actually, confusing you all the more.

Shoko flaps her hand dismissively at you, encouraging you on. By her side, Utahime is trying to feed her snacks. Satisfied that they’re comfortable, you follow the guard to Gojo’s dressing room. He leaves you there without a word.

After five minutes of waiting for something to happen, you knock. Instantly, Gojo’s voice invites you in.

He’s sitting in front of the dresser, fiddling with his earrings. You’ve noticed seven piercings in total - three on his right lobe, two on his left, and one conch on either side. Before you knew him, you would’ve been surprised an idol would be allowed to get so many. Now you know he bends the rules whenever he’s able.

“Pass me that?” You hand him the disinfectant. “Thanks. I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Then why’d you send me tickets?”

“Thought my roguish good looks and natural charm would win you over,” he says with a smile that says he’s only half joking.

“You’re insufferable,” you say as you bat his hands away from his ear. “Let me do that.”

His hair is soft as cygnet down as you brush it behind his ear. There’s something innocent about his expression like this, watching him from above. His eyes are closed, breaths soft and even as he waits for you.

The silver pools in your hand as you thread it through his ear, a waterfall released when it hooks on. He wears a lot of silver, you’ve noticed. His stylists favor colors that should wash him out but only make him look more angelic. Pale blue silk trims his form, encrusted with embellishments to make him look prince-like. There are sparkles in the inner corner of his eye, soft blush on his cheekbones to make him look sweet.

He’s anything but when his eyelids flutter open and he notices you watching. A smile almost cruel tugs at his lips. His hand reaches for you as if-

There’s a knock on his door for the last curtain call.

“That’s me.” He stands up, brushing his lap off without a trace of anything other than professionalism. He’ll leave you wondering what he was going to do. It’s terrible how good he is at this, though you suppose it’s his job to leave people wanting more. “Keep an eye out for me on stage, will you?”

It’s hard not to. Your eyes are polarized to him. Even when something else catches your attention, like fireworks or confetti, he pulls it back. Greedy, that one.

You’re not the only one. The crowd lives for him. There’s something electric about him on stage. He naturally draws attention with that height and attitude and face, but what happens when he’s performing is inexplicable. You’d call it a religious experience if you believed in a god.

Fate has never factored into your life, but now you’re starting to consider worship. Gojo performs like he was born to be an idol.

Keep an eye out for me, he says, as if you’d have any trouble. You’ll dream about him tonight. The way his mouth fits so sensuously over the words of a love song snags your thoughts like a fishhook. Sick desires run through your blood, each more depraved than the last.

You want to watch him shed his beautiful silk skin for you, become nothing more than man again. You must retract your prior confession. There’s no longing for the altar in you, only a love of sacrilege.

Gojo asks for coffee easily, as if you’re two normal people and not celebrities with a lot to lose if you were caught together. You can’t let him outdo you, so you agree. These are the reasons why your manager curses your recklessness. Shoko calls it bravery, when she’s feeling sweet on you.

The second message comes a second later.

Gojo Satoru 11:25 I only said it to see if you’d agree Here’s my address lol can’t believe you said yes Attachment

You think he gives his address out too freely for a man worth 30 million. The feeling only intensifies as you get out of your car and thank your driver. His gates are pearly instead of the standard matte black, a stark declaration of wealth. He’s practically asking for an incident to happen.

Security buzzes you in. Someone in a white dress - an honest to god maid - leads you to a mini kitchen where Gojo’s waiting. His hair is wet and dripping down his back where his powder blue shirt is darkened to a navy. You thought you had gotten used to overblown displays of money after your first three years in the music industry. Clearly, you were mistaken.

He looks up as you enter, reading a trashy tabloid as he stirs whipped cream into a tall glass of something that looks more like a sugary heart attack than coffee.

You’ve never seen his bare face, you realize. Even that moment when you had walked in on him and the makeup artist, he had been nearly done. He looks practically the same without makeup. People with genetic good looks like him only need to enhance their appearance the tiniest amount.

What really strikes you is how earnest he looks, soft and open-hearted, though that might be because you’ve caught him in his home. This is what you wanted - him without his skin on, naked and without pretense. He’s wearing cotton pajamas and white slippers.

“I thought you’d come later,” he says. “Sorry I got started without you. I was feeling something sweet.”

“I’m early, though?”

“I’m always late,” he says with a one shouldered shrug. “Thought you might be too. Guess you’re not my perfect girl after all, huh?”

You shove his arm off the armrest of his chair to perch on it, ignoring the perfectly good chair across from him. This is better, anyway, easier to talk to him. “Don’t be absurd. I’m everyone’s dream girl.”

Gojo chuckles. “I like confident women.”

There’s been a question on your mind for a while. You knew his group was popular, but all this? Maybe you should’ve become an idol after all.

“Where’s the rest of your band? I thought idols shared rooms.”

“Some do,” he says. “Not so much when you make it big. But this is my family home, so none of that applies.”

Gojo Satoru of the Gojo conglomerate. How had you forgotten? It shouldn’t be so easy to ignore something like that.

Gojo shifts the conversation easily, but you notice. So he doesn’t like the connection, then. “How was the concert?”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” you say, stealing a sip of his drink before it reaches his mouth. It’s too sweet for anyone’s standards. You spit it back into the cup. He takes it from you, eyes it consideringly, and takes a sip anyways.

Your mouth drops. “You’re so gross.”

“Only for you, baby,” he moans, humor like a teenage boy. “Call me names again.”

You roll your eyes at him.

“It’s fine, it’s just saliva. Now tell me the truth. You couldn’t take your eyes off me, could you?”

They’d probably sooner pop out of your head and roll away than leave the sight of him, but you can’t tell him that after all you’ve said about idols. Instead, you push off your seat to go rummage through his cabinets. He has a fully stocked coffee cart in this room and the very latest espresso machine, all to choose his diabetic monstrosity instead.

“You don’t need to respond,” he says cheerfully. “Your silence tells me everything I need to know.”

“Do you think you know me that well?” You shoot back. His fridge is so big you think you could fit into it. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’ve registered that he’s moved from his seat as well, and now stands just behind you.

“Of course I know you,” he says. “I understood you the moment we met.”

“You’re very confident,” you note.

You have a weakness for confident men.

“So you liked my concert. Can I come to yours?”

You imagine Gojo in a mosh pit for a second. It sends you into a laughing fit while he stands there, bemused. You can’t shake the incongruous picture of him, with his face like a carefully crafted porcelain doll, getting rowdy and wild with your fans. Ridiculous. Never in a million years.

“We don’t have VIP seats,” you warn him.

“So?”

“So it can get dangerous.”

“Aw, you do care about me.”

“I care about the fat lawsuit your company’s going to send me when their moneymaker breaks his leg at my concert. It’s not happening.”

“You scared?”

“No, but maybe you should be.”

“Come on,” he says. When had he gotten so close? It’s distracting. “I know you’ll take care of me.”

Gojo had invited you to his concert. It’s only right to return the favor. An idea starts forming in your head, though you’re not sure it’s a good one. You tell him anyway.

Usually when soundcheck is over, you have a little bit of downtime to relax backstage. You’re expecting someone tonight, however.

A rough knock on the door announces Satoru Gojo, spoken in your security guard’s rough voice. Well, he really introduces him as pretty boy idol, but you can guess who it is.

He looks discomfited, a rare occurrence, as he closes the door behind him.

“What’s with you?”

“You’ve got groupies,” he says, looking rattled.

You fight a smile.

“Don’t laugh,” he pouts. “They’re insane. One of them tried to chase me here.”

You can’t help yourself. A giggle bursts out of you. When he tries to leave, you pin his hand to the handle and coo reassurances at him so he won’t.

When you head out the door, he surprises you by grabbing your hand. It’s as nonchalant as anything he does, so you rise to the challenge he sets by refusing to react to it. You only separate once you reach the stairs; him to the spot you’ve made for him behind the barricade, you to the stage.

This is one of your favorite venues, moody and atmospheric. The lights are dimmed to your preferred setting, but your eyes adjust quickly. Your crowd is restless tonight, shifting on their feet as whispers follow raucous laughter through the crowd. Noise on noise, the way you like it.

The wood of the floor is a little sticky beneath your boots as you walk. That’s history gumming the soles of your shoes, generations of artists before you. You’re starting to feel it now, the electric thrum of pure joy in your blood.

Shoko is strumming light tunes on her guitar to warm up, her eyes closed. You hope she doesn’t take it too hard that Utahime couldn’t make it tonight, though you know if she’s upset, she’ll channel into her music.

The crowd settles as the hour draws closer. Shoko’s fingers are liquid now, running through chords effortlessly. You wrap the cord of the microphone around your hands, letting the tension build mindlessly. A stage is like home to you. The crowd plays in the palm of your hand, energy ebbing and flowing as you will it.

It starts with a guitar solo from Shoko. By then, the crowd is already burning with excitement. The first burst of sound from the speakers has them roaring, cheering even though there’s no lyrics to it. The smallest smile touches her lips as she plays to the crowd, showing off exactly why she’s lead guitar for the greatest band in the world right now.

You step in on her heels, your voice rising over the music. Back before you knew how this felt, you almost quit singing, annoyed by the sound you were forced into. This is more your tempo. The almost guttural curl to the ends of your words, the rasp of your hoarse voice - this is beautiful to you.

The crowd is yours. Anything that goes on is within your jurisdiction, higher than any judge or god. You notice everything in your realm.

People are starting to move now, their bodies falling victim to the music. Their mouthes form the vowels and consonants of the lyrics as their bodies shudder and jerk, chained to the rhythm. Bodies ricochet off each other, love taps of respect for your aggressive voice, soaring above it all.

In the corner, there’s a violent eye of a storm. You think it’s a particularly enthusiastic dancer - perhaps a circle is about to form - before you realize what’s actually going on.

A fight is breaking out. You catch a glimpse of snow white hair, realize it’s near the barricade, and your stomach drops.

It’s Gojo and another man, ignoring the security guard trying to separate them. You try to stay professional and play through it, but then you see red.

Gojo’s hand flies to his face, his nose dripping with crimson. He doesn’t look any more injured than that, but you’re angry enough to step in now. Shoko stops as soon as you hold your hand out, the music veering into a screeching crash.

“You, in the black tee!” You realize you should’ve been more specific when what looks like the entire crowd looks down at their equally black shirts. “No, the one that just punched Gojo Satoru. Yeah, you, asshole! No fighting at my gigs! Especially not my guests!”

He had the audacity to yell back. “I was just showing him a warm welcome!”

You climb off the stage. Gojo didn’t show any fear while he got hit, but there’s concern in his eyes now as you drop to the ground by him.

“Wait,” he says, “wait, wait. I don’t think you should-“

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, pushing him behind you until his back hits the stage. “Let me handle this.”

You get in the man’s face. His eyes are bloodshot - drunk, probably. “Who do you think you are, starting shit at my shows?”

“You’ve sold out,” he slurs. Definitely drunk. “He doesn’t belong here.”

“You don’t get to tell me who can or can’t come to my goddamn show,” you snarl, vicious and low. “Get out.”

“You can’t-“

“Get out before I make them drag you out.”

When he doesn’t move, you motion security over. “Does anyone else have any complaints?”

The crowd is eerily silent for something that was moving like a beast with one mouth before, singing in unison. You clamber back on stage, turning around to grab Gojo’s hand.

“What?” He says.

“Up. Now.” Your tone brooks no argument. You haul him up with you. He stands awkwardly as you drag him towards your mic stand, your arm slung around his shoulder. There’s still blood on his face.

“Gojo Satoru is a very dear friend of mine,” you announce into the mic. You see the confused looks in the crowd. Even Shoko seems wary. This wasn’t on the schedule. “If you're a real rock fan, you'd know that music is more than genre. I get it! I didn’t think idols were anything more than corporate shills either-“

“Harsh,” he whispers under his breath, unable to control himself even now.

“But he proved me wrong. He’s a real performer, just like I am, and I expect the same respect for him that you give to me.”

This is your crowd. They listen. Someone whistles.

You sit Gojo down, right by your feet. He gives you a bemused smile as the concert starts again, you moving around him like one of your props. He spends most of the concert lounging back, watching you through half lidded eyes.

It might’ve been enough excitement for one night, but you’ve always been the type to push your boundaries. When the idea springs into your head, you act on impulse, not giving yourself too much time to think about it as you pull Gojo to his feet.

You’re really manhandling him tonight, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s only a little startled as you pull the mic away from your face to get into his space.

You misjudged the distance. Your forehead knocks into his, just enough to sting, but not really hurt. “Do you want to try something?” Your voice is a whisper to not get picked up by the mic.

“Give it to me,” he says, and his smile is a bloody thing.

When you angle the mic towards him, you’re careful about not hitting him this time.

His voice works surprisingly well for rock. You weren’t sure he could pull off such a sound change, but he surprises you every time, matching you best for beat.

When he pulls back, your hand snakes into his hair and yanks him towards you and the mic again. He sings wholly at your command, being jerked around by your desires. It’s an inferno on stage, sweat pouring down both your faces. Behind you, the crowd is screaming so loudly it nearly deafens you.

Not a bad encore, you think as you towel off in your dressing room. Shoko left for a cool down with a bottle of ice water right before you, her post concert ritual, but the look she shot you says that you need to talk. You’ll deal with the consequences later.

For now, it’s enough to have Gojo shaking with leftover adrenaline against you as you sit him down in your chair. You press a bottle of ice against his face, watching him shiver. He’s still pretty with all the blood. Prettier, somehow, like some teenage wet dream of a vampire from a young adult novel.

You want to lick the sweat out of the hollow of his collar bones. Instead, you talk to him to rid yourself of your insane thoughts. It’s always a little crazy in your head after a good stage.

“Well?” You demand. “How was it?”

He tilts his head, considering. It makes you nervous. Now that you know how good of a performer he is, it almost feels like a test to receive his judgment.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he says, slowly.

“That good, huh?” You smile, trying to ignore the aching pressure behind your ribcage. You shouldn’t care so much what he thinks. Why does it matter?

“Yeah,” he says. “When are you free? I gotta plan our date.”

“Huh?”

“That was so sexy,” he says. “I was thinking about taking it slow, but I’m not going to last if I wait. I want to date you. I want to marry you.”

He’s starting to worry you. “Did you have a heat stroke or something? That’s really fast. Really, really fast, Gojo.”

“I’ve never been more clearheaded in my life,” he says. You only believe him when the medic clears him of any injuries, even the nose.

“We can talk about marriage later,” you say. “Why don’t you tell me about the date for now?”

Two weeks later, you’re Gojo’s plus one to his first movie premiere. It’s his debut as an actor, and it couldn’t be a better one. He escaped most of the negative pushback that usually comes with transitioning between those two industries, being naturally good at everything. Still, he had worked hard, and you’re proud of him.

It feels like you’re the only one, because the man himself doesn’t even care about his accomplishment. He’s too busy being delighted about hiding in plain sight. The cameras flash at you as you walk across the red carpet, arm in arm with Gojo. Your stylist had coordinated with his. It could almost pass for a couple’s outfits.

“You know,” he says conspiratorially. “When you defended me at the concert, I got hard.”

“I didn’t need to know that.”

“It was really hot.”

“You know there are people who can read lips, right?”

“I wish they would figure out what I’m saying.”

“Alright,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Let’s get inside.”

Dating Gojo is nothing like what you’d expected and everything like you’d expected. He keeps surprising you, doing wild things to get your attention that you never thought an idol would be willing to get their hands dirty with. He might be even more of a daredevil than you are, constantly pushing the boundaries of what you both can get away with before you’re found out.

In a way, it’s almost like you’re asking for it. You’re both straining at the bit to claim each other. It doesn’t come as a surprise when it does happen, then.

“Huh,” Gojo says over ramen. “We got papped.”

Utahime, understandably, freaks. “What? That’s not funny.”

“Oh yeah?” You say. “Are the pictures good at least?”

“You know we always look good. Could’ve gotten a better angle, but whatever.”

Utahime’s working herself into a minor tizzy in the corner. “Guys, I need you to be more serious about this. This is bad! This is so bad!”

Shoko looks up from her phone and chips on the couch, lying flat on her stomach. “Hate to agree, but she’s right. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” you shrug. “What’s the point? There’s nothing we can do about it. They have the evidence.”

It had been a good run. Two blissful months of peace and quiet. Sneaking around had been fun, giving you that thrill you loved every time someone failed to recognize you and Gojo behind your stupid sunglasses. Still, it was bound to fail at some point. You’re honestly surprised it lasted for as long as it had. You can’t be mad. Two months is more than you could’ve asked for.

“Well,” Gojo says. “Wee-llll.”

“Spit it out,” Utahime gripes at him.

You take another bite of ramen, content to let them argue without you.

“There is something we could do,” Gojo hedges.

“You’re so annoying,” Shoko says.

“No one thinks you’re funny,” Utahime chimes in.

“Hey! She thinks I’m funny!” Gojo frowns. “Tell them you think I’m funny.”

“Sorry, babe. I never lie to my girls.”

“Whatever,” Gojo sighs. “Guess you don’t want to hear my genius idea then.”

“Don’t be a brat,” you tease, knuckling his head. He loves it when you roughhouse with him.

“What if…” The hesitation is real this time. You can tell the difference between when he’s faking it or not. He’s a good showman, but you know him. You place an encouraging hand on his knee.

“What if we went public first?” He says it all in one breath.

You take a moment, turning the idea over in your head. It would wrest back control of the narrative to your team. Even if you might get backlash, it wouldn’t be at someone else’s hands, beholden to their mercy. You like it.

“Sure,” you say.

Gojo gapes at you. ‘That easy?’ His thoughts are written all over his face.

“Why not?” You offer him one of your easy smiles. “I’ve always wanted to say you were mine, anyway.”

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk x reader

721 notes · View notes

teyamsatan · 9 months

Note

My sweet bb Andra 💕 How are you doing love ? 💫

I have a juicy Request and I know you will make its justice 😩🤌🏻

So basically, we have Neteyam and Mate going out for a little time together at the lake, or pond whatever (deep enough 😏😳). Reader decides to draw Neteyam. So he poses for her and well she starts drawing and all. She is all concentrated looking at the paper for a moment and she feels something being thrown at her. She looks at him and well 🥴 We don't need any precisions here :3

Reader is all flustered and Neteyam is just smirking widely. Reader hasn't any time to react because we hear Jake's voice screaming Neteyam's name from afar. Oh ! Guess what ? Neteyam forgot. Yes. He forgot a training with his father (Pls let this poor guy rest a bit 🙂).

And Lo'ak (Otherwise it wouldn't be funny hehe)

Neteyam tries to grab his loincloth but reader is faster and throws it far into the bushes, with a smirk obv. So Neteyam has no choice to jump into the water (I know that Na'vi are less ashamed of nudity... Are they ? Anyways !)

So his brother and father get there, very fastly. Everything that happened before was like in 10 secs.

The rest I leave up to you 😏 We only need some funny dad-Neteyam and brother-Neteyam interactions when he just can't go out of the water, but he's very very late... Then we have Lo'ak that finally understands and just cannot stop laughing, making Jake more than less annoyed than he already was. And we have some intense playfull eye contacts with the reader. She's enjoying it haha.

Yeah... You can end it like you want 😂💖 My brain is a mess sometimes ugh 😥

Okay Imma stop 🙈🌸 I hope this inspired you and no pressure okay ? 🫂

Smooches 🥰

no cause this is so so funny and i hope you enjoyed bestie xx it feels good to be back writing for neteyam :((

pairing: neteyam x human!reader

wc: 1170 words

warnings: smut, fluff, minors do not interact 🔞

na'vi compendium: yawne - beloved, tewng - loincloth, tanhí - bioluminescent freckles

As a human on Pandora, there wasn't much for you to do, very little your body was inherently made for. You were slow and clumsy, a stark contrast to the Na'vi carrying you on his back like a little doll, all nimble and quiet as he treaded the deep shrubbery, his thumbs massaging your thighs as you rested your chin on his shoulder, humming contently in between peppering kisses to his neck.

As a human on Pandora, you were stuck in a lab most days, with filtered air and fluorescent lights, that did nothing for you, that had a rare talent of making even the most beautiful creature look ghastly and ashen, that gave you a headache, that made you miss the beautiful light peering through the uneven gaps created by the branches of the tall trees of the Omaticayan forest. Stuck as you were, you turned to artistic outlets for your boredom. You loved to draw, and you became very good in time, enough that the entire lab and some of the village were now covered in your landscapes and your portraits. The people loved you, and your talents, and often urged you to draw them or loved ones, as a way to immortalise a face or a moment forever in time, a priceless gift for them, and one that gave you a place amongst the Na'vi, even different, as you were.

As a human on Pandora, you didn't have a lot of choice of entertainment... or men. But you've never felt the lack... not when you had Neteyam. Your best friend, your confidant, he was always up for a challenge, and, let's just say, he always thought of you as one. In the few years since your 18th birthday, a rite of passage of sorts for humans, you were told, Neteyam made it his purpose to show you that you will never have to miss out on anything on Pandora, that he would make it his life's mission to... be there for you, in any and every way you needed, be it to be a shoulder to cry on, or a shoulder to rest your legs on as his head was in between your thighs, Neteyam was always there - ready to help, ready to serve.

You gulped as you reminisced about this morning, about the moans that escaped him as he was lapping at your folds like he was quenching an unquenchable thirst, like eating you out was for his own pleasure, and not your own, or the way he didn't stop until you were so overstimulated you were crying, something he made up for by showering you in soft kisses and quiet whispers of "you did so well for me, yawne. you always take me so well."

"You ok back there... friend?"

"Yes, Teyam. Just tired. Are we almost there yet?"

"Patience, love. You wanted more inspiration for your drawings, right? I told you I found just the place, and you're going love it, I promise. It's just a little further."

Well, he was right. The little meadow created by a small, clear pond, bustling with little fish swimming peacefully, drowned in warm sunlight, was the perfect backdrop for the painting you had in mind. With a small smirk, you pointed at the water and clicked your tongue at your much larger, beautiful, muscular friend.

"Get in, Teyam."

"Why?"

"I've wanted to draw you for a while, I just wanted the perfect background, and now I have it. Now go."

You chuckled to yourself as you heard a loud splashing noise, and settled on removing your pad and pens, placing them on the ground next to you as you thought about what positions would work best for what you had in mind. You gasped loudly when something soft hit you in the face, removing you from your less than innocent reveries - it seemed Neteyam was ahead of you, as you felt for the object that you removed from yourself and realised it was his loincloth. When you looked back at him, your mind shortcircuited at the sight of his naked body, glistening in the sun as the water dripped down every defined muscle, down his chest and abs, down his v-line, down his -

"You like what you see, yawne?"

Although it pained you, you raised your eyes until they met his beautiful features, tanhí shining brightly even in broad daylight, as they always did when he was overtly happy or amused, and by the wild, mischievous grin and crinkles by his eyes, it was a safe assumption he was both.

"I say you forget the painting for now, and come here so I can show you how... grateful I am you thought of me as your next subject."

It was a no-brainer to you, really, but when you heard a voice you knew all too well screaming, the noise echoing through the trees, heightening the sound, your body stilled in place.

"Neteyam! Are you there, boy?"

"Fuck! I forgot I was supposed to meet my dad for training."

"Quick, throw me the tewn-" you screeched as the instruction came too little too late, and in the heat of the moment and much to Neteyam's dismay, frightened by the quickly approaching steps of the Olo'eyktan, you threw the cloth in the opposing direction, somewhere in the bushes.

"Netey- ah, kid. What are you two doing here?"

You just looked at him, panicked, eyes flickering from him to Neteyam's younger brother, who looked at you suspiciously, eye narrowed as they assessed the situation at hand through a lens of youth and misdemeanour Jake couldn't really see, and you were glad.

"Cat got your tongue, kid?" The Sully patriarch's raised eyebrow did very little to will out of the catatonic state you found yourself in, so you remained quiet as he scoffed, turning his attention to his oldest son, instead.

"You were supposed to be in training at 1400 hours, remember?"

"Yes, sir."

"Come on, out. We need to be off and make up for it."

"I-I... can't."

"And why the hell not, boy?"

You felt Jake's eye roll deep in your soul, and you felt like you should take the blame for this since... you threw Neteyam's clothes away in fear, and everything. You should rectify this.

"Jake, I-"

"Oh, my Eywa! He's naked! He's so naked!"

Your mouth dropped in shock, but it was too late. The cat was indeed out of the bag, and as your and Neteyam's eyes met, listening to his dad's groans of disgust, you were a little relieved to see a hint of a smile on his face, the beautiful twinkle of amusement putting your mind at ease, letting you know it was all going to be ok. As long as you were together, and you had him, it was all going to be ok.

Reaching your hand behind your head to scratch the itchy spot at the base of your neck, you laughed awkwardly as you spoke:

"I'm... experimenting with some new artistic techniques?"

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cambion-companion · 5 months

Text

Possession

Caring at all is caring too much.

I've never written from Raphael's perspective...at least not for this long. The idea just came to me last night. He is a very possessive and proud creature. I had to wonder how he'd react if Tav yanked on that chain a little.

Raphael x Tav (female) | drabble | Raphael POV

Caring at all was caring too much. The twisting knife of jealously lodged in Raphael’s chest.

He lounged upon silken pillows, a cup of wine held idly in hand, surrounded by doe-eyed doting mortals all wanting something from him.

Not her. The nymph of his orisons who now swept in a dance some meters away, her vivid satin skirts swirling with each twirl only to come close and hug her body at the end of each enticing movement.

Raphael took a sip of wine, the bitter draught staining his lips maroon.

She was taken up into the arms of a green dragonborn, the large clawed hands dipping too low upon her form, feeling the curve of her-

The pain of shattered glass piercing the palm of his hand registered in Raphael’s mind. He was yet loathe to tear his gaze away from her, yet left little choice as the courtiers surrounding him began to make a fuss akin to a gaggle of hens upon seeing a fox.

Red blood was pooling in Raphael’s palm. “Hush.” Was all he said to the women and men attending him, the word commanding immediate silence. He plucked the remnants of the ruined crystal from his hand idly, smirking slightly.

Raphael pushed aside offered hands of help, magic lighting his fingertips as he healed himself. His brow darkened and his eyes smoldered as he trapped her again within line of sight.

She had come to the end of her dance, in more ways than one Raphael mused, and was now leaning up to kiss the cheek of the scaled interloper.

Unacceptable.

Raphael stood, abruptly. His anger spread around him like a cloud of brimstone. The mortals surrounding him scattered.

Raphael approached her slowly, as a stalking cat does its prey. Her attention was drawn, recognition flashed in her eyes. Those lovely eyes in which Raphael desired to only ever see his own reflection.

Before she could speak, though those lush lips of hers did part, Raphael stroked his hand down her side to rest atop her hip. With a gentle movement belying his true intent he pulled her to him. “What is a little bird doing straying so far from her cage.” He purred against her hair, feeling the change in her body, the tensing of her muscles beneath thin fabric.

“It is a gilded cage at best.” Tav replied. Her eyes narrowing in challenge. Just the way which had first drawn him to her. “Besides, I am not beholden to you.”

“Then why do you not walk away?” Raphael coaxed her to sway with him, in a dance more fitted to lovers. Their movements guided by the new music lilting from musicians atop the raised dais.

Tav hesitated. “We have a contract.”

“Which you are no closer to fulfilling.” The glow from the many candles and torches flickered and shone off the polished floor. Raphael turned his face in, closing his eyes as he inhaled her scent. Allowing himself one moment to forget his turmoil. “Least of all in the arms of a potential paramour.”

“Then what are you?”

Raphael smiled, loathe to admire her bravery in quibbling with him. He looked down upon her upturned face, caught between the desire to take her in his hands and kiss the soul right from her mouth or rake his claws down the soft skin of her back.

His deep eyes showed nothing of this conflict. With care he replied. “I am your master.” He held her tighter as she began to revile. “You are the brightest of my treasures. You will tarnish from all this inaction, and no longer be my favorite.”

The muscles of her neck tightened, drawing his gaze to the mark her vampire companion had made there. Raphael wanted to swoop down, as a fell eagle to a mouse, and replace the scar with one of his own design.

“I will go, then.” Tav seemed to take his warning to heart. She was defiant yet not to the point of becoming a fool.

“Good girl.” Raphael smiled, smugly aware of the effect such praise had upon her. “When you return, we will feast.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Raphael held her for a moment more, the moment fleeting as a crystalline flake of ice falling unguided from the sky.

Then he let her go. Grimacing only when she had turned away. His fingers still itching to bury themselves in her in myriad ways.

Raphael returned to his lounging, his little flock of admirers slowly trickling back. With effort, Raphael pulled his thoughts back into careful order. He would not allow himself to submit to the chaos she stirred within him. He had many deals being laid at his feet, and eager souls practically throwing themselves at him. It was business as usual.

#raphael bg3 #raphael fanfic #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #bg3 #bg3 drabble #raphael baldur's gate 3

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

Text

Bad For Business: Level Four

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.2K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

There was a boy at the desk asking for you.

He was tall and a little wild looking, unruly dark curls and tattoos peeking out from under the leather and denim he wore, all ripped off sleeves and silver rings. He was smirking at Steve like he knew something he didn’t, like was in on some sort of secret.

Steve didn’t like him.

“She’s on her break,” Steve told him, eyes narrowed like he couldn’t help himself. “Went to the store or something.”

Steve expected that to be the end of it, but the boy with all the rings just grinned, dimples on show before he hoisted himself onto the desk. “I’ll wait,” he said, too cheery. “I’m Eddie, by the way. Munson.”

Steve nodded, keeping his distance as he pretended to tidy away loose rota sheets, used up ticket stubs and a piece of paper Robin and Argyle had been drawing progressively larger dicks on. One had wings and a halo.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve frowned. He was still suspicious. Why was the local drug dealer coming in and asking for you? The arcade was quiet enough that Steve didn’t have an excuse to leave, and honestly, he wanted to stick around and see. “Just didn’t realise you guys… knew each other.”

Eddie looked smug in an awful way, still acting like he was clued into something Steve didn’t have any idea about. Like he was trying not to laugh at him. The longer haired boy tilted his head to the side, all charm and bravado, still smiling. “Oh yeah.” He nodded, enthusiastic. “We know each other real well. Super close.”

You hadn’t mentioned Eddie before. Not in front of Steve. Fuck, you’d never mentioned any sort of boyfriend at all. But then Steve remembered nights that it rained, when he’d jog to his car only to see you run past him, jacket over your head and clambering into an old van, the windows dark enough that you could never see the driver.

Maybe he’d been kidding himself all those times when he assumed it was your dad.

“Oh,” fuck, is that all he could say? “Cool.”

There was a beat of silence between them, smothered in arcade game jingles and alarm bells that announced a new winner, but the air was heavy enough to be felt, thick with a tension Steve wasn’t used to.

Was this what being threatened felt like?

No. No. Steve didn't have anything to feel threatened about. So why was he still talking?

“I guess - I mean - well, I just never knew she had a boyfriend.” Steve cleared his throat, all awkward and he found himself standing a little straighter, chest puffed out, chin held high.

Thank fuck Robin wasn’t on shift, ‘cause Eddie was laughing and suddenly Steve felt about three feet shorter. What the fuck was this guys problem?

“I didn’t know you gossiped about your love lives, Harrington,” Eddie shot back. His smile was wolfish and it looked like a challenge, it felt like a dare. “You interested in who she’s hangin’ out with outside of work?”

“What?” It was jarring, the way Steve’s stomach dropped. A new kind of nervousness twisting around his guts, a heat that crawled from his stomach to his chest. His cheeks felt too warm. “What? No. Jesus, no, I just— we’re not even friends.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it still tasted like one. Bitter and acidic, like swallowing a too big pill without water. It got stuck in his throat, made him wince.

Eddie tutted, leaning back in his hands, taking up the majority of space on the counter top. His legs were swinging, rips across his knees in his black jeans, a chain hanging from his belt looks, glinting in the neon lights. He looked like he was having far too much fun.

“That’s a shame,” Eddie twisted his lips, big eyes looking all sad, acting up like he was on stage or something. “She’s real sweet, isn’t she?”

Steve scoffed, a choked out laugh that made Eddie’s lips twitch up. Steve busied himself with more loose papers, bundling together things that weren’t supposed to be filed with each other, name badges and empty chocolate wrappers stuck between faxes.

“Uh, sure, maybe,” Steve wrinkled his nose, squinting at the other boy. “I don’t know. She’s never, uh, all that sweet to me.”

And then Eddie was laughing, a full, bright cackle of a laugh and Steve was once again left feeling like he didn’t know the full joke. But he didn’t get to ask what he’d missed, what was so funny, ‘cause a kid who could hardly see over the desk approached him, a sticky hand full of equally sticky tickets that he wanted to swap for some knock off Star Wars toy. Disgruntled, Steve fussed with the glass cabinet where they kept all the ‘prizes’, his gaze flickering between Eddie and the door.

Surely you’d be back soon. Right? To see your boyfriend.

When the kid was gone, happily clutching his ‘nightsaber’ (even Steve knew that was wrong), Eddie was watching him again.

“She’s pretty, right?”

Steve froze. “What?” Was this some kind of trick? Who the fuck goes ‘round asking other dudes if they think their girlfriend is pretty? “I don’t— I’ve never—”

Eddie was grinning. Again. That Cheshire Cat smile, white teeth flashing somewhat threateningly. Steve didn’t know what the fuck was going on. Was this about last week? The powercut? Did you go home and tell your boyfriend how close Steve got to you, how he held your hand and for once in his goddamn life, Steve Harrington didn’t wanna argue with you?

“You don’t think she’s cute?”

Nothing had happened. Nothing ever would’ve. It couldn’t. You hated him, and Steve hated you. Right? Right.

“Look, dude, I don’t know what your deal is, but I’m not trying to hit on your girl, alright?” Someone got a new high score on the pinball machine across from the desk and an alarm rang, tickets flying out of the dispenser, lights flashing red and green. It felt like a warning. “She— we— we don’t talk, alright? Not like that, god, we’re not friends, okay?”

Eddie didn’t really seem to believe him, but Steve was more than relieved when the boy shrugged and slid off of the counter, dimples on show, beaming at him. He dusted his hands off like he’d completed whatever task he’d come to do before dropping a set of keys in front of Steve.

“Tell uh, my girl, that it was a radiator leak. No biggie. Car’s out front,” another flash of a smile, too charming now. Steve’s head was spinning. “Catch you later lover boy.”

What the fuck?

Eddie made his way past a crowd of kids, neon signs lighting up his skin in shades of lime green and fuschia. He spun before he got to the door, clapping his hands together and pointing back at the other boy, like he’d just remembered something important.

Is this where Eddie threatened him? Told him to stop looking at his girlfriend and keep his hands to himself? It was a fucking powercut, it was pitch black, what was he supposed to do? Let her hurt herself? The argument was already playing out in Steve’s head, his defence at the ready.

Besides, he could take Eddie Munson, right? Sure he was pretty much the same height but Steve was broader, stronger, surely. But maybe Eddie had that trailer park kid scrappiness, that feral sort of energy Dustin said Max exuded when she got ramped up—

“And, uh, Harrington?”

Steve felt his fist tighten around the countertop.

“You’ll catch more bees with honey than vinegar.” Eddie saluted, a massive skull glinting silver and pink in the light, and then with a wink, he was gone.

What the fuck?

He didn’t get a chance to ask what Eddie was on about, because Lucas Sinclair and Dustin Henderson approached the desk, ignoring how he was standing with his mouth agape, brows knitted together in confusion. Everything was almost forgotten about as he argued with the two young boys about how no, he didn’t know when Donkey along was getting fixed, and no, he wasn’t prepared to let them poke about at the machine with Dustin’s backpack screwdriver.

And then you came back from your lunch, a flash of daylight breaking the darkness of the arcade as the door opened and shut behind you. Steve watched you hand a wrapped sandwich to Argyle before making your way around the desk to where he stood.

Maybe he was staring, maybe that’s why you were looking at him weird. Maybe that’s just the kinda gaze you gave him on the daily. You were wearing a skirt today, black and swishy around your thighs, your staff shirt cut off so it hit just above your navel, much to Murray’s despair. There was a warning written up and stuck to your locker, but you hadn’t seemed to care.

“What?”

Shit, Steve was still staring. He blinked, shrugged and turned back to the cash machine, despite no customers to serve. “What? Nothin’, god.”

You didn’t argue with him, just narrowing your eyes at his strange mood before pushing your way into the staff room. It was empty bar someone’s leftover lunch and a walkman that lay on the table and then suddenly Steve was barging his way into the too small room, a familiar set of keys in his hands. Your disco ball keychain sent rainbows over the walls, tiny glimmers of light across Steve’s cheeks, his hands, his arms.

He held them out to you, cheeks tinged pink like something had happened and you’d missed it, ‘cause he couldn’t really look you in the eye either. You stared, taking your keys from the boy slowly, like any sudden movements would scare him.

Not that you cared.

Steve spoke before you could say thanks, leaning against Murray’s abandoned desk with his hands shoved in his pockets as he cleared his throat. The air was heavy with something, more tension than you were used to, a weight to it that was more than summer air and teenage hormones.

“Your uh, your boyfriend dropped them off,” Steve was finally looking at you, brown eyes honeycomb in the too bright lights. “Said it was a broken radiator or somethin’.”

You frowned, confused at the word that was thrown out between you. Boyfriend? But once again, before you could manage to speak, Steve was talking again, all his thoughts tumbling out at once, swimming at your feet.

“Eddie Munson, huh? I didn’t— I didn’t know you were dating him. Or anyone. Not that it matters,” Steve sucked in a breath, like he was trying to catch each sentence, like he could swallow back the words he’d already said. “It doesn’t matter, obviously. Why would it? I mean, fuck, s’not like we share updates on our love lives or shit—”

“Harrington.”

“—like, I don’t care if you’re dating him, I just didn’t, like, except it, you know? Munson? Didn’t think he was your type, not that I know what your type is, s’not like I think about it or anything—”

“Steve.”

The boy stopped talking, jaw snapping shut as he looked at you, a little wide eyed. He was breathing a little heavier, hands leaving his pockets only to take through his hair.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You played with the keys in your hands, disco ball keychain clinking prettily between the silver. The reflections scattered, rainbow coloured freckles on Steve’s cheeks. “I’m not dating Eddie, we’re just friends.”

You weren't sure why you were explaining this.

“But Munson said—” Steve stopped mid sentence, the abruptness of it hanging in the air between you. Eddie hadn’t said you were dating. Eddie hadn’t called himself your boyfriend, had he? No. That was Steve’s doing. “Uh, he called you his girl… I just assumed…”

You snorted, eyes rolling in a way that held a lot more affection than what he was used to seeing when it was directed at him. You shrugged, dropping yourself into a chair at the table, eyeing Steve with a new sort of curiosity. He really was acting fucking weird.

“We’re close,” you said, copying Eddie’s words from earlier without even knowing. “Best friends, you know? Nothing… nothing more.”

“Oh.” Steve’s lips were a pretty ‘o’ shape, pink and pouting and you practically saw the gears inside his head whirring. “Right.”

“He was probably just trying to be funny,” you explained, unwrapping a chocolate bar you’d taken from your bag. You bit into it, licking caramel from your lips. “He’s not though. Despite what he thinks.”

Steve nodded, looking a little dazed, but he pushed himself off of Murray’s desk and sent you another look you couldn’t really decipher. Before he made it back to the door that led to the arcade, you stopped him, an edge to your voice that wasn’t there before.

“Did he, uh,” you winced when your voice cracked, staring at the table instead of the boy. “Did Eddie say anything else?”

Steve almost kicked the desk leg, swearing as he spun back to you, eyes darting over your face, like he was trying to work something out. He thought about Eddie’s questions.

If Steve thought you were sweet. If Steve thought you were pretty.

“What?”

‘You’ll catch more bees with honey than vinegar.’

“Did he say anything? You know, stupid shit.” You licked your lips again, chasing sugar, looking nervous.

Lover boy lover boy lover boy.

“No,” Steve lied, feeling something burn in his chest. Maybe it was the breath he was holding. “No, he didn’t say anything else.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb

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cursedonyx · 10 days

Text

How the HL Cast Act When They’re Drunk 🍻

Sebastian Sallow

This lad has three main modes when he’s had a few to drink, and it’s all entirely dependent on how he was feeling beforehand. He will either be the sweetest, cuddliest little snugglebug you’ve ever met, who hugs anyone and everyone regardless of how well he knows them and tells everyone he loves them (unless he’s in an established relationship, then his partner is the only one who receives such ardent affection), or he could be the life and soul of the party, challenging everyone to dares, games and other challenges, accepting pretty much all dares for a laugh, encouraging people to get up and dance and have fun, telling outrageous jokes and more… Or, he will be sullen, moody, and prone to fights. It’s best not to let Sebastian drink too much if he’s in a grump, because it won’t end well.

He's got a pretty good memory for his drunk antics and never gets blackout. This is useful for both making sure his friends are safe and for embarrassing everyone with tales of their conduct the next day, but it’s a double-edged sword, as he will remember everything he did as well.

Ominis Gaunt

A charming man at the best of times, drunk Ominis is a shameless flirt, and will make pretty much everyone fall in love with him at some point during the course of the evening, regardless of which way they swing. He’s got a pretty good head on his shoulders and tends to toe the line of tipsy and inebriated quite well, but if he pitches a bit too far and ends up sauced, his inhibitions are going to go right out the window. He’ll be the first to dance on a tabletop, he swears far more frequently and is prone to showing off a bit, though he still draws the line at public nudity, which is a shame. Chances are, if there’s a piano nearby, he’ll play for everyone with exceptional skill and, if the stars align, he’ll even sing, which is a rare treat for all involved. Mans got the voice of an angel. If he’s in an established relationship, he’s far more comfortable with PDAs and will be much more open to experimenting with his partner once they’re alone.

Though he rarely gets blackout drunk, Ominis can struggle to remember all the details of what he got up to if he has one too many, which without fail will leave him utterly mortified and swearing never to drink again, even if he had a good time. It’ll take a week or two before he’s ready to even have a glass of wine with dinner if he’s embarrassed himself.

Garreth Weasley

Garreth is usually the one to bring his experimental brews to the party and he’s usually swiftly banned from wherever the drinks are being kept. Regardless, after a few bevvies he’s loud, boisterous, and usually found challenging Sebastian to various dares and competitions. A cheerful and popular chap, Garreth is likely to get people singing along to various songs he knows, or ones he’s made up on the spot. Whilst not as tall as Leander, Garreth is a big lad and quite strong too, so any of the girls present might find themselves picked up without warning and swung all about as he tries to dance, and one of his favourite memories of a previous party is trying to pick up all the girls at once and immediately falling over, ending up buried under a pile of laughing women. If Garreth is in an established relationship, very little changes, but you can be safe in the knowledge that even though he's flirting, that’s as far as it will ever go.

Garreth never gets hangovers, no matter how much he drinks, and he’ll be the first one awake the next day, helping to clean up or cook breakfast or make everyone a strong cup of tea.

Leander Prewett

Bless his heart, Leander tries very hard to fit in with his friends and as such will likely end up drinking too much too quickly, meaning he’s usually the first one to suffer the worst effects of drinking. That said, he handles it well, and after chundering once or twice he’s usually ready to keep going. Being a gangly lad, his sense of balance is terrible when he’s blotto, and he’ll trip on a bit of dense air if there’s nothing else to fall over. If the others manage to keep his drinking at a reasonable pace, Leander will often be found trying to flirt with everyone, and though he doesn’t have Ominis’ natural talent for it, he’s a surprisingly smooth talker when he’s not worried about being rejected, and he’s pretty much guaranteed to go home with someone at the end of the night. That is, if he’s single. If Leander is in an established relationship, he’ll follow his partner around, making sure they’re comfortable, warning off potential challenges to his territory, and he won’t even look at another girl.

Leander’s memory of the night before will be hazy at best, and though he knows full well he probably embarrassed himself, he’ll choose to believe he didn’t, so long as no one got hurt.

Amit Thakkar

Amit doesn’t drink much at all, but when he does and has one too many, he’s going to be talking at a mile a minute about whatever’s on his mind, whether that’s his memoirs, his gobbledegook, his stargazing, other people at the party, who he fancies, any gossip he’s overheard, and on and on and on and on. At some point during the night, he stops talking, sits down in the nearest seat, curls up and goes to sleep, no matter how noisy it is, and it’s pretty much like someone flipped a switch. You could be sitting on the sofa with him listening to him babble, then literally a second later he’s out for the count, and he probably won’t wake up for a good few hours, so move him somewhere where he won’t be trodden on. If Amit is in an established relationship, nothing changes about his drunk behaviour, because he’s endearingly loyal at the best of times.

Amit remembers well who he spoke to and what about, but rarely does he realise how much he gabbles on. He tends to take this with a reasonable degree of humility, but aside from hoping he didn’t bore anyone, he’s content that he didn’t embarrass himself.

Andrew Larson

He’s going to be mooning after everyone pretty the moment he gets trashed, and if Ominis is playing the piano, that lad better hope he’s got his girlfriend nearby because Andrew’s going to try his luck and be deeply disappointed by the inevitable rejection. Andrew lives by his emotions and will cry at the drop of a hat or a picture of a cat if he’s had enough to drink, but he will be laughing seconds later if someone falls over or tells him a joke. If the mood takes him, he’ll likely be having long, philosophical debates with anyone who’ll listen (most likely Amit) and he’s prone to wandering off at random moments because he saw something interesting and wants to go on an adventure. He needs a minder. If Andrew is in an established relationship he’s less likely to be a liability because his Alice in Wonderland moments are going to be focused entirely on his partner (and Ominis will remain unaccosted).

Andrew sways between having a good memory for his antics and remembering absolutely nada, sometimes in the same night. Parts of the evening will be clear as day, and parts will be obscured completely. He doesn’t tend to feel too embarrassed for himself, but more for others because it’s a guarantee someone else is going to have done something worse.

Natsai Onai

Even hammered, Natty is the mum friend. She’s the one making sure everyone drinks water in between their booze-infused bevvies, helping people up if they fall over, cleaning up puke and intervening in any brewing fights. Left to her own devices when no one needs her help, she’s sneakily encouraging Garreth to sing rude, memorable shanties, Poppy to climb the walls and jump on people, and Sebastian to run around the garden in the buff because if he doesn’t then Leander will. A master of planting ideas in drunk people’s heads, she usually makes sure things don’t go too far while masterminding entertainment for everyone involved. If Natty is in an established relationship, she’ll still be doing all of the above, but her partner needs to steer her more into the ‘having fun’ side of things so people don’t come to rely on her too much.

She’s got a reasonable memory for drunk happenings, but as she usually doesn’t embarrass herself, she’s pretty good to go the morning after. That said, if Natty does something embarrassing, she goes the whole hog, like the time she got stuck on the roof with only a tea towel for cover. That gets brought up a lot, and she wants to sink into the ground every time it does.

Poppy Sweeting

If you thought Poppy was a nutter beforehand, just wait until she’s got some beers in her. Poppy will be the first to try swinging from the chandelier, the first to encourage everyone to do shots, the first to run around the room with her shirt off, the real life and soul of the party. Once she’s drunk, she’s feral, and will climb over everyone and everything. Once she’s spent her boundless energy, she becomes incredibly cuddly, and if she chooses you to cuddle good luck getting her off you. Regardless of who you’re both respectively dating, you may find yourself going home with Poppy and her partner if the two of you aren’t together and she chooses you to snuggle. It’s not that she’s trying to get you in bed, she just loves cuddles and you smell safe.

She remembers nothing. Absolutely zilch once her blood alcohol level reaches a certain point. No embarrassment either, no matter what she did, she’s just happy everyone had fun.

Imelda Reyes

Competitive as ever, Imelda will likely be challenging people to drinking competitions (and usually Leander’s the only one to take her up on it, most people know better). Imelda has the blood of a Scot (and likely a Viking too) so she can outdrink almost everyone with relative ease. That said, once she’s drunk, she’s drunk. Swaying all over the place, her accent almost incomprehensible, and prone to getting into fights, Imelda is either the worst person to drink with, or the best. If she decides she’s looking after you that night, you’ll not have to worry about a thing, this girl would fight off a dragon for you. If you want to do something, whether it’s playing a certain game, talking to a certain someone, or just chilling outside for a bit, Imelda will make it happen. If you’re not the Chosen One, you can expect things to be very chaotic around Imelda when she gets cunted. If Imelda has a partner, her Chosen One will always be them.

Imelda’s memory is crystal, and no matter what she did, she feels no shame. Why would she? She was only looking out for her bestie or lover, and if someone got offended over that, well then that’s their problem. She’s not responsible for other people’s emotional reactions, after all.

Duncan Hobhouse

Will boast about being able to outdrink Imelda, then throw up and pass out after two butterbeers. Best to move him outside, because he’s going to shit his pants.

Masterlist

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy imagines #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #leander prewett #amit thakkar #andrew larson #natsai onai #poppy sweeting #imelda reyes #duncan hobhouse #drunk hogwarts legacy

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starlightvivi · 5 months

Text

Soldier's Silent Love

Ghost x Reader

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Summary: Y/N and Ghost, comrades who once kept their feelings unspoken, find themselves reunited on a mission where a forced fake marriage unravels years of hidden emotions. Ghost, who concealed his affection when you were transferred away, now faces the challenge of maintaining the act while wrestling with a love that never truly faded. In the midst of duty and deception, their story unfolds, blurring the lines between soldier and lover.

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Mention of :- Romance, suspense, smut, (mdni 18+) some fluff, a lot of flirting, jealous ghost, fake married couple

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A/N:- The best one I have written so far Ig 😭 still has gotta improve, there are more parts to go in ☺️ this series. But there is no smutty in this part, just some romantic and fluff, kisses, and yup. Please do comment on how is it… it motives me and let me know if you liked it 🤧❤️

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On this mission, the charade demanded you play the role of a married couple, Ghost's arm linked with yours as you walked together. His words were a stern warning, "If you try anything stupid, don't think there *won't* be consequences," he emphasized, pulling you into the building.

"Be on your best behavior. I'm not playing around here," he whispered, his deep voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. Matching wedding rings adorned your fingers, a glittering facade under the party's strobe lights, a fake symbol of love that left a bitter taste in both of you.

"Yeah, like I'm the only one playing here" You give him an annoyed look.

He sighed, his mask of disinterest and annoyance disappearing when he looked down at you in annoyance. “Y/N, don’t make me regret picking you to be in this stupid mission.” His sharp words were met with a small smile under his mask, as if he thought you were funny but didn’t want to admit it.

"What if you regret it?" She looks at him and squeezes his arm tightly.

He made a noise underneath his mask, which you took as an amused huff. He squeezed your hand before it released his, as he looked forward again. “Don’t make this worse than it already is.”

"I didn't even do anything yet and you call this worse!?" She raised her eyebrows and disbelief, and her expression changed as the bartender approached you with drinks but Ghost gave him a headshake refusing the drinks as the bartender left.

He looks at you and rolls his eyes, leaning against a wall. “We’re supposed to pretend we’re *in love,* you know that right? That means playing into the role.” Ghost said, glancing at you. “So I guess we should start acting it.”

“Fine, I’ll play along.” She sighed and nodded but suddenly he leaned over, planting a kiss on your cheek.

You stood there, nonplussed and wide-eyed, as an unexpected kiss, you raised your eyebrows reflecting the surprise etched across your face.

With a tantalizing smile and confidence, you seized his tie, effortlessly drawing him closer until both of your eyes locked in an electric gaze, both your noses teasingly brushing. "I believe a second attempt is in order," you whispered, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.A lingering sense of mystery and desire trailing in you to awake.

He went still for a moment, before your words and boldness made his body heat rise. His eyes flickered with annoyance or something else, as he looked down at you. He didn’t respond, instead he grabbed your cheeks and kissed you on the lips.

You shut your eyes and hold onto his chest tightly, you hated to admit but you liked it and you missed him

He didn’t pull away as he closed his eyes, he felt the same as you do. Feeling you cling to him,and holding you even tighter than before.

As she delicately opened her eyes in the midst of their kiss, she swiftly located the target. With a mischievous twinkle, she broke the kiss, guiding his head to rest on her shoulder, and whispered into his ears, "The target's just to the left, accompanied by her friend." A surge of excitement and anticipation filled the air as they prepared for the next move in this lively game of intrigue.

With eyes closed, he savored the moment, his cheeks tinged with a flush of pleasure upon hearing your words. As he opened his eyes and followed the direction you pointed, Ghost glanced back at you, whispering, "Can we wrap this up? I must admit, I prefer this unexpected detour to our original plan." There was a shared sense of enjoyment and a hint of rebellion in the air as they contemplated abandoning the scripted path for something more thrilling.

Mid-mission, she couldn't suppress a smile, thinking, *Well, this is a first.* Playfully slapping his chest, she redirected their focus, saying, "As fun as this is, Ghost, we've got a mission to finish. Target's not going to wait forever." Laughter lingered as they seamlessly blended the unexpected with the mission's intensity.

He quickly glanced away and coughed, adjusting his tie. “yeah yeah.” He said quickly, glancing around before pointing in the target’s direction. “We should move, before we’re spotted.”

You gaze at him with admiration, a shy smile gracing your lips, as if the depth of your feelings was delicately revealed in that tender moment. "Sure............by the way"

He looked away quickly and his cheeks fluttered a bit. “Now come on, we gotta keep our captain happy.” He said, gripping your arm as he tugged at you.

"Can we have a drink before we go?" You ask, looking at him with an adorable expression. You delicately holds both of his hands, silently expressing a desire for a brief, intimate moment before embarking on the next adventure.

“Fine, fine.” Ghost said, walking over to the bar and ordering two drinks. The bartender gave him a look of disgust and confusion before he pushed both glasses over. Ghost grabbed them and walked back over to you. “Let’s see just how well the two of us can act.” He said, handing a glass over to you.

"Sure." A sly smirk curves on Y/N lips in response.

But suddenly guy make his way towards you and starts to have a conversation with you.

Ghost took a sip of his drink, watching as the guy chatted you up. He felt a small pang of jealousy and annoyance, but brushed it off quickly, wanting you to play your role.

The guy engaged You in conversation, posing questions with a nod towards Ghost.

The guy: "Is that your husband, or are you still single?"

His words echoed a bit too loudly, prompting Ghost and You to exchange a subtle glance, their eyes communicating a shared amusement at the unexpected turn in the act.

Ghost froze, looking over at you as his eyes widened underneath his mask. A small smile curled at his lips as he felt *real joy,* as if his feelings for you were more than fake. He cleared his throat and looked over at the other guy. “Er, yeah, that’s my wife right there.” He said, gesturing over towards you.

You flashed a sly smile at the guy, who prepared to move on in search of another person. However, he leaned in close, whispering something that sent shivers down your spine, coloring your cheeks with a deep blush. As he concluded, you gracefully made your way to sit beside Ghost, whose curiosity was piqued.

Ghost, full of concern, whispered,

"Y/N, what did he say to you?" His hand rested gently on your shoulder, a mix of worry, confusion, and protectiveness in his voice.

Blushing, you stammered, "He mentioned what we did was incredible hot and suggested trying it during a romantic movie." Now you hiding your face in your hand, you felt Ghost's gaze on you.

“Did you enjoy the kiss?” Ghost whispered, surprise and hope evident in his voice.

Startled, you looked away, processing the question, your face reflecting a mix of confusion and emotions.

“Y/N, look at me,” Ghost urged, his voice soft yet clear, seeking the truth.

Hesitant, you deflected, "Let me hear your thoughts first."

Ghost sighed, meeting your gaze. “I liked it. I felt happy when our lips touched,” he admitted, waiting for your response. The emojis mirrored a mixture of emotions, capturing the complex exchange of feelings in the air.

To be continued…

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