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empyreva · 7 months

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Loser's Spoils

Summary: Luke usually loves treating you like his own little goddess, but after you cost him a game of capture the flag...he wants to change things up.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: Established relationship, Daughter of Aphrodite!Reader (not that important), Mean!Luke Castellan, smut, P in V, PWP, oral sex (m and f), fingering, dom/sub elements, slight dubcon (always check in with your partners!!), kink exploration, slapping, some degradation (and praising)

A/N: Shameless indulgence. I tried to stick to this audio as best as I could but I think that in teen/ya relationships, holding a more serious dom/sub dynamic is a little harder so Luke is super good at making sure you're ok because it's all new to him too...Minors DNI!!

Other campers were quick to dodge out of your and Luke's paths, sensing that he would not hesitate to body-check them if they didn't. A cloud of wrath (with a tinge of humiliation) seemed to engulf your boyfriend--They knew better than to question it at all, scurrying back to do whatever chores and tasks they had been mildly interrupted from before.

Before you knew it, Luke had dragged you into your cabin, looking around for any of your, as he put it, 'overly pretentious' siblings. Aphrodite's cabin was empty, much to his delight, and he dragged you into the bathroom with a loud SLAM of the door. Once inside, he let go of you with a slight push, seeming to not pay you any mind as he fussed about the area.

"Luke, what the fuck?" You hissed, rubbing your now tender arm as Luke propped one of the vanity chairs beneath the door knob to ensure no one would be able to accidentally wander in. It was a good precaution--Three too many of your sisters now can't even look at him without becoming almost visibly upset. "What's your problem today?"

"Don't act like you don't know, baby," Luke turned around with a dark look in his eyes, causing you to gulp back any further questions. "You've hurt my feelings today, y'know? First by not joining my team...and then by winning because you know I couldn't hurt my pretty little girl--acting all brave and jumping in to protect that twerp of an Apollo kid."

"Baby, it's just a game..." You reached up to caress his tense jaw, his facade faltering for a split second as he took in your soft touch, "I mean, they just needed another player--that kid is literally like 11 so-" Luke cut off your sentence by roughly pushing you against the vanity counter behind you--glass bowls and organizers full of various makeup products rattling from the force. His hands planted at either side of you, hips flushed to yours.

"I. Don't. Care," he growled. A whimper escaped your throat, feeling something hard pressing against you--growing in size with every breath that your boyfriend took. "You were disloyal, you won, you know that drives me crazy."

"'m sorry," you mumbled, trying your best to bat your long lashes at him, fingers brushing against the hem of his shirt. This was a common occurrence between the two of you--You 'defeating' the 'best swordsman' just by distracting him enough to let your teammates finish up the game. How could he even raise his sword at a girl like you, batting your lashes and pouting so cutely as a kid scurried off behind you? Even if he seemed mad about losing, losing to you drove him up the wall with desire—I mean, it always ended in Luke making you scream his name until your throat went hoarse, anyway. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Yeah, you will," there was a glint of something sinister in Luke's eyes that unnerved you. It was like you were a piece of meat dangling before a starved wolf, just waiting to be devoured. "I'm not gonna let you off easy this time, baby. No, no...You need to be taught a proper lesson." He glared down at you, but his hand grasped yours gently, thumbing circles against your knuckles. "Ok? Now on your knees."

Obediently, you lowered yourself to the ground, hands in your lap as Luke discarded his belt and cargos quickly. His cock was already dripping with pearls of precum--and you couldn't help yourself as you eagerly took him in your mouth. Your head bobbed unhurriedly as you savored every inch of his hard cock, taking pleasure in the way his hips thrust forward instinctively. He liked it when you took your time, swallowing him whole and gagging. You moaned deeply, feeling his hand brush lightly against the nape of your neck, urging you to slow down.

"Shhh... Look at me," he commanded sternly. His voice was low and gravelly, making your insides quiver. You hesitated briefly before meeting his gaze fully, watching intently as he gazed intently into your soul. There was a fierceness in his expression that sent chills down your spine, and you knew that he meant business. His fingers traced your hollow cheeks, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ears, drinking in this image of you. "You look so cute, so adorable."

That comment flustered you more than the fact his dick was nearly halfway down your throat--and you immediately pulled back, words forming in your throat as the head of his cock brushed against your tongue. A fistful of your hair wrapped around Luke's hand, and he pushed your head until your nose was tickled by the curls of black hair at the base of his dick. "Shut the fuck up and look at me. Let me see my pretty girl."

Nearly, crossed-eyed, you stared up at Luke in a daze, nostrils flaring as you held back your urge to gag around him. He looked so handsome...a certain tortured look marred across his face as he contemplated whether he should cum down your throat while you clawed at his legs or if he should fuck you silly. Tough choice.

"I want to play with you," he finally decided aloud, releasing you from his cock, letting you gasp for air. It didn't last long, though, because Luke was quick to roughly pull you back onto your feet, a strong hand gripping your jaw. You gulped and heaved, daring not to move as Luke pressed up against you, eyes inspecting your flushed and sloppy face. It was just so kissable, his poor little baby.

His tongue slipped into your mouth before you knew it, and your hands reached up to grab at his curls--pulling him deeper. A collection of quiet moans filled the bathroom, bouncing off the marble floors and pristine white walls. After a few minutes, Luke pulled away cheeks red and burning, staring down at you.

"Take your pants off, just the pants," he commanded, giving you just enough room to fumble with the button of your bottoms. After nervously missing the hole a few times, you were able to slide them off, kicking them to the side. You resisted the urge to rub your thighs together, instead choosing to look haphazardly at the floor. "Good girl, now look at me."

You faltered, maybe from shyness or maybe from a sudden spark of rebellion, but your gaze remained pointed down at the space between you. Luke was stunned for a moment, tilting his head to the side before letting out a sarcastic chuckle.

"Look. At. Me."

Slap

Your gaze shot up, eyes wide as you began to register the sting radiating in your cheek before it dissipated. His slap wasn't too hard, more of a forceful pat. Eyes locking with yours, Luke seemed to be gauging your reaction, waiting for you to say the words that would have him begging for your forgiveness in a matter of seconds. They never came.

Slap

"I said look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Slap

Fuck okay, that one hurt a lot more. You let out a pained yelp, lip quivering as you tried to keep yourself steady.

Slap

Luke shushed you when you tried to cry out, frowning when you flinched away from his hand--now he was just trying to caress your cheek. A small wave of regret washed over him, and a tightness in his chest pulled tighter. "Come here, it's ok," he beckoned, drawing you into a hug. You buried your face in his chest, biting back whimpers as he reassured you that you were a good girl and you were so brave and so strong for him.

"Are you ok, baby?" He whispered into your hair, wanting to know before continuing. Nodding slowly, you pulled back to look at him with misty but loving eyes, a small smile stretching across your lips.

"I trust you, you know that." Luke was a man of many curiosities, so you were somewhat acclimated to his sudden changes in wants and needs during sex--even if albeit a bit shocking at first. But deep down, you knew that he would rather stab himself with backbiter a million times rather than force you into anything.

"Love you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The two of you stayed quiet for a second, Luke touching you wherever he so pleased as you fell compliant under his touch. His fingers found yours, bringing one hand up to daintily kiss the back of it--a mischievous grin appearing as you met his gaze. In a split second, his hand was in your hair, tugging your head back sharply, earning a hiss in response.

"Shhh...it's ok, it's ok, baby," Luke's lips trailed down your cheek, ghosting over your neck before planting a few rougher kisses. You whimper, feeling his teeth sink into the tense skin, surely leaving a mark as he suckled and nipped. "Shh, we don't want people to hear us. Don't we?" Luke taunted you with his own deep moan, now moving onto his third mark--pulling away to look at you when he was sure your neck was going to be a nasty shade of 'Luke Purple' tomorrow morning.

"Spread your legs," he murmured, watching intently as you complied--shifting your ass and hips so that your soaking wet panties were on full display. You bit your lip shyly as Luke inhaled sharply, studying the way your squished-up belly rose and fell, the way you seemed to tremble just a little more when he took a step closer. "Good girl--You look so cute."

He grabbed your throat, forcing you to look up at him, shushing you softly, "I know, I know, It's ok, I know, shh--" A smirk danced across his face before he leaned in, kissing you deeply, fingers feeling how wet you really were. "You're so fucking wet, aren't you embarrassed, slut?" In a quick movement, his open palm collided with your clothed pussy--sending shockwaves through your body. "Shhh...Put your hand over your mouth. Be quiet, be quiet for me."

You shakily raised your hand to your mouth, chewing on the flesh of your middle as another slap morphed into a gentle stroke. "Are you gonna be quiet for me? Tell me. Tell me."

"Y-Yes, Luke," you mumbled from behind your hand. His nostrils flared as his name bounced off your tongue, such a sweet sound. "I'll be quiet for you."

"Good girl--now shut the fuck up." Luke continued to shush you as he pulled the thin cloth of your panties to the side, thumbing over your clit and dipping between your slickening folds. "Sit up there, back against the wall. Now. Good Girl. Shhh--Spread your legs for me, good girl. Just a little more, good job."

Your sizzling hot skin left behind foggy marks on the mirror behind you as you leaned back--the coolness of the glass doing little to ease the fire inside of you. A slick layer of sweat spread across your body, pooling at the small of your back. Luke continued his teasing touches, evading your pussy and instead stroking the tender flesh beside it until you squirmed. You were breathing too loudly.

"Do you want me to touch you, baby? Then be fucking quiet, ok?" The fake sweetness left an uncomfortable pit in your stomach--but it was quickly forgotten as Luke's deft fingers circled your clit, moving in all the right ways. He knew your body too well, like the back of his hand. "This is all mine. My girl, so cute," he purred, pushing up your shirt and bra in one motion, mouthing at one of your tits as he shifted his forearm. Fingers abandoning your clit, two of them slipped between your folds--teasing and brushing over your hole before abruptly plunging inside with a curl.

"You like this, yeah? Shhh--" The pace was inhuman, the sound of your wet pussy squelching around his fingers growing louder. "You look so pretty."

You threw your head back, trying to swallow back your whimpers and moans, hips rolling into Luke's touch. Gods, you didn't even realize how much stamina he had with how he plunged his fingers inside of you without even a slight change in pace. "Shut the fuck up, let me take care of you, it's ok, I promise. I promise baby," his cooing was mocking, each word dripping with a promise of something even more sinister than the tortured ministrations at hand. "I'm gonna fuck you so fucking hard. Aww, I can see it in your eyes, you want it so badly, yeah?"

"Please," you couldn't stop the words from coming out of you, and Luke was quick to silence you. At this angle, you could see his biceps flexing, the way his shoulders tensed and released--it was like a daydream. His free fist wrapped around your neck, causing you to choke on air as you struggled to swallow and gasp.

"Shh, try to be quiet, shh. Gods you're so fucking wet, you look so pretty." Somehow, he managed to up the speed even more--your toes curling and legs clamping down on his forearm as it flexed and strained to keep pleasuring you. "Do you want me to fuck you? Do you? Say it, say it."

"Y-yes, yesyesyesyes," you cried out, only for Luke to squeeze your neck even tighter. "So close, please--" He shushed you, lips smashing against yours until your teeth clanked together in the frenzy. Tears welled and spilled your eyes from the mounting pressure in your belly, so close but so fucking far--He knew just how to play you. A flicker of concern came and went from Luke's eyes, and he pressed his body closer to yours, the fabric of his old camp shirt tickling your skin.

"Shh, I know, you're freaking out, I know," Luke pressed his lips to your tear-stained cheek, "Calm down, I know, I know. I'm just fingering you, it's ok." You could hear the faintest 'Don't cry' come out with his next breath, but you honestly couldn't be certain. His hand moved up and gripped your jaw tightly, squeezing it until you couldn't help but protest the pain--prompting him to silence you with his mouth. Tongues battling, his fingers slowed their dangerous pace, coming to a gentle stroke against your fluttering walls. A bridge of saliva kept the two of you connected, pulling tight like a tension wire before snapping as Luke took a step back to admire his work. "You're so pretty--Y'want me to pet your pretty clit, yeah?"

You nodded eagerly, trying to form the right words to scream 'Yes please!' but Luke cut you off with a harsh shush as his thumb came in contact with your puffy clit. It felt like a spell was cast over you, the way you couldn't peel your eyes off of Luke's face--his eyebrows furrowed as he worked you closer and closer to your much-needed release. Your gaze was obvious, and Luke gave you a wicked grin, quickening the pace of his deft fingers until you had to choke back your whines with a bite to your knuckle.

"This is my pussy and anyone else who tries to fuck it will never be as good as me. No one will ever measure up to me, understand me?" Luke growled, curling his fingers just right so they brushed and stroked against that special spot deep within you. You couldn't help your reaction, hips bucking and chasing your orgasm that Luke just kept skirting you away from.

"Fuck, ff-fuck, Luke-"

"Shhh, calm down. I know, baby, I'm the only one who can fuck you like this, I know. Say it,” he taunted, a Cheshire grin beaming up at your half-lidded eyes. A dumb nod came naturally, but he tutted and pursed his lips in a sense of disappointment. “I said 'Say it'."

"Y-You're nghhh the o-only w'can fuck m'this way," you whimpered, weepy doe eyes looking up at him for approval. It was wholly pathetic; the tears trailing down your cheeks, the way you could barely even breathe, the way you just had so much love and adoration for the boy in front of you—denying you your release and ruining you. "Please Luke, please fuck me."

"Gods, you're such a good girl, d'y'know that?" Luke groaned, slipping his fingers out of you much to your dismay. He shushed your whiney protests, dry fingers wrapping around your throat, his thumb threatening to press down on your windpipe. “Love how you beg for me.” He was so much stronger than you, so much bigger, so fucking powerful. Two slick-covered fingers made their way up to your mouth, and you eagerly accepted them with a low moan. "That's so good, baby. Keep sucking yourself off my fingers like a little slut, yeah?"

Your pink, wet tongue licked at his two digits like one would a popsicle on a hot summer day. Drool mixed with your juices on his fingers as you gagged around them, low moans threatening to spill over. It was sloppy, your soft moans vibrating his fingers as you made eye contact with your boyfriend, needing his approval. He smiled, releasing your throat so he could knead into the flesh of your thigh, his touch hot and needy. Distracted with the show you were giving Luke, it was too late before you realized just how close his cock was to your pussy—

"Ahh—W-wait, Luke," you cried out as he slammed into you, his dick sliding down to the hilt without warning. Your pussy clenched and spasmed as you tried to adjust to the size of him, hips squirming. He didn't even stop for a second, picking up a fast and dizzying pace, fingers still hooked in your mouth. Gods, he was drilling into you so hard and it just felt so good--

"Shut the fuck up, shut up, I don't care," Luke growled, his voice heavy with need. Despite his cruel words, there was an underlying tenderness in his touch, and you could feel the intensity of him growing more fervent and unhinged with each passing second. His moans filled the room, sounds that you were only ever allowed to hear. Squelches and slaps and the sickest, wettest, most depraved noises intoxicated you--And every time he hit a particularly sensitive spot within you, you couldn't help but let out a choked cry, struggling to remain silent.

"Shut your pretty fucking mouth and be fucking quiet," he demanded, his tone laced with desperation. You gave him a weak nod, but his attention was already drawn away as he changed his angle to have a little more leverage. Moans and whines dripped from Luke's tongue like honey, oozing through the room and straight down to your clenching core. His hips swung and snapped against yours, a steady and rough pace keeping you on the tip of your toes. "I'm trying to be quiet but your pussy just feels so goddamn good,” well that was just a flat-out lie at the sheer volume that he even said it. “Does my cock make you forget all your manners?" You nodded without even thinking, lips parted as you tried to catch your breath.

"Fuck yeah," he muttered roughly, his breath hot against your cheek. You swore you could feel his cock twitching inside of you. "You want me to go faster?" he huffed, his breathing ragged. "Fuck you harder?" His voice was cracking and straining, his teeth clenching as he tried to hold back his whines and whimpers.

Without waiting for a response, he increased his pace, grinding against you with a fierce intensity. His hands dug tightly into your hips as he pulled you closer to him, moving your body for you like all you were was some fucktoy for him to use and abuse. Choking softly on his own breaths, he fucked you harder and deeper, his rhythm becoming increasingly frantic—face buried in the crook of your neck. You couldn't help but wrap an arm around him, the other keeping you stable on the counter as he rutted and bucked into you, pulling him close to you. "Luke," you breathed out, "calm, baby."

"No no no, it’s ok, shh," his voice was trembling, fighting back a moan at just hearing you say his name so sweetly. It seemed like it was more of a reminder for him less than you, to try and keep his composure for just a few minutes more. He never wanted this to end. You guided his face to look up at you, his eyes lost behind his sweaty black curls, but his lips didn't fail to connect with yours. Nipping at his bottom lip, you moaned into him--a gesture he reciprocated eagerly. He couldn't even pull away, letting out a muffled, "'m so fuckin' close, baby. Wan' you t'cum on me--fuck, cum on my cock, baby."

“Mmmm so close,” you moaned in agreement, rolling your hips to meet his. “Please touch me, Luke.” You didn’t have to ask twice, his fingers shooting down to the junction where the two of you were connected. A rough pad dragged across your clit—rubbing almost as frantically as his hips slammed into you, your head dropping back in pure ecstasy. You were so fucking close, so close, just a little more…

He didn't scold you for how loud you were getting, he didn't even falter when your thighs began to shake and your nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders until the skin broke. And he didn't stop—fucking you right through your orgasm, feeling your walls spasming around his cock, how your legs drew him in closer. Stuttered words of encouragement flooded from his mouth, but most were swallowed up and lost amongst his needy moans and grunts. His pace became erratic, shoving you back hard as one hand braced the wall and the other clawed into your hip. You yelped and shuddered, all of the stimulation crashing down on you at that moment as your pussy twitched, weeping for Luke.

“Hah-ah, fffuucckk,” Luke whimpered into your ear, hips stuttering for half a second. "'m g'na mmmm...ahh--" He dropped his facade entirely, no longer trying to hide how his voice went 3 octaves whenever he came, eyebrows pinched together to stop himself from just melting away into the floor. The heat of him coated your walls, struggling to fit inside of you with him still taking up most of the tight space. His lips trembled as he tried his best to regain some composure, rutting his hips into you deeply once more--just to feel all of you. You whined in return, arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he continued to pump into you slowly.

“Look so fucking pretty right now,” he whispered, slowing his hips to a halt after a long, torturous minute. His lips found yours, muffling your groan as he pulled out of you—the sudden emptiness was always a disappointment. You would keep him inside you all the time if it was up to you. To make matters worse, he freed himself of your iron grip, pulling away from your lips with a heavy panting shaking his chest.

It was like seeing a goddess' true form for the first time--the way your soft tummy rose and fell with each of your breaths, your lips parted and covered in drool and saliva, knees bent, toes curled as you posed there; your abused, cum-filled pretty little pussy spread open like the forbidden fruit that Tantalus could only dream of tasting. You looked like a fucking masterpiece.

Silent, Luke sank to his knees, lost in the sight of you for only a second before hooking his arms around your thighs--dragging your ass to the end of the vanity. His flat tongue ran from bottom to top, collecting your mixed releases with a certain gentleness. You whimpered as his tongue pressed and swirled around your clit, the sensations of your last orgasm still not fully settled yet. "You are such a good girl," Luke murmured between licks. "You are so pretty, you look so fucking cute, you're adorable."

His dark eyes looked up to meet yours, locking in as he suckled and lapped at your core. With hesitation, you reached out a hand gingerly, finding a tuft of curls to reside in--earning a purr of approval from your boyfriend.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispered, suddenly pulling his mouth off of you so he could press a gentle kiss to the junction of your thigh and pelvis. His eyes glanced up to peer at you--seeing your gentle smile made his heart flutter and grow three sizes. A soft trail of kisses made its way to your knee, his arms still supporting you, his nose nuzzling against the soft and damp skin. "You did so good today, I'm so fucking proud of you, baby."

"I know, Luke, I know. I'm proud of you too."

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan smut #luke castellan #pjo tv show #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson

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benevolentbones · 3 months

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coffee | spencer reid x reader

warnings: ??mild flirting, spencer checking you out?? gender neutral

word count: 0.7ish

summary: you meet spencer for the first time while he gets his morning coffee.

!!this is my first time writing for this fandom,, and first time writing in over a year so i may be rusty!!

it was a known fact that spencer reid was practically fuelled by coffee, and this morning was no exception. spencer had been up all night reading case files and finishing off his paperwork from the last case, which usually didn’t take the man too long, but his mind had been elsewhere for the last few days.

it had come to his attention, when the team returned from their last case, that the bau had hired a new receptionist. and usually he wasn’t too fussed about newcomers that weren’t directly associated with his team, but something about you was different.

he first noticed you standing in the kitchenette of the bullpen, with penelope. the blonde woman had you engrossed in one of her rambles about one of the fantasy games she often played in her downtime.

you stood beside her, a blue mug that read ‘worlds best dad’ glued in your grasp as you listened intently. you nodded along to everything garcia was saying, wisps of your neat hair falling out of place, which you quickly tucked behind your ears.

spencer noticed you wore a dark button up, which you had rolled up to your elbows. along with a nice fitting pair of dress pants, his hazel eyes lingering on the curve of your hips a little longer than intended.

he blinked himself out of his trance, ambling over to the coffee maker which conveniently was right beside you.

“-and when you level up, you get the ability to enchant your armour, and y’know your girl had to get some-“ garcia continued to rant as spencer picked up a cup and turned the machine on.

“hey reid have you met our newest member?” penelope beamed, turning to face the brunette who began to pour the worlds worst filter coffee into his cup.

his hazel eyes darted up from what he was doing and met yours. you had turned now fully to face him, garcia standing to your left.

“hi” you smiled sweetly at him, brushing your thumbs over the ceramic of your cup.

spencer felt his face flush warm for a second, the man spluttered out a ‘nice to meet you’ before turning his attention back to his coffee.

penelope hummed, knowing that was probably the best introduction he was going to get.

“well i’ve got to get back- lots of hacking to do.” garcia shot you a smile and darted off in the direction of her office.

you couldn’t help but stare as you watched the man begin to pour a mountain of sugar into his cup, every time you thought he would stop he tilted the container more, to further dump the sweet substance into his beverage.

before you could even think, words had slipped past your lips. “do you want some coffee with your sugar, dr.reid?”

you immediately pursed your lips shut, afraid that maybe joking around was too forward after having only met the man a minute prior.

you noticed a small smile grace his features as he stopped pouring the sugar, reaching for a spoon to stir it together.

“actually it’s not uncommon for people to take their coffee this way, around 65% of the US add sugar and/or cream to their coffee.” he mumbled out, taking a sip and making eye contact with you.

“y’know what, i won’t argue with that.” you smiled, taking a sip of your drink.

spencer eyed your form, his cheeks growing warm.

“let me guess…you take yours black?” he mused, noting little details about how you crossed your legs when you stood or how you chewed on your lower lip after saying something.

you trailed your gaze along his suit clad form, his striped shirt was fully buttoned with a black tie to compliment it. he wore a dark grey pair of chinos, standing with one hand in the left pocket as he took another sip from his cup, his focus never leaving you, hazel eyes studying you through thick rimmed glasses.

“you guessed right dr.reid, i’m already sweet enough.” you gave him a small smile before walking back to your desk.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #penelope garcia #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jenifer jareau #i tried my best #coffee

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bandgie · 4 months

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Cat and Mouse

mdni18+ | fem!reader, pussy eating, teeth use, manipulation (from both parties), fuckboy!wooyoung, cum eating (m!), semi-public oral

2.3k words

You never understood why people don't like fuck boys.

Okay, that's an overstatement. You do know why. They lie, they cheat, and they make pretty little promises in hopes of getting in your pants. They think with the head between their legs and drool at the sight of new pussy. Truly, they were just men who peaked in high school.

They're pathetic, but easy.

A game is a game, and these types of men tend to forget it's multiplayer. All you have to do is act a little clueless, pretend to be happy to see them, and their absolute favorite, be innocent. Be the perfect little prey they think you are and they'll do anything for a chance.

It really is easy.

It's how you managed to snag a date with Wooyoung. He had been asking for weeks since the semester started. Walking you to class, to your car, seeming like a nice boy on the outside, but you know better. You've seen the subtle winks to his friends, the predatory gaze on your body. As much as you would have loved to give it up on the first day, you want to at least have some of a good time and not fucked like a fleshlight.

You can still picture the grin on his face, the way the mole under his eye shifted with his smile. Well, you don't have to imagine it. He's giving you like sly look now, one hand on the wheel while he's turned to you. The car's been in park for a while. Wooyoung claimed he needed a minute to sit after a nice dinner. It's been way past a minute, however, and the conversation took a bit of a sexual turn.

"I dunno," you shyly rub your hands together. "I don't think I'll be any good."

Wooyoung is patient though, more than you would have thought. "That's okay. We don't even have to do anything. I would just love to keep hanging out with you." I would love to put my dick in your pussy, is what he's really saying, but at least he's being nice about it. "I won't do anything you're not comfortable with."

You nod, pretending to think about what you want to do. "It's just you're so nice and so good-looking. I don't want you to think anything bad of me." Wooyoung is already shaking his head before you can finish, "I would never think of you differently. If you're attracted to somebody, and they're attracted to you, there's nothing wrong with acting on it. But don't feel like you have to. I can talk with you just like this and feel just as happy."

Definitely a smooth talker. You can't help but think about how many hearts he's broken with those lies. "You promise?"

"Of course," but his fox smile gives it away. "You're cool. I haven't felt this comfortable on a date like this before." It's not a shock he's feeling that way. You've perfected your lines and your bashful looks to get him right where he is. The way your dress clings to your body only helps. It's short enough to imagine bending you over the hood of the car and low-cut enough for Wooyoung to keep glancing down at your chest. The dress isn't enough to scream slut! but enough for curious eyes to wander.

"Thank you," you giggle. "I don't think anyone's told me that before." Your admission makes Wooyoung smile. A genuine look of satisfaction as if it's his heart that swells instead of his cock. He tilts his head to the side. A strand of hair falls over his forehead from the movement. He's cute, hot with his hair slicked back. It's easy to fall under his spell and if you're not careful, you might slip.

But you're well versed with men like him.

You let him lean close, you let his hand gently cup the side of your face. You're fully expecting teeth and tongue, but Wooyoung pauses just before your lips make contact. His dark eyes glance to yours, waiting.

You nod.

The kiss is not what you were expecting from him. It's not hungry not is it demanding. It's gentle, it's sweet, and it's comfortable. You easily slide against his lips, your hand grabbing onto his wrist and bringing him closer. He tastes slightly like the meat he ordered earlier. It makes you smile into the kiss and you feel him smile back.

You're the one to pull away first. Your lips disconnect with a soft smack and you look into his eyes. "Was that okay?" His body slightly shivers, and he nods while chuckling. "Yes. That was better than okay." You laugh with him, noticing how his hand drops to the exposed part of your thigh to gently rub your skin.

Only a second of silence passes before Wooyoung asks, "Can we do something a little more?" Then he quickly adds, "If not I totally understand." You have to bite back a smile, you've never met a fuckboy so honest yet deceiving at the same time.

"I dunno, Wooyoung," you play with his hand that's on your lap. "I think hookups are...unfair." This makes him raise an eyebrow, "Unfair? I don't think I've heard that one before. Can I ask why?"

"Like..." you pretend to think of your rehearsed words. "The girl doesn't really get to...finish. You know what I mean?" Judging from the shocked and slightly offended look on Wooyoung's face, you think you have him. "I'm not saying you can't, but I know it's a thing that guys have a hard time making the girl feel good."

Wooyoung is silent for a minute. You can't tell what he's thinking and you begin to think that maybe he took it personally. You're preparing for the worst when he lays his seat all the way down.

"What are doing?"

"Gonna prove you wrong," he simply says. "Come on, right here." Wooyoung points to his face, You narrow your eyes, unsure of what he's asking. "You want me to keep kissing you like that?"

"Nooo," he laughs and shakes his head. "Sit on it." You sputter a choked laugh. This wasn't quite what you had in mind. You thought he'd tell you that he was different, that he would flick your clit while bouncing you on his lap. Just some effort to make you cum, not have a face-sitting session.

Not what you were expecting, but you're already eager to lift your dress.

You play with the hem of your clothes, "Right now?" He nods, licking his lips. "Yep. It's already late and hardly anyone knows this place. I got tinted windows too. You don't have to worry too much, pretty."

Shit, he's good. He took you to a low-key place, paid for dinner, kissed you almost passionately, and gave you an offer you couldn't refuse. Perhaps this mouse has more tricks than you bargained for.

"O-okay," you try to keep your innocent façade. "Just, let me know if you can't breathe." Wooyoung lets out a last laugh and helps you crawl to him. It's difficult to not step on his limbs, but you manage to hobble over his shoulders. One knee is bent on the headrest just next to his head. Your other knee is planted on the backseat, keeping you hovering above Wooyoung's face. You've perched your arms on the headrest of the back seat, facing the rear window and arching your back.

It's not the most ideal position, but you have to give Wooyoung some credit. It's doable at the very least.

Wooyoung does the honor of keeping your dress lifted. His eyes lock at your clothed core, plain underwear with the only decoration being a small wet spot where your entrance is.

"Someone got a little excited, huh?" He giggles at himself. "Do you care about your underwear getting a little more wet?"

And he's a tease? You think you're in over your head with this one. "It's okay." You feel Wooyoung nod under you and soon feel a hot muscle over your clit.

Granted, it's not as hot compared to if he took your underwear off, but it still makes you jump. Wooyoung keeps his tongue flat while moving it in gentle circles. You rock your hips against his mouth, following his muscle.

You gasp at the feel of something hard. It takes a second for your brain to register his teeth running against your slit. Your underwear makes the perfect barrier for the sensation to be wonderfully strange. You let out a moan and grind on his face. His nose bumps the peak of your clit every time you move up and he seems to be completely okay being ambushed in your cunt.

"Mmf! Like it that much?" Wooyoung pulls away just enough to speak. You grind a little more before answering, "I dunno yet."

That spurs him on. Wooyoung bunches your dress in one fist and uses his free hand to move your underwear to the side. You can't tell, but he can see how messy your pussy is. Your clit is fat, wet with need, and begging for Wooyoung to directly touch it. It makes something in him primal, aching for your raw taste on his tastebuds.

His tongue swipes over your cunt, letting your juices soak his muscle. You whine at the feeling of him and still your hips. Wooyoung's thumb hooks over your underwear so the rest of his fingers splay over your thigh. He squeezes and kneads your flesh, strangely adding to the pleasure of him tasting you.

The further he digs his digits, the more you moan. It's a trick you didn't even know existed and Wooyoung is using your surprise to his advantage.

His kitten lick feels good alone, but your toes curl at the feeling of him sucking. Wooyoung has your nub in his mouth with his tongue rolling against it. You squeal and your hips buck so roughly that your pussy pops from his mouth with a wet sound.

"Damn," he sounds raspy. "Didn't think you'd have such a sensitive pussy." Wooyoung strains his neck to reach up, latching onto your cunt once more. You whimper and carefully place your weight back on, trying your best not to move this time.

"I just," you let out a moan when he sucks it again. "It's just been a while."

Which is a lie. Well, somewhat. You got eaten out not that long ago, but not this good. Not in a position where you could get caught, where he adds the tiniest bit of pain to add to the pleasure. Everything's an additional layer of arousal that you didn't think you needed.

Wooyoung says something but it sounds like muffles in your cunt. You hone in on sliding against his face, making sure his nose and chin bump your clit with every drag. Maybe you're going a little crazy on your first date, but there's no guarantee you'll get another chance like this. You might as well use it to your advantage.

Your orgasm slowly builds. You can feel the heat in your stomach and chest, making you whine louder and higher. Wooyoung groans with you, gripping your waist and thigh harder as you suffocate him. You hang your head to look down at him, but all you can see is the top of his hair. Even if you can't see him devouring your cunt, the sight makes you clench. A reminder about how terribly empty you are.

As if knowing, Wooyoung dips his tongue until it catches your entrance. He buries it in you, uncaring how tight your pussy squeezes him and leaks. You whimper, unmoving so Wooyoung can thrust his tongue deep inside.

"Fuck. If you keep doing that I'll cum."

You nearly scream when he doesn't stop. He goes faster, so hard that you can hear the lewd noises vibrating in the car. He gulps down your essence, he moans into your pulsing cunt. Never have you met such an eager fuckboy. One who goes above and beyond without getting his dick wet once.

It's almost cute, but you don't dwell on it too much when you finally tip over. Your walls clench Wooyoung's tongue, creaming so much that it paints his lips white. He fucks you through it as he manages to slide his tongue out and across your clit.

You rest your cheek against the cushion of the backseat. Normally, guys are eager to push you off and shove their dicks in, but not Wooyoung. He eats you steadily and overwhelmingly. You're the one prying yourself from his mouth, chuckling at his protests and pleas for you to take back your seat.

Your back aches from being arched and your legs scream as you wobbly sit back on the passenger side. Wooyoung shifts his seat up while swiping his lips with his thumb. He collects the last bits of cream and pops it back into his mouth.

By far the weirdest fuckboy you've encountered, but you're not complaining. You got to cum good, got to ride out your high, and got a meal paid for. You're expecting him to ask for a blowjob, but he twists the keys into the ignition and it roars to life.

"Oh," you hadn't meant to say it out loud, but Wooyoung hears you. He turns his head to you, lips shining with your cum. "What? I'm taking you home right?"

You blink at him, completely thrown for a loop. It takes a few awkward seconds before you answer, "Yeah. Sounds good."

You're starting to think maybe he came his pants and is too shy to do anything else, but you catch the smirk as he turns back to the front windshield and puts the car in reverse.

It then occurs to you that maybe you weren't the cat after all.

#smut #ateez smut #ateez #ateez fanfic #atz wooyoung #atz smut #ateez wooyoung #wooyoung #wooyoung ateez #wooyoung smut #jung wooyoung

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moonstruckme · 1 year

Note

i think that last fic you wrote for me is my new favorite thing to reread on here! could i request a pt two where they’re all just having a chill day/ night and then they all get ready for bed together and lay down for cuddles plz? the way you write for poly!marauders is just so perfect! tysm again for reading my requests!! -🌶️

Awww that makes me so happy, I'm so glad you liked it! And of course you can my love <3

poly!marauders x gn!reader ♡ 981 words

Though James typically prefers you with no clothes on, he does think you look pretty cute in his big t-shirt. He bunches the fabric in his hands as he comes up behind you, setting his head on your shoulder.

“What’re you doing?” you ask, smiling at him through a mouthful of toothpaste.

He gazes at you in the mirror. “Just admiring the view.”

“Oi,” Sirius elbows him, hands wet with whatever product in his billion-step skincare routine he’s currently rubbing into his face. His hair is scraped back into a bun to keep it out of the way. (James loves it when he wears it like that.) “Quit stealing my lines, Potter.”

James doesn’t even need to speak; he knows the best way to rile Sirius right now doesn’t involve words. He grabs his dark-haired boyfriend by the chin, landing a smacker right on his cheek.

Sirius shouts just as James pulls back, grimacing.

“Fuck, Pads, what’s in that shit?” he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, getting rid of any remaining product from Sirius’ face. “Have you poisoned me?”

“Serves you right,” Sirius shoots back. “Everyone else knows better than to mess with my routine. I hope you are poisoned for contaminating my skin like that.”

James looks about for support, but you only roll your eyes, spitting into the sink.

“Don’t wish poisoning upon people, love,” Remus says mildly from the bedroom, and it’s not much, but James seizes upon it. He sends Sirius a triumphant look.

“I only wanted kisses, Moons,” he whines, padding into the bedroom and laying himself pitifully across Remus’ lap. “You get it, don’t you?”

Remus smiles, bending to press his lips to James’. “Merlin, Sirius,” he says teasingly, “you really don’t know what you’re missing.”

James chases him for more, propping himself up on his elbow and keeping Remus close with a hand at the nape of his neck.

It doesn’t take long before Sirius is rushing out, his skincare routine apparently finished for the night as he chases you into the bedroom. James and Remus both stop to watch the spectacle as he grabs you around the waist, dipping you low and kissing you passionately. You make a sound of muffled surprise against his lips, breaking away after a second.

“Sirius!” You laugh, flustered. “You cannot just attack me because you’re jealous! I won’t be a pawn in your game.”

Sirius puts on a show of hurt, straightening you but keeping his hands steadfastly around your waist. “You’re not a pawn, baby. You’re the best piece on the board.”

You let out a loud, barking laugh at that, extricating yourself from his hold. “That’s really awful,” you tell him, stepping backwards towards the bed. “If you think James is stealing your lines, you need to come up with some better material.”

Sirius’ mouth drops open, and James snickers.

You sit down on the bed and launch into your nightly routine of demolishing your joints, twisting around to coax painful-sounding cracking noises from your back, and Remus moves away from James to begin his nightly routine of trying to foil you, taking your shoulders in his hands before you can rotate your spine in the other direction.

“Quit that,” he says, looking at you severely.

You nod, but no sooner does Remus remove his hands from you than you’re contorting your back again, eliciting a series of popping noises that makes James wonder whether you might’ve broken something.

Remus shakes his head at you, disappointed but not necessarily surprised. “I’m going to kill you,” he promises.

You grin. “You’re all talk.”

You’re nearly as bad as Sirius when you get like this, but Remus knows just how to handle you, wrestling you flat onto the bed and laying down atop you. He toys with your hair lazily, a little smirk tugging at his lips.

“Are you ready to wind down?” he asks you placidly.

You’re laughing, squirming feebly underneath his weight, and James can’t help but chuckle, grabbing one of your hands by the wrist when you try to pinch at Remus’ side.

“Traitor,” you say to him.

“I take no sides,” he replies easily. “Sorry, angel.”

“Darling,” Remus hums lazily, getting your attention again. “Are you ready to go to sleep?”

You roll your eyes and sigh greatly, but nod. Remus doesn’t let you off that easily this time, though, passing you immediately to Sirius, who tugs you tight to his front, your nose squishing into his cheek as he peppers your face with kisses.

“Oh, I see,” James says, getting into the opposite side of the bed. “So they can touch your face, but I can’t, huh?”

“Anyone can, once the product has dried,” Sirius says cooly, settling down with one final kiss to the tip of your nose. “Your mistake was jumping the gun, Potter.”

“Can we be done with this?” you ask. “Remus is tired.”

“Don’t use him as your scapegoat,” Sirius says, but peers over you to see Remus anyway, a tiny bit of worry in the squint of his eyes. “You’re not tired, are you Moons?”

“Only the normal amount,” Remus says, eyes already closed.

James coos, touching his lips to the high point of Remus’ cheekbone, just beside a jagged scar.

“Poor boy, we’re tormenting him,” he says lightly, and Sirius rolls his eyes but quiets down.

For a good, long while, it’s silent. James watches the light in the room change as cars drive past, their headlights filtering through the curtains. The breathing around him becomes slower, more even. His own body relaxes into the mattress, eyelids drooping as he starts to give into that sweet, soft heaviness that waits just past the threshold of sleep.

He hears a quiet rustling of sheets, and then a loud cracking sound comes from your side of the bed.

A low voice. “Don’t make me come over there.”

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devilmademewriteit · 1 year

Text

If You Lie Down With Me

pairing: (pre-ellie) dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: there’s only one guy in all of boston that can get you a morning after pill. unfortunately, on top of being a huge asshole, Joel Miller also happens to be your dad’s closest peer.

warnings: rough sex / smut (masturbation, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; unprotected sex; light choking & restraint; light dom/sub dynamic; fem afab reader; reader has long-ish hair (that gets touched); plot-typical violence (guns, death); plot deviations (no Tess); medication ingestion; pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, no explicit consent).

word count: 6.5k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all I’m baaaaAAAaack! so this is basically the other version of Dark But Just a Game that I started back when I was writing it & figured I’d finish it to get out of my hiatus. like any devilmademewriteit fic, it’s dark and nasty and deprived like meeeeeee <3 hope u enjoy !

don’t forget to reblog, check out my masterlist, sign up for the taglist, & leave any comments / feedback / & suggestions!

(ps: new part of Salvatore up next !)

—

“three times the guy I ever thought I would meet, so don't say you're over me when we both know that you lie”

— lana del rey, ‘If You Lie Down With Me’

—

Fuck.

Waking up to a racing heart, a pounding head, and a stomach swimming with nausea was never ideal, although it was always a better experience alone — when you could squint and hiss at the light slicing through the weaknesses in the drapes without hearing your groans echoed by a lower, louder, and annoyingly more pitiful voice.

Right. What was his name?

Jared? Jordan? Jermaine?

Ah, who cares.

If he’d wanted a safe place to nurse his hangover, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed. Sure, the odds of dad being conscious at this hour (especially the odds after a party like last night’s) were Kate Moss — no, Rolling Stones — slim, but the man would get up at some point, meaning that this poor J-whatever was likely sleeping through his only window of escape from certain homicide.

You whisper. You shake him gently. You gingerly tap the roundness of his bicep.

Huh — Not bad.

You congratulate last-night-you for reeling in this morning’s good-looking catch.

Still… nothing. Not a twitch. Nary a croaked ‘lemmesleep’ graces your ears.

After loosing an exasperated sigh and running through your options, you decide to take the most effective (and least girl-next-door) route. The corner of your elbow collides with his ribs, and the boy jumps up, his loose, blonde curls as wild as his eyes, searching the room for his attacker.

You want to smile at the scene, but the motion hurts your head.

“Y’gotta go,” you croak out, thumbs rubbing circles against your aching temples.

He collapses onto his back, copying your movement with his own fingers to his brow. “God. I feel like shit.”

Despite muttering your agreement, you let your eyelashes flutter closed and your weight turn you away from last night��s paramour: no use figuring out who he is after the (f)act — that just makes it personal.

After a few breaths, the boy moves back up to a shakey sitting position.

Probably sourcing for his clothes.

He reeks of booze and sex — but then again, so do you. His roughened, unfamiliar tenor climbs to barely above a whisper, “Z’something stuck on my leg… blood, or something…”

His interrupting your suffering comes as a deeply unwelcome annoyance, so you try to sort him out to clear him out: “Prolly just the condom,” you mumble, rolling back onto your shoulders, reluctantly supervising his movements.

He lifts up fully, sitting criss-cross and pulling his calf towards him.

“No,” he tries to laugh but succumbs to the nausea, settling for a low breath instead, “S’blood, dude, from beer darts — and I didn’t use a condom.”

Your eyes immediately dart over, settling on his naked, wretched, shivering form. He notices your ire and the hitching of your throat, immediately defensive.

“I asked if you wanted to.”

Unfortunately, he had. The memories of your drunken entanglement start to resurface inside your mind. “It just feels better without one.” This time, you curse last-night-you for being such a careless, inconsiderate, horny bastard.

You’re making problems for me, girl.

“J’s get out.”

J-whatever spares no time complying, collecting his few strewn belongings and staggering out the front door. Once it slides shut, so too do your poor, weary eyes.

Shit.

There goes the afternoon.

Getting your hands on condoms in the QZ was at least fifteen times easier than snatching a morning after pill. Those were a hot commodity, especially among the younger, less responsible crowds.

Luckily for you, as a member of aforementioned younger, less responsible crowds, you knew where your best chances lay in finding whatever it was you needed (if what you needed was deeply immoral or wholly illegal). Unluckily for you, that ‘best chance’ happened to be your dad’s closest and longest-running business partner: temperamental, judgemental, frustratingly competent, Joel ‘Local Asshole’ Miller.

But that could all be dealt with after another eight hours of sleep.

—

Opportunity strikes sooner than expected.

Miller’s in your living room by the time you wake up, the low rumble of his southern baritone recognizable even through the closed door. After scrambling to throw on some clothes, you press an ear to the chipping paint, hoping to determine the number of bodies gathered in your home.

Not many. Just Miller (and the old man, of course).

The latter’s presence bodes ill for you. This would all have to be done in secret, which was not an uncommon strategy where ever the former was involved. No one dealt with Joel Miller to conduct clean-cut, wholesome activities. No one was calling him up for a spare copy of the holy book.

No, getting him alone was essential.

A drink slams down on the counter. After a good, patient ten minutes, you hear your father (‘s rather crude way of) excusing himself to the washroom and heavy-set footsteps decrescendoing down the hall.

This is it.

You slip through the door.

At first, your company takes no notice of you, his eyes still glued to the maps and papers littering the counter before him.

Then, a low grumble: “fun night?”

His voice makes you weak in the knees — an involuntary, near ritual-like response you’d noticed around your mid teens and hadn’t managed to kick yet.

You swallow before responding. “Yes.”

It’s all you manage to muster. Miller finally looks up, wincing slightly as his back straightens. He looks tired, at least more than usual, with his wild, grey-streaked hair tousled and the lines by his mouth cutting deep into his skin.

You’re sure you don’t look much better, a suspicion proven by the man’s slowly spreading, barely-noticeable smirk. That gaze makes you self conscious, mute; your right hand snakes up, absent-mindedly dragging a fallen bra strap back to its proper position.

“So, what was his name?”

He’s teasing, sure, but Miller was there last night. He’d always had sharper perceptions than your father did, especially — and ironically — when it came to you. That skill tended to squander your confidence as the daughter of a modern-day mafia-boss and the owner of a hard, violent heart.

Rushed by the sound of your father’s footsteps, you default to honesty.

“I don’t remember.”

“Try.”

“Josh.”

Amusement flits across his stern expression. “Again.”

“Jamie.”

“Warmer.”

“J-J-something—”

“Gettin’ colder, sweetheart—”

“I need the pill.”

It just tumbles out, an exasperated, desperate plea. Miller, a bit taken aback by your candor, drains of his previous playfulness. You almost notice the split second those dark eyes glaze over. For a second, you’re almost convinced he’s distracted by his imagination’s recreations of the act that had you making such a request.

You almost notice the tingling between your thighs.

He stares. You stare back.

Fuck.

It was moments like this that made you wish Tess was still around. Oh, she wouldn’t be any kinder — no, not at all — but she’d certainly be more professional. Tess was all work, no play. Joel was…

You’re enjoying this, you bastard. You’re enjoying that I’m cornered like this, aren’t you?

The bathroom handle clicks when it turns, and your heart drops into your toes.

Maybe Miller really wasn’t going to help you. Maybe he didn’t have the pill and you’d just embarrassed yourself for nothing. Or, maybe he did, but preferred outing you to your dad at the very first opportunity — letting him deal with you the only way he knew how.

Your fears seem confirmed: his eyes leave the grace of your own, trailing back to his big, splayed hands on the countertop. Unwelcome tears burn the corners of your eyes as the panic begins to set in, as footsteps begin to fall…

“Mine. Tonight.”

It’s low and rushed, but it’s clear, cutting off to the sound of your father lumbering in. A man who saw, thought, and lived through transactions, he’s (thankfully) blissfully ignorant of the tension collapsing around him.

“Morning,” he throws your way.

A taunt, of course — it was well past noon.

You nod in acknowledgement, slowly backing into the doorway of your sacred, beckoning room. They resume their conversation from before, letting you sink into irrelevance.

Before shutting yourself in, you catch a few of Miller’s hushed words. They’re spoken casually to your father but, you later decide, surely meant for you:

“Not that one kid — Jeremy — don’t trust him.”

The door seals (well, not seals… it creaks on its rusty hinges and squeezes into its shrinking frame), and relief courses through you, reaching the very tips of your fingers.

That only lasts a minute.

Soon, you’re negotiating with the rising anxiety of being at Miller’s place alone, asking for his help with a problem that could’ve been avoided if you’d only kept your legs shut.

Alone with Miller, the both of you knowing that you hadn’t.

Crawling back under your covers, you begrudgingly make a vow of celibacy. If this was the cost of attention and a (potential) mid-range orgasm, you were about to become very frugal.

Dreams come easy, but they don’t come sweet.

Flashes of last night’s sins overlay Joel Miller’s unintelligible speech, his voice from the next room over lulling you into a rather confusing, disturbed sleep.

—

At nighttime, it’s a short walk to his building.

Down this alley, past this street, up this back stairwell. Part of being in with Boston’s seedy underbelly gained you access to the best and most up-to-date intel; by the age of twelve, you could run the safest — well, least policed — post-curfew routes from memory.

(Which had come in handy in situations a lot more dire than this.)

Sneaking in was easy, although you cursed him for being so preoccupied during the day. Coming in at this hour required some delicate maneuvers through a half-shattered window, and a less-than-graceful leap down left you with a nick on your cheekbone and a shallow cut along the side of your hand.

Thankfully, the blood mostly dries on your walk up the six or eight or ten flights of stairs. You don’t resent the exercise; it feels good to move, putting the jitters building in every still moment in abeyance.

Still moments like the kind that passes after a barely-audible, coded knock delivered by a girl sucking on the side of her hand, almost wishing for the door not to open.

It does.

He’s in jeans — dirty jeans, dusty — and a simple flannel. It’s Miller — it’s Miller at his most Joel-Miller-like-ness.

So why am I so fucking nervous?

He holds the door open, brows knitting at the sight of your hand in your mouth.

“Window,” You offer.

He mouthes a silent ‘ah,’ before leaning forward to duck his head out the door and, in the process, somewhat sandwiching you against his chest.

Maybe it’s because he smells like forest-fires, but your skin burns red-hot.

Miller looks both ways, checking the status of the hall (empty), then nudges you into the dim light of his place with the weight of his hand against your lower back.

The door shuts behind you.

You’d been here at least a million times before, but the thoughts rising now feel so… new. The jacket strewn on the side of the sagging sofa is his — Joel Miller has sat at this table and showered, slept, fucked inside these walls.

Cut it out. It’s just ‘cause you’re alone. And older.

But what about it, now that you were alone and older?

Old enough to know what goes on between a man and a woman and a little bit of desperation at just the right amounts… and there sure was a lot of him, and some desperation, too…

“Nervous?”

Your feet hit the floor, all thoughts evaporating at the sound of his word. Blushing, you try to de-code his taunt, spoken with playfulness and too much condescension.

“Wh — what’d you — nervous for what? No.”

He’s already across the room, sifting through a box of miscellaneous items. A yellowed lamp shade catches his side-profile, illuminates the smirk spreading across his face. Then, a low command:

“Relax,” and your spine settles, acceding to his wish. “Some girls get nervous, y’know, takin’ it the first time.”

Oh.

You clear your throat, daring to take a step into his place, incensed enough to trace the indents and stab-marks decorating his kitchen table.

“No.”

You’re taken aback by the accuracy and the strength underpinning your answer. It’s true, you aren’t afraid, and hadn’t been afraid of much in a very long while.

What’s a Joel Miller to your best friend’s public hanging? What’s he to a dozen rows of semi automatics raining down on your zigzagging toes? What’s he to a period cramp?

Like a bolt of lightning hitting you in the chest, that cocky, gauche and indelicate rebel you’d grown into reappears.

“I’ve been told I take things pretty well my first time.” The tension rises — this time, at your command — just as Joel does, carrying a leather pouch in his right hand. “And it’s not, anyways,” you add for good measure.

The leather drops onto the marked-up table. Joel crosses his arms.

“Not sellin’ me on givin’ you one of these, sweetheart.”

He gestures to the bag.

A mock-frown as you draw closer to him. His eyes, although severe, reflect the playfulness dancing in your own.

“Why not?” You ask, voice dripping with false innocence.

Joel’s gaze doesn’t stray as it hardens, focused on your own. “They’re for accidents, mistakes, attacks,” he explains, deep and dangerous, “Not girls who can’t keep their pretty lil’ legs together.”

Oof.

On one hand, it sounds like he’s genuinely chastising you for your careless behaviour. But, on the other, he sounds jealous, taunting, hungry.

I’ll play that hand.

Sleeping all day had left you wide awake, and that long-time, school-girl crush on the man before you was dying for content to fantasize about. Even if he pushed you off, you’d get to feel the weight of his hands on your body, right?

So, you return with a taunt of your own: “You think my legs are pretty?”

He shakes his head, his signature scowl spreading as he mostly ignores you. “I think you should at least use condoms,” a breath, “N’ know their first names.”

Ouch.

“I usually do.” you murmur, “and it broke last night.”

“Bullshit.”

“What do you mean, bullshit?”

Joel sighs and lowers himself into one of the four old, rickety chairs lining the table. His hand comes up to his temples and you notice how his legs, exhausted, part.

The man doesn’t deign to respond.

Irritation begins to well in your core, sneaking through your arms and up into your throat. The muscle in your jaw must be twitching like crazy.

How does he know? How the fuck does he always know?

Across the QZ, as a skilled liar and born and bred bandit, people tended to hold whatever image of you that you’d crafted for them.

Not Joel. Never Joel.

He saw through you in a way that had always felt… intimate. It was one of the reasons, you guessed, he didn’t dare spend too much time alone with you and why you’d always been curious about him (as a man, of course). Now, there was no avoiding your obvious vulnerability from either of you — you were stripped bare, your dressings in his hand.

It makes you want to flee as much as it makes you want to leap into his arms.

You snatch up the pouch, opening it up to find a mass of differently coloured and shaped pills. Rifling through, you ignore Joel’s stare boring into your hands’ erratic search.

“Yellow ones,” he says.

“I know what they look like,” you retort.

“‘Course you do.”

He moves faster than he should be able to.

One moment, your palm is slicing through the air, headed straight for the highest point of his cheek. The next, you’re facedown on the table. Your attacking hand is caged in by a much larger, much stronger one, pinned to the decaying wood; the other, he pins behind your back. Pills litter the floor — Joel’s boot crunches into a wayward one as he adjusts himself behind you, leaning over your struggling, smaller frame, immobilizing you with his weight.

“Let go of me—” you hiss, words smothered by the wooden surface pressed to your profile.

“—Shut up ‘n listen,” he commands, leaning over to tower over his trapped victim. “Try that again n’I’ll do worse’n kill you. Understand?”

Despite the authenticity of his threat, a strangled laugh wracks your lungs.

“Gonna turn me in for contraband, Miller? Watch them gun me down in the square?”

You smile through your heavy breaths. There, behind your hips, is a growing movement indicative of some other kind of punishment he’s got in mind.

“Or,” you continue on coyly, “Give me another reason to need that pill?”

Joel pauses, untangling your meaning.

Then, an exasperated scoff. His hold tightens on your wrist and you wince. “You always thinkin’ of the fastest way to get a man to fuck you?”

“Only when his cock’s pressed against my ass.”

He goes quiet — only for a moment. Somewhere outside, rounds echo through the night.

“Z’that what you want?” His voice is deep and threatening, promising of the kind of hard, mind-numbing fuck you’d been craving for weeks.

After a hard swallow, you nod, catching the raise of his eyebrows in your periphery.

A moment passes as he mulls over your answer. Only your shallow, anticipatory breaths populate the quiet space.

“Alright.”

And he lets go.

Heart racing, wrists aching, you flip around to his neutral, impenetrable expression.

“Get down on your knees.”

Without taking a moment to decide whether you’re living anything more than just a really fucked up dream, you sink to your knees, folding your hands in your lap (to stop them from shaking). Before you, Joel’s bulge twitches while he watches you yielding to submission, and you try to ignore the excitement building between your own two legs.

His eyes burn into yours: black, starved, weighty. He tells you to shut your own and you do, unable to resist the tone of his command. Within the self-imposed darkness, Joel’s following order — ‘open your mouth,’ — parts your lips as if they were under his spell. You wonder what you must look like to him, needy and ready to receive whatever you’re given.

He speaks again.

“Show me your tongue, angel.”

The gruffness punctuating his arousal doesn’t let you stand a chance. You let your mouth fall open wider.

Next, there’s rustling. You try to remember whether or not he’d had on a belt, listening and failing to hear the soft clinks of a buckle coming undone.

Too soon, something wraps around your chin — thick, calloused fingers — and the pressure of a thumb running down the middle of your tongue sends a rush of electricity down every stacked vertebrae. It’s slow, tantalizingly slow, as if the man were trying to memorize the feel of every groove, ridge, and bud on his leisurely way out.

When Joel drops his hand, a small weight remains at the back of your throat.

“Close.”

You do, opening your eyes to meet his own: severe and wanting — or wanting for severity?

It’s a pill. That much is obvious once the taste begins to spread, bitter and chemical and totally gag-worthy. He follows up with ‘swallow’ for his own sick enjoyment; by the time he says it, it’s clear that you already have.

What kind of game is this, Miller?

Your cheeks burn when your company kneels down. He places his big, broad hand partly on your neck, partly to the side of your jaw, and you’re still too taken aback to tear it off. The feel of his rough palm against your racing pulse silences every urge to enact revenge. Words don’t come — too quickly forgotten on one’s knees.

“You’re way too easy for your own good, sweetheart,” he near-whispers, shooting to kill in a blow packed tight with condescension. “Don’t let me see you here again.”

And that’s it: your cue to get lost.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Miller pulls away from your reddening skin, straightening to stand. You follow suit soon after, heart pumping lead, tongue bruised by the memory of his touch (more overwhelming than the metallic residue dripping down your throat).

He turns, running a few fingers through his hair. It’s the last look you get before resigning yourself to the journey back home.

Still, before turning the rusted handle, in a brief moment of respite, of clarity, you seize the final word:

“I’m only ‘easy’ when I’m drunk. Or interested.”

Silence courses through the room as Joel registers the meaning behind your confession.

“Goodnight, Miller.”

With that, you see yourself into the hallway, checking its status before tearing into the stairwell.

You barely breathe.

He wanted me — he had to have wanted me.

Miller was a pragmatic player; surely, he’d only bother to play with toys he liked like that… right?

Right?

Unable to clear your head or cool the heat radiating through your core, you take the long way home, the distant sounds of a war between rivals soothing the cacophony of noise swimming between your ears.

—

For the next two weeks, all you’re able to think about is him.

You think about him when he’s gone and when he’s in the room, grumbling in hushed tones to your father. You think about him when you’re unable to fall asleep, letting your hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, imagining your own fingers as thick, tan ones running through the warmth between your legs.

He takes no notice of you — a fact you deeply resent. Even in your skimpiest clothing, he’s like a damn horse with blinders on. You decide, in the past weeks, he’d either acquired the patience of Job or purged every sinful craving from his system when he’d stuck his fingers down your throat.

Naturally, you’re more than happy when, at breakfast (two in the afternoon), your father gives you the heads up about tonight’s gathering at the Bar (which was really just an asbestos-ridden basement equipped with enough prohibition-style gadgets and architecture to host a good ‘strategic meeting’ every other month).

“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he mumbles. “Need you to keep your ears open. Had to take a couple rats out last week…”

Everyone’s gonna be there.

Smiling to yourself, your thoughts start to spin out. Business, distractions, booze. Tonight would host a million opportunities for you to get him alone.

Hope blooms through your chest.

Do your worst, Miller.

—

“Man, I wish we could’ve experienced cocktails. Straight hooch is ass.”

A peer named Mel, just a year older than yourself, cringes as she sips on whatever murky liquor’s found its way into her cup.

You don’t mind the taste so much, having grown mostly immune to its taste and burn. In fact, you’d come to welcome the subsequent lapse in breath and judgement.

There was little else in this world that made you feel alive.

“Mhm,” you respond absent-mindedly, looking for a familiar scowl among the mass of scowls peppering the crowd.

A sigh to your right. “Always awesome, having your attention.”

The criticism snaps you back into your body. You smile sheepishly at your friend, apologizing through a wince.

She shrugs, her raggedy, pin-decorated jacket jingling with the movement. “S’okay. Known you long enough to know that look.”

For that, she receives a quizzical glance.

Mel comes back with a scoff. “No victims tonight?”

“Oh god,” you shoot her a look of disgust. “Do you mind not using such weird vocabulary? Make me sound like a predator.”

As the words tumble out, you zero in on the object of your search. There he is: eyebrows knit together in concentration, drink in hand, unsurprisingly (and annoyingly) in conversation with your father. A few other stragglers are in the mix, too, but they’re easily overlooked. Time slows to a full stop in his wake —only for the briefest of seconds —

“Well since the last guy actually wound up dead a week later, I think it’s fitting.”

Once again, Mel’s managed to wrangle your interest.

You stare blankly into her onyx eyes, ringlets falling through molasses around her face. “Jeremy?”

And she’s bewildered. “You didn’t hear?”

This time, both of your heads turn in the same direction.

“Ratted to FEDRA about the storehouse off tenth,” she explains, gesturing towards Miller and your father with a tilt of her head. Famous for her bravery, she stoops into your shoulder, averting his gaze and speaking under her breath, “Judging by the way they found him, my guess is it was mostly Miller’s stuff.”

It’s as if she’d screamed it.

The subject of your conversation turns to face you right as your company’s words drift off. Despite the level of noise, the amount of people, and the cloudiness of the air, you’re trapped in the corridor of your mutual stare, cornered.

The challenge, the knowing marking his expression.

“I need some air.”

You twist into the body standing behind you, shoving row after row of criminal scum out of the way. Mel doesn’t follow — she’d never hung around to comfort you, only to inform you. A mutual, typical relationship for the age, and just how things worked in the QZ.

You slam into the door, stomping into a deserted, silent alley, empty save for a few drunk strays. Your lips begin to tingle and a scream builds inside your lungs. Stalking blindly into the night, unsure of your direction, alone in half a top and a plain, ass-length skirt, shivering despite the warmth of the air…

You’re practically begging for trouble.

Just as your eyes catch the numbers on the old, rusted street sign above, just as you realize you’re on a monitored street tonight, only safe after curfew every other Monday and Wednesday, you’re grabbed by the waist, pulled into the space between two buildings, and shoved into a sheltered nook.

A dim, yellow light clicks on automatically. There’s a door (chained closed) leading into the building to your left and darkness to your right.

And there’s Joel Miller above you, his expression indeterminable.

“You asshole,” you barely hear yourself breathe over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears before lunging forward in a useless attempt to, once again, strike his profile.

He catches your wrist, no doubt having anticipated the attack. It’s written on your face, in your eyes, in your shallow, uneven inhalations. He takes your other hand before you’ve even thought to use it, lifting it above your head and slamming it against the old stucco behind you.

“You’re violent,” he says flatly.

He tightens his hold when you struggle against it. “Proud of yourself, yeah? You’re a killer.”

That inspires a slight smirk. You half expect him to return with an ‘as if you didn’t already know that.’

Instead, he says, “Sweetheart, you didn’t even know his name.”

“You should’ve told me.”

And that’s the real source of this anger: it’s rage at being the last to know.

And for what? To protect your feelings? Since when had anyone in your life bothered to do that?

“And don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” you add for good measure.

You’d wanted him to touch you so badly for weeks now, but here, scorned at being left in the dark and confused at the death of a paramour, you only want to get free.

“And what’d he call you?” He spits, leaning down and in, inadvertently pressing his thigh between your legs — when his breath grazes the skin of your ear, it causes them to part (against your better judgement). “Got lots of names, right?” He continues to tease, “Heard your boyfriend’s pretty one for you before I shut him up — ‘that fuckin’ slut,’ f’I’m rememberin’ right.”

Despite your rage-shakes, you’re warming at the core, Joel’s pressure against it dizzying your already-addled head. It confuses you, makes the scorn easier to access.

“How did I come up, Miller?” You exhale, jutting your chin towards him. “Couldn’t help asking for all the dirty little details, could you?”

He smiles, and the act lacks any sort of kindness. “‘Lot easier gettin’ him alone once he thought he was meetin’ you.” Joel slams your wrist harder into the wall when you try to wriggle away. “Not sure you wanna keep making that kind of impression, angel.”

It’s hard to rationalize with him so close, as his pet-names echoe inside your head. He’d used your name to enact gang-law violence on a boy who’d been inside you, and yet, all you can think, all you can hear, is the way ‘sweetheart’ sounds tumbling off his lips.

“Fucking let me go, Miller,” you manage to exasperate, resenting the begging edge to every word. “I don’t need another abstinence lecture from you.”

Kicking one ankle off balance, Joel turns you around, pressing your stomach to the wall, your back into his chest. Ignoring your whines and pitiful struggle, he wraps a free hand around your neck, pushing your head against his collarbone. Your stomach erupts with butterflies as the rough pad of his thumb traces the front of your throat.

Yes — no — yes, he wants me — no, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong —

“‘Be wasted on you, anyways,” he says, rough and earnest, like his hand sliding down your chest, your breasts, your stomach, “Startin’ to realize if I can’t fix your dad’s mistakes…” and he’s finding the hem of your skirt and yanking it up, bunching the fabric around your hips —

“Might as well take advantage of them.”

He moves hungrily. He’s everywhere, sliding into your underwear and across your breasts, his big arms and suffocating biceps enveloping your entire frame.

“Joel—”

But he claps a hand over your mouth, silencing any hope of your pleas being effective.

“Think I haven’t seen you? Your lil’ looks…” a low laugh, “n’ those fuckin’ clothes?” God, the rumble, the sheer want in his voice hammers at your initial resistance, and you feel yourself welcoming the feel of his thick, long fingers, sliding between your wet folds. You’re clay, melting against the curved, firm wall of his chest.

You mewl pathetically into his palm.

Another low laugh wracks his lungs, dances at the top of your ear.

“Knew you’d be this wet for me.”

“Knew since you got down on your knees,” Joel continues, uncovering your mouth only to ease a few fingers between your lips — lips that part as though commanded, and a mouth that welcomes and caresses whatever it receives, “‘N opened this pretty lil’ mouth for me to fuck it. Can’t close my eyes without seein’ you like that — so fuckin’ needy.” He exhales from between his teeth, signalling his approval while you suck him down to the knuckles.

His fingers tease your clit and you give him your thanks by pleasuring those of his other hand.

When his hands move, it’s to hold you steady and balanced as he drags your underwear down your legs. That thick, heavy cloud of arousal hides any and all rational thoughts from view.

And he knows. He knows you’re past the point of no return, restraining you only out of his desire to rather than out of a real need to. He knows from the whine you breathe at the loss of his hand against your clit, moving to work at his belt buckle instead.

“Gonna use a condom?” You breathe, emboldened by your clearing senses at the temporary lack of stimulation.

At first, you think he’s missed your taunt.

He backs up, pulling your hips along with him until the tips of your fingers are no longer touching the decaying wall before you. Joel pulls you upright and against him with an arm around your waist and a hand around your throat, turning your head and tilting it back to meet your eyes.

You grasp onto his forearms, failing to stand, unable to breathe. His hardness digs into your back, and his cruel eyes show you just how much pleasure he takes in your struggle.

“Don’t like to waste ‘em,” he finally answers, rocking his cock against your spine, “But I will if you beg. You gonna beg?”

He manipulates your answer, fingers moving to your red-hot core — he barely grazes the nerves, only dancing over the needy flesh. You can’t tear your eyes from him either, tethered to your body through his gaze.

Joel Miller was a frustrating lover.

“N-no,” is your answer, slightly strangled and softly stuttered.

He smiles. “S’what I thought.” Then, “Show me what you can do, angel,” he coos, lips just inches away from yours, his hold on your body relaxing —

“Use your pretty lil’ hands n’ put my cock where you want it most.”

And you both know exactly where that is.

After a nod, Joel allows you to bend forward slowly — it’s like moving through honey. Your legs burn with effort as you reach between your legs to wrap a hand around his thick, hard length.

Christ, he’s huge.

He groans when you touch him and uses his own hand to help guide his tip between your folds. One hand holds your waist, fingers extended under your ribs to support your weight in a skilled show of experience.

With his tip at your aching entrance, you try to lean back, to slide yourself slowly down his many inches.

But Joel doesn’t allow it.

He pushes into you in one go, clicking his tongue at your strangled gasp —

The man hadn’t even bothered to open you up with his fingers.

“Ah, c’mon,” he condescends, “You can take it.”

Then he’s setting a hard pace, hands moving from your hips to your ribs to your biceps to your hair to your neck — anywhere he wanted to go, he went. One eventually comes to the front of your throat, tilting your eyes back and up towards the ceiling. Every one of his thrusts arches your back further until you’re contorting into a half-moon shape, standing only by the grace of his support.

And it feels so good. Joel fills you up to the brim, takes you to heaven and floods your ears with hymns, punishes you in the kind of way you’d only experienced in dreams.

Words tumble out, but they’re filled with nothingness. “Joel,” “fuck,” and “yesohgodyes,” quickly become staples of your vocabulary.

He laughs whenever you sob, grows harder every time you moan, restrains you when you try to run away.

The hand around your throat tightens, digging unforgivably into the flesh as you start to let go, as your walls begin to clench and flutter appreciatively around his cock.

“M’I making you happy, sweetheart? My cock making you smile?” He asks gruffly, pulling you back into his chest. Joel readjusts you into whatever shape you need to be in at the new angle, hips still slamming into your ass. Struggling to stand on your tiptoes, he steadies you with his arms and his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look up into his rugged face.

“Mmhm,” is all you can offer him, the pitch jumping up halfway through when the head of his cock grazes that perfect spot inside your cunt.

He doesn’t let up.

“Show me, baby—” he commands, out of breath, too, but not nearly as tortured as you, “—Show me your smile.”

You do your best, smiling up at him, degrading yourself even more at the hands of Joel-fucking-Miller. And he eats it up, loves the way your grin turns into a bitten lip and knit eyebrows over closed eyes, slowing his thrusts to rock even deeper inside you.

You moan something unintelligible, and a laugh rustles through your tangled hair.

“Am I makin’ you come?”

You nod, feeling that familiar rush of pressure blooming somewhere within that throbbing bundle of nerves under his spell.

He smirks in pride and victory, the last look you get before your head falls against his shoulder, your muscles going lax as the peak builds, as your half-sobs grow louder.

“S’it, baby, tell ‘em,” he coos, nipping and sucking the skin on the side of your throat. “Gonna tell the whole street how you take it like a good lil’ slut.”

His fingers fall to your clit, enticing you right over the edge. You vision blurs and your legs shake, but Joel talks you through your orgasm, sweet nothings starting with, “S’right — show me — yes, fuck — good girl…”

And then —

He stops.

You whine, stars dancing before your eyes as the mean, mean man inside you refuses to fuck you through your climax.

“Joel,” you plead, grinding back against him in a pathetic show of need, “Come with me.”

He does the opposite, sliding himself out of your sore opening. You turn to face him, restoring your balance with hands against his chest, gazing up at him in desire-stricken reproach.

“Use your mouth,” he says, voice gruff at your ruined sight and from his own hand on his cock, keeping his arousal level, “Not gettin’ any more help from me.”

It’s unclear whether ‘help’ means pills or his cock, but you assume both to be safe.

You try to argue (having spent the last few weeks dreaming of Joel dripping down your legs) but he just won’t budge.

Then, his voice softens.

“You know your dad’d kill me, angel.”

And it’s really the sweetness of his tone that does it.

Sinking to your knees, it’s déjà vu when you open wide for him, steadying your shaking knees with both hands on his half clothed, half naked hips. Gravel and debris dig painfully into your bare knees, but you ignore the sting, smiling instead at the taste of yourself on Joel’s cock, lips sliding adoringly down the thick length of it.

He groans his approval, tangling his fingers in your hair to help guide your movements.

As you take him in again and again and again, pleasing every inch of him, he chokes out a laugh.

“Never seen you so quiet,” he muses (mostly to himself), caressing your cheekbone with his free hand —

“Gagged by an old man’s cock.”

You pull off, pumping him with both hands, asking breathlessly, “Are you all so big?”

He smiles, eyes darkening at the dirty compliment. “Give you a few numbers n’ you can tell me.”

God, he’s beautiful from down here.

You hold his attention and lick a slow stripe down the underside of his cock, half-grinning up at his lust-filled expression.

“I only want yours, Joel Miller.”

An uneasy inhale as you take him back in, his brows furrowing and his cock growing impossibly harder. Your words please him, he returns by groaning orders and praises like: “S’all yours, baby — take it all — take aaall that dick — good fuckin’ girl.”

He’s so close and you know it, moaning in submission at his hand’s pressure against the back of your head. With your nose crunched into his abdomen, you hold your throat open for him to use it however he pleases — reduced to nothing more than the man’s plaything.

There’s a low “ah, fuck,” from above, and then you finally know what Joel Miller tastes like.

It’s better than the Plan B.

You hear nothing beyond his recovering breaths, feel nothing past pride, lust, and exhaustion.

Eventually, he loosens his grip. You pull off of him delicately, drawing a groan from between his gritted teeth when you make sure to suck every last drop of his seed into your mouth.

Sitting back on your ankles, you roll your head up to face him.

He swipes a thumb under your lips, clearing the saliva connecting you to his softening cock.

“Still mad at me?” He asks.

You’d be crazy to say yes.

“Only for pulling out.”

You note the twitch at the corner of his mustache.

Joel helps you back on your feet, using one hand to pull you up by your arm and another to arrange himself back to decency.

You adjust your shirt; Joel fixes your skirt. It’s a strange kind of silence settling inside this pocket at the side of a random, ruined building.

Then, your company clears his throat, that mask of seriousness falling over his expression once again.

“You gonna be smart?”

What ever could he mean?

Stay away from him? Stay away from men? Practice abstinence? Use protection?

Either way, you’re not one to make promises you know you can’t keep.

You cross your arms.

“No.”

He sighs.

Well, looks like things are already back to normal.

His face softens and he shakes his head, already regretting his next words. “Just — just come find me, then. I won’t do… this again, but — but I’ll help.”

You frown.

“What do you mean, ‘this’?”

He stares down into your accusatory eyes with a look you’d received many times from him, one screaming, “get real.”

“Fine,” you mutter, breaking eye-contact, “Thank you.”

With a stoic nod, he walks around you, heading back into the night. You try, in vain, to watch him go in silence — god knows you had some thinking to get to — and find that, instead of getting it out of your system, the entanglement had only left you wanting for more.

And more and more.

“Is this what you meant?” and you hear his footsteps halt, “When you told me you’d do worse than kill me? When I tried to hit you?”

It comes out before you can help it, and you twist around to face his still, broad shoulders.

You can hear the smile teasing his lips as he utters the words.

“Why are you askin’ me that?”

Still facing his back, you break into a smile of your own. “So I’ll know what I have to do to get you to do it again.”

You watch him shake his head, grey-streaked ripples in the low light.

“Try your best not to find out, angel.”

With that, he disappears into the darkness, leaving you in the flickering doorway. Thighs aching, heart racing, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of what it felt to have them taken from you by Joel Miller.

A feeling you’d chase.

—

Put your red boots on

Baby, giddy up

Baby wants a dance

Baby gets her way

Dreamy nights

Talk to me with that whiskey breath

Twirl me twice

I'll treat you like a holiday

And don't say you're over me

When we both know that you ain't

Don't say you're over me

Baby, it's already too late

Just do what you do best with me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like a ballerina, super high

Dance me all around the moon

Light me up like the 4th of July

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When we both know that you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

When you lie down right next to me

Get your jacket on

Be a gentleman

Get into your truck

And pick me up at eight

'Cause we were built for

The long haul freight train

Burnt by fire

Without trial like a stowaway

And don't say you're over me

When they all know that you ain't

If you lay down right next to me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like ballerina super high

Dance me all around the moon

Like six times 'til I'm sick and I cry

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When they all know that you're lying

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

When you lie down right next to me

—

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spidybaby · 9 days

Text

Delicate | Part One

Summary: A bad reputation, one contract, a very stubborn singer and a calm footballer was the perfect mix for disaster.

Warnings: cursing.

Face claim: Madison Beer (She's just the face claim. We are using songs from other artists too)

What are you supposed to do when the whole world is watching every single one of your movements?

What are you supposed to do when you feel like a deer in headlights?

What to do when your reputation is the worst?

That's the type of questions you make yourself everyday after what happened.

You blame yourself. "Maybe if I wasn't that stupid to trust people I shouldn't have, I would be fine."

But here you are. Trapped in a room with the people who tell you every single day that they told you, that you needed to be careful. And you are not happy but you took the I told you.

Do you deserve it? yes.

You thoughts were interrupted by the door being opened. You noticed the man that enters the room. A little tired, a little older than thirty five.

"I'm sorry about the time. Traffic was crazy." he says, hugging your manager. "Barcelona is crazy this time of the year."

"There's worst days." you manager says, laughing. "Y/n, come here."

You look at her, walking over to them. "Hi!"

"This is Hector, he's a friend of mine." she introduced you to the man. "He's the manager of two football players from Barcelona."

"That's so cool" you smile. "Nice to meet you, Mister Hector."

"Just Hector, love." he smiles. "I love your new song, so good."

You smile, thanking him.

"Where's your boy?" you manager asks. "I want to see him, so good he's better now."

"He's downstairs, some fans recognize him and asked him for pictures."

You look over at your manager, wondering what was going on. You try not to care and wait for this guy. You stay quiet while Hector and Aleek, your manager, talk very happy.

The door was open by a dark haired boy, he looks about your age. He was wearing some cargo jeans and a hoodie. "I'm sorry, more and more people were asking for pictures."

"Don't worry, love." Aleek says, hugging him. "You are so handsome, it's been a while since I've seen you."

"The last time was during my last game at Las Palmas." he smiles. "Nice to see you."

"Come here, love." she grab him by the arm. "Let me introduce you to Pedri." she says to you. "He's the number eight of the first team at the fc barcelona."

"Hola!" Pedri smiles.

You shake his hand, smiling at him. You still don't understand what are you doing there so early in the morning and what was the need for Pedri and Hector to be there.

"I know you are questioning what are we doing here." Hector says, standing up. "We are here to talk about a small," he pauses for a while. "Let's say a small feature."

You turn to see your manager, you are more confused than before, not understanding what they meant. How can you do a feature with him when you do music and he is a football player.

"In these past months we have register both of your activities on social media, press notes, work activities. Pedri, we know that you had a bit of a hard time with injures and with all of the rumors about girls." Aleek says.

You frown, why does that even matter?

"And you, Y/n." Hector says. "You had the success of a lifetime, you last singles were on the top of billboard, and you are even competing with Taylor Swift on the charts." he says, happy. "The thing is, you are known for partying, for being a not serious person to work with."

"That's no-" you try to say.

"Let me finish." he says, you nod. "You have a reputation that's not giving you the best times. Your campaign with Dior was over because of the rumors about you doing substance during Kylie Jenner party."

"What's the point?" you say. "Aleek, what is going on? I've never done any of those things, just freaking rumors." you try to defend yourself.

"I know that." she says, lifting her hands. "But they don't."

She threw a few magazines and some printed news titles. You grab them, you know you don't have the best reputation on US. Feeling weird that they are showing you this.

"Anywho, Hector and I have an amazing idea that involves the two of you." She smiles.

Pedri frowns, understanding before they even explain.

"We did a contract, a PR one." Hector says to Pedri. "The contract is that you two will pretend to have a relationship to change the rumours around. This will help how the two of you are perceived."

You shake your head no, "I'm not doing this." you laugh, standing up. "What gave you the right? We are people, what if Pedri has a girlfriend? what if I have someone? Where is our own will of choosing?"

"Pedri doesn't have a girlfriend," Hector says. "Pedri has groupies who mess up his reputation."

Pedri frowns again. "I don't have groupies."

"We," Aleek says louder. "are your managers." she smiles. "And WE will do whatever is necessary for the two of you to get back to a good reputation path."

You shake your head. "I won't sign." you say.

"I won't either." Pedri seconds you.

Hector laughs, "We don't need your signature." he explains, showing us a copy of the contract. "We have legal power over decisions regarding your brands."

"You can't do this." you say, feeling trapped. "Aleek, why?"

"Because, Pedri and you need this." she explains. "You don't want this rumors to make your album to flop. Do you?"

You shake your head, standing up. "I can't." you threw the papers on the table, walking outside of the room.

You run stairs down, feeling tired of the way people see you as a product. You don't want to feel like a normal person, being able to walk and not have a phone on your face.

You know that the rumors of you partying were creating problems. Even when you don't do any kind of drugs or anything bad. People like to pretend you are a junkie who pass the days drunk.

You slam the door of your apartment, throwing yourself on the couch. You cry the feelings out. Your phone is ringing, you ignore it, you know it was Aleek.

You try to calm yourself down. You hate to feel like a product of the industry. You hate to feel like an addict when you don't even live that life. You hate that when you asked your friends to defend you, they ignored you.

You grab your phone from your bag, answering without even looking. "Qué cojones quieres, Aleek?" you say, stern tone.

You were about to say more, until you hear the voice of Pedri.

"Soy Pedri." he says. "I just want to know if you are okay."

"I don't care who you are." you say, even more angry. "I don't need you worrying about me, Pedri." you say his name in this spiteful tone.

You were too angry to care who was it. You don't even think about the fact that Pedri was in the same problem that you are.

He doesn't answer, he knows you are mad and that you won't have the best answer to anybody calling you.

You then feel guilt, Pedri doesn't have to take the blame of what your manager and his did. "Pedri, I'm so sorry!" you cry. "I didn't meant to treat you like that. I'm not like this, I promise." you say, rambling a little.

You cry after saying this, sobbing and feeling even worse that Pedri took time to call you to check on you.

"Bonita, please don't cry." he says, softly.

"I don't want to do this." you say, crying on the phone. "I don't want to stain you with my reputation."

"You won't!" he reassures you. "I don't want to either, but I'm not letting you feel alone in this."

You smile at that, feeling a little bit better than you are less alone in this shit show.

"They actually already have something that we need to do." he scoff. "I feel like a fucking voodoo doll."

You chuckle at that. "That's a good term." you say to him. "I will check to see what's going on, thank you for reaching to me" you say softly, more calmed.

"Venga, don't stress." he jokes. "It's best for us to just do what they ask us. I know it's horrible to have to pretend and lie to everybody, however, I do believe that we can take something good out of this."

"Okay, I'll trust your words." you laugh, making him laugh. "I'm reading the text they sent us, I guess I'll see you."

You say your goodbyes to him. Promising to not keep crying.

You feel anxiety.

You know you have to be back to the studio to record a few songs. You don't want to, not cause of the way you left last time.

Aleek tried to contact you, she texted, she email you, even sent you a message over pinterest.

But you weren't giving up. You were mad and you wanted to show that to her. Even when you know you have to talk to her because you need to approve the album cover.

"Hello." You say, walking into the recording room.

Aleek looks at you, smiling at you. She knows you were mad but at the same time she knows this is something that you needs.

"Hola, bebé." She says.

You walk over to her, hugging her from behind. You needed this more than ever. "I don't like you right now, but I love you."

"I know you are mad, but trust me on this, okay?"

You nod, separating and walking over to the table where all the options are. You two start working on picking an album cover.

"I think this one is prettier." You say.

You hear three knocks on the door. Jake, you publicist walk in, an iPad in hand. He shows Aleek something, which she smiles to.

You don't paint mind to it. Knowing that whatever she's into, you would have to say yes in the end.

"Do you have like football, Cinderella?" Jake asks you.

You roll your eyes, knowing by your best friends boyfriend insta stories that tomorrow is going to be the clasico of la liga.

"Can I say no?"

"No." Jake laughs, making you pout.

yourusername

Liked by pedri, fcbarcelona and 2,383,385

yourusername first time coming to a game and we got a victory ✌🏻✨️ can I call myself a lucky charm?

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fcbarcelona 🍀🏆😎

pedri 💪🏻🏆

barcelonafan PEDRI?

frenkietupatron wait... he's following her and have been liking her post for over a month... Pedri????

"Do you even know how much I hate you right now?" You ask Aleek over the phone. "I was thinking about getting take out and rawdog my show last season."

"Now you can go out and see the sunset." She says, happy tone.

"I was looking at information about Pedri, and Hector did not lie about him having groupies who got him a reputation."

"Really?" She asks, curious. "When I met him he was such a shy boy."

"Well, not anymore." You laugh. "His last rumor was an influencer whose boyfriend apparently found them in bed." You tell her.

"Well, that's what this is for." She says, explaining again the purpose of the contract. "For you to drop the reputation you have, look at yours. Missing junkie."

"Ughh." You buff, mad. "I will require you to order me take out later just for that comment."

"will do." she says, chuckling. "Text me when you are home and to tell me how it was."

"Yes, boss." You laugh, hanging up the call.

You finish with your touch up of makeup. You added mascara, some brow gel and your beloved blush.

You move from your bathroom to your room, packing everything that you were taking, a blanket to sit on, your sunglasses, some sunscreen.

You feel the vibration of your phone in the back of your shorts. You See Pedri's text, he was waiting for you in the parkin lot.

You texted back that you were going down, to give you a minute. You press the basement button, texting Aleek a picture of you in the elevator.

When the doors open you noticed Pedri's car parked in front of the elevator. You smile at him and wave.

He was about to get down and open your door but you knockn on the wintond. "Just open." You chuckle.

He does that, unlocking the door. "I was going to open it for you." he says.

"Not necessary."

"Joder, que bien huele tu perfume." (your perfume smells amazing) he says, turning to you.

You blush a little at the comment, you love when people tell you that you smelled good.

"Gracias." You smile at him. "It's Armani." You say, making a face that makes him laugh.

"It's good." he smiles. "You can leave the bag on the backseat." he says, pointing towards the back of his car.

You nod, turning to place your bag. You notice a black box with his name and some barca design. You can see some letters, some pictures, notes with hearts.

"Someone got a gift." You tell him.

"Sip, these girls who follows me since the begging of my barca career came to Barcelona for the clasico and I saw them today when I left the camp nou."

You pout, you love how cute his fans were. "That's so cute."

You love getting things from your fans, it was a little piece of them that you get to keep with yourself.

"I have a Playlist on." he says, referee to the music that playing. "Here's my phone for you to change it."

"I like bad bunny, it's fine." You smile.

The rest of the trip was calmed, you two were silent, just listening to the music. You feel weird, you don't really know what to ask him.

When you got to the beach you notice that he was wearing a pair of sneakers.

"Pedri, you can't wear that on the sand, you'll ruin them."

He sees his sneakers, nodding his head. "I was going to go to my house and get my sandals." he explains. "But if I got home, I was going to be late for picking you."

You nod, understanding his motives. "Let's do this." You smile at him., I'll take my shoes off and we both can be barefoot."

He nods, smiling at your suggestion. You two take your shoes off, leaving them in the car. You walk together to the beach. You ask him for help with the beach towel.

"So I brought fruit, I brought some juice in a box because Hector told Aleek you don't drink and I also got sunscreen cause I can tell you are not wearing any." You say, pointing at everything you got.

You pass him his juice box and the tupper with some fruit. "I love watermelon." He smiles, eating the fruit. "Gracias."

You two stay quiet for a while, the two of you just enjoying the food and juice. You want to ask him something but you are not sure what.

"How was your day?" You ask.

"E'tuvo bueno, I'm a little bit tired because of the game and todays training, but I'm good." He explains. "Yours?"

"Oh, it was good." You smile. "I recorded some snips for my next album."

"I like your music."

"En serio?" You raise an eyebrow

"Qué va!" He laughs. "Do you think I'm a liar?"

"Not at all." You lift both your hands. "What's your favorite song of mine?"

"Underground, I like that song so much." You nod, smiling at him. "But I don't think you beat Quevedo."

"No way!" You say happily. "I love Quevedo."

"Favorite song?'

"La playa del inglés."

"No, que va, you are kidding." He smiles. "That's my favorite song too."

"That crazyyyy." You say. "Okay, what's your favorite movie?"

"Buaf, I think creed."

"No, you are lying." You say, looking away.

Pedri took a little bit to catch up on your answer. "Dios, Y/n." He smiles. "No way."

"I love creed." You say.

You two laugh at how crazy the things were. Because you did not believe that it was possible for you two to have that much in common.

"Do you have siblings?" You ask, eating some of the fruit.

"Sip." He smiles at the thought of his brother. "His name is Fernando, he's a chef and lives with me." You smile at that, you can tell he's very family oriented. "You?"

"I have one brother." You say. "His name is Austin. He lives in Tennessee."

"A little bit far." He chuckles. "Do you live alone or with your parents?"

"I live alone." You smile. "I have an apartment, but I think of getting a house."

"A house is better." He confess. "When I moved on here, I was in an apartment with my brother, and we felt so weird. Apartment complex are small and a little bit expensive for what you get."

You nod, agreeing with what he's saying. "Your brother is a chef, so you don't cook?" You ask.

"Not really." He chuckles. "My mom knows how to and my dad too. They own a restaurant, Tasca Fernando."

You smile at that, feeling happy at that confession. "Here in Barcelona?"

"In Tegueste, Tenerife."

"Right, you are Canarian." You say, remembering what you read. "You played in Palmas?"

"Sip, Las Palmas. They were my first big team and now I'm in Barcelona."

"I want to say that I love your style of playing, but I don't know anything about football." You chuckle.

"I can teach you." He smiles. "I'm kinda good at it." He jokes, making you laugh.

You two keep talking about more of your likes, getting to know yourselves. You find it very interesting how someone so quiet and so reserved has such a reputation.

"And the next home match is this Friday." He tells you, after a large explanation of how La Liga works.

"Are your parents coming?" You ask him.

He then changed his demeanor. He got a lot more silent. "No, they are not coming."

"Oh no, why?"

"Well." He thinks if telling you is the right thing. "Hector won't allow me to because we are supposed to be our and be seen and having my family will distract me."

You frown, not sure how to react but surely mad that his manager dared to tell him such a thing.

"I'm sorry," you apologize.

"It's not your fault." He whispers. "It's fucked up, but I know it will be worth it."

You stayed quiet, enjoying the sound of the people around, the music that you can hear, the laughs, the screams of kids playing, the small talk that's not understandable.

You then got the idea.

"I can help you see your family." You smile at him.

He lifts his head quickly, turning to you. "What? How?"

"Okay, what if I ask my manager that we can use your family for our pr?"

He thinks for a few seconds, confused about how that would be beneficial for the two of you.

"Hector says that you have a reputation on having a lot of girls, but have you ever introduced one of those girls to your family?"

"No!"

"That's what we can say." You smile. "If you introduce me to your parents and we are seen together in the public at a game, then that means that we are serious, it's more believable."

You smile at your idea. Feeling like a smart girl.

You can't catch the look on his face, but in his mind, he's thanking you a thousand times while lifting you in the air.

"I'll tell my manager tomorrow, I have to go to the studio." You smile at him.

"Would you really?" He asks, eyes shinning with hope.

"Si!" You smile. "I'll promise I will make everything I can to get them to be at these home game."

Pedri hugs you, thanking you for making an extra effort for him to be fine.

"Now, what if we go get an ice cream?" You suggest.

He nods happy. He would give you anything you want right now. "It's on me." He says, helping you get up.

"I'll agree just because I forgot my wallet." You laugh, making him laugh.

holacom

Liked by 12,482 others

holacom Spain Golden Boy Pedri González was caught on a romantic beach getaway with our Favorite Pop Girl Y/n.

The two of them are rumored to be having more than just romance. Fans of the two of them on social media X are pointing how she was at the home game and wearing the emblematic number 8 from Pedri.

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pedrilover35 isn't she like a junkie?

y/nxharry no 😡 that's just rumors

ferminmipatron I think she is because she's friends with the jenners and they are junkies too

y/nfan23 love this new couple ❤️ I need to get his jersey

sugarmelon I ordered his and someone named gavi 😎

messicomeback10 get a messi one

sugarmelon @messicomeback10 who tf is messi?

"Can you lower the volume on that note?" You ask your technician. "Yes, right there."

You sing the note one more time. Trying to make it perfect for layering it into the melody of the background.

"Okay, that's amazing." He says.

"Let's do the same with the chorus."

You spend the next hours doing that with other several songs. Trying to make them sound better and more effortlessly likable.

You thank Bruno, the technician. You worked with him before and you know that he knows your moods and your vibe.

"Lunch is on me tomorrow." You smile at him. "Drive safe." You hug him goodbye, walking with him to the elevator.

You press the button of the floor where Aleek's office is. You need to talk to her about bringing Pedri's parents.

You knock three times. "Come in." You hear her. You open the door and walk inside, finding her reading some papers. "Hello, baby."

"Hola." You smile.

"Are you done?"

"Yes, we got amazing beats." You smile. "Hey, I want to talk to you about something." You sigh.

She stays quiet, signal for you to keep talking an to tell her what's on your mind. You take a deep breath.

"Pedri told me that Hector told him that he can't see his family or bring them to Barcelona because that would be a distraction for our plan." You say to her.

She frowns, not aware of that. "I didn't knew that."

"I know, I just want to know if you can help me convince him to let him bring his family."

"Oh baby, but I don't thin-"

"I have a plan." You interrupt her.

She nods, making a hand signal for you to keep talking.

"So, I was doing my research on Pedri, I found out that he never once introduced his flings to his parents." You began. "And fans always say that on x, with every girl he's rumored."

You open your phone, sending her the screenshots of people tweeting that they don't believe that Pedri is with anyone because not one of his family members follow the girls.

"And if we can get people to see us together with his family, then get bag the football girls. That means that the media would stop seeing us as a fling or a fuck thing situation."

"Okay, you got my attention."

"And if we can be seen with his parents and brother, then after, we can start to post more about each other. Things here and there, discreet."

"Something private but not secret." She says.

"Exactly." You smile. "And what better than this Friday's game."

"That's in three days." She turns to see her calendar.

"Please, I know this can work." You beg. "We are doing this, all I'm asking is for you to help me get Pedri to see his family."

She narrows her eyes. "Fine, I'll help you convince Hector." She says, making you smile. "I'll show him all of these that you have."

You feel happy. You would help feel like this is less a forced situation but more like a small trade.

"Now go home, you need to rest for your interview with Vogue." She says.

"Yes, ma'am." You smile. "Bye."

You hug her goodbye and walk outside of the building. You drive home, listening to some pop for a change.

You get home and cook something easy for dinner. Watching some of your show whole eating.

You feel your phone vibrate. You picked it and see Pedri's name displayed. "Hola, camarón sin cola." You say, happily.

"Eres una jodida genio," He says. You can tell he's happy by the tone. "Hector called me and told me that he booked my parents' tickets for them to come a day before the game."

You feel happy that your plan worked. "Oh my God!" You say, jumping happy. "It worked, that's such a good news."

"Gracias, Y/n." He says softly. "I really needed this."

You pout happy. "Don't thank me." You say. "Go tell your brother or calm your parents to tell them. We can talk later."

"Vale, but I promise I'm making it up for you." He laughs. "Adiós."

You say goodbye to him. Watching your shoe for a little while. You can't help but to have a smile on your face.

You then remember that you need to post something from fenty beauty. Opening insta to post your picture with the product.

You let it there, you were focused on your show and on finishing your third plate of food. You then feel your phone get notifications.

>Aleek: kiddo, Pedri will comment on your post. Please answer.

Aleek: Let's stick with emojis for now. <

You check insta, opening the comment section. Pedri's comment was there, freshly made. You reply with two emojis. Letting people go crazy about it.

yourusername

Liked by pedri, fentybeauty and 3,273,482 others

yourusername Nothing feels better than glowing like a star with my Fenty Killawatt Glow ✨️🌙 Don't forget to get yours at @sephora_spain #FentyPartner ❤️

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fentybeauty you are glowing ✨️

pedri 🤩✨️

yourusername ✨️🌙

pedrixferran hard launching I see 👀😦

frenkietupatron @pedri don't engage with her because the Kardashian curse might get us 😣😣😣

🏷: @gadriezmannsgirl

#football #football fanfic #football x you #pedri gonzalez #pedri x reader #football angst #pedri #pedri x y/n #pedri imagine #pedri angst #pedri fics #pedri fluff #pedri headcanon #fc barcelona #football drabble #football x y/n #football x reader #pedri x you #pedri fanfic

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colourstreakgryffin · 8 months

Note

I saw you're taking Hazbin hotel requests so I thought I'd shoot my shot! So reader is a young boy who also died around Alastor's time(Early 1930s) . He's so confused and overwhelmed by how fast everything is progressing. So when he hears Alastor humming/singing a song from the 1930s he feels a sense of comfort and familiarity. Bonus if it also happens to be their favorite song! Take your time and you're amazing!

Oooh! Fourth Alastor request and I am having such a great time with this! This man is so fun to write for! After I finish here, I am gonna go cook some Jambalaya then pop it into my pentagram and summon Al so he can cook me!

Alastor- Night & Day

Like the beat, beat, beat of the tom tom…

when the jungle shadows fall

like the tick, tick, tock of the stately clock

You don’t recognise anywhere you are… this place. It’s hot, dark, dangy and uncomfortable. There’s nothing here resembling Earth and it’s shaking you to your core. Not having the strength nor confidence to move anymore from the alleyway you were just dropped into upon arriving here from the pentagram in the dark sky. Everyone is too much for your young mind… well. Other than that best, those lyrics and that voice

As it stands against the wall

Like the drip drip drip of the raindrops

When the summer shower is through

So a voice within me keeps repeating you, you, you

That song is a symbol of comfort for you. Night & Day by Cole Porter. Something your mother use to sing to you every night before bed, the sound of pretty rain hitting your open window as that beautiful sweet woman would sing over and over again, all without it growing repetitive, until you fell asleep. Having wonderful dreams all the time

Even though you’re scared out of your mind, you begin to walk out to the streets. Packed to the brim with all kinds of weird-shaped adults but you avoid most of the them, weaving through this thick crowd to find the source of the soothing lullaby of your whole life and the voice singing it. It sounds dapper, transatlantic, if not an old radio. Is it coming from a radio?

Night and day, you are the one

Only you beneath the moon or under the sun

Whether near to me, or far

It's no matter, darling, where you are

I think of you

It felt like a game of cat and mouse. Running around to find where that wonderful singing is coming from and it feels like the person is constantly teleporting, no adult should be this frustrating to find. Or, you’re just too overwhelmed from being dropped into literal Hell to even realise your coordination skills are as dropping as you did. Your mind is racing to come to terms with what’s going on

This isn’t New Orleans at all… and not a single trace of your parents around. Are you alone? No. No. You don’t want to be alone, you’re too young to be alone. Is everybody here too evil to care about a literal child Sinner being stuck on his own and having to fend for himself in ways he doesn’t know how to…

By all the unholy gods. Somebody help

Day and night, night and day, why is it so

That this longing for you follows wherever I go

In the roaring traffic's boom

In the silence of my lonely room

I think of you

The loud noises of talking, of the wall of built-in weird flat devices screeching and echoing, the patter of footsteps. It makes you want to hide away and sleep to try shake off all the distress and overwhelming feelings you are being tormented with but that song is way too recognisable and comforting for you to ignore so you just keep pursuing it

Maybe, it’ll be pointless and the singing source will be from a Radio of your year but it almost feels like the song is organic and from a person. That means there is an adult of your time here. A man from the 1930s, Hell, he may be somebody of your family! That’d be wonderful and your hopes are high that when you do find the source, it’s somebody you’ll get to embrace and talk to

Day and night, night and day

Under the hide of me

There's an oh such a hungry yearning burning inside of me

And this torment won't be through

Until you let me spend my life spreading love

A flash of bright red crossed your eyes when you finally had managed to shakily but stubbornly and determined, pasted through the big careless and if not almost hypnotised by the running TVs crowd, and continued down the road in half sprints. Following a array of melodically humming, recreating the beat and rhythm of the song as it seems the source is quite invested in such a song

It felt like forever following a mere sound across the city’s streets but there he is. The source of the singing, he’s so close that you can finally reach a arm out and take his hand to catch his attention

Day and night, night and day—

The man instantly mutes his singing. He is tall, in a nice fancy coat with long hems at the bottoms, with a pair of what seemed to be tall deer ears on the top of his head and his pale face branded with a permanent toothy grin, he looked both menacing but yet friendly. Turning around to face the nine-year-old Sinner running around the Pride Ring’s own Pentagram City’s streets to chase the source of a song of familiarity and now has chased and caught his hand, Alastor reacted rather friendly and understanding to be presented with a child of his own era

Leaning down to be kneel before this young confused on-the-verge-of-crying boy, the Radio Demon says smooth and curious with that same radio effect almost overlapping his charming transatlantic accent, placing his free hand on your little shoulder

Something about Alastor reminded you of a popular figure from New Orleans you’ve met before

“Greetings there, young man… tell me, where are your parents?”

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sweet-s0rr0w · 11 months

Text

Vintage Drarry Fics

Thought I'd put together a list of some of the old Drarry 'classics' of my teenage years, for anyone interested. All posted between 2001-2006, compiled using my (bad) memory, a lot of googling, fanlore.org and numerous different LJ rec accounts (including the incredible @capiturecs). I checked as best I could, but if anyone knows of any fics that their author doesn't want to be shared, please let me know and I will of course remove.

Please also note that these fics are of their era, when attitudes may have been different, and they may not all be grammatically perfect. I haven't reread all, as my own tastes have changed, but most importantly do note that they may not be tagged - don't blame me when, for example, Harry dies tragically on a rooftop at sunrise...

Hogwarts Era (mostly 5th-7th year)

A Thousand Beautiful Things by Duinn Fionn/geoviki (M, 105k)

Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend.

All Bets Are Off by Allegra (R, 53k)

I am SICK of Good-little-innocent!Harry...Enter Playboy!Harry and his Overinflated Ego, a challenge, a bet, a couple of Really Cunning Plans - and there you have it, "Forty days and forty nights", Hogwarts style. Mayhem ensues!

Angels and Devils by beren (E, 52k)

Harry defeated Voldemort and his act of heroism is famous throughout the wizarding world. He's trying to finish his final year at Hogwarts in peace, but, thanks to the method he chose to destroy The Dark Lord, something peculiar is happening to him, something he never would have expected. It's all rather embarrassing and making his life very complicated.

Artful Facade by Sky Sorceress (T, 66k)

Sometimes you fly too close to the sun and lose your wings. With sixth year approaching, the danger Harry seeks can be found only in the form of Draco Malfoy. What follows is a twist in the line between hatred, love, and need.

Beautiful World by Cinnamon/Lissadiane (M, 70k)

Harry finds out he's going to die on his 16th birthday. He embarks on a journey of self-destructive behaviour and drags Draco along for the ride.

Beneath You by Cinnamon/Lissadiane (M, 113k)

Draco had no idea that the repercussions of stealing Potter's journal and shoving it down the back of his trousers would be so extreme.

Bond by AnnaFugazzi (M, 173k)

It seems 95% of H/D writers feel compelled to write a "Harry And Draco Are Forced To Be Together By Something Beyond Their Control And Then Unlikely Stuff Happens That Leads To Twoo Wuv" story. Count me among the 95% ;)

Checkmate by Naadi Moonfeather (T, 245k)

Draco has the perfect plan to get Harry Potter and challenges him to a game of Dare Chess. But is it love, or betrayal, he has in mind?

The Cicatrix Cycle by Ivy Blossom (NC-17, long!)

Three parts: Origins, Haven, Belong

Draco In Darkness by Plumeria (T, 41k)

Following an accident in his seventh year, Draco loses his eyesight. After Harry elbows his way into Draco's dark world, both boys find themselves in a strange new friendship, and they each learn new ways to see each other … and themselves.

Eclipse by PhoenixSong/Mijan (T, 287k)

"You're dead, Potter... I'm going to make you pay..." Draco swore his revenge on Harry for Lucius's imprisonment, and Harry all but laughed at him. But Draco is planning more than schoolyard pranks this time. The old rivalry turns deadly when Draco abducts Harry for Voldemort. It's the perfect plan, guaranteeing revenge, power, and prestige, all in one blow. But, when Draco's world turns upside down, the fight to save himself and Harry begins, and the battle will take them both through hell and back. If they come back.

Friend Like Me by Lady Vader (M, 11k)

Draco's rendition of the love story that never was.

How Harry Potter Got His Groove Back by Durendal/Eleveninches (R, 12k)

Snape tries to hang himself, Draco enters an alternate reality, and Harry Gets a Clue. Humor, SLASH, naughty language, and other Evil Things. Harry/Draco, Snape/James/Lucius.

Irresistible Poison by Rhysenn (PG-13, 124k)

Under the influence of a love potion, Draco learns that poison doesn't always bring death -- there are other ways to suffer and live. Chemical emotion runs feverish as Harry and Draco discover the intoxication of love.

Lettered by pir8fancier (M, 7.8k)

Harry has a secret penpal, whose identity is as plain as the nose on his face. Except he's not wearing his glasses.

Love Under Will by Aja (R, 116k)

In their 5th year, Harry and Draco choose to be with one another; but the story--and the battle-- is just beginning...

playing the game, living the lie by Abaddon (R, 159k)

Set in Sixth Year, both the wizarding and Muggle worlds are threatened as Voldemort plans a final revenge. Past, present and future collide as all must consider where their loyalties lie; who they are, and who they want to be. Amidst it all, Harry and Draco begin a dangerous journey of understanding. Is it possible to leave everything you thought you were behind?

Resolution by Frances Potter (R, 322k)

When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. A series of vignettes chronicling Harry's final six months at Hogwarts. Exams, friends, lovers, Quidditch, the war and Draco all conspire to make the year end seem a very long way away.

Seamus is Seamus and You are Yourself by Ari Munami (PG-13, 31k)

Harry goes through some er... changes in his Sixth Year and everyone, including Draco Malfoy, sits up and takes notice.

Snakes and Lions by GatewayGirl (M, 139k)

When Ron and Hermione get together, they notice only each other. A nightmare prompts Harry to return alone to the empty Chamber of Secrets, and leads to a new look at an old enemy. Harry enjoys the company, but with Bellatrix Lestrange actively hunting him, how far can he trust a Death Eater's son?

Something Impossible by epicylical/Cassandra Claire (PG, 6.4k)

As punishment for an act of vandalism, Draco is forced to perform three tasks to win Harry's forgiveness - only they don't turn out to be exactly the kind of tasks he'd been expecting. With wet shirtless Draco, paint-covered Harry, and Proust-reading Goyle.

Transformation by amalin (E, 98k)

In Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts, he must face the consequences of the attack on the Department of Mysteries and the effects of Voldemort's return. And in doing so, he finds that even your enemies can teach you valuable lessons—about the world, and about yourself.

Walking the Line by SilentAuror (E, 179k)

Sixth year is over and Draco Malfoy is on the run. The war is on and an unwanted assignment is forced upon him by the only people he trusts - and a one-time arch-enemy just may be out to kill him.

Post-Hogwarts

Adagio in G Minor by furiosity (NC-17, 18k)

Seven years after Hogwarts and the war, life continues in the wizarding world. Draco Malfoy is rich, bored, and slightly jaded. Harry Potter is famous, busy, and somewhat disillusioned. They've not seen each other since school ended. What would happen if they were to cross paths again? What if it involved music?

Big Dick, Come Quick [PDF] by Calanthe (NC-17, 204k)

Draco’s got a theory. About sex. And after much searching for the right candidate, it appears that only Harry Potter, his life long enemy, can help him test it out.

Draco's Escort Service by Cheryl Dyson/dysonrules (15, 12k)

Draco's job is to escort travelers through the dangerous, war-torn countryside. Harry Potter is forced to hire him, but his destination isn't quite what Draco expected.

Left My Heart by Emma Grant (E, 85k)

Auror Draco Malfoy has disappeared, and Harry Potter has been sent to San Francisco to find him.

Malfoy, P.I. by Nancy (R, 60k)

"I'm Draco Malfoy, private investigator. I've seen a lot--I mean a lot, and I'm like sweet seventeen a lot. I thought I'd seen it all, until a pair of green eyes stepped into my office." A noir AU set in L.A. where passion and magic collide. Slashy and sexy.

Queen of Hearts by scoradh (E, 65k)

A spectre is haunting Harry - the responsibility of his destiny. It looms over his future and, more importantly, over the future of his friends. Harry is determined to exorcise this spectre for the greater good, but on the way, he enters into a few unholy alliances.

Tissue of Silver by fearlessdiva (R, 76k)

A love story concerning possessed furniture, black silk pyjamas, courtroom drama, premonitions of doom, assassination attempts, Death Eater yoga, absinthe, bare feet and a sensible werewolf.

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by November Snowflake (M, 58k)

When the long-missing Draco Malfoy turns up at a Ministry field hospital with amnesia, bitter Auror Harry Potter must confront the shadows of their shared past to shed light on a potentially deadly mystery.

Transfigurations by Resonant (E, 71k)

Five years after Voldemort's defeat, Harry returns to England to help re-open Hogwarts.

#drarry #fic recs #vintage drarry fics #loved putting this together #blast from the past

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kira-fluff · 1 year

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hi,can you do yn who sleeps with no pants pt3 with kenma and suna please?

sleeping with no pants on | fem!reader x haikyuu!!

a/n: i finally got my new laptop today so it's back to writing ^^

tw: language, NSWF, kenma's is a lil more than that lol (why? idk)

pt. 1 pt. 2

kenma kozume

you liked to sit and watch while kenma gamed, smiling as you heard the curses he said under his breath at a loss, or the smirk at a triumphant win. you laughed to yourself as you sat this time at 3am, recalling how kenma used to wake up early just to play his video games when he was younger. now that he was older, he had the luxury of playing as late as he wanted. the two of you hadn't been dating for very long, still very much in the kiss-hand-holding phase, so you balked in surprise when kenma suddenly said, "hey, are you sleeping here tonight?" while his eyes were still glued to his screen. you choked on your words. this was a big step for you, but not one you didn't want to take. you were just surprised at how causally he had brought the whole topic up. it seemed to shock you too evidently because he then added, "you don't have to though." you shook your head, "no, no, I want to. it's getting late, ken. lets get to bed." normally, kenma would fight tooth and nail to get even one more hour of gaming time like you were his mother, but he also knew it was out of concern that you often asked him to finish for the night. however, this time, kenma felt no need to continue pressing the buttons in rhythm with his console. you decided then and there that you would take the leap, and change in front of him. slowly, you lifted up your shirt. the rustling of fabric caused kenma to turn around in time to see your breasts bounce free from your bra. he whipped his head back in time for you not to see, his ears beet red. "kenma?" you said quietly. "..hmm?" "I-uh--well. so, when I sleep, I can't sleep when I have pants on..." kenma swallowed. "no problem." in all honesty, kenma didn't wear them either. he wore clothes for comfort, not for style, and the same was for sleeping. being able to be free from the confines of clothing was one of his favorite reasons for finally turning to going back to sleep. when you pulled down your shorts, exposing your panties, his eyes pooled with a dark gold. still, he pushed the thoughts away and instead decided it was time for him to head in too. after removing his sweatpants after turning off the light, he heard a little gasp as he slipped into the covers. kenma's bare leg had rubbed against your own. he wasn't wearing pants either? you could scarcely hold yourself together as you searched for things to think about other than the fact that your boyfriend was lying down next to you, pant-less. that morning you awoke in kenma's arms, the warm feeling of his chest against your back. <3

suna rintarou

you and suna ended up sleeping at each other's houses for the night several on several occasions. after watching movie with your best friend since middle school, it was pretty much a given that you didn't care much what the other did. still, you hadn't really reached the gap where you could step in and possibly admit your feelings for him. so, whenever he spent the night or vice versa, you would slide into the bed you both agreed to share (because who really cares?) with your complete pajama set on. you figured you would be going too far if you decided to be comfortable and take off your little shorts. this, of course, made it difficult for you to sleep. you moved around in an effort to get more comfortable, but all that did was rearrange your shorts so they were almost reversed - front in the back, back in the front. you sighed. "why do you keep rolling around like a burrito?" "that makes no sense." you said. "burritos are rolled." he said in the obnoxiously snarky way he speaks when he thinks something is obvious. "why are you awake arguing with me about burritos?" you muttered. "because you woke me up."m "it's just hard for me to fall asleep right now. it's too.. hot in here." "liar. the a/c is on full blast." he said. you sighed again, "well I'm just uncomfortable, ok?" he sat up a little, resting his head on the palm of his hand, his head turned to you. "why?" "it's really stupid and embarrassing." "everything about you is stupid and embarrassing." he smirked. he was rewarded with a flick on his forehead. "shut up, rin." his stare urged you to speak once more. "well," you began, "I can't sleep if my pants or shorts are on." he was quiet for a moment before his voice came out in a rasp, "well then don't wear any." you looked his way, noticing his eyes glowing in the moonlight creeping through the blinds. "but we're...friends." he swallowed thickly. "doesn't mean you can't take your shorts off--" he cut himself off. "it doesn't mean you can't be comfortable. there's covers anyway." you stared at him in apprehension before bringing your hands to your hips below the covers. slowly, you pulled them down, only the sound of the sheets and fabrics ruffling. suna sounded a bit like he was getting hot too because he was panting a bit when you turned to him. you looked at him with a questioning expression. "sorry.." he muttered, "kinda hard to breathe in here with the air quality and stuff." you were well aware the windows were closed and that was probably bullshit, but you decided not to press further. "well, anyway. thanks. goodnight." you smiled meekly, turning to your side. what you weren't aware of was that suna wasn't able to sleep a wink that night, much less when you shoved off the covers while sleeping (I guess you were actually a little bit hot). suna was suffering, truly, as he tried not to stare at the bottom half of you - only panties covering you. the morning couldn't come soon enough for him.

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burgerrat · 1 month

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Ok so @king-crawler technically I finished your 2 hour Turbo documentary yesterday at 3 AM BUT regardless I have recentlt watched it and I have a LOT I'd like to say, clarify details or lil things you might have missed or could be interpreted differently when you look at them another way :3

With that last bit I am diving head first into the flashback scene since it's heavily referencing that.

First and foremost, keep in mind that it is being narrated from Felix's point of view- remember that he was in his game doing his job when the accident happened, it was while every person ever was inside their respective game being busy being used as avatars; also referencing back what you said on Felix- he's not exactly the most understanding of others' situations, he stays well within his comfort zone. Keep that in mind.

When Roadblasters is plugged in the flashback, you can see the two players using TurboTime immediately abandon the game to check out the new one, and the screen Turbo's pixelated image apoears on is completely dark, don't you think that is very reminiscent of a Game Over screen? 🙃 meaning, the two players abandoned Turbo in the middle of a race, likely causing him to crash and lose.

Remember King Candy's shock, and sudden change in behaviour as soon as he sees Vanellope sprinting past him? What follows is a volatile fit of rage and violence when things don't go his way, this sudden change of trajectory. Wouldn't you reckon this moment could mirror how Turbo felt in the flashback? He's being used as an avatar, and suddenly he loses control as he gets ditched and gets his race put to a halt. That initial shock of "what is going on. This wasn't supposed to happen!"

Following that, while I don't doubt he got jealous, he SPRINTED into Roadblasters the moment he lost... but not to try to take it over- to take petty revenge instead, interrupting the players' race and causing them to crash just like they did to him, preventing him from winning in his game. Picture it as a "if I can't have this, then you won't have it either" type mentality towards Roadblasters.

Going back to Felix and why his ignorance/remaining within his bubble could have possibility caused him to misread Turbo's intentions. Felix also is one to make assumptions in the beginning of the movie, like how for example when trying to calm the Nicelanders when Ralph goes missing: "Ralph probably fell asleep in Tapper's bathroom again!" Or some such. It makes sense he would make assumptions about Turbo as well, ESPECIALLY if he knew him personally and how self-obsessed he is. Doesn't take a genius to realize this guy does not like to lose.

Secondly, the final boss scene. King Candybug in general really. I disagree with your idea that Turbo has always been this hungry for power he'd want to take over the entire arcade. We both know that if that happened, if every game was infested by Cy-bugs, Litwak would be forced to close down his business because all of the games would be unplayable. His 'attention' wouldn't last very long if every game gets unplugged, his thought process to take over the arcade is purely manic and deranged for someone like him who has been well-known to be a master manipulator, able to keep a stable facade for over a decade without wanting to take over other racing games? That 'taking over the arcade' sounds very unlike him. It sounds more like... a cy-bug's programming. A cy-bug's programming that has gained enough conciousness to start plotting and planning. Because it now has the intelligence of a person, fused with him, learned what he knows.

Speaking of which, remember the cybug that ate King Candy?

Look at it's candy-pattern. Haven't we seen that somewhere before...?

Oh right! Right here, when the cybug eats some pepperming roots.

The same cybug that ended up there after falling into the taffy lake... after being ejected from a shuttle.

The same cybug that Ralph brought with himself.

What was the very first thing that King Candybug said to ralph when they see eachother again for the showdown?

"Because of you, Ralph, I'm now the most powerful virus in the arcade!"

I don't think, during this one moment at least, that this was Turbo speaking.

#wreck it ralph #king candy #turbo #my writing #infodump #aheem aheem i hope u enjoy my silly little ideas and observations smiles

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lonely-cowboy · 9 months

Text

without you

pairing: connor (rk800) x gn!reader

summary: it's been almost three days since you last saw connor. with the ongoing revolution, you're concerned about his whereabouts. and if you'll ever see him again.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: occasional cursing but that's it

author's note: let me paint a little picture for y'all. it's currently 1am and i'm sitting on the couch in the dark sobbing like a baby bc i just finished my very first playthrough of dbh and didn't even realize i was near the end and i hate that it's over (i'm just gonna play again). anyway! my solution to stop (worsen) my sad lonely thoughts was to write this! yippee! healthy coping!

masterlist ⟡ requests

You were never a fan of staying home all day and lounging around in your pajamas doing absolutely nothing. You felt unproductive, like you were wasting time. And if there was one thing you hated more than anything, it was wasting time.

But– like anything– there were some exceptions. The most common exceptions were the days after an intense investigation, mostly those involving considerable physical exertion (which really just meant any form of running). Those days, your body was so unbelievably sore that it was almost necessary for you to stay in bed and do nothing all day. Besides that, the only other exception was the occasional rainy day.

And now. Now was an exception too.

It was nearing three days since you had last seen Connor. Usually, that wouldn’t have bothered you. Three days was nothing. It was always possible that the two of you were just far too overwhelmed with work to see each other. But with the rising android revolution that threatened Connor’s life– and that of any android– you immediately assumed the worst.

Huddled on your couch, you stared blankly at the muted television as it flashed between news stations. You weren’t really paying attention anymore, too consumed by thoughts of Connor. You pulled your blanket tighter around your shoulders, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

Truthfully, you hadn’t known Connor that long. Sure, you worked with him frequently to investigate the sudden rise in deviants, but in the grand scheme of things, it felt like you had just met him. Of course, that didn’t stop Connor from burrowing his way into your heart with those soft doe eyes and that gentle, slightly confused smile. You had a soft spot for him now, so it was perfectly reasonable that you couldn’t help but worry for his safety.

You released a heavy sigh as you turned off the television, trying to shake away any negative thoughts. With narrowed eyes, you glanced at the other end of the couch where Hank had been sitting almost three hours ago. He had been checking in on you frequently the last few days to make sure you were– at the very least– living, though he would never admit it. Whenever he did stop by, it was always because he “forgot his jacket” or “couldn’t watch the Detroit Gears game at home.” Whatever lame excuse he came up with, it was always intended to ensure you were okay.

Today’s lame excuse was that he ran out of beer and didn’t want to go to the store during such a “crazy fucking time.” That ended with the two of you sitting in silence on your couch, watching the television for any sign that Connor might be okay. In your book, that just meant he wasn’t dead.

But eventually, Hank had been pulled away to the precinct for whatever reason. He promised he’d make it short. He was reluctant to go anyway, so he wouldn’t be gone long. Three hours felt pretty fucking long to you.

You pursed your lips worriedly, forgetting Connor for a moment as your mind was now focused on Hank’s safety. What if he somehow got himself tangled up in this revolution? What if he managed to get caught in some wild crossfire with no means of telling you?

No, that was crazy. You were being irrational. Surely he just decided to brave going to the store to get some more beer once he left the precinct, right? That made so much sense. Obviously, he was outside your apartment building right now struggling to get in because he didn’t have a key and was too preoccupied carrying his mountains of beer. Obviously…

Without thinking, you scurried into your closet and pulled on your warmest clothes. You threw your thickest jacket over your pajamas, not bothering to hide your snowflake pajama pants. You pulled on your shoes and a beanie, ignoring the way it matted your hair. Then, you were out the door and rushing downstairs with the belief that you could miraculously manifest Hank’s presence.

There was no other explanation. You were blessed with some magical powers that you were yet to understand because as you marched into the snow, Hank suddenly appeared. You didn’t stop until you were jabbing a finger into his chest, glaring up at his towering figure.

“What is wrong with you?” you seethed. “You can’t just leave like that!”

Hank sighed with what sounded like irritation, though you knew he could never be irritated with you. He raised his hands in mock surrender as he grumbled, “Sorry, kid, I–”

“Oh, no, no, no! I’m not done!” you growled, choosing to ignore that maybe you were being a little overdramatic. What’s life without a little drama anyway? “You had me fucking worried, Hank! I’m already worried sick about Connor, I don’t have the energy to worry about both of you!”

Hank said your name in an attempt to stop you, but it was no use. Now that you had an outlet to channel your jumble of emotions, you were going to let them all out.

“I mean, you’ve seen me, Hank! I can barely get out of bed because of that goddamn android!” you shouted. “His safety is the only thing on my–”

Hank rolled his eyes as he grumbled something about how he was “tired of this shit” that didn’t involve him. That only seemed to fuel your fire, the crease between your brows deepening with anger and worry. You opened your mouth again to yell at Hank as he stepped aside, but you quickly shut it once you noticed the figure standing bashfully behind him.

Connor stood a few feet away having clearly been told to stay put once Hank saw your angry self storming out of the apartment building. His hands were clasped neatly behind his back, standing tall against the harsh winter winds. His eyes were already on you, watching you with a warm glint. When you met his gaze, the corners of his lips turned upwards into a small, unsure smile.

Compared to him, you were sure you looked absolutely stupid. No, no matter what you looked completely stupid. You stared at Connor with absurdly wide eyes, mouth opening and closing like a confused fish. You were so baffled by his appearance that you couldn’t even move, no wonder the poor man was confused. All this while wearing your stupid fucking snowflake pajamas.

Neither of you made any effort to close the uncomfortable distance between the two of you. You were thankful that Hank managed to find his way back into your apartment building because you would be a doubly flustered mess if he saw how awkward the two of you were. At least Connor made some effort to communicate. He raised a hand in an awkward wave, his soft voice barely heard over the din of the wind.

“Hello.”

Your feet were moving before your brain could catch up. You sprinted towards Connor– though it was more of a fast waddle if anything– and pulled him into a tight hug. A heavy sigh of relief left your lips as you felt his firm body against you, inhaling his scent slowly. He was real.

You squeezed him a little tighter, burying your head into his chest. It was as if you didn’t want to let him go, and truthfully, you didn’t. You couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again.

Connor’s arms wrapped lightly around your body. He leaned into your touch, relaxing in your arms with a comforted grin. Until you, he had no idea what it was like to be cared for. Perhaps the greatest gift of consciousness was your affection.

Connor murmured your name in a quiet rasp, his lips moving against your hair. He reared back to catch your eyes, but you refused to let him. You just held him closer and allowed yourself to calm in his presence. When you finally did pull away, you glanced at him with a confusing look of joy, sadness, and anger.

“I didn’t think you were ever coming back,” you mumbled, letting the words spill out. “I was so scared… Connor, I… God, I missed you…”

There was a beat of silence as Connor’s LED spiraled yellow, his head tilted to the slightest degree. It seemed as if he was struggling to find the right words out.

“I…,” Connor started hoarsely. “I think… I missed you too.”

Despite the whirlwind of emotions you felt, you couldn’t help but laugh at Connor’s words. A small smile traced your lips as you studied him with furrowed brows.

“You think?” you repeated with another quiet laugh, your breath pluming in the cold air.

Connor paused again, his LED flashing yellow once more. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it as he considered his words a moment longer. He was looking into the distance, but when he glanced back down to you it was as if all the right words suddenly came to him.

“I don’t know what it feels like to miss someone,” he explained softly. “But I think… I think this is what it would feel like. I felt… I don’t know… there was a tightness inside of me when I thought I would never see you again. Is that what it’s like to miss someone?”

Your grin widened as Connor spoke. A tinge of pink coated your cheeks, and you were sure it wasn’t just from the cold.

“Maybe I’m biased, but yeah, I think so,” you answered sweetly.

“Oh,” Connor muttered as he took a moment to process that information. “Then, yes. It appears I did miss you.”

Your chest felt light from the joy of having Connor back. You were so giddy, in fact, that you didn’t even think before you were leaning forward and pressing a delicate kiss to Connor’s cheek. It was only when you pulled away that you realized what you had done, your face heating with embarrassment.

You glanced at Connor worriedly and noticed the faint blue coloring along his cheeks. It almost made you laugh seeing such a confident android turned into such a poor, flustered mess. Well, you took his silence to mean his was flustered, but his silence lasted so long that you weren’t so sure anymore.

“Connor?” you asked. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Connor replied immediately. “I was searching my database for the best way to greet someone you missed.”

It was your turn to be flustered again, eyes going wide with surprise as you murmured, “Oh. And… what did you find?”

Connor’s gaze finally focused back on you, his expression neutral aside from his fading blush. The corner of his lip quirked up slightly as his eyes searched your face like he was memorizing every little detail.

“I found that the best way to convey you missed someone is by kissing them, as you’ve done to me,” he answered in his typical matter-of-fact tone. “However, whereas you kissed my cheek, I noticed that most people kiss on the lips. I’d like to do the same if that’s alright with you.”

Your stunned silence must’ve been enough of an answer for Connor because he leaned forward with a grin. His warm hands moved to hold your cheeks, fighting off the evening chill. Your hands immediately moved to rest over top his, seeking out his warmth while his soft lips moved against yours. He pulled away far too soon for your liking, but he rested his forehead against yours as he whispered sweet words against your skin.

“I missed you too.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

author's note: i hope you enjoyed! this is my very first post ever, so i'm a little nervous! if you have any constructive (and kind) criticism, please lmk! and if you have any requests i'd love to hear those too :)

#detroit become human #connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh connor #connor rk800

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hellodropbear · 2 months

Text

like she used to (bonus)

alexia putellas x sister

part I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII

it's been well over a month since I finished the last part of like she used to and started this chapter, i'm so sorry for the delay!

a week after i posted the last part i was on a run in the national park near my house and it is between two beaches (literally my favourite run ever) so very sandy and uneven and i was running alone and tore my acl/mcl lol so I have been preoccupied with that stuff.

i'm super fucking pissed as well because i was supposed to have state cross country in a couple weeks (first season in the open group) AND my reconstruction is scheduled for like two weeks before peak surf life saving season so i'll probably miss the whole summer and into autumn AS WELL as the competitions we do throughout the summer.

anyway i had to quit football and dance because of a back injury so if this means i have to quit xc and/or sls i'll be super sad.

rant over and here is a new part of like she used to, a popular request of when elena meets olga

~~~~~~

I was a lot littler when I met Jenni. She was tall and had heaps of tattoos littered around her body. Her arm's weren't dissimilar to Mapi's, but they were better at picking me up - either to restrain me or comfort me.

The first time I met her was on the pitch, on Mapi's shoulders at the end of a game for Spain. I think I was about 6, too big to be carried around like that, but my resistance was ignored and Mapi had pulled me up anyway.

She was shouting and chanting as she walked around the pitch, making me squeal in laughter as she tugged on my leg and made joke after joke. She only quietened as we approached a bunch of chatting footballers. I had met most of them before, but Jenni was there, the only one I didn't recognise.

I distinctly remember Mapi tugging me down and holding me up on her hip, pointing at Jenni. She knew I didn't know her, she knew how anxious I became when I was introduced to new people so she made sure I was secure in her arms, my head pressed against her neck.

"Ah! The baby Putellas!" She smiled at me - that friendly, toothy grin that quickly became so familiar.

I leant back into the familiarity of Mapi, mumbling my response quietly.

"Not a baby."

Mapi had laughed, ruffling my hair and planting a kiss on my head.

"She is six now. You're so big, mi pequena!"

My gaze never left Jenni, still curious about the unfamiliar woman standing in front of me. Mapi must have noticed, because she continued to speak when nobody else did.

"Elena, this is Jenni Hermoso. She plays here with Spain and also Barcelona with Ale!"

I nodded, smiling shyly at Jenni.

"I have seen you at home, Elena, but your sister likes to keep you safe and away from all of us players."

I looked up at Mapi, uncertainty written all over my face. She leaned down to me, whispering in my ear.

"Jenni is a striker for Barcelona, she plays very well."

"Not as well as you, Mapi!"

She had chuckled softly, kissing my head again.

"Tell Jenni that."

I looked back up at the dark haired woman, a shy smile on my face.

"Mapi plays too! She is a defender. I want to be a defender when I grow up and become just like Mapi."

Jenni chuckled as Mapi adjusted her hold on me, allowing her to pull me closer as she wrapped her arms around me.

"Who knows. Maybe if you get to know me better you'll grow up to become one of the greatest strikers of all time."

I don't remember what happened next, but both Mapi and Jenni laugh when they retell the story of me scrunching up my nose and shaking my head, confident that defence was the only area I would consider going into.

From then on, Jenni became a familiar face. One that I would recognise at Alexia's games and approach shyly, blushing as she pulled me up onto her hip and walked me around the pitch.

It was a welcome surprise when Alexia arrived home from training one night, Jenni right behind her with a bashful smile on her rosy face. She sat beside me at the dinner table, sneaking the food I didn't want to eat and making me laugh by kicking Alexia's leg.

She quickly established her role in our family, and I quickly realised how much I liked having her around.

She started to pick me up from school, driving me to my own trainings, kicking the ball with me in the back yard when she got home from her training. She was like another sister and as I grew older I began to confide in her like she was related by blood.

So when Mami told me they had broken up, I was distraught. It was bad enough that she had moved to Mexico, but when she came back to Spain and didn't visit our house, it felt like I had lost a sister.

Because that's what she was; a sister.

Mami or Alba must have told her how upset I was though, because she sent me a text not long after, apologising.

I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye, pequena. I love you so much and I will miss seeing you all the time. I can't wait to watch you grow into a brilliant defender and I have no doubt you will be just like Mapi like you said you wanted to be all those years ago. I am so proud of you and I am always rooting for you and always here for you if you ever need me.

I had cried over that message, I hate to admit. But it was when everything started to fall apart; when I was beginning to question everything I knew about myself and my family. My emotions were high and I think Jenni disappearing from my life tipped me over the edge, sending me into a raging ocean, swallowing me and spitting me right back out again.

It's ok. Spain will miss you. I'll miss you a lot as well. Sorry you couldn't convince me to become a striker like you.

~~~~~~

Meeting Olga is different.

There's no Mapi holding me, right there to carry me away if I want to leave, to comfort me if something goes wrong or to kiss the top of my head to remind me of her presence.

There's not much comfort left in Alexia either, she is still trying so hard to build back our relationship but for some reason I am struggling to let her.

I can't confide in Alba, because she met Olga months ago, when they first got together. Mami thinks she is brilliant.

Of course I have stalked her instagram, my heart racing as I struggled to understand how my sister went from Jenni Hermoso to this girl. Mapi told me it was bad to compare the two, and bad to judge Olga before meeting her.

They are friends, Mapi and Olga. She became defensive when I said that I don't care who Alexia is dating anymore, that it won't make any difference to my life anymore.

She told me that I should give it a try.

I told her I'd do it. I told her I'd do it for her.

~~~~~~

Ingrid dropped me off at my home, sensing my reluctance to head in and reassuring me it would all be ok, that Olga is great. She told me that if I need, I can just send her a text and she will get me to take me back home.

They didn't want me to leave their apartment, Mapi and Ingrid. Mapi worries a lot, I have found, and had many lengthy discussions with Mami about my wellbeing, how it had declined so quickly and the crash had slipped right through Mami's eyes.

"She needs to stay somewhere that she can receive the love and care that she hasn't had, Eli! It's not your fault you are busy, but I am not. I can take care of her while she is still vulnerable and then in a couple months, we can rethink."

I wasn't supposed to be listening to their conversation, but Mapi's temper had been rising and her voice became louder as a result. I closed my door again when she finished, not wanting to hear what Mami had to say.

I held bagheera hostage and wept into her fur, and she stayed with me all night, still asleep by my side when I woke up the next morning, Mapi knocking on my door with breakfast, ready to confirm that I would be living with her indefinitely.

She said that she was going to help me and look after me. She said she was always there if I wanted to talk, if I wanted to cry, yell, laugh. She said I was going to be ok with such confidence, like there wasn't a doubt in the world.

"This will just be a blip, pequena. Everything will be ok soon, and I will be right here making sure that time comes."

But, despite my reluctance, she wouldn't take no for an answer when she found out about this dinner tonight, about meeting Olga.

They are all already sat around the table when I enter the kitchen, slipping my shoes off and walking over to where Mami is sitting, dutifully planting a kiss on her cheek before moving back to my spot beside Alba.

"Hola."

Alexia looks at me. Alba looks at me. Mami looks at me. But I am focussed on the new brunette sitting across from Alba, waiting for her to make eye contact.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Elena."

She looks up at me hesitantly.

"I know. I'm Olga. It's nice to meet you too, Elena."

I can almost hear the collective sigh of relief around my dinner table as I sit down, still focussed on Olga. I have nothing left to say though, so I am grateful when Alba picks up a new conversation.

I provide input when necessary, but I am more focussed on Olga than I would like to admit, my eyes straying over to her a bit too frequently.

She seems, nervous? Maybe. It could be that she doesn't like the food, the way she is picking away at it. But Mami cooks the greatest paella I've ever eaten, and I've heard from Alba that Olga loves any types of food.

The other and more likely option is that she's nervous because of my presence, which is an idea I am entirely uncomfortable with. But it is almost confirmed in the way she avoids eye contact through the whole dinner, and I feel deflated as I traipse up the stairs and into my room, sitting on my piano stall for the first time in months.

It's been almost two months since that day. Two months since I left this house, running as far as I possibly could from the darkness it trapped me in.

I don't like to think about that day, about how I felt in the days leading up to it and the days after it because how am I supposed think about how I felt when I didn't feel anything?

Things have changed so much since then. I made my debut for Barcelona. My sister apologised. I have started living with Mapi and Ingrid, closer to training. I have stopped going to school after my therapist told me it was too much. Everybody knew that quitting football wasn't an option.

I haven't touched a piano since that day, so the keys feel cold and unfamiliar underneath my fingers. My chords are dissonant and my rhythms are erratic and unsteady.

It feels like I have lost my touch, and I can feel that connection I had with my father drift further and further away from me as my fingers continue to improvise. I resort back to the first song he ever taught me, a little nursery rhyme but the familiar notes destroy me in an entirely different way, memories flooding through my head, Papi sat beside me on the stall helping me, my sisters and Mami squished on the tiny office couch behind us, cheering me on and singing along.

My hands retreat from the piano before I get too frustrated and instead, I let my eyes drift up to the picture that has hung above it since it was moved into my room.

Shaking hands reach forward to pluck it from my wall, and it sits in my lap, my head dipped as I stare at it, memorising every tiny detail.

I was so small, wrapped up in my sisters' arms. She looked so excited to have a new baby sister, the smile on her face is unfamiliar to me now.

Alba is beside her, staring down at my tiny body, as if she was printing the image of me into my memory. Mami is gazing at the camera, smiling with her hand wrapped up in Papi's, her head resting on his shoulder as he stares lovingly at his three daughters, his eyes full of tears.

I quickly wipe away the tear that drops onto the glass, inhaling softly and letting the air leave me once more. My eyes close and I try not to picture how different my life would be if he hadn't of died, if we were still a happy family of five.

I wonder sometimes, if he would have let the family divide, form a big crack that could be glued together so many times but never completely fixed. Never back to how it once was, always more sensitive than it should be.

I don't think he would have.

At least that's what I tell myself.

I am still staring down at the picture when there is a soft knock on my door, it creaking quietly as Mami pushes it open.

"She is very happy to have met you, Elena."

I frown, my eyebrows crinkling. It didn't feel like that. Mami speaks again before I have time to come up with a response.

"But she doesn't know how to bond with you, because she thinks it is her fault that you and Alexia fell out. She thinks she is the reason that you are so sad."

I shake my head.

"It was long before she came along."

"I know. I know it was."

She sounds guilty, and I know her well enough to know it is because she wishes she did something early on. She wishes she did something at all, that much she has told me. She regrets leaving Mapi to pick up the pieces and try and glue me back together.

She knows that Mapi has struggled though, because she does not have enough hands to hold the million pieces that I was shattered into together. She can not do it alone, but is reluctant to let me go somewhere else.

"This is the best place for you at the moment, pequena. Your Mami and sisters are a phone call away, but I have so much time to make sure you are ok."

I heard her talking to Ingrid that night, telling her how worried she was that if I did go back home, if I went to stay with Alexia or Alba, everything would go back to how it was.

They had agreed that night that they could provide me with the love and care they think I need, that wasn't given to me at home.

"Can you tell her that she doesn't need to think that? I don't want her to treat me different to Alba or you."

I turn around to face her and notice the single tear that threatens to fall from her eye.

She has been emotional recently, ever since she came to Mapi's to see me. She cried a lot then, apologising, telling me she was a terrible mother. Telling me that Papi would be ashamed of her.

Something tells me she cries a lot when I'm not here, the silence that echoed through the house where loud laughs or cries once sang out swallowing her as she eats, sleeps and sits alone.

"I think you should talk to her, Elena. It would mean a lot to her and to Alexia. It would make things better for the both of you."

~~~~~~

Mami's words follow me for the next few days.

When Ingrid picks me up, I force a smile and tell her everything went well. Mapi is harder to convince, but I tell her I am tired and head straight up to bed.

I think about Olga, what I could say to her. How I would even meet up with her.

She seems nice, and I do want to get to know her, to get along with her. And I think this is the only way to get past the initial awkwardness. It's not like she would come to me.

It takes me two weeks to build up the courage to go see her, and the only person who knows is Mami because I had to ask for her address. She was happy, I could tell over the phone, encouraging me that it was the right decision, that I was good for doing this.

I tell Mapi that I'm going to hang out with an old friend from school, but catch the bus out to Olga's apartment instead.

She lives in a small Barcelona house, a few steps leading up to the large front door.

I ignore the nerves that flare up inside me as I walk up the stairs, my hand barely hesitating over the doorbell.

I resist the urge to run and the door creaking opening is the final confirmation that this conversation is happening now.

She seems surprised to see me, but her initial shock is quickly masked by an awkward smile as she invites me inside, offering me snacks, drinks, a meal. I decline, perching myself on the edge of her sofa after she sits down.

She looks at me intently, waiting for me to initiate some sort of conversation, but the words aren't coming out. The words I have been brainstorming for the past two weeks seem to have flown out the window as soon as I entered the apartment, leaving me with nothing to say.

The length of the silence is verging on the edge of being awkward, and Olga clears her throat and speaks instead.

"It was nice to meet you the other night, Elena. I had heard so much about you and I have been looking forward to meeting you for so long."

She beamed at me, and I smiled back sheepishly, still unsure what to say.

I hesitate for an embarrassingly long time, before words finally come to me.

"Sorry."

Confusion flashes over her face and her mouth opens to speak, but I beat her to it, elaborating.

"You were probably looking forward to meeting me and I left as soon as dinner finished."

"It's ok."

She answered too quickly, and I flickered my eyes towards her. A small smile sat on her face, and she had relaxed into the cushions of the sofa.

"I have thought about what I wanted to say so many times, but I have forgotten how I wanted to start."

I chuckle sheepishly and she shakes her head.

"You don't need to worry, Elena. I don't want you to be scared of me, or what I think. I just want to know you, and I want you to know me."

"I- It's just- I don't know. You know about everything that's happened... with me and Alexia?"

She nods hesitantly and opens her mouth to speak but again, I beat her to it.

"It's not your fault. Like, not at all. Mami said you think that and it's not true. It is a lot older than that, all the way back to when Ale and Jenni first broke up."

I didn't really know what reaction I expected from her, but I did not think she would relax so visibly. Her entire body loses any remaining tension, and she releases a loud, long breath.

"Thank you, Elena. For saying that. She's told me how much you mean to her and how badly she screwed up. I didn't want to be the reason for that. Mapi has mentioned vaguely how it hurt you, and I didn't want to be the reason for that either."

I shake my head.

"You don't need to worry about it. It's not because of you, and it's getting better now. Slowly. I'll be ok."

"I know you'll be ok."

Her words come out in a whisper and she continues when I look at her in confusion.

"I have heard a lot about you, Elena, but most of the time, it is about your strength. Everyone says how strong you are, how resilient. Everyone is so proud of you, of who you've become and it is so hard for them because you are the only one who can't see it. You are the only person who doubts yourself. Alexia blames herself and I blame her too."

Her words hit a chord that hasn't been hit in a long time. People have said that to me so many times, in so many different ways. They tell me I am strong, resilient. That I am a hard worker and that I persevere. Usually, it means nothing to me, just more words that are said out of obligation, to try and please me.

But Olga's words are full of emotion that I can practically feel radiating off her. She means it, I realise. She isn't saying this to make me feel good, or because Alexia told her to.

She is telling me this because she wants to, because she wants me to hear it, to understand it.

"I don't blame Alexia for anything any more."

She shakes her head.

"You should. Because everyone else knows it is true, that her neglect impacted you in ways that cannot be reversed. Things she did that left marks that will never go away and it will haunt her. It already does. She loves you so much. So much. But sometimes she will start crying and I just know it's because she is thinking about you."

There are tears in her eyes, and there are tears in mine.

And then the tears slip down my face and she is quick to pull me into a hug.

"You didn't deserve any of this and I am sorry that I didn't do more to stop this. You tell me it is not my fault, but I did nothing. Absolutely nothing. And for that, I will blame myself."

I shake my head again.

"It was not your responsibility."

But I know she knows that, I know what she is trying to say.

And maybe if she had done something, said something, things would be different.

But the cracks were already there and they would have remained no matter when Alexia came to apologise.

I am in a good place.

Alexia and I will be in a good place soon.

There is nothing anyone can do to change what happened.

"Thank you for being there for Ale. I know she's had a hard time too."

~~~~~~

lol hope you enjoyed (this has barely been edited so will probably go through it in the morning again)

i'm not kidding this chapter has taken me so so long and I really don't like it but i have written, edited, deleted and rewritten for so long so this is the best we're getting for now

if anyone has any other requests for this fic or an entirely new one let me know!

i have ideas for a new fic coming though so we'll see when I get round to finishing one of those chapters :)

#alexia putellas #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #fcb femení #woso imagine #fcb femeni #mapi leon

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mini-mews · 2 months

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animal crossing and alien noises <3

request: hi! i hope ur doing well, i love ur acc and i wanted to ask if you can do some shota x reader fluff,,, maybe he sneaks into ur room to cuddle and talk :)) 💗

p1harmony shota haku (soul) x gn!reader

wc: 705

summary: Shota comes home late to find you comfy and he can't resist melting into the warm bed with you, a bubble of love blocking off the outside world.

a/n: hii anon!! thank you so much for this request, it was super soft annd i really enjoyed writing it, so i hope you enjoy it lots <3

Shifting around in bed as you bury yourself into the blankets, the switch sitting in your hand lights up. Soft music chimes out as your island comes into view, Animal Crossing displayed. It was just past 11pm, only a few minutes after Soul had sent you a text.

‘Are you still awake? 〵(•́ ꞈ •̀)〴’

‘Yeah m’ just in bed now, do you have yer key? ♡’

‘Yesss!! cya 15 mins ʚ(*´꒳`*)ɞ’

Knowing he probably freshened up at the company you got comfortable checking through your island to pass time. Quiet chimes of the music fills the space as the side lamp gives a warm glow to the room and before you knew it, the telltale sound of keys jingling could be heard.

Footsteps down the hall as your eyes follow a dark spot in the water, trying to get close enough to trigger a fishing event without scaring it off. The sound of footsteps and water splashing rise and suddenly stop as the screen reads out ‘I caught a sea bass- no, wait! This is at least a C+’ making you scrunch your nose.

As you glare down at the sea bass with terrible puns, Shota stands leaned against the doorframe admiring you. The cute face you're making at the screen, how comfy you look curled up in bed, the light illuminates you so perfectly, gently kissing your skin Shota bites back a wide smile. When you finally look up, locking eyes with him as he moves towards you.

“Hi baby, welcome home.” You whispered out as he settled into bed, allowing himself to get tangled within the blankets and you, throwing an arm over your belly to pull you flush against him. “How was practice? Are the boys doing well?” Shota gave quiet recounts of his day, not wanting to ruin the calming environment you’d had created. He’d talk about funny stories of recording with Theo and Keeho, how Jiung and Intak kept teasing each other during practice, and the new moves he created with Jongseob. You nodded along as you continued your little tasks in the game, Shota watching intently.

It was only after you finished showing off your latest creation of a heart shaped pond did you notice that he had stopped talking and was watching you instead of the game, making your face heat up at the sudden attention.

Shutting it down and putting it aside you turn back to him,“What’s up Sho?” Mumbling out as you slide further into the bed, shifting around until you're laid on his chest, leg thrown over his, peering up through your lashes until it’s his turn to shyly avert his eyes away from your stare.

Nudging your chin into his chest to bring his attention back to you, you ask again, “What’s on your mind baby?”. It seemed so intimate, the way you whisper it, soft eyes looking up at him as he wraps his arms to press you almost impossibly closer to him. “I love you so much.” He says barely above a whisper as he locked eyes with you, a toothy smile spreading.

A wave of warmth hits you as you bury your face in his chest, caught off guard by the confession. “You can’t just say that all of a sudden…” The words are muffled by his shirt but still causes an airy laugh to escape him. “You asked, didn't you?” Shota said, still amused by your reaction, “I’m just really grateful to come home to you, Y/n.” You could feel his heartbeat under your fingertips, the warm feeling infectious as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “I love you too, my alien.” Huffing out one of his signature noises, you’d smile attempting to echo it back to him.

A home filled to the brim with warmth and love. Shota runs his hand up and down your back, sometimes stopping to draw patterns on your skin as your palm smooths against his cheek brushing his hair. Eventually your eyelids start to get heavier, as your breathing steadily falls into deep sleep, Shota holds you close whispering out “I’ll love you forever.” before shutting off the lights, joining you in dreamland.

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actuallysaiyan · 6 months

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Don't It Make You Feel So Fine?(Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader x Suguru Geto)

warnings: smut, drinking, unprotected sex, Satoru and Suguru are together, they are in their 20s, everyone lives AU, semi-public sex, threesome, creampie finish word count: 2.5k pairings: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader x Suguru Geto summary: one night after work, you head to your local barcade. Once there, you keep catching the eyes of a certain black-haired/white-haired pair... a/n: for the wonderful Hela(@whatshernameis) HOPE YOU LOVE IT!

The night is young and you’re itching to go out after work, It’s been a long week and all you want to do is go to the new barcade that opened up just last week. You’ve heard all your coworkers talking about it, It had made you feel so excited considering it’s been so long since you’ve gone out and done anything for yourself.

So after a quick dinner and a shower to prep yourself, you do your makeup and change to something cute but cozy and you head out for a night of fun.

You make your way down the stairs into the basement barcade. The vibes are wonderful already. A steady stream of alternative rock and synthpop playing in the background, neon lights decorating the scene, and lots of sounds of people laughing and having fun with the arcade and pinball machines. You smiled as you realized just how much fun you were about to have.

At the bar, you notice two men around your age. One of them with striking white hair and he’s wearing sunglasses. You find it odd that he’d be wearing sunglasses in such a dark bar, but maybe he likes to keep his sight private that way. The other, the one that smiles at you, has long black hair that he keeps up in a bun. Your eyes meet once again before the bartender takes your attention and you order a drink.

You look around the room, noticing just how big it is down here. Lots of arcade machines, and pinball machines…there’s an air hockey table that sits near two billiard tables. You’re so enticed by everything. First, you make your way towards one of the brightly lit arcade machines and you pop in a token.

The lights and the sounds pull you in. You’re having fun all by yourself, but out of the corner of your eye, you notice the white-haired man and black-haired man. They are a presence all on their own. Just a package deal, you thought to yourself. You’re soon alerted by the game that you are, in fact, losing because you’re so into the two men who passed by.

With a sigh, you down your drink and you turn towards another game to start playing. Despite this, you are so intrigued by the two men. They seem to be so close together, whispering things in each other’s ear. You wonder if maybe they are a couple. You begin to think how attractive they are and that there is no way they are actually interested in someone like you.

After a few more games, you head back to the bar for another drink. You smirk when you notice the pair once again. The dark-haired one is looking right at you as you sit on a stool a few seats away from them. The white-haired one smirks and then leans in to whisper in the other’s ear. Your heart races at the possibility of them talking about you.

Once you order your drink, you make your way over to the dance machine. There’s a gang of girls there that welcome you kindly to join them on the dance machine. You get to know them as you all take turns dancing. You end up being the most coordinated. Out of the corner of your eye, you keep noticing your pair of men watching you.

“Hey, I think those guys are watching us.” One of the girls points out. “They’ve been watching for a bit,” The other girl points out, then she nudges you. “They are cute, huh?”

You nod your head, trying not to let on that you’re extremely attracted to the pair. You and the girls all play a little longer until they decide to head upstairs for a little air. You part ways with them, promising to keep in touch as you all exchange contact details and social media handles.

Back to the bar you go, and this time you sit even closer to the pair. You’re pretending not to notice them, looking around the bar. But they’ve got their eyes on you and they are almost ready to pounce. The white-haired one smirks at you before approaching you and sitting right next to you. You notice he’s leaning closer to you.

“Havin’ fun?” He whispers in your ear. You shudder softly, “Uh yeah I suppose so. You?” Gojo smirks, “Oh I am. I can’t help but notice you. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

This makes you blush. The bartender puts your drink down in front of you and just before you’re going to pay, Gojo turns to the bartender.

“Put it on my tab.”

The bartender nods and heads to the next patron. You blush even more and look down at your drink. What makes you so special that such a handsome man would buy your drink for you?”

“You didn’t need to do that,” you say. Gojo shrugs, “Sure, but I wanted to…besides, you see that guy over there.” He points to Suguru. “That’s my boyfriend and he thinks you’re hot.”

This leaves you speechless. Gojo smirks at your reaction. So he leans in and wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer. You can smell the sugary fruitiness on his breath. You wonder if he’s even drinking alcohol,

“He thinks you’re hot, and so do I. Wanna have some fun with us?” He asks, and you look at him. You can see his eyes peering over his glasses. “O-okay! Do you uhm…have anything in mind?”

This makes Gojo chuckle darkly. He takes your hand and leads you over to Suguru. He introduces you to the dark-haired man, who is a bit more mild-mannered than his white-haired counterpart and is still very excited to have you around.

“Sorry, sometimes my boyfriend gets these ideas in his mind. He thinks he’s got to act on all of them.” You shake your head and laugh, “No, it’s okay, Suguru. I’m not mad.”

The three of you find a table to sit at and listen to the music. You begin to get to know each other a bit more, just talking about yourselves. You find out that they are both teachers at a high school nearby; it’s the religious one or something along those lines. But these two certainly don’t look religious.

“It’s just a gig. We went to that school when we were younger,” Suguru explains. Satoru smirks, “Yeah…it’s where we met.”

There’s something about this that seems like Gojo is reminiscing on something you’re not privy to. Then Suguru senses you’re discomfort and he scoots a little closer. He talks a little bit about how he and Gojo met, and he tells you a little funny story about them in their younger days.

The three of you continue talking, and the more you get to know these two, the more you like them. Gojo is flirty and wild, but Suguru keeps him more tame. Suguru still holds his own charm, which draws you into both of them as a pair,

After a few more drinks, you notice that Satoru seems antsy now. He gives Suguru a look, and the dark-haired man smirks and nods. Satoru leans in closer and wraps his arm around you again. When you feel his warm breath on your skin, you shudder softly.

“This place used to do laser tag. Want to see the old arena for it?” He asks you, his hand massaging your shoulder. Geto looks over at you and he smiles sweetly, trying to play the innocent card. “It’s really cool.”

You shrug your shoulders, but you eventually give in after Satoru begs you. The two men help you out of the booth and they guide you towards a dark corner of the building. You’re beginning to wonder how big this place is. Once they slide the doors open, you gasp as you see what they are talking about.

“We can still access the blacklights too,” Geto boasts, flipping one of the switches. “Wow, this is cool.”

Both men share a knowing glance, and they lead you inside the arena. There’s a smoke machine going off in the corner too, adding to the atmosphere. They both take your hand and guide you around, showing you the empty space of the abandoned laser tag arena.

Soon, Gojo is running around, giggling like a little kid. Geto tries to calm him down, but Gojo’s giggling is infectious. Both men leave you in a corner, giggling and laughing to themselves. The fact that it’s still kind of dark in here makes your heart race.

“Boo,” Gojo whispers in your ear before he pulls you into his arms.

You can’t even say anything because he’s pressing his lips to yours. He has to dip down a little from his height, but he’s good to hold you so close. You gasp in the kiss when you feel Suguru behind you. His large hands are cupping your breasts through your shirt, kneading and massaging them.

“You like us, right?” Suguru asks you, and you’re so quick to nod. Satoru laughs, “I thought so.”

Within seconds, they’ve got your shirt pushed up and your tits spilling out of your bra. Suguru pushes your tits together, and Gojo leans in to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You let out a whine, your legs growing weaker as the two men work together to bring you pleasure.

“Satoru,” “Hnn? What is it, Sugu?”

Suguru then pushes his hand down your pants, smirking to himself when he feels just wet your panties are already. They are clinging to your folds, and it gets even more wet as he begins to toy with your swollen clit.

“She’s wet. She’s been wanting this.” Suguru ribbed. Satoru laughs, “Oh fuck yeah…”

You let out the cutest and most pathetic whines as Suguru continues to toy with your clothed pussy. Satoru kisses you hungrily again before he presses himself up against you. This ends up pinning you to Suguru, who in turn is pinned against the wall.

“What if we have even more fun, huh?” Satoru teases, “P-please…” you manage to breathe out.

Suguru and Satoru lock eyes and they smirk. It takes them no time to have you mostly undressed. Then you watch as Satoru backs away to pull his pants down past his ass. Suguru keeps a steady hold on you, hooking your knees under his arms and spreading you out for Satoru.

“Oh, she really is wet…”

You moan as you feel Gojo’s cock rubbing up and down your wet slit, making more of your juices dribble out. You barely have time to react before the head of his cock is pressing into your hole. His eyes screw shut as he pushes into you. He’s panting and moaning, sounding even more aroused than you are.

“Fuck she’s so tight,” Gojo hisses through gritted teeth. Geto smirks, “Yeah? Think maybe…we both could fit in there?”

You whine at the mere thought of them occupying your pussy. You’re not sure it would fit, but you’re not even mad at the idea. Satoru thrusts up into you a few times, making you cling to him. Suguru has his steady hold on you, keeping your legs open.

“F-fuck, I don’t know. I feel like I could blow my load already…” “Then pull out! It’s my turn!” Suguru commands.

Gojo considers it as he continues to fuck you, moaning and grunting. He can’t shut up about how good your pussy feels wrapped around his cock. Slowly, he pulls out. Then you get passed over to Gojo who holds you up just like Geto had been.

Your eyes widen as you watch the dark-haired man pull his pants down as well. He’s a bit sweeter with you, a little more patient than his boyfriend. His thumb brushes over your clit a few times, making you whimper. He takes his time to push his cock into you, and you watch as his face scrunches up in pleasure just as Satoru’s had.

“Oh you were right, ‘toru.” Satoru snickers, “Told you.”

And with that, Suguru starts a steady pace. Gojo holds onto you. One of his hands soothes down one of your thighs, then back up again. He repeats this motion before he settles on rubbing your clit.

The head of Suguru’s cock keeps bumping up against your sweet spot, making you see blinding flashes of white. Your head falls back against Gojo’s shoulder, and he laughs at your reaction.

“Already fucked her stupid, huh?” Suguru grunts, “She’s milking me,”

Your little walls begin to clench and pulse around him. You feel the electrifying shocks beginning to move up your spine as the telltale signs of your orgasm become even more apparent. You try to warn them, but all that comes out are sweet, pathetic moans.

Gojo’s goading you on, practically begging you to cum. Something about this makes him want to see you make Suguru fall off the edge first. Thrust after thrust, both you and Suguru begin to fall deeper into the pit of ecstasy and bliss.

“Make him cum, pretty girl,” Satoru demands, and you whine.

The coil snaps and you cry out. Satoru slaps his hand over your mouth, not wanting to draw too much attention to your little trio. Suguru’s hips stutter as the fluttering of your walls pulls him over the edge along with you.

He moans that he’s cumming, which makes Satoru smirk. This is exactly what the white-haired man was trying to orchestrate this entire time. Before long, you feel the pulsing and throbbing of Suguru’s cock as he shoots his load deep inside of you. Before he’s even done riding out his high, Satoru pushes him aside and he impales you onto his cock.

“Lemme cum too,” Gojo murmurs against your skin as he fucks himself into you. “So close already…it’s so hot to watch my boyfriend to fuck you.”

His hips thrust faster and harder, driving himself further into your still-fluttering cunt. His moans become louder and his voice is shakier as the pleasure builds deep inside of him. He’s panting and grunting like an animal in heat.

“Such a good pussy,” Gojo moans into your ear. “Gonna make a mess inside your pussy, that okay with you pretty girl?”

You can only moan and nod at this point. You’ve been at the highest point of ecstasy for a while now, barely clinging to the reality of the situation. You then feel the throbbing of his cock, and Gojo is loud as he cums deep inside of you. You barely make out Suguru’s hand on Gojo’s mouth.

Slowly, he helps you back to your feet. You feel their mixed juices beginning to drip down your thigh, Suguru’s hands are on you as he helps you get dressed. You whine when you feel Satoru slap your pussy through your fully drenched panties.

And the three of you make your way towards the exit. Suguru makes sure to turn off the blacklights and smoke machine. Satoru keeps his arm wrapped around you, holding you close.

“So…back to mine for round two?” He asks, tilting his sunglasses down to allow you to see his eyes better.

How could you say no?

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