#i love you electronics.. i love the sounds and lights you give......

[watch-out-it-bites]

Made so mucb preogress with the picrew...

[strang3lov3]

Safety First

While camping, Joel insists on thoroughly checking you for ticks. Safety first, after all. (6.5k)

Tags - smut, dbf!joel (there was no use fighting it for this one) forced proximity, tick checks but it’s just a precaution I promise there’s no ticks involved, enemies to lovers vibes, fingering, oral (f!receiving), edging, unprotected piv, creampie, finger sucking, come eating, implied age gap, reader is description-less apart from one freckle on her buttcheek and also has pubic hair, mild mild dubcon. Fic help - @endlessthxxghts , @beefrobeefcal @noxturnalpascal thank you for helping me get this together 🩷 A/N - This has been sitting for way too long in the drafts and it does feel a little scary to post but the only way out is through ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I’m working up a pt. 2 to On Display as well as some more stepdaddy roman and some other things <3 thank you for sticking around

enjoy, my fellow freaks <3

You’re not an outdoors person. At all. You hate bugs, you hate being at the mercy of mother earth and whichever type of weather she chooses at any given moment. You hate when it’s too windy, when it’s too cold, when it’s too sunny and hot and you’re sticky and sweaty and uncomfortable. You hate the mess of it all; the mud and the dirt, walking on uneven terrain, taking careful steps so as not to brush up against poison ivy. Not to mention how with each change of the season comes another allergen, whether it be pollen or ragweed or grass. Fucking grass. The earth is covered in it, and there’s no escape. 

Except for the great indoors. Temperature controlled, a simple push of a button makes the air warmer or colder at your will. A flick of a switch makes a room light or dark. Walls protect you from insects and the rain and the harsh rays of the sun. It’s a beautiful thing, and exactly where you’re gonna stay tonight. If only you could get the television to cooperate…

“Would you quit toyin’ with the electronics? You got TV outside. Go see if you can spot a raccoon or somethin’. Thought you loved those critters.” 

You roll your eyes. You were expecting that type of comment to be made by Joel at some point or another. He’s the exact opposite of you, he is an outdoors person. He loves it all - fishing, hiking, golfing. Exposing himself to the elements. 

“I’m not going outside.” 

“Why not?”

“I’m not a nature person,” you tell him plainly. 

Joel scoffs, “God, you’re a diva. And your dad is too, for havin’ a fuckin’ camper like this. And when he gets back, you can tell him Joel said so.” He looks around himself, judging the pristine interior of your dad’s RV. Glamping. That’s what this is. It’s not real camping, not when you’ve got an oven and air conditioning and a bathroom with a shower. The point of camping is to get away from this sort of life, to reconnect with nature. “You too high-society for a tent or somethin’?” 

You turn around to look at Joel, your brows knit in faux-concern. “Wait - Joel, do you hear that?” 

“Hear what, darlin’?” Joel searches for the out of place noise you’re asking about. “I don’t hear anything.”

“It sounds like…” you hum, really putting on an act. “Sounds like this thing called air conditioning. I think it’s after your time, but it’s really neat - when it’s hot outside –”  

Joel interrupts, “Real nice, fuckin’ smartass.” He fights hard to bite down on his smile, to not give you the satisfaction of making him laugh with that zinger. “After my time,” he sneers. “You’re testin’ me. Now c’mon outside with me, let’s get a fire started.” 

“No.” 

“Do it for me,” Joel pleads. “Pretend you like me. Just for tonight, kiddo.” He wears his most charming smile and it shouldn’t work, but it does. 

“Fine,” you concede. “But I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it so you get off my ass.” 

“Atta girl,” Joel stands up from where he sat on the couch, groaning as he stretches. You catch yourself peeking at his tummy, admiring that trail of dark hairs that travel below his belly button and beneath his pants. God, an asshole like Joel does not deserve to look as fucking handsome as he does. Thick arms and thighs, soft tummy. Sparkling chocolate eyes, a sharp aquiline nose. Gentle curls, all dark but painted with streaks of gray. And you, you have absolutely no business being so infatuated with him. 

Joel’s your father’s best friend, and a piece of shit. He’s condescending, arrogant, brash. Your dad always said Joel had a sweet spot for you, but you’re sure that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Joel taught you how to drive a stick shift, which ended with you in tears with the car stalled at the bottom of a hill. He also used to help you with your geometry homework, insistently reminding you that geometry was in fact, not useless. That he uses geometry every day of his life working in construction. Those nights at his kitchen table always ended with you and he at each other’s throats, arguing over the right answers. It didn’t last forever, though. Joel ended up moving a couple hours away, and you grew up. You found yourself missing him on occasion. As much of a dick as he was, he was still an important figure in your life. He offered you advice, let you cry on his shoulder after your first breakup, picked you up from parties you weren’t supposed to be at, no questions asked. Nevertheless, he’s still an ass. He was then, and he is now.

Actually, he’s not even supposed to be here with you right now. This was supposed to be a weekend camping trip with just you and your father, but as your dad was getting the RV in order he received a call from his next-door neighbor. Water was pouring out from his front door, which meant the entire main floor had flooded. You weren’t around for this call, however, as your dad had tasked you with hiking down to the nearby camp store to pick up some ice and some matches. Your dad left a note explaining what had happened and that his theory is that one of his idiot dogs must have turned on a sink or something. He said he was sorry for leaving, and that his old buddy Joel - you remember Joel, don’t you? - lives close by and would stop by with some dinner for you. 

Your heart raced when you read the note. It had been years since you’d last seen Joel, years since he last saw you. You knew nothing of what to expect, if he’d drop the food off and go or if he’d stick around. Your question was quickly answered when Joel pulled up in his truck, a large Aurelio’s pizza in his hands and an overstuffed backpack on his shoulder.  He tapped urgently on the camper door, “Open the door for me, would ya? Pizza’s fuckin’ hot.” 

You let Joel in wordlessly. He placed the pizza on the table, then looked for a spot to put his belongings down. “Hope you don’t mind, hon, but your dad called again and asked that I stay the night. He’s not gonna be back in time and doesn’t wanna leave ya out in the woods on your own.” 

“That’s fine,” you answered. It was quiet then, as you took in Joel and he did the same to you. He’s older now, and so are you. You felt yourself becoming shy as he scanned you up and down. Joel sensed your uncomfortability and cleared his throat, then helped himself to a slice of pizza. “Eat up,” he told you. 

That was hours ago. Early evening, maybe. The awkwardness had worn off as you shared the pizza, and you were back to bickering in no time. And now here you are, out in the trees collecting kindling for a fire. Joel’s closer to the camper, using your dad’s hatchet to chop up some firewood. “Don’t wander too far,” he calls after you. “S’gettin’ dark.” 

You roll your eyes. Like you’d ever go willingly further into the trees. You collect sticks, listening to the sounds of nature. Crickets, an animal rustling in the leaves. If there weren’t mosquitos biting your legs right now, you’d almost enjoy this. Almost. 

When you feel you’ve collected a sufficient amount of sticks, you bring it back to Joel at the campsite. Joel inspects your pile, “Looks good t’me,” he says. “Why don’t you go look for some s’mores stuff inside, I’ll get the fire started.”

You go back into the camper and browse the pantry, finding some two months expired Jet-Puffed marshmallows and some graham crackers. No chocolate, though. You opt instead for some Keebler fudge stripe cookies you packed instead and bring the ingredients out to Joel. “No chocolate,” you tell him. “Does this work?”

“Oh, s’perfect. Changes the game, actually,” he says excitedly, his eyebrows perking in excitement. “You’re a genius.” 

Your cheeks warm at the compliment. Joel sits down in one of the camping chairs, you sit at the one next to him. He finds the campfire skewers resting against the side of the RV and cleans them off in the growing fire he’s started in the firepit, then puts two marshmallows on one end, twirling them over the flame. “How toasty would you like your marshmallow, darlin’?”

“Barely,” you answer. “Like, don’t let it touch the flame.” 

“That’s asinine,” Joel replies. “Gotta give it more color than that. ‘Sposed to be on fire.” 

“No, thank you. That’s disgusting. Just golden brown, please.” 

“Golden brown. I can work with golden brown,” Joel says. He holds the marshmallow over the flame, careful not to let it touch, just like you asked. A small movement across his hand captures his attention, though. “What the…”

“What is it, Joel?”

“It’s…” Joel studies his hand, his attention now focused on a little bug crawling across it. The marshmallows on the skewer become entirely burnt, melting into the firepit as Joel tries to identify the bug. “Oh, fuck.” 

“What?”

Joel sets down the skewers and carefully shows you the bug on his hand. Teeny tiny, almond shaped, eight legs. “That’s a fuckin’ tick. He’s lookin for a place to burrow.” 

You make a repulsed face as Joel flicks the parasite into the fire. “That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah. Fuckin’ bastard. Must’ve fallen on me when we were collectin’ wood. God bless it,” he groans. “Inside. We need to check for more.” 

You pout. “Really?”

“Really,” Joel answers. “Try not to look so excited. It’s only a couple ‘a minutes. We’ll make new s’mores when we’re done.”

You get out of your chair and Joel holds the camper door open for you, letting you inside first. He follows suit, only after dumping some water on the fire. He’s got enough dry wood to start a new one when you come back out there. You sit on the couch and Joel joins you, then pulls off his t-shirt. He runs his hands through his hair, using his fingers to search for anything that feels like it’s not supposed to be there. He turns away from you, “Check my neck and back for me, first,” he says. “Please.” 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Joel’s half naked in front of you, and you’re tasked with searching his body. Every goddamn inch. It’s going to be fucking torture. “Okay,” you breathe.

You hesitantly reach for his shoulders and pull them back slightly to urge him to sit up straighter, then push his curls away from his neck. Joel shivers slightly with your touch. You inspect the nape of his neck, then one shoulder, then the other. He’s so fucking broad, his shoulders miles wide. Joel senses your timidity as you gingerly touch him, “Need somethin’ from me? Want me to lean forward a little?”

“Uhm…yeah - yes,” you whisper. 

Joel leans forward to allow you to search the expanse of his back for any ticks. Thankfully, you’re coming up empty. Just all of Joel’s tan, smooth skin, all for you to touch and examine under the warm glow of the lights. You find yourself mesmerized by the steady rise and fall of his torso with every breath he takes, the silvery stretch marks by his hips. His skin is so warm under the palms of your hands, all you can think about is touching, feeling, scratching him. His voice interrupts you from your thoughts, “You done?”

“Mhm.” 

Joel sits up and turns in your direction. “Front side, now,” he says. He’s looking right at you as you search his chest, just in case you see something he can’t. He holds out his arms one at a time for you to inspect and turn over, then raises them for you to check his underarms. When you’re finished, Joel stands up and unbuckles his belt. You swallow thickly. 

“I know. M’not thrilled either, hon, but they do like to hide in the more…private areas of the body.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Joel says. “Oh.” 

You avert your eyes as he pulls off both his jeans and boxers, covering his member with his two hands. “I can do my…you don’t have to check that out. But –”

“Your ass.” 

“My ass,” Joel sighs. “And legs. ‘Specially the back of ‘em, where I can’t see.” 

“Got it.” 

This couldn’t be more…god. Joel’s awkwardly covering himself with two hands, his head tilted back and looking at the ceiling. He turns around for you to check his backside and luckily there’s nothing, just his plump ass. If you were a better woman, you wouldn’t be thinking of squeezing it right now. Fuck. He’s so hot like this, completely nude and on display for you. His legs are so long and muscular, his tummy is soft and pillowy. 

You’re so quiet. God, Joel feels terrible for putting you through this. You must be so uncomfortable, but ticks are not worth rolling the dice on. Disgusting parasites. He decides to break the tension. “You remember my brother Tommy, don’tcha?”

Tommy. Younger than Joel, just as handsome. You didn’t see him as much as you saw Joel growing up, but you know him. “Yeah, sure. I remember Tommy.”

“Right. Well, Tommy knows all about ticks in places they ain’t ‘sposed to be.” 

“Oh?”

Joel turns around for you to check his thighs, then the front of his legs. “Mhm,” he says. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have said anything. He’d kill me for tellin’ ya.”

“No, no - tell me.” 

“Keep it to yourself. Don’t let him know I told ya,” Joel warns, then clears his throat before speaking. “Well,” Joel begins, “It’s Tommy’s senior year of high school right after graduation. His class goes campin’, right? Tommy meets up with a girl, things start to heat up.” 

“Right.”

“Right. You know where this is goin’. Clothes are comin’ off, they’re gettin’ handsy. And this girl feels somethin’ she ain’t supposed to on his uh…on his member.”

You gasp, “No.” 

“Tommy pulls out his flashlight and lo and behold…”

“Tick on his dick.”

“Tick on his dick,” Joel confirms. “Fully buried, and all full of blood. I don’t even know how he was able to get it up, truth be told.” 

“You’re joking. Joel, that’s fucking disgusting. Tell me you’re joking.” 

Joel looks down at you, his lips pressed together as he tries to stifle his laughter and shakes his head. In between gasps and giggles, Joel explains, “He made the poor girl drive him to the ER cause he was a faintin’ mess. I met ‘em both there. I was there when Tommy was explainin’ it all to the nurse, this little old lady. And she said somethin’ about his dick bein’ ribbed for her pleasure or somethin’ like that, fuckin’ riot of a woman. Oh god, I’d never seen him so red in my life,” he wipes a stray tear of laughter from his eye, then goes right back to laughing. 

You’re giggling with Joel. The way he tells the story, like he’s right back in the ER with Tommy tells you he’s being truthful. His eyes crinkle as he laughs.

“So then what happened?” 

“Well, Tommy ended up alright,” Joel says. “Poor girl never spoke to him again, though. Didn’t take long for rumors to start spreadin’, his friends all called him ‘Tommy Tick Dick’. He enlisted in the army shortly after that.” 

“Oh, did he?” 

“He was a real patriot, and there was nothin’ else to it,” Joel exaggerates the sentence as if he’s mocking Tommy. “Or so he says,” he adds. 

“So he says.” 

By the time Joel’s finished the story, you’re long done with his tick check. He puts on his boxer shorts and sits on the couch next to you, both of you still chuckling. “Alright, your turn.” 

“What do you mean, my turn?” 

“You were in the woods too, right? And longer than I was. You’re at more of a risk. I need’a check you, now.” 

“Oh, no thank you.” 

It’s not that you don’t trust Joel or anything like that. But Joel doesn’t need to know how turned on you are just from seeing and feeling his naked body. It’d be so obvious - he’d see your hard nipples and your arousal-soaked panties. And it’d only worsen as he touches you, his warm, masculine hands traveling over your body as he carefully searches every inch of your skin. On no planet would you expect him to be a gentleman about it, either. You know he’d tease you in one way or another, get some sort of sick satisfaction out of knowing how you really feel about him, deep down inside. 

“Yeah, nice try,” he says. “You got two choices: you can let me check ya for ticks now while it’s still easy, or you can wait until one’s buried in your skin and suckin’ your blood. I’d suggest the former.” 

He makes a compelling argument. “Former,” you agree, no questions about it. You can’t stand when a fly lands on you, or when an ant crawls across your foot. The thought of a tick in your…you’re not even going there. You’re gonna puke. 

“I’ll make it quick,” Joel assures. “Promise ya.”

Joel helps you to undress. He holds the sleeves of your hoodie as you pull your arms out of them, then pulls the garment off of you entirely, leaving you in just your bra. “Ready?” he asks, gently toying with the strap. 

“Mhm.” 

His fingers feel like pure electricity as they skate along your skin, he unclasps your bra and lets it fall to your lap. Instinctually, you cover your chest and turn away from him to allow him to check your skin. Just like you did to him, he checks your neck and shoulders first, his warm breaths fanning over you. His hands travel down your spine as he pushes you down, exposing more of your body for him to search. He traces over every mark, your skin erupting in goosebumps as he does. “You’re good. Come and face me, now,” he whispers. “Won’t bite ya.” 

You turn your body in Joel’s direction, still covering yourself. He holds your chin between his pointer finger and his thumb, turning your head back and to the side so he can check your throat, and then your collarbones. Joel reaches for your wrist and pulls it toward his body, stretching your arm out for him to turn over and inspect. He does the same with your other arm, patient as you adjust the way you cover yourself. His eyes widen slightly when you accidentally expose yourself, but you don’t seem to notice your mistake. 

“Stand up for me, now. Lemme check the rest.” 

He looks at the wall as you shimmy off your shorts, but leave your panties on. Fuck, you can feel how wet you are, that little awful mess between your thighs. You stand in front of him, arms still crossed over your chest. “Gimme a leg,” Joel murmurs, and you lift one leg and he sets your foot on the couch next to his thigh. He keeps one hand on your hip, holding you steady as he scans your thigh, turning your leg to the side so he can check your calves. He helps you back to two feet, then repeats the process with your other leg. “Good. Almost done, kiddo. You’re doin’ fine.” 

You turn around for him to check your backside, make sure nothing’s hanging out where it’s not supposed to be. “Just gonna move this to the side…” Joel says, carefully pulling the elastic of your panties out of the way. His fingers grace over the swell of your ass, as he quickly checks one side, then does the same thing to the other side. “Wait a sec–”

Your heart stops. “What?”

“Oh, you have got to be shittin’ me.” 

“Joel–”

“Get on the couch and lay on your stomach. Hurry, do it now.” 

You lay on your stomach on the couch, Joel picks up both of your legs and pulls your body until your ass is right on his lap. “Sorry, kiddo. Just bein’ thorough, here.” Your heart pounds as he moves your panties to the side and gingerly prods at an area on your ass cheek, right where it meets your thigh. Just millimeters away from where you need him most, where you’re dripping for him…

“Oh, thank Christ. False alarm. Just a freckle or birthmark or somethin’ back here,” Joel sighs in relief. But for you, relief never comes. Joel’s hand stays on your ass, his thumb rubbing back and forth over your skin. With each pass, he’s getting closer to your pussy, but still achingly far from it. “You’re clean.” 

“O-oh.”

Joel hears the uncertainty in your tone. “You alright there, darlin’?”

“Mhm,” you answer. 

“You can put your clothes back on now.” 

Joel waits. It’s as if he said nothing at all, the way you ignore his suggestion. He finds it a little interesting that you won’t move, how you seem cozy on his lap. And in fact, you’re sighing, sort of inching your way closer to him. 

“Hon?”

“Hmm?”

“You gonna get dressed with me?”

“Mhm.”  

You’ve lost all subtlety. Joel notices that you’re arching your back, sort of rocking yourself on him. Trying to nudge his fingers just a little lower. You’re successful, and Joel feels the damp cotton of your panties on the tips of his fingertips and realizes, “Ohh. I get it,” he mumbles, chuckling. “You’re not bein’ subtle, you know.” 

“I’m not doing anything,” you lie. The first words out of your mouth that aren’t a lazy, quiet moan or hum of pleasure.

“Neither am I.”

Joel had an inkling that something like this was going on with you. He saw how your eyes wandered over his body, how your pupils went wide at the sight of his body. He could practically hear the thoughts in your brain, but he bit his tongue. Maybe he was wrong, maybe you were just nervous. It’d make sense. But he’d bit his tongue before, when all those years ago he helped maneuver your belongings in his truck to your college dorm. You fell asleep in the passenger seat next to him, your sleepy breaths turned to quiet whimpers of his name in your sleep as you squeezed your thighs together. Joel never mentioned it to you, wanting to protect you from the embarrassment. But he heard his name clear as day. 

He wonders how much longer you’ll keep this up for, writhing on his lap, never asking him for what you want. Joel knows exactly why, too. You’ve got some sort of reputation to uphold, you can never give him the satisfaction of knowing that maybe, just maybe, you like him. Even if it’s just sexual, born out of nothing but need for pleasure - pure, stupid pleasure. 

“You can just ask f’ya want somethin’ from me,” Joel encourages. “S’all you gotta do.”  To Joel’s amusement, you stay quiet. You’re really not doing yourself any sort of favors. “Not gonna?”

“No.” 

“Ah, she speaks. So you’re not gonna ask for nothin’, not gonna tell me what you want?” Joel moves your panties to the side and rests his fingers against your center, all hot and dripping with need. “C’mon, now.”

You’re fighting against yourself. You know this, know that if you so much as lean into his touch a little more than you should that technically, you’re compliant - you’re docile, you’re willing. You’ll lose the game - a game where your only opponent is yourself, yet Joel wins all the same. 

“Got no good reason to be stubborn about this,” he purrs. He slides both hands over the swell of your ass and hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties, then pulls them down your thighs and off your legs. He parts your legs and cups your mound, toying with the hair there before dipping his fingers between your lips, humming in delight when he feels the considerable pool of arousal at your core. You’re fucking soaked, and despite this, you still won’t say a word. You just whimper and wiggle against him. “F’ya don’t ask, you don’t receive. You wanna keep makin’ things difficult for yourself?”

It’s a warning, but he’s giving you an out. You prop yourself up on your elbows, then turn your head and look over your shoulders at Joel. He searches your face and waits for you to speak, but you don’t. Of course you don’t, because you’re hellbent on giving Joel any shred of pride about this, the fact he’s got you in his lap and melting under your touch. It’s all futile, though. He can see it on your face, your wide eyes and your open mouth, practically salivating as you watch him stroke your folds gently, so gently. Joel smiles, unashamed of the pleasure he’s getting out of this.  

“You know what’d happen if you used your words? F’ya told me that ya want me?”

“What?” 

“Well,” Joel says, dipping two fingers into your slick entrance. He pushes them in slowly, letting you feel the way his knuckles stretch your pussy. He pulls them out almost all the way to admire the way you’ve soaked him, then pushes back in. He continues, “I’d give you the lovin’ I know you need. Make you come however you’d like, however much you’d like. Would that be so terrible?” 

You whimper as he begins to curl his fingers, “Joel.” 

“I know you’re tempted, sweetheart. It’s yours if you want it.” 

Last chance. He’d make good on his promise, you can see it in his eyes, all dark with lust and wide with excitement. You can feel it in his touch, the intent to bring you nothing but pleasure evident in how he strokes you. But maybe you don’t need to be loved right now, maybe you’d prefer to be used. To feel him indulge himself in your cunt, feel his selfishness in the way he fucks you, and never allow him the satisfaction of making you come. You win the game this way.  

“Other option is, we do things my way. Couldn’t quite tell you yet exactly what that entails, though…so weigh your risk and reward carefully.” Joel warns. “Last call, darlin’. Speak now or forever hold your peace.” Joel waits for you to object, but you never do. Game restarted, ignited by the way you settle in his lap, your silent way of telling him your body is for him to use as he pleases. “Alright, then. My way it is.” 

Joel curls his fingers rhythmically in your cunt, brushing against that sweet spot inside of you. He groans, loving those slick, wet noises your cunt makes for him as he admires your body laid out on his lap, all of that soft, smooth skin of yours is just for him. You squirm as he touches you, biting down on your moans and letting him only hear quiet sighs of pleasure. 

As quickly as it begins, it’s over. Joel pulls his fingers from you and you whine in disappointment. “Somethin’ you wanna tell me?” Joel asks, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, just–” 

Joel wraps both of his big, masculine hands over your waist and pushes you further up the seat of the couch so that you’re not laid across his lap any longer. He kneels behind you and looks around for something - pillow, clothes, blanket - he tugs on a removable couch cushion and you look over your shoulder in curiosity. 

“Then don’t you worry about what I’m doin’ back here,” he says. “Eyes forward.” 

You turn back around, excitement bubbling in your lower stomach. Joel taps your hip, “Lift up for me, kiddo,” he urges, and you lift your hips. He slides a pillow under them, propping your ass up for him. He lays on his tummy, and it’s a rather tight fit on the couch of the camper but he doesn’t mind. 

Joel nudges your thighs apart a little and harshly squeezes the flesh of your ass. He spreads your cheeks apart, finally getting a picture-perfect view of your cunt, all glistening with ribbons of your creamy arousal. He can see the muscles twitch, your hole puckering as you await his touch. “You made a mess,” he murmurs, sliding the pad of his thumb through your slick folds. He collects your arousal on his fingertips and lunges forward, his body covering yours and brings those fingers to your lips and pushes them into your mouth. You can feel his hard cock through the thin fabric of his boxers, Joel grinding himself against your ass as you suck his fingers clean, you hum at the taste. 

He pulls his fingers from your mouth and gets right back into position, his knees cracking as he does, spreading you out again so that he can bury his face in your pussy. He does exactly that, pressing a kiss to your slick, warm center, dragging his tongue up higher until he reaches your asshole. You gasp when Joel spits on it and circles the muscle with his tongue, fuck, he really is doing things his way. He rounds your tight hole, all wet and sloppy before he dips his tongue inside, causing you to squirm at the unfamiliar sensation. He finishes the job with a couple of kisses there, kisses that travel lower and lower until he reaches your pussy once again. 

The little sigh of relief you breathe out when Joel’s lips reach the area you need him most is not lost on him, and he smirks against you. He kisses your pussy, loving the way your slick, soft cunt feels against his lips, against his face. Joel inhales you, the scent of your sweet arousal. He hopes that later, he’ll smell your essence on his mustache and be reminded of this moment here with you, and he’ll be hard all over again. He’ll stroke his cock and think of your cunt, groaning your name as he spills into his own hand. But for now, he focuses on you. 

He uses a pointed tongue to trace along the length of your folds, up and down, up and down until his it rests against your slick hole. He dips inside and tastes your honeyed arousal, he finds your heady, musky flavor so addicting. He could spend forever here, that perfect, warm, private space between your thighs. 

Joel finds himself torn between wanting to eat you the way he should and the way he wants to. He vacillates between savoring you, loving your soft, wet cunt and the way he can make you grind on his face, even if it’s just slightly, and devouring you whole, sucking your sensitive bud to make your legs shake and causing you to pull away from him - he knows it’s too much too fast. Joel settles on the latter of the two manners. His tongue laving over your pussy, lips wrapped around your clit is not something he does for you, but to you. It’s all for him, after all. There’s passion and determination, and he means to love you, please you. But it devolves, it’s all aggression, fingernails digging into your flesh and bruising you almost like he could strip your bones of it. 

He’s getting ahead of himself. If his scruff were shorter, he’d be rubbing you raw, and you almost wish he could. Joel wishes to smell and taste you later, you yearn to feel him on your skin just the same. You’d feel your tender inner thighs ache when you sit down and when you shower, the lather of your soap making your skin burn. You’d remember the weight of his hands holding your ass in place, the pressure of his tongue lapping your folds. You reach behind yourself, searching for something, any part of him to hold onto. You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging at those graying curls as you bite into the flesh of your own thumb. 

“J- fuck, oh my god.” 

You’re moaning, unable to help yourself. Getting close, you attempt to pull away from Joel, seeking to limit your own pleasure so as not to come on his tongue. 

“Don’t you run from me,” Joel mumbles, pulling you right back in. He keeps you held still, so secure in his grip that you can’t writhe and squirm away from or toward him. “You’re gonna take it,” he tells you. You’re gonna feel his sharp, big nose tease your ass, feel his tongue lapping at your sensitive clit. Joel eats you like he’s starved and you’re the first meal he’s seen in days, steaming hot and ready for him to sink his teeth into. 

You’re seeing stars. It takes all the mental focus you have not to come on his tongue, not to give him that reward. Joel finds it all amusing, you won’t even let yourself moan. He can hear that you’re trying to, but you’re swallowing your own noises and whimpering into your skin. Your thighs twitch with your impending release, and Joel tries his hardest to push you over the edge. But Joel’s only a man, and when his jaw and his tongue begin to tire he relents, pulling away from your body only in minor defeat. “You might’a won the battle,” he says, biting your ass cheek right where it meets your thigh. “But you’re losin’ the war. I ain’t finished with you yet.” 

Joel kneels behind you, then spreads your thighs apart with one of his knees. “Nice an’ wide,” he instructs. He groans as he pushes the waistband of his boxers down his thighs, his leaking and rock hard cock springing free. He spits in his hand and pumps it a couple times, coating his member in his own saliva before he leans lower, lower, until the blunt head of his cock is nudging against your core. One of his arms is bent and hovering near your head as notches himself inside you, then pulls out, only to push himself back in slightly. He chuckles when you squirm, arching your back in attempt to take more than what he’s giving you. “Easy, easy,” he purrs. “You’re hellbent against comin’ for me anyway, so what’s with the rushin’?”

“Joel,” you whine. 

“Oh, I know…” Joel groans as he buries himself into you fully, that slow, slide inside your body has him biting his lower lip. You’re so tight, and Joel knows you’re loving that ache, that stretch and burn of his thick cock splitting you open. “Got you figured out, you know. I know why you’re doin’ this,” he grunts, pulling out of you all the way. He pushes back inside you, “You think you’re provin’ a point.” 

“Joel, I’m -”

“You don’t have to like me, sweetheart, but I know you like how I make ya feel. It’s allowed, baby. This don’t have to mean nothin’ else.” 

You don’t answer him. Not that you could, anyway. He’s building a steady pace, fucking you so deeply and so intentional. His motions are fluid, his cock hitting you in all the right places. You feel his hot breath on your neck, his warm body moving against yours, and you’re losing yourself in him, moaning and babbling nonsense. You reach for his hand in front of you and bring it to your mouth, then suck and nibble on two of his thick fingers. Fuck, you can taste yourself on his skin. 

Joel likes this, the feeling of your lips and tongue and teeth on his fingers. He knows you’re trying to pacify yourself, quiet your noises as if by doing so, you could push away the pleasure building deep inside you. The attempt only serves to egg him on, fuck you harder, faster. He slides a hand under your tummy and his fingers find your clit, the weight of his body on yours and the pillow under your abdomen aids him to achieve a perfect angle to stimulate and massage your sensitive bud. “Oh, there it is. You’re in for it now, kiddo.” 

It works like a charm. You gag on his fingers, slobbering as Joel fucks you. All you can do is take it, take the pleasure that he creates with you between stuttering hips and writhing bodies. It’s quickly becoming too much, release is inevitable as Joel fills you up over and over and over. You can’t stave it off much longer, not when you can hear the lewd, obscene noises of you cunt gushing on his cock and Joel, with his grunting, moaning. “Fuck, sweetheart. Goddamn.” Hot tears begin to spill down your cheeks, dampening his skin and Joel knows, oh how he knows how hard this is for you, you poor thing. He’ll soothe you if you’ll let him. “Come on, hon. Let go for me.” he urges. “You’re gonna come for me.” 

There’s no choice in the matter anymore, and you realize this. Nowhere to run and hide. You can feel your clit grinding against the calloused pads of Joel’s thick fingers and it’s only a matter of time. Tears are falling freely now, and Joel pulls his hand away from your mouth to wipe them off your skin. “You’re fine,” he says. “You can take it.” 

Joel manages to pull the hood of your clit back a little, making it all that much more sensitive as he rolls his hips into you. Your desperate moans and your squirming beneath him fills him with amusement. He admires your determination, how exhausting this must be for you. 

It’s just a few seconds of Joel painting your clit with tight and steady circles as he thrusts into you repeatedly. Release is right around the corner, you know it and so does Joel. There’s an intense, fiery and electric pleasure building deep in your gut, threatening to spill over. You feel it trickling down your thighs, traveling up your spine and when you gasp sharply, Joel knows you’re coming. “There it is,” he praises. “Oh, there you are. Good girl, good girl. I know that feels good.” 

He fucks you through your orgasm and even well past its departure so that you’re not sure where your climax begins and ends. It’s an overwhelming feeling, the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever felt before, intensified by his sloppy and stuttering thrusts as he finds his own release. You sigh as you feel him empty himself into you, dick twitching against your walls, his hot come paints your insides and fills you with a deep and satisfying warmth. 

Joel slows down, then stills completely as you both catch your breath. He pulls out of you with a grunt, watching the mess of his come and yours spill onto the fabric beneath your body. He pushes it back inside you, then brings his fingers to your lips. When you suck his fingers clean of the spend, he kisses your temple and scoops you into his arms, trailing his fingers up and down your spine. He can feel your satisfaction in your limp body, the way you relax into him. Joel chooses not to tease you for losing the game. 

After quiet moments pass, Joel hears you giggling to yourself. “Hey, you,” he says. “What’s so funny?”

“Tommy Tick Dick,” you answer.

 Joel giggles with you, his eyes crinkling and sparkling with his laughter. “Oh, I’m goin’ to hell for that.” 

“What, for laughing? I’m laughing, too.”

“No,” he chuckles. “I’m the one who started callin’ him Tommy Tick Dick.” 

-

i'd like to share with you a poem written by @beefrobeefcal about this fic.

tick on his dick little nibbly friend chomping on down on tommy's bell end

If you enjoyed, please reblog/send me an ask/comment and tell me your thoughts! Your feedback keeps me motivated to write 🩷

[wanders-in-wonderland]

The Popular Vote

The livestream always happens on midnight of Saturday. There’s a hefty buy-in to be able to tune in but that never stops the audience from growing in number every stream. Every viewer has one ballot per round, each round is different. Cast your ballot before the vote ends and the majority option gets played out in real-time.

This Saturday night, I made the mistake of staying overtime at work, and I missed the last train home. Which meant walking alone on a dark path that, in the daylight, would be a breezy twenty minute stroll. But at night, it’s a different story. And clearly, since that dark trek put me in the perfect position to be taken away in a van by men who were interested in seeing me crying and screaming in pain and pleasure, at the whim of a merciless audience.

When I wake up, I’m naked and tied up, arms and legs spread out, suspended from the ceiling, with each foot on a small platform that offered enough support to take the strain off my arms and shoulders but not enough to offer any true leverage.

It takes me a few minutes to shake off the grogginess of whatever sedative they’d drugged me with, but when I do, I feel my blood run cold.

I’m surrounded by massive screens, several of which show live footage of my predicament from different angles. The screen that scares me the most is the one showing a live chat feed, with a constant barrage of messages coming in from viewers. The set-up is terrifyingly sophisticated and fear curdles my stomach in a way that makes tears well up in my eyes.

“Please! Please let me go!” I cry into the cold, unfeeling room of machinery and screens. My body struggles against the bindings but there’s no give. There’s no audible reply but I watch the chat light up with comments that make me shudder.

“I fucking love when the whores beg before we’ve even started.”

“She’s hot when she’s squirming, can’t wait to see how much she struggles tonight.”

“I wanna see her beg for mercy. Not that there will be any.”

I sob harder, tears making the chat box blurry in my vision. It doesn’t take long for me to figure out that there’s no one and nothing saving me from whatever is going to happen here.

Suddenly, a robotic voice fills the room. “Welcome to The Popular Vote. For those of you who are new to the show, please remember that each of you have a single vote to cast during every round. Vote in the allotted time and our team will implement the majority vote’s decision. Please enjoy the show.”

I gasp when the door to the room opens and four men walk in, dressed in identical black uniforms with masks covering their faces.

“Please! Please, let me go, this is a mistake!” My desperate voice fills the room but has no impact on the men, they didn’t even look in my direction, instead walking past me towards a storage cabinet behind me.

I watch through the camera’s footage as they open the cabinets and start to pull out item after item. Each one makes me more and more scared as they pull out various toys, vibrators, and other devices and machines I don’t even recognize.

There’s an electronic ding that fills the room and the same robotic voice is back. “Our first poll is beginning. Please vote now. Option 1 is subjecting our victim to clitoral stimulation by vibrator. Option 2 is vaginal penetrative stimulation by fucking machine.”

I cry out, “Wait, no, please! I don’t want this, please stop!” I watch in vain as the votes start to roll in on the screen, a feeling of helplessness overwhelming me as I watch two competing bars increase in percentage on the screen as viewers place their ballots.

There’s a robotic series of dings that sound, signaling the final few seconds of voting and through my panic, I see that the second option has pulled ahead of the first.

I choke out another sob as I watch the four men in the room start moving towards me. Two of them are rolling a machine over, a motorized piston with a massive dildo attached to the end of it. Clearly it’s meant for me.

“Please, please, no, I don’t want this, please stop!” I know it’s useless to beg but I can’t help it. My voice is shaky and thin with apprehension and I can tell it has no effect on any of the men. I glance to the chat box and the messages there make me feel even more helpless.

“That whore is going to love that machine, these little sluts always do.”

“I hope she squirts and cries when she realizes she likes this, stupid whore is going to get fucking ruined.”

In the few moments I spent reading comments, the men have rolled the fucking machine right under me and started to raise it to reach my core.

With my legs tied down and spread, there is nothing protecting me from the toy and it’s violation of me. I feel the tip of the fake cock brush my core and I thrash pointlessly, barely able to move to make a difference.

As the machine continues to rise, I feel my stomach clench when I realize that my pussy is wet. I gasp when I feel the tip of the dildo breach my core, the thickness of the toy filling me so well that I can’t help but groan. The machine continues, pushing the toy slowly and steadily filling my cunt. My back arches as I feel it rub against every part of my now-dripping cunt and I whine when it finally comes to a stop, fully seated inside of me.

I’m panting, the massive dildo splitting me open in a way that feels so fucking good. I clench around it and whimper when pleasure shoots up my spine. I glance at the livestream and see my own image, my eyes wild and body heaving from the pleasure of just having the toy inside of me. The chat box is flooded with comments about me, the way I look, the sounds I make, and the anticipation of what is to come.

Suddenly, one of the men in the room toggles a switch on the machine, and it begins.

My scream is drawn-out and wanton in response to the indescribable pleasure that floods my every sense. The men set the machine at a relentless pace, the huge cock driving into my cunt ruthlessly at a pace that is virtually inhuman.

I’m lost in the sensation of every single thrust sliding against my g-spot and slamming into my cervix, the perfect blend of pain and pleasure. I can feel my body trembling at the onslaught of raw, unadulterated pleasure and the sounds that the machine is pulling from my lips could make a pornstar blush. I can feel the creeping warmth of an orgasm fast approaching as the machine fucks me into submission.

Suddenly, an electronic ding sounds. The robotic voice comes on again, with an announcement that barely registers in my pleasure-scrambled brain. “Please vote to determine the next step. Option 1 subjects our victim to forced orgasms, option 2 is edging and orgasm denial, and option 3 is ruined orgasms.”

I whine and plead but I don’t even know what I’m begging for. My eyes are too unfocused to see the progression of the vote, and of the options, I can’t even begin to fathom which would be the best. I hear the three dings that signal the vote has ended and I force my eyes to focus on the screen, my stomach clenching when I see the result: ruined orgasms.

The machine hasn’t relented on its motions, each thrust driving into my wet cunt in a way that is so perfectly and achingly torturous. My clit is throbbing and part of me wishes I could grind it against something, anything to give me a little more stimulation to push me over the edge. But there’s nothing beyond the machine forcing its cock deep inside of me, making me ride the wave of pleasure that pushes me towards to precipice of a massive orgasm. I feel my entire body tense in response to the impending onslaught of pleasure and my pussy clenches around the dildo splitting me open.

Two more hard thrusts pushes me over the edge and I let out a moaning scream as I feel the tension snap and my body clenches in burning pleasure. A seemingly endless wave of overwhelming and uncontrollable pleasure slams into me as my orgasm erupts. At that exact moment, the toy inside of me a delivers a horrible jolt of electricity, one that slams through my cunt and cruelly and abruptly yanks my body away from pleasure.

The pain takes my breath away but my body reacts more to my ruined orgasm than it does the shock. My moan turns into a wail as useless pleas pour out of my mouth, tears running down my cheeks as I feel the toy continue to fuck me through the disappointment of an orgasm it forced upon me. There’s a cruel emptiness inside of me despite the unrelenting fake cock that fills me with every thrust and a gut-wrenching, unfulfilling hunger that overtakes the pleasure that was horribly ripped away from me.

“Ah, fuck, please, please make it stop!” My voice is ragged and desperate as I plead for mercy from an uncaring audience. The men in the room are maintaining their cold indifference towards my suffering as the machine under their control continues to batter my body.

I feel my body shudder in overstimulation as the merciless machine pushes me closer to another orgasm. There’s no break or respite and my pleas fall onto deaf ears.

And as before, just as I feel my orgasm approaching, the feverish pleasure barely rises within me before it’s ripped away, ruined by the delivery of a shocking pain through my pussy that makes me scream in anguish.

The next time it happens, I hear myself wail out desperate cries and pleas that are met with silence. The time after that, my body jerks pitifully in the bindings as every muscle tenses in grief. The one following is the strongest one yet, the constant buildup and denial pushing my body to the brink of tortured pleasure. As the achingly sweet orgasm barrels through me, my pussy clenches down and gushes with my release. I can feel my own juices flowing down my legs, but my squirting orgasm isn’t any different than the previous cruelly ruined ones. The impeccably-timed electric shock yanks my body back from what would have been a mind-shattering, toe-curling sensation and leaves me feeling hollow and helpless.

After that, I stop keeping track of the ruined orgasms. My body should have been shuddering from the overstimulation of countless orgasms but instead, it aches with a voracious, unfulfillable ache that creates an unbearable cycle of horrible, desperate need barely satisfied with every orgasm until it’s torn away. The predictability of it does nothing to assuage the torment, it only makes it worse, to have every beautiful moment of pleasure marred by the inevitable loss that I can do nothing about.

An electronic ding breaks through the haze, another round. The machine beneath me pauses and I choke back a sob at the temporary relief, desperately try to focus on the words that are being announced.

“Our next round will be introducing pharmacological enhancements and orgasm denial. Please select to determine which of the following will be administered to our victim. Option 1 is administration of our proprietary aphrodisiac with no excess stimulation. Option 2 is administration of our proprietary numbing treatment with clitoral stimulation by vibrator.”

My mind wraps around the meaning behind the announcement and I feel myself tremble with desperation. I want nothing more than to cum, just to feel the full, body-shaking, mind-numbing torrent of pleasure that will flood me when a full, uninterrupted orgasm washes over me. But it’s clear that they have other plans.

I watch as the votes roll in, my heart pounding as the two options are very evenly matched in popularity. I brave a glance at the chat box and whimper when I see the comments.

“I fucking love driving a whore insane with denial. I wonder what kind of promises she’ll make to try and convince us to let her cum.”

“If she were mine, I’d never let her cum again. Sluts don’t deserve orgasms.”

Three dings break my concentration and I swing my gaze over to see the results. Option 2 has won out, but barely. I whimper softly as the four men immediately begin to set up. I watch as they wheel the fucking machine out from under me. A blush stains my cheeks when I see the dildo dripping in slick, evidence of my countless ruined orgasms.

I watch through heavy lidded eyes as one of the men reached for a small container. He deftly opens it and dips a gloved finger in, his finger coming out coated in a creamy ointment.

I watch as he comes towards me, his ointment-covered fingers coming to meet my clit in a soft motion that makes me cry out. He is thorough as he rubs the ointment onto my clit, his fingers gently moving against me, offering a delicious friction that pushes me closer towards another orgasm.

The curling warmth of an oncoming rush builds in my core but before I could fully embrace the pleasure, he pulls away and I choke out a whine. “No please, please I’m so close,” my voice is so broken to my own ears but not enough to sway the man.

They wheel out a different machine, this one shaped like a saddle, lined with ridges that line up perfectly to vibrate against and wreak havoc on my sensitive clit. It doesn’t take long for the men to position the machine underneath me. I feel the cold material of the machine against my burning hot pussy and without even thinking about it, I start to grind myself against it. A broken moan leaves my lips at the pleasure that fills me and I whine softly, trying harder to move myself to rub my throbbing clit against the machine that was very quickly starting to dampen from my dripping cunt.

I know without looking at my own image on the livestream that I made for a shameful display of wanton lust and desperation but I couldn’t bring myself to care. My hips move desperately, the bindings making it so that my movements were limited but not impossible. My eyes drift shut as I chase the pleasure, continuing to grind against the machine.

I can feel myself approaching my orgasm, a few more moments and I could almost taste the sweet pleasure. But something was wrong. Even as I rolled my hips against the machine, I could feel sensation fading in between my legs. My clit throbs and aches but the feeling of the ridges against me has become muted, and no matter how hard I grind myself against the machine, the result was the same and I’m faced with the reality that the orgasm I was chasing so closely is too far out of reach now.

I cry out, begging into the void, “Please, no, please! Make it come back, please! I need to cum, I need it!”

My begs are met with silence and I glance towards the chat box, hoping to see something, anything, that would bring me relief. But there’s nothing but cruel, taunting comments.

“Dumb fucking whore doesn’t even understand what’s happening to her stupid body.”

“They haven’t even turned on the machine yet and she’s crying. I love when sluts realize that there’s nothing they can do against the numbing cream.”

“Her clit is so fucking swollen, I hope she doesn’t get a good orgasm at all tonight.”

Suddenly, the machine beneath me roars to life. I gasp when I feel the vibrations course through my body, the harsh motion batters my clit, but instead of being overwhelmed with pleasure, all I can feel is a vague sensation. I sob when the real understanding of what is happening sinks in. The numbing cream they used on me has left me completely unable to feel the machine. I can feel my pussy clenching in need, dripping over the machine uselessly, unable to enjoy any of it. There are wordless whines and begs erupting from my lips as I chase an unreachable end. I beg because there’s nothing else I can do, and because I know that’s what the audience wants to see.

As my mind wraps around this knowledge, I feel broken. My pussy clenches at the understanding that I’m here purely for other people’s entertainment. My suffering is for their enjoyment, and every orgasm ruined, denied, or forced out of my helpless body is done so without any regard to me or my pleasure. I stare into the camera as the machine underneath me batters my clit in a way that should be making me scream. Despite that realization, or maybe because of that realization, my cunt is leaking and clenching and throbbing. My entire being has narrowed to my clit and my cunt, the ghost sensations of pleasure brushing against my psyche.

My mind is fracturing under the torment of nothing. It tries to rationalize, to make feeling where there is none, and if I really focus, I can fool myself into believing that my clit isn’t numb, isn’t blind to the torturous machine that should be pulling orgasm after orgasm out of me. I don’t know how long I’m suspended in nothingness, how long I’m held in this punishing situation of unreachable pleasure.

Three dings pull me out of my mindless misery. My eyes jump to the screen, seeing the chat light up with excited comments about what’s the come. The robotic voice fills the room.

“We reach the end of our night together and our final poll, please vote now. Option 1 allows our victim to be subjected to forced orgasms after we administer the antidote to the numbing cream in combination with targeted electrostimulation while option 2 involves continued denial with impact play and flogging.”

I can’t stop myself from screaming into the room. “Please! Please, fuck, please let me cum! Please!”

I writhe and renew my struggling, starting to futilely grind myself against the vibrator, hoping that the vote will go in my favor. My eyes glance towards to chat box, my heart pounding in anticipation as I read the flood of messages, hoping desperately for mercy.

“I don’t think this fucking whore deserves to cum tonight, I’d rather see her get her tits whipped.”

“I want to see her pass out from being forced to cum over and over again. Plus I wanna see her tight little body shake with electricity.”

My eyes flit to the results of the poll and my heart leaps when I realize option 1 is pulling ahead. Three dings confirm the results of the vote and immediately, I see one of the men approach me with the antidote.

I sob when his fingers brush this new ointment over my swollen clit and all I can do is babble out whines of gratitude. It doesn’t take long for the antidote to take effect as the vibration of the toy begins to wreck me.

There’s no slow, soft build of pleasure. There’s only pure, bone-shattering sensation that slams into me. It tears my breath away and my body erupts in orgasm. The countless denied and ruined orgasms from the beginning of the night seem to have compounded into one horrible explosion of pleasure that rips through me.

I have no sense of the world around me, my entire being has narrowed to the overwhelming wave of sensation. My cunt pulses, spraying my release over the machine that offers me no respite as it forces my body to unimaginable heights.

Suddenly, a sharp jolt of pain along my side breaks into my haze. My eyes dart over and I see the four men crowded around me, each holding an electric wand that pulses a harsh zap through me at every touch.

“No! Please! Stop!” I scream, my voice pitching higher as the men start their torment. Quick jabs around the soft skin of my stomach, hips, thighs, and arms make me scream and thrash but none of that dulls any of the feeling from the vibrator between my legs.

The pain and pleasure rocks through my body and mind, both blending together in a cruel medley that draws wordless screams from my throat. Another orgasm slams through me right as I feel a terrible zap on my nipple. The scream that bursts out of me makes my own ears ache. My psyche is cracking under the onslaught of torment and there’s not a single part of my body that isn’t screaming in overstimulation. I’m nothing more than a collection of raw nerves and throbbing muscles.

The next zap hits the exposed part of my clit and my ears ring as my vision fades to black. That’s the last thing I remember from that night.

When I wake up the next morning, I’m home, in my own bed, my body achingly sore and exhausted. I glance to my bedside table and I see an envelope. In it is a USB and a note with a phone number.

“Enjoy the footage, we certainly did. Call us if you want a repeat.”

I crawl out of bed to grab my laptop and phone, and I save the number to my contacts.

------

Author's Note: I think this is my longest story yet and hope y'all enjoy! Also, I like to imagine this happens in the same universe as Pay to Play, and I'm jealous because I want to live in that universe ;)

[sincerelyneo]

omg hello! i missed you so much!!! 💖 would you consider reposting arcade again?? it was legit the best thing i’ve ever read omg i was so sad when i couldnt find it anymore

its fine if you cant tho!! im glad youre backkkk💖💖💖

ofc i can, i’m glad you liked it <3

arcade | p.js

“i’m out of control, full power up”

💿now playing: arcade by nct dream

❯ summary: Jisung’s been nothing but busy lately, so when you hear he got the weekend of your anniversary off, you can’t help but plan something to spend time with him. Expect, the only thing jisung wants after his busy month is you — and he’s not gonna let your silly arcade date get in the way of that.

❯ pairings: jisung x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut, fluffish.

❯ words: 3.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, fingering, exhibitionism, reader uses she/her pronouns, use of the name baby, jisung takes pictures whilst fingering reader in a photobooth idk???

"You brought us to an arcade for our three year anniversary?"

You look over to Jisung standing by your side as the pair of you stood in front of the arcade entryway with the giant neon sign above your heads.

"Yeah, surprise - who doesn't love a date night with pizza and an arcade?" You grin, trying to hide the look of nervousness fighting to show once you notice his frown.

“Baby,” he groans, whiny, “I thought we were gonna go home after the pizza.”

You may have lied to him about that.

When you told Jisung about tonight’s date, he originally objected. He wanted to have a chilled night in with just the two of you — alone. Something he hadn’t had for the past four weeks he’d been strung up at work. Yet, you insisted that the two of you celebrated your three year anniversary just like you had done for your first and second.

So instead, the two of you came up with a compromise: head to your favourite pizza place, then come home and watch a movie snuggled together on the couch. In Jisung’s mind ‘watch a movie’ was code for letting his hands roam all over your body whilst he watched you whither and squirm, but he figured it was best to not discuss the minute details.

But don’t get him wrong. Just because he wanted to have a quiet night in didn't mean he hasn’t missed you — because oh he has. He’s only bothered the rest of the dreamies with his annual ‘I miss her’ speech every other hour.

And whilst typically Jisung loved to spend every passing minute of the day with you; right now, all he could think about was how much he wanted to be balls deep in the cunt he’d missed so much — not spending his time in some arcade.

"I haven't been inside one of these since I was a little kid," you tell him. “Please Sungie, just for an hour.” You begin tugging on his hands.

“I don’t know, Y/N. Aren’t we a bit too old to be playing in the arcade?” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Pretty please!”

You hope the small flutter in your eyelashes is enough to win over the hesitant man. And you know it will because he’s told you several times not to give him those signature doe eyes, because he can’t ever bring himself to say no to them.

"Fine."

He grasps your hand, threading your fingers together as he starts to lead the two of you inside. You're instantly greeted with the loud electronic sound effects from the various games, along with the random music playing inside.

There's lights flashing everywhere, and you notice a bunch of people sitting at the bar and in booths near the front of the arcade, along with a bunch wandering around all of the games.

Jisung looks sideways before gesturing his head to the row of retro games, "what do you wanna play?" He asks.

“You can pick first, because I’m such a good girlfriend.”

He can’t help but smile at you — because he knows you're right.

“How about we play some pinball?

"I take it back," you say with a pointed look, "I’ve seen you play that with Chenle and I’m definitely gonna lose.”

“Too late, you’ve already given me the power,” he shrugs and pulls your arm over to where the game is situated.

“Ugh, Jisung. There’s no point, I already know I’m gonna lose,” you try to protest.

“Stop complaining,” he grasps your hips to turn you around to face the pinball machine then comes to stand behind you.

He takes your hands and places them on the buttons either side of the machine in front of you. You feel your cheeks flush when you feel Jisung’s chin rest on your shoulder, as he guides your fingers over the controls and silently coaches you through the game.

You don’t know how he always does it but even here, he's managing to create some form of sexual tension between the two of you at a pinball machine.

“Jisung..” you whisper as he places teasing kisses along your neck.

“Shhh, I’m just trying to help you out,” his lips brush against your neck as he continues hitting the buttons at a constant steady speed. “Besides, I think I’ve found my new favourite way to play pinball tonight."

Eventually, the ball shoots straight down between the two flippers, drawing the game to an end. He’d been doing so well that you wanted to turn around and kiss him but he pressed you harder against the machine, dipping into the crook of your neck to tease your ear.

"You've got no idea how badly I wish I could bend you over this and fuck you right here, right now."

It sent shivers down your whole body as you felt him grin against your skin when he noticed the sharp inhale of air you sucked in at his words.

Jisung knows you're shy, so he’s not surprised that you try to snake away from his grip at his crude remark.

"Look, we got a new high score," he says while he slips his hands from over yours and slides them up your arms. Pretending he didn't just whisper something that dirty. “We make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah ‘cause you did all the work,” you sulk.

You see the red digital writing flashing on the scoreboard, then his arms snake around to link across your lower stomach and pull you firmer against him. To anyone watching you look like a typical couple being affectionate, but the tension makes it feel the furthest thing from innocent.

"You know exactly what you're doing right now, Jisung Park," you huff, trying to control how flustered you feel, "We’re here to play games."

He presses a kiss to your cheek, before murmuring, "I am playing games. And so far I think I'm winning."

As he speaks he lets one of his hands slip down to graze over the front of your crotch, which he swears is an accident when you sternly say his name. But you can’t deny the way the touch made you jolt before he pulls away and steps back. You’d missed his touch — missed being with him like this.

But this was not the place. So you take his hand and turn the two of you to walk off like nothing happened.

The two of you continued to play a handful of arcade games. The classics, retro games, new games — Jisung had even managed to secure you a fluffy teddy bear from the claw game after you mentioned it being ‘impossible’.

You’d been taking it in turns to choose a game each, but when you mentioned the arcade photo booth, your boyfriend had started to get apprehensive.

After some of your amazing buttering up skills with puppy dog eyes, he agreed and he pulled the curtain back for you to get inside, then closes the door on the booth.

He sat down first on the small seat, and when you went to sit next to him he grabbed your waist and pulled you down onto his lap instead. He takes some coins from his pocket and starts putting them in the slot.

You try to get off his lap to sit beside him before the timer starts but he doesn’t let you.

“Just look at the camera and smile."

Once you hear the timer counting down the two of you start posing. But just before the last beep sounds, you get the idea to grab hold of Jisung’s face and let your lips mush against his cheek causing him to scrunch his nose up.

"That’s not fair," he says the second he hears the beeping start again.You stick your tongue out at him and his eyes narrow. “Fine, if that’s the game we’re playing.”

You both look back at the camera and offer smiles, kisses and peace signs. But at the last beep, Jisung gets the idea to move both of his hands to cup over your chest, groping your boobs.

Your mouth falls open as you gasp in shock while Jisung starts laughing.

You try to pull his hands away, "Okay fine, point taken mister grabby hands."

Jisung is practically giggling to himself, whilst you wait for the timer to start again.

“Alright alright, we'll take a serious one now.” He says, placing his chin on your shoulder, as you both look at the camera.

But once again, as the third beeping starts he quickly says, “Do you think people would notice if I made you cum while we're in here?"

Your body stiffens in shock as the picture is taken. Jisung is bursting with laughter and you're taken aback.

Jisung likes sex. He loves sex in fact — especially with you. But he never does this. Sure he teases you when you're out and about — how could he not when you’re so beautiful and perfect for him. But he’s never insinuated doing something so sexual in public like this before.

But here the two of you are. Waiting for the timer to start again, but this time you’re anticipating the shit he was going to pull when the final beep comes — and he does not disappoint. Because his hands slide up your legs, dipping into your inner thighs and squeezing them.

"Jisung," you warn him, "behave yourself."

The beeping starts again, but Jisung doesn't move his hands, and starts to massage his fingers higher.

When the last tick happens, he moves his face to press a kiss to your jaw, and you feel his breath hitting your skin from his nose.

He starts to inch your legs a bit further apart to let his thumbs graze over the crease where your thighs meet your pelvis.

“Ive missed you so fucking much baby,” he whines. “I need you so bad.”

“Jisung not here,” you sigh as his hands start working to warm up your skin.

“Why not? Wouldn’t you like the thought of me getting you off in here? Trying not to get caught?"

If his face wasn't so close to yours you wouldn't be able to hear him over the loud music in the arcade and how low his voice has gotten.

You give him a confused frown, thinking he surely can't be fucking serious but when you do he takes the opportunity to press his lips against you, kissing you while the camera snaps the last picture.

Your stomach is knotting along with your heart beating faster and you feel that familiar heat between your legs but you’d never tell him that — and he’d never tell you that he knows you keep it from him.

"Would you?" He asks again when he breaks the kiss.

You look at him like he's lost his mind. "You're joking right?" You can't be serious - Jisung people get their pictures taken in here, someone could walk in, you can't-"

He makes your words stop and your breath hitch in your throat as he moves his hand up under your skirt and cups his hand between your legs.

"That's not what I asked you," he says letting his eyes trace over your face, then leans closer, "Would you enjoy it?"

“Jisung, this is so unlike you, are you even hearing what you’re asking me?”

He moves his leg a bit and wedges his heel against the edge of the door so it can't be pulled open, "I know exactly what I’m asking you, so answer me."

"We’re supposed to be taking pictures, Sung,” you try changing the subject, and ignore the pressure of his hand pressed against you.

"Oh god we will," he says like it should be obvious.

And now you’re looking even more caught off guard.

“I'd fucking kill to have some pictures of you getting off. Have them to look at them whenever I’m needy and miss you.”

Jisung starts to massage the heel of his palm very slowly against you, adding more pressure over your underwear as you try to squeeze your legs closed but he holds them with his other hand to keep them apart.

"We can't-" it takes very fibre in your body to attempt to protest this, but you easily allow him to cut you off.

"Yes we fucking can," he has that sly look on his face, "But if you don't want to, we won't. It's up to you. Should I stop?"

You exhale a weak breath as he replaces the heel of his palm with his fingers dancing over your underwear, massaging slow circles that make your hips shift.

"Won’t people think it's weird if we're in here too long." you fumble over your words which makes Jisung smile while he bites on his lip.

"Don't worry I'll be quick," he says knowing you’re only making excuses instead of admitting what you really want.

Your eyes drift closed as you sigh, feeling his fingers move against you to create a friction that's only making the throb between your legs worsen. You have absolutely no common sense when it comes to this man and his fucking fingers.

"Should I stop?" He repeats in a low voice, moving his mouth to start to kiss along your jaw.

As usual with him, your functioning brain checks out while your subconscious takes over and you shake your head feeling your breathing start to go shallow.

"You want me to make you cum, yeah? Is that right baby?" His words are slightly muffled as he moves his free hand from your inner thigh and brushes your hair back over your shoulder so he can move his mouth to your neck, "I need words baby."

You should be rational and tell him to stop. But you don't. You wouldn’t dare. You didn’t want him to. So instead you say what you do want, and breathe out a quiet "yes."

Jisung’s own breathing is getting heavier, and the tension in this small enclosed space feels like it's compressing both of you closer together. When he hears your approval, his hand between your legs bunches up the front of your skirt. When he slips it up he snakes his hand over your stomach to push down into your underwear.

A faint groan echoes in Jisung’s throat the second his fingers feel your bare skin, exploring around your underwear to feel the slickness there.

"You’ve made a mess. Missed me this much, huh?” his voice is low, while he drags his warm lips up your neck.

You only manage to nod your head, your brain focused on squirming your hips to find some kind of friction again. He finally rests the pads of his fingers against your throbbing clit, starting to tease circles that force a quiet whimper out of you. Your eyes are still closed as excitement and neediness flood your nerves.

For doing something that should be wrong, it feels so damn right, and it's all you can think of. Feeling him is all you can think about.

"You sure I can take some pictures?" He checks, keeping his movements steady as your hips start to circle against his hand,

You don't respond at first—you can’t—too caught up in how this is feeling, and when he dips his fingers down to your pussy to collect more arousal on his fingers before moving back to your clit and applying more pressure, your head falls forward as you pant out a strained, "You - fuck, yes, you can."

He chuckles hearing how fucked out you are for him, and he’s only just started. But it’s when you hold onto the thigh he’s been using to pry your legs open that his eyes darken with need.

He keeps his fingers moving while he manages to get some coins he had in his pocket, reaching forward to put them into the coin slot, then pressing the button to start the timer.

When he relaxes back he applies a firmer pressure, and starts to massage your clit in quicker circles; making your mouth drop open with a gasped moan. You can barely hear the beep for the picture anymore, everything around you turning blurry, and all you can hear is your heart beat mixed your heavy breathing.

"That's it baby," he coos, with a gravel to his voice from the tension in it, "God I wish I could fuck you right now. I’ve been dying for it.”

Your skin is burning up, and all you can manage in response is the pants from your open mouth, desperately trying to keep yourself quiet.

You start to grind yourself against him as his fingers work, and feel the hard bulge forming in his pants underneath your ass.

He wasn't kidding when he said he'd be quick, he's already building the pressure in your lower belly, making your stomach muscles tighten, while he moves his fingers in the exact way he knows you love it.

That knot in your lower half tightens, and your legs start to tremble as a louder moan you can't stop comes out of your mouth.

"Fuck—Jisung," you whimper, with your chest starting to heave with rapid uneven breaths.

He only quickens his fingers driving with determination and speed, making sure to keep repeating the same movements that are getting the best reactions from you and when your head falls back as you moan again; his free hand comes up to cover your mouth.

"Shhhh—quiet, remember?" He hushes against your ear, groaning at the feeling of you grinding against him, "I know you wanna cum baby, but there’s no way I’m letting anyone else hear how you sound for me.”

All you can manage is a muffled "mhm" against his hand as your eyes squeeze tighter. That familiar sensation starts to ripple from your centre down your legs and into the rest of your limbs.

The orgasm is speeding towards you, faster than anticipated causing your back to arch up as your hips writhe. Your mind is foggy only able to make out quiet whispers of encouragement coming from Jisung.

As the release ripples through your body and your moans are muted against his hand, Jisung groans again, feeling you shake on top of him. He can’t help but snap his hand away to grasp at your jaw to turn your face and kiss you hard while you ride through your climax.

The kiss is mostly open lips grazing against each other, or trying to connect in messy motions with both of your laboured breathing mixing together. His fingers only pause when you try to pull yourself away from them.

Once your eyes drift open to see Jisung’s, the look in them makes you want to squeeze your legs together again if you could move them currently.

Jisung brings his hand up, and grazes his pointer and middle finger he just used to send your body into a frenzy against your lower lip as a silent request for you to open your mouth. You don’t deny it, taking them into your mouth to taste yourself.

“Fucking hell,” his eyes dart back and forth from your eyes to your mouth. His head rolls back against the wall behind you and he whines in the quiet, "God fucking help me."

Your body is still buzzing, floating down dazed from the high it was on, and you watch Jisung bite down on his lower lip as his brows knit tight together, as his hips shift beneath you.

"Everything okay, Sungie?" It’s the only thing your mushed brain can think of saying as you look down at his strained pants.

"Fuck no," he mumbles, looking like he's trying to compose himself, "But it’s my own fault. I suggested we do this. I’ll deal with myself later.”

"Later?" You ask.

Jisung lifts his head back up, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek as he rubs his palm up and down your thigh, "Yeah, later. When we get home and we watch that movie you promised me.”

He thinks you don’t know that he uses the movie thing as a code to fuck you — but you do know — and that’s why you’ve never protested when he puts on another one of those Harry Potter movies he loves.

"You sure you'll be able to wait that long?"

Jisung’s lips lift up at the corners, "I’ve waited weeks for this, I’m sure I can manage a couple more hours.”

He hugs you against him with his arms around your stomach, and back against his firm chest.

"But then again,” he begins “Now I have the memory of how fucking hot watching you get off in here was. That makes waiting like some kind of sick torture to me."

You let out a weak laugh, feeling your cheeks flush more than they already were, "I still can't believe we just did this."

"I can, and there's pictures to prove it," he smiles, pulling the strip of three black and white photos from the dispenser.

[redr0sewrites]

s. sub vox headcanons please…. i need that tv man so bad its not even FUNNY

YESSSS MY INBOX HAS BEEN LITERALLY FLOODED W SUB VOX EVER SINCE I MADE THAT POST HAHA

🥀Cw: smut, dom!reader, marking, overstimulation, praise, degradation

🥀 Pt 2 Sounding Hcs Here

🥀minors dni

this man is a SPOILED switch

vox genuinely thinks hes a dom until he meets you, he's used to being dominant and has probably never tried being a sub

his ego gets in the way a little at first, he thinks it's embarrassing

however, once you begin to ease him into it, he's no longer embarrassed about the fact that hes subbing... hes embarrassed about how much he enjoys it

vox is so bratty, especially in the beginning

he has to trust you a lot to truly submit, and that takes time

he'll be very demanding, he'll try to touch himself without permission, he'll boss you around, he'll directly disobey commands, all in the effort of pissing you off

little does he know that you aren't giving up

PUNISH HIM. vox has a huge humiliation kink, fuck him in front of a mirror or in his monitor room where he can see himself from all anges, its so embarrassing to him and he'll probably short circuit

better yet, video tape it (w consent ofc) and play it for him later to fluster him

vox loves it when you talk dirty, hes def the type to have a voice kink

vox is also the type to be incredibly sensitive imo, and he gets overstimulated veryyyy easily bc of that

the easiest way for to you break down his bratty, bossy layer is to overstimulate him until he's sobbing

he has to really trust you tho

as much as vox likes your degradation, he LOVES youre praise

this man is constantly under stress, and is always hungry for control, so having someone else take it away from him can be very relieving for him

tell him how good he's doing, how good he's making you feel, and his mind goes all fuzzy <3

honestly once you slip into praise vox is practically GONE, he slips into subspace so easily when it comes to the overstimulating pleasure you're providing and combined with the praising? he's done for

vox always wants his hands on you, but he's so touchy and forgets how sharp his nails are, so you often have to restrain him

he likes seeing you covered in scratches tho, and also secretly likes it when you leave hickeys or scratches on his skin. ESPECIALLY when they're visible- it ties in with the humiliation kink ig, but if anyone ever noticed or pointed it out he'd prob cause a blackout with how flustered he'd get

speaking of getting flustered, vox glitches and whimpers when he moans, and his screen will often flush or grow static-y

the lights and electronics often flicker or go out when he cums, and he often cums so hard he glitches out and cuts the wifi (much to val and vels annoyance)

vox likes receiving more than giving, and LOVES blow jobs- it can be a little hard for him to give oral (lmao) but he loves bjs so so so much

theres something so pleasurable about just laying back and doing nothing but whimper and claw at the sheets as you suck him dry, and he cries from pleasure every time

VOX LOVES IT WHEN U SUCK HIM OFF WHILE HES WORKING, BUT HE NEVER ACTUALLY GETS ANY WORK DONE AND SPENDS THE WHOLE TIME SHAKING AND TRYING NOT TO THRUST INTO YOURE MOUTH

vox is also def a squirmer, like he'll shudder and whine over the gentlest touches. y'all also have to change the bedding like eveytime you have sex cuz he literally CLAWS at the sheets and moves around a LOT

simple solution? shibari

he loves/hates being tied up because its soooo humiliating and it gives you complete control

speaking of control, he finds it really hot when you're pissed or acting dominant outside of the bedroom

sometimes (alot of times) he'll try to intentionally piss you off just so you'll fuck him senseless

at the end of long work days, he either wants to be gently praised and taken care of while you both make love or fucked absolutely senseless until he can't even remember why he was upset and can only helplessly babble and whine

vox goes incoherent super easily and it only embarrasses him more that he can't get words out

he def owns a lot (and i mean a LOT) of sex toys and likes it when u use them on him

some nights he just wants to lay back while you try them all out on him

HES INTO SOUNDING AND YES I WILL ELABORATE IF ASKED <333

just the thought of u filling every one of his holes and overstimulating him from every angle makes him horny

he def will want you to use a remote control vibrator during meetings, he gets off on the humiliation

however with all of his baggage w valentino and shit, he def likes being treated sweetly too

some days he needs to get out of his head and be forced into submission and put into place, but others he needs to be pampered and praised and treated like glass

vox is much more emotional on these days and is a lot more clingy during these softer sessions

talk him through his orgasm, he'll probably start crying and let out the prettiest whimpers- he just cant help it, you make him feel so good :(

overall, he can be both super bratty and super submissive at the same time and is one kinky mf

humiliation is absolutely his biggest kink, followed in no particular order by bondage, a voice kink, praise, marking/claiming, DRY HUMPING (again i will absolutely elaborate if asked... hehe), and being put in his place

YALLLLLL IK THIS IS SO SHORT BUT I HAVE LIKE 6 OTHER SUB VOX REQS IN MY INBOX RN WHERE I WILL DEF BE GOING INTO MORE DETAILED SCENARIOS HEHE I LOVE HIMMMMM!!! I'LL PROB DO MORE IN DEPTH LIKE GENERAL HCS FOR HIM SOON WITH HIS DOM SIDE AS WELL CUZ THIS MANS THE WORLDS BIGGEST SWITCH- ANYWAYS HOPE U ENJOYEDDDD FEEL FREE TO SEND IN MORE REQS >:D

UPDATE: ELABORATION (basically pt 2 w sounding hcs) HERE

[its-avalon-08]

Nico Rosberg x reader, age gap, she's at a GP. Jenson Button is her friend, and he introduced Nico with a "This is Britney!"

its britney bitch (nr6)

anon note : I forgot to clarify, about Nico x musician reader, the age gap she could be just 3-5 years younger than him....

The roar of the engines vibrated through your chest as you stood beside Jenson in the Monaco paddock. The air crackled with a mix of nervous energy and adrenaline, a feeling you were very familiar with despite not being the one behind the wheel. Jenson, your best friend since your teenage days in the McLaren Young Driver Programme, was gearing up for another shot at the podium.

"Alright (Y/N), ready for some action?" Jenson grinned, his usual infectious enthusiasm washing over you.

"Always," you replied, returning the smile. You weren't a driver yourself, but music was your track, and the high-octane world of Formula One was your melody. You were here not just to support Jenson, but also to perform at the after-race party.

Suddenly, Jenson nudged you with his elbow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Speaking of action, check out this driver I want you to meet." He turned towards a tall blonde man walking towards them, his face etched with a determined focus.

"Hey Jenson," the man greeted, his voice surprisingly melodic for someone who seemed to live life in the fast lane.

"Nico, this is (Y/N)," Jenson said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "(Y/N), this is... Britney."

You blinked, thrown for a loop. Britney? A nickname for a championship contender like Nico Rosberg? Before you could question it, Jenson winked. You realised it was a reference to the good-natured paddock ribbing Nico often faced about his supposedly "pop star-ish" looks.

Nico, catching your surprised expression, chuckled, a hint of amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Jenson's a comedian, don't mind him. I'm Nico." He extended a hand towards you, and you took it, surprised by the warmth that spread through your palm.

"Nice to meet you, Nico," you replied, your voice a touch breathless. There was something undeniably captivating about him, an aura of quiet intensity that hummed beneath the surface.

The conversation flowed easily, despite the age gap of four years between you. You discovered a shared passion for electronic music, Nico confessing a secret love for your latest album. He listened intently as you spoke about your upcoming performance, his blue eyes sparkling with genuine interest.

The playful banter between you and Nico was undeniable. You teased him about his "Britney" nickname, and he countered with a playful jab about your supposed rockstar lifestyle. The air crackled with a current that had nothing to do with the high-powered engines surrounding you.

By the time Jenson was called away for a pre-race briefing, you and Nico were lost in your own conversation, oblivious to the world around you. As you laughed at one of his witty remarks, a thrill shot through you. It was clear this wasn't just a casual paddock meet-and-greet; there was a spark, an undeniable connection.

The sound of roaring engines jolted you back to reality. The race was about to begin. You squeezed Nico's arm playfully. "Go get 'em, champ," you said, a teasing lilt in your voice.

Nico's smile widened, the amusement in his eyes deepening. "I will," he promised, his voice a low rumble. "But you better be ready to celebrate after I win. Maybe you can give me a private concert later?"

A blush crept up your cheeks, and you couldn't help but return the flirt. "We'll see how you perform, Nico Rosberg, or should I say Britney?"

The starting lights went out, and the roar of the crowd drowned out your playful banter. But as you watched Nico storm off to the grid, his focused expression masking the amusement you'd sparked in his eyes, you knew this was just the beginning of your story. The race might have been about speed, but the connection you'd felt with Nico Rosberg promised a different kind of exhilarating ride.

time skip

Weeks after the Monaco Grand Prix, the afterglow of your first meeting with Nico lingered. You exchanged playful texts, Nico inquiring about upcoming gigs and you sending him interview snippets praising his driving prowess. Finally, a free weekend between races offered the perfect opportunity to bridge the gap between the roar of the racetrack and the rhythmic pulse of your music.

Nico, ever the thrill-seeker, suggested a visit to his home track in Germany. Intrigued by the world that fueled his passion, you readily agreed. Stepping into the sterile white paddock felt like entering a different universe. The air hummed with the precise efficiency of a well-oiled machine, a stark contrast to the electric chaos of your backstage routine.

Nico, in his element, gave you a guided tour. He pointed out the meticulous engineering of his car, explaining the intricate dance between driver and machine that achieved such heart-stopping speeds. You listened with rapt attention, his technical jargon punctuated by bursts of laughter as you teased him about his "need for speed" addiction.

Later, as you sat by the pit lane, the setting sun casting an orange glow over the track, Nico's demeanor softened. He confessed the immense pressure that came with being a driver, the constant scrutiny, the relentless pursuit of victory. You, in turn, shared the challenges of the music industry, the fleeting fame, the vulnerability of pouring your soul into every song.

Suddenly, the differences between your worlds seemed to melt away. You both understood the exhilarating pressure of performing, the constant push to be the best, the vulnerability of putting your heart on display for the world to see. A comfortable silence settled between you, a shared understanding blooming beneath the vast, star-studded sky.

The evening continued at a cozy restaurant tucked away in a nearby town. You played him snippets of your new music on your phone, the raw emotion in your voice resonating with him. He, in turn, shared stories from the road, the camaraderie with his team, the adrenaline rush of a perfectly executed race. The conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and stolen glances that spoke volumes.

As the night drew to a close, standing outside his hotel, a comfortable silence settled. Neither of you wanted the night to end. Tentatively, Nico reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The touch sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in slowly, his eyes searching yours.

"This," he murmured, his voice husky, "might be riskier than any race I've ever driven."

You met him halfway, the kiss a delicious mix of excitement and newfound connection. The world of Formula One and the world of music might seem like polar opposites, but in that moment, under the soft glow of the streetlights, they felt like two sides of the same coin - a thrilling pursuit of passion, fueled by a connection that promised to be as exhilarating as the fastest race.

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Tim Drake: Ugly Duckling (dp x dc)

So this is the last day of pride month, and so also the last day of me trying to write as many LGBTQ+ canon dc characters. It’s been fun (and I got to read a whole bunch of comics which was actually much more fun than the first time I’d tried to read those!!)

Now even though this is the end of June, feel free to send an ask if you want me to write a blurb with any character. I make no promises, but I will very much try! (It might take a while especially if I’m in a Tumblr hibernation phase.)

Anyways, for the last day of pride month I wanted to do Tim Drake coz he’s dc’s main “it” gay girl. I’ve been working on this Dead Tired fic for ages, based on the post about Tim getting turned into a swan and meeting Danny, who as a prince has to give him a kiss to change him back (I can’t find the prompt but it was hilarious so this was my take on it).

Here’s the beginning of the fic:

Red Robin was on patrol duty, while Batman and Robin were following a lead on possible joker safehouses. All in all, It was a pretty quiet night with only two muggings, both low-energy as both perpetrator ran away as soon as a bat-shaped shadow moved. 

So Red Robin had spent most of the night chatting with Babs. He was grappling around town, as they started on the new date app they’d both found out Jason was using.

“I told him he can’t put only photos of his motorcycle but- wait I’m getting a call,” Oracle interrupted herself. Tim waited before the earpiece came to life again.

“Sorry to cut this short Red Robin, got a full-attention request from Canary. If you need anything, beep me, and Keep your coms open.”

“Bye, Oracle,” he said, and like that, Red Robin was alone once again.

 He stopped on Grand Avenue Station and just let himself take in Gotham. The city was beautiful at night, and Tim was itching for a camera. He seen hundreds of pictures of the city’s skyline but they always managed to be unique. The night sky may always be covered by dark clouds above, but Gotham had its own stars in the lights shinning on top of the skyscrapers. So lost in his thoughts, Tim was, he almost missed the soft noise that sounded behind him. The voice that sounded behind him was harder to miss.

“Wither away so late, Little Red Bird?”

Red Robin turned to see a tall woman standing half in the shadows

“Sorry, can I help you?” Answered the vigilante despite the bad feeling creeping up to him.

“I’d like to know where I can find your guardian,” the woman said, still in the shadows.

“You mean Batman?” He chanced.

The woman nodded and Tim resisted the urge to sigh.If this was another one of Bruce’s ill-advised fling, Tim was going to hack every electronic device the man had to play sex-eds on loops for at least a week.

“He’s busy at the moment.” Then feeling like he shouldn’t assume what the woman wanted Bruce for, he continued. “But if you need any help, I’ll do my best.”

The woman stepped forward, and Tim could see her better. Her face was bare, but her distinctive outfit seemed to indicate she was some kind of vigilante-slash-criminal. The outfit did, in fact, ring a bell in the back of his mind, but it was dim. Tim didn’t tense up, but he did angle his body in a way to accommodate for a better escape through grappling. She continued walking until she was within arm’s reach of Tim, towering over him. She extended a hand to lightly caress his cheek, and Tim went still at the touch.

“Such a kind Little Bird you are,” she said gently. “You know, you remind me of my daughter.” She sighed. “Oh, what pretty children you both are.”

“Thank you,” said Tim as he sidestepped out of the way. “I’m sure she’s a lovely person.”

“Oh she was,” the woman said and through his growing wariness, Tim spared a thought for the girl. “She had dark hair and the fairest skin, just like you. The most beautiful girl in the land some would even say.”

That niggling feeling came back as a feeling of familiarity poked at him once again. “You must’ve been very proud.”

The woman let out an airy laugh before saying playfully/contemplating. “mustn’t I?”

A shiver ran down his back. Alright, there was something wrong with this woman, and Tim wasn’t waiting around to find out what. Not without any information or backup.

“Well, if there’s nothing I can do for you, I really have to get going,” Tim said as he took out his grapple gun. In a second, the gun was ripped from his hand , and he was slammed to the side of the staircase leading up to the roof. He let out a gasp at the impact and his features tensed in pain. The woman hadn’t even touched him.

“Not so fast, Little Bird. We don’t want you going back to the Batman just yet.  I’m not ready to make him my Knight yet.”

“Your knight?” Tim managed to get out. He tried to move his arms, but some unseen force was pinning him in place. Shit, that meant he couldn’t reach the comm to send out a distress signal. Hopefully Babs would check in soon.

The woman smiled as she approached him once again. “What better for a Queen, than a Dark Knight?”

And just like that it clicked. “You’re the Queen of Fables.” 

“Well look at this, you’ve got the brains and the beauty,” she teased, her voice as smooth as honey.

“What do you want with Batman?” Tim asked though he could guess from previous encounters she had had with the Justice League that the villainess wanted to turn Bruce into a fairytale character of some sort. She’d done the trick on Clark, and twice on Diana, so it was probably Batman’s turn now. So, yes, Tim could guess, But the longer he kept her talking the more time he had to figure out a way out of this.

“I told you, he’ll be a Knight of the Queen,” She extended a hand and tilted Tim’s face up. “Do you know what that would make you Little Bird?” 

Most villains assumed the batclan worked like a crime family. So the family of a knight? “Nobility,” Tim guessed, unsure where this was going.

“Exactly.” She smiled, and then she moved. Tim braced for the hit.

Instead of a punch though, he only felt a tingling sensation. Cautiously, he opened his eyes, only for them to grow bigger as he took in his uniform. Or the lack thereof.

He was in something-century clothing, in some sort of frilly shirt and pants, all in white. This was worse than a punch. Then, as the thought hit him, Tim’s hands flew to his face only to come in contact with the silky fabric of a masquerade mask. He sighed in relief, and as he calmed down, he realized he was now free of the force pinning him down.

“The color is for my daughter,” the Queen said. Then, she let her head fall to the side before tracing a line across his forehead and Tim could feel something like a circlet setting down on it. “There you go. Now, it’s perfect. You could practically be siblings.” 

“No thanks.,” Tim answered.

The Queen tsked him. “That’s no way to behave Little Bird, has nobody taught you to say thank you when you receive a gift.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Tim disagreed mildly as he took stock of his weapons. Everything was gone, including the earpiece, which meant Babs had to have been alerted and someone was en route.

The Queen frowned. “I was going to be merciful, for you guardian’s sake, but I no longer feel generous.” She raised her hand and Tim tried to roll away, but the magic beam swerved and hit him in a blinding flash of light.

When he managed to open his eyes once again, the world seemed quite a bit bigger than it had been moments before. 

“What did you do to me?” He said. Or tried to say.

Instead a strange squawk echoed and Tim took a step back in surprise. However, he lost his balance and started to fall and as he tried to catch himself with his hand, two large white wings unfolded. He dropped down, which wasn’t as far as he would’ve estimated and laid stiff. He moved his left arm, and a white wing followed suit. 

Oh, no. Oh no no no.

A grating laugh interrupted his freak out. “There you are my pretty Little Bird, all better. White really is your colour, don’t you th-“

With a loud hiss, Tim propelled himself towards the woman. Making use of his newfound beak, he pecked and bit everything he could, as he flapped his wings.

“Blasted creature- Get off! Stop it, you despicable, puny-“ 

Finally she managed to grab Tim and throw him away from her. He landed with a squawk, but managed to get himself back to his feet quickly. “You little/awful brat,” she snarled. “You’ll pay for this!”

But as the Queen threw out her hand, something rippled in the air between them and the magic beam seem to explode midway into a green vortex. Tim’s clumsy attempt at waddling away had him head straight towards it, and it was in vain that he tried to redirect the course. She and Tim made eye contact as the swan-boy tipped right into the swirling green vortex, both of their eyes wide-open in surprise.

Danny was exhausted. He was currently on week one of the full month of Royal Duties he’d promised Clockwork. Being Prince of the Infinite Realm was not all that it was cracked up to be, and that was saying a lot since he had already been expecting it to be awful. 

When Clockwork had made the request, Danny had proceeded to freak out about his new status, and then tried to abdicate. It was only the master of time reminding him of all the terrible possible candidate for the throne per rites of combat (such as Vlad) that stopped him from washing his hands of this mess. And now Danny was forced to spend one whole month of his summer vacation in the Ghost Zone to fulfill his duty as a Prince. 

He thought it would be some paperwork, maybe a battle or two, nothing too bad, but nooo. Because, of course nothing was easy, Danny had to show up at Events, and be Diplomatic. It was meeting, after meeting, after weird parties that were a mix between Medieval Banquets and Debutante balls. 

And worse of all were the marriage proposals. Danny could sorta understand, marrying into royalty was a definite plus for a lot of more powerful ghosts but when they called him a half-breed behind his back, only to smile in his face with a marriage contract in one hand and flowers in the other, that was where he drew the line. 

Plus there was also the fact that he was, like sixteen.

Suffice to say, Danny was exhausted and hiding out in Pariah Dark’s old castle as a last resort. It wasn’t his favorite place all in all, but the gardens were absolutely beautiful, which was where he was walking. He was currently headed to the hedge maze, since it was the best way to get rid of any tails he may or may not have. 

The maze was nasty if it didn’t like you, and it didn’t like anybody but Danny, and even then, it still tried to take a bite every once in a while. Despite the snaking vines and roots trying to capture anything that moved, the flowers that wailed softly when disturbed or the sharp thorns of the hedge plants themselves, it was still a beautiful place. Uniquely, the closer you got to the centre, the more colorful (and dangerous) everything got, which was why he liked it best. 

He reached the centre much quicker than the first time he tried, thanks to the maze actually helping him, and something pale caught his eye right in the middle of the open area, right next to the bench Danny loved to use. As he got closer, he realized it was a swan laying on the floor, seemingly unconscious.

“Oh no,” Danny said as he approached. “What happened to you?”

As if awakened by the sound of his voice, the swan started to shift, its wings twitching and it rose its head groggily. As soon as it clocked in Danny, it let out a surprised squawk, followed by a long hiss as it struggled to move away.

“Hey, hey, none of that, Duckie, you’re ok.” Danny raised his hands placatingly. “I don’t want to harm you, ok? I just want to make sure you’re ok.”

The hiss subsided by a bit, but that may have only be due to the swan managing to get further away.

“Sh, sh, it’s ok,” Danny repeated as he slowly inched forward. The swan stopped hissing but still observed him warily. “I don’t want to hurt you Duckie, but I do think we’d better get you out of this maze.”

Danny took another step, and this time the swan stayed still. “How about bringing you back to my rooms just for now.” The swan hissed louder at the statement. “Don’t worry Duckie, I’m not keeping you prisoner it’s just this maze has been known to eat people. And you’re too pretty to be eaten,” Danny flashed a smile at the swan which had it stare back with a gaze saying really?

“So what do you say, wanna crash at my place?” Danny asked. The swan didn’t move forward but he didn’t move away either.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust a guy who talks to birds either,” Danny allowed. “And the place where I’m staying is a little gloomy, so I don’t blame you, but I can’t leave you here. The maze is honestly really dangerous, especially for a nice bird is like you. “

The swan seemed to hesitate before it hesitantly made its way to Danny. Ghost animals were usually smart but the swan seemed to understand English, which made communicating that much easier. Danny smiled and opened his arms. “I can carry you.” The swan just looked at him, with what Danny would’ve thought was a deadpan stare. “It would go much faster.”

If the swan was human it probably would’ve sighed, but instead, its wings just fell a little before it waddled towards Danny and looked up as if to say ‘get on with it’.

Danny smiled and gathered the animal in his arms. “Buckle up,” he said before flying off towards the maze exit, which was accompanied by a low hiss. Making sure there was nobody there to ambush him, Danny made it back to the castle in record time.

“Here we are Duckie.” Danny set the swan back down and it plopped down on the ground and just steadied themselves for a while.

Tim was a swan. He had wings and no fingers, and his feet were webbed.

He was handling it though. By which Tim meant he was shelving the impending panic attack for later when he wasn’t stuck in a swan body. 

Ok, so he’d been turned by the Queen of Fables, so there had to be an answer in a fairytale,a way to make him normal again. He knew the ugly duckling story. That had a swan in it, right? He didnt know any other swan stories, except maybe as a dish during the wedding banquet of whichever princess. He vaguely remembered a Barbie movie that had passed on the TV when he was younger but the only thing that came to mind were a scary-looking Troll thing, and ballet.  So with lack of better alternatives he was going to go with the ugly duckling. The ugly duckling’s happy ending was reuniting with family, so maybe all he needed was to make his way back to Gotham.

“Are you ok?” 

And that was another thing. The guy. The one Tim had at first wanted to get away from. He seemed nice and all, but he also had neon green eyes, and fangs. Unfortunately, while they suited the boy very well, they also marked him as an unknown. 

On the other hand, if the glowing portal wasn’t enough of an indication, the green tinge of everything around was clear indicator that Tim wasn’t in Kansas anymore. The guy seemed to want to help him, and having an ally wherever he was could only help.

Tim nodded as best as he could with his long weird neck, and he had to take a few steps to regain balance.

“That’s good,” the boy smiled with his white pointy canine. “How did you end up in the middle of that maze?”

Tim just looks back tiredly. He didn’t know how to even try and explain when he couldn’t say a word and had no opposable thumbs.

“Yeah, sorry.” The boy winced. “Maybe stick to yes or no questions.”

There was a sharp knock at the door that had the boy turning away.

“Prince Phantom!” A voice rung through the door.

Prince? 

The newly-dubbed Prince Phantom got up to open the door, “yes, what can I do for you?”

“Your meeting with Queen Dora is approaching. Do you still prefer to forgo an escort guards?” a purple lady was saying.

“I’ll be fine without, Maj but thank you very much,” Phantom answered with a polite smile.

“I’ll pass it along, my Prince.” She bowed and closed the doors behind her.

Phantom walked back to lay on the bed with a sigh. “I really hate that they call me that.” He turned towards Tim to continue. “I bet swans don’t have royalty. You guys had the right idea.”

[sophrosynesworld]

With all my love, pt 6

Our car drives out of Tokyo, the once vibrant neon lights dimming in the rearview mirror. Inside the vehicle, a heavy silence hangs like a storm cloud. 

Bakugou sits rigid beside me, jaw clenched, staring straight ahead. Izuku, in the driver’s seat, occasionally glances at us through the rearview mirror, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel.

The bustling cityscape fades into the countryside, the stars now twinkling brightly against the night sky, freed from the city's light pollution. It’s been so long since I left the city, the last time was for our training camp at UA. What happened to us?

"Can someone please tell me what happened back there?" Izuku’s voice cuts through the silence, his eyes darting between us in the mirror.

Bakugou's grip tightens on his knees. I take a deep breath. "It’s complicated, Izuku. Katsuki and I... we’ve been going through some things." I sound like a mother breaking bad news to her child.

Izuku’s gaze shifts to Bakugou. "You two need to talk. This silence isn't helping anyone."

Bakugou scoffs. "Talk? She thinks I’ve been cheating on her."

Izuku's eyebrows shoot up, but he stays silent. For once, I’m grateful.

"You’ve been distant, Katsuki. Coming home late, missing our dates, disappearing for days. What else was I supposed to think?" My arms cross over my chest, frustration bubbling.

Bakugou sighs, running a hand through his hair. "You really think I'd do that to you? I’ve been hiding something, but it’s not what you think."

"What is it, then?" I question him, but he averts his gaze, staring out the window instead.

The landscape outside changes subtly, flat fields giving way to gentle hills and clusters of trees. Moonlight casts an eerie glow, illuminating our path.The car falls silent again, the tension thick as Izuku navigates through the dark roads. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Izuku turns down a dirt road, leading us to a modest house. Bakugou lets out a deep breath, his grip on the door handle tightening.

"Come on," he says gruffly, stepping out of the car and gesturing for me to follow. ‘

I follow Bakugou up the path to the house, my heart pounding in my chest. He stops at the door, fumbling with the keys before pushing it open. 

As we step inside, I take in the surroundings. The entrance hall is warmly lit by a small chandelier, casting a soft glow on the polished wooden floor. A plush rug lies beneath our feet, muffling our steps. The walls are adorned with tasteful art pieces, and a small table by the door holds a neatly arranged stack of mail and a decorative bowl for keys. I slip my shoes off next to him. 

Bakugou leads me into the living room, and I can't help but marvel at the space. It’s furnished and beautiful. The room is spacious yet cozy, with large windows that offer a view of a well-kept garden outside. A comfortable-looking sectional sofa dominates the room, adorned with an array of throw pillows in various shades of blue and gray. A coffee table sits in front of it, holding a few magazines and an empty vase. The walls are painted a soothing shade of light gray, complemented by dark wooden bookshelves filled with an assortment of books and knick-knacks.

A large flat-screen TV is mounted on the wall, and below it, a sleek entertainment center holds various electronics and neatly arranged DVDs. The soft hum of an air purifier is the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Everything is meticulously arranged, reflecting a sense of order and calm.

“I don’t understand what we’re doing here.” I tug on Bakugou's sleeve to get his attention, my frustration clear. The room is shrouded in dim light, with the moon casting its soft glow through the windows, painting the walls in a subtle hue of silver. “Why did you bring me into the middle of nowhere?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, his back towards me as he walks towards the large glass window overlooking the garden. The soft rustle of leaves and distant chirping of crickets create a serene backdrop to our conversation.

“Whose house is this?” I ask, my voice rising with a mix of confusion and anger.

"It's ours," he admits, turning around slowly, his voice low and strained. The moonlight catches the edges of his face, highlighting the contours and curves. "It was going to be the home we raised our children in."

My heart skips a beat as I process his words. "What are you talking about?" I press, confusion consuming me. "This isn’t our home."

He sighs, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "When you got hurt, it was one of the few times I’ve been afraid." His voice cracks, and I can see his shoulders tremble. "The doctors didn’t know if you’d ever wake up."

I want to reach out, to comfort him, but I stay silent. He needs to get this out.

"When you opened your eyes and called my name," his voice wavers, tears spilling from his eyes, "I knew I wanted to spend eternity with you."

I’m stunned. "You’ve been planning this since then?"

"Six months ago, I bought the land. I picked up extra shifts to build this. Every detail, every corner, designed with you in mind. I wanted to build this home for us, to show you that I’m serious about our future.”

I look around the room with new eyes. Everything reflects my tastes. My heart aches with the realization of his efforts. The soft gray walls, the comfortable sectional sofa adorned with an array of throw pillows, the sleek coffee table—every detail reflects my preferences, my style. The thought of him working tirelessly to create this place tugs at my heart.

"You’ve been working on this for six months?" My voice softens as I slowly begin to understand..

"Yeah," he murmurs, regret mingling in his eyes. "I wanted to surprise you. To make up for all the times I’ve been absent. But I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want to ruin it."

I know I should be ecstatic, but anger ignites within me. "You kept this from me while I worried we were falling apart? Do you know how that feels?"

His expression hardens. "I was doing it for us! To prove I could give you everything you ever wanted!"

"But I never asked for this!" I shout. "I just wanted you, Katsuki!"

"I was trying to make things better!" he yells back. "I thought if I finished this place, you’d see how much I care!"

"What do you want from me?" I scream, tears spilling over.

"I want you to be my wife!" His voice cracks, the raw emotion behind his words slicing through the tension in the air.

I stare at him, shock consuming all of my words.

"What?"

Without another word, he storms to a drawer, yanking it open with a force that rattles the whole dresser. He pulls out a small velvet box, his hands trembling. "I wanted to propose to you here, in the house I built with you in mind." he says, his voice barely above a whisper, yet charged with desperation. "I love you more than anything and if I don’t ask you now, I might not be able to later. 

Katsuki drops to one knee before me, holding out an engagement ring that catches the light with a mesmerizing sparkle. The band is a delicate, platinum twist, leading up to a stunning solitaire diamond, flawlessly cut and glistening like a fragment of a star. Smaller diamonds are embedded along the band, adding an extra layer of brilliance. It’s breathtakingly beautiful. 

“Will you marry me?"

Tears blur my vision. "Katsuki..."

The weight of Bakugou's words hangs in the air, his raw admission still echoing in my ears. As he kneels before me, holding out the ring, time seems to stand still. My heart races, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Shock, confusion, anger, and a glimmer of hope—all tangled together.

"No more secrets, no more running away. Just you and me, building our life together. Please, say you’ll be my wife."

I look down at him, the moonlight casting a soft glow on his face. His eyes are filled with a mixture of desperation and vulnerability that I’ve rarely seen. This strong, fierce man is baring his soul to me, and it breaks something inside me.

My hands tremble as I touch his face. "Yes, I’ll marry you."

Relief and joy light up his face as he slips the ring onto my finger. He pulls me into a tight embrace, the tension finally dissolving.

He takes a deep breath, his gaze never wavering from mine. “I know I messed up. I thought I was doing the right thing, building this place for us. But I see now that I was wrong to keep it from you. I was afraid, afraid that I wasn’t enough, that I couldn’t give you what you needed.”

Tears blur my vision as I kneel down to be level with him, our faces inches apart. “All I ever wanted was you, Katsuki. Not some perfect house, not grand gestures. Just you.”

He reaches out, his fingers gently brushing away my tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, we just sit there, on the floor of this beautiful house, holding each other. The anger and hurt begin to melt away, replaced by a deep, aching love. The road ahead is still uncertain, but I can see a glimmer of the future we could have together.

[dawnbreakersgaze]

All's Fair in Love and Kitty Cards:

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓲𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓐𝓻𝓮: 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓕𝓪𝓵𝓵

❥ ┊𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲; You've decided to bring home an electronic board game of kitty cards, and make the oh so simple suggestion of playing strip kitty cards to entice your work weary boyfriend Zayne into trying it out with you. After all, you're THEE Queen of Kitty Cards herself- it's not like you could lose, right?

❥ ┊𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠; bullet fic format (sorry, don't have the energy to devote to full fic rn 😅), reader referred to as you/your and she/her, this one really got away from me omf it's longer than I mean it to be eek, not proof read, written in a whirlwind bc this idea would not leave me be until I got it out, not full smut but very suggestive, just good ol' fashioned romantic fun. Zayne thinks you're hot ♡

Yes, I will be doing Xavier and Rafayel as well

Zayne rarely got too serious with kitty cards. He'd rather watch you have fun than engage in a real competition. Your smile and serious expression were far more entertaining than any game, and the delighted light in your eyes after a victory (no matter how wide or narrow) was always his most welcome reward.

That was, until you brought home that new electronic board game version, setting it up before he'd gotten home and surprising him with it only moments after he'd taken off his shoes and coat.

At first he wasn't that interested. I mean the cats where half the fun of kitty cards lets be real, plus he was tired.

But when you suggested (with a wicked little glint in your eye that had his heart stop momentarily, mind you) that you guys play strip kitty cards, he stood there blinking in silence for a solid 15 seconds, just processing.

"How upset would you be if I won, though?" He carefully asked once he finally came out of it, that little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. God he can be so smug sometimes.

You of course tell him that you're the literal Queen, Her Meowjesty the First, and this is your domain. You demand he put respect on that name and remember it well.

You'd come to eat those words later.

The first round you win easily. Just like every game before, it would seem the kitties favor you above all else (why wouldn't they, you were their Queen after all). He gives a soft chuckle, removing his vest and placing it over the back of his couch. "Round two, then?"

Round two seems to take a similar route. You almost feel bad for Zayne. He's always been a bit of a pushover when it comes to kitty cards, and as you fill the final cup cementing your victory 23-10, you watch as he loosens his tie tossing it aside and removing each sleeve garter, laying them on the table next to his vest chain. Zayne doesn't say anything this time, only watches you as you reshuffle the cards and get the board cleared for a new game.

Round three is where you finally start to feel him trying. It's a bit like reeling in a fish. You feel like you're making some headway and and then he'll pull out a Bye Bye on your double point kitty, or use a Purrcieve and discard your pink 6 kitty when there was an open pink cup. Nothing earth shattering- you could and did still wipe the floor with him, but the way Zayne watched you over the tops of his cards as he did so started to make you feel... vulnerable, despite all your layers.

When he finally sheds his third layer- his shirt- you realize all too late that you've fallen into the spider's web. With his broad, muscled shoulders, sharp collarbones that crowned his perfect pecs, and strong biceps corded with beautifully laced veins that traveled down his scarred forearms to his large hands that currently rested against those masterfully made lats and abs and.... oh.

Oh no.

Zayne catches you staring (how could he not, honestly. You were practically drooling), and regards you with that little quirk of his lip and raise of his brow. "Everything alright? Ready for round 4?" Worry starts to eat at you when you realize he doesn't sound at all worried. He's already shirtless only 3 layers from being completely nude, and he sounds like he's already won.

Not one to accept defeat so easily, you swallow, set your expression in determination, and deal the cards.

And yet

4 rounds later and Zayne had yet to remove another article of clothing.

Your clothes (and your dignity as The Queen) lay tossed about the room in a perfect metaphor for your current emotional state.

This man. THIS MAN. Despite all your usual tricks and banter, Zayne had refused every single one of your pleas to trade cards. No amount of begging or bargaining would be accepted tonight, and during your last attempt he'd made it very clear that should you ask again, he'd put the game away since you obviously weren't interested in actually testing your skills.

So here you sat. In your bra and panties, your metaphorical crown plucked from your head and reshaped into a dunce cone.

The kitties had forsaken you.

It had started out so well, but once that shirt came off it was suddenly so hard to focus. You'd find yourself watching as he'd roll his shoulder, gazing as his chest or ribs expanded with a particularly deep breath. Let your eyes linger on each and every scar that dappled his hands and forearms. Watch his Adam's apple bob as he'd take a particularly long drink of the water at his side.

Honestly, it seemed like the more layers you lost, the harder he was to ignore as well.

Little did you know the absolute torment this man was going through on his end.

Sure, setting the trap was easy enough. You were always so sure of your kitty card playing ability, and he so rarely put up a fight when you begged for mercy. However, turning your pleading down each time as you sat across from him in less and less clothing, looking at him with those big teary eyes was threatening to completely undo him. Listening to you whine his name and watch as your perfect lips pouted so full and glossy in the lamp light was too much, he couldn't take it.

You and your games would be the death of him, surly.

Round 6 is where his empire fell.

Your defeat was swift, of course. Zanye had struck gold with 4 Meow This in his hand, and pulled a complete shut out. It was like in the movies when the character watches in slow-mo as their impending death rushes towards them, and as you were left with no number cards to fill the last cup on your turn, you watched as Zayne placed his.

"I believe that's another win for me." His tone was proud- joyful, even. Typically one of your favorite expressions he made, if you were being honest. Something about Zayne's smug, rather cocky attitude really got you going sometimes, and sitting here for the last hour, ogling his shoulder and arms and hands and abs... well... that hadn't been helping the literal ocean between your thighs either.

Your silence (and likely the deer in the headlights expression you wore) spurred a warm chuckle from him, the sound both rich and comforting, yet still strange enough to snap you back to reality.

"I believe I've earned my next reward, correct?"

Oh... this bastard. This beautiful bastard.

Puffing your cheeks at him in a pout, you consider accusing him of cheating (partially in jest, you know he wouldn't, but also why is he SO DAMN GOOD all of a sudden??), but in the soft glow of the lights, your eyes catch his, and you see something darker. Immediately, your heart begins racing, skin prickling with the familiar feeling of anticipation in battle.

Wait, in battle?

This wasn't the first time you'd have taken your bra off in front of Zayne, so why did you feel so much like... prey in this moment? As your hand slowly reached behind you to find the clasp, it was apparent you weren't the only one feeling the weight in the air. The subtle creak of the couch let you know he'd leaned forward, eager to watch and enjoy the prize he'd rightfully won.

"What are you waiting for?" The subtle tilt and bob of his head mirrors the quick uptick at the corner of his mouth, a motion you're so familiar with by now. A playful gesture of his, reserved for those moments when he's feeling particularly teasing or goading.

It only stokes the fire in you, of course. The amber hues in his green eyes, further illuminated by the warm lamplight, bore into you despite his otherwise neutral expression.

With a flick of your wrist, the clasp is undone. You consider playing a bit, slowly sliding the straps down to tease and tempt, maybe using your arms to cover what he desired to see most. Surely he deserved a taste of his own medicine after obliterating you like this tonight, but his intensity is already near suffocating.

Instead, one at a time, you slipped your arm from each strap, and gently placed it at your side. The moment you felt the chill air hit you, it was audible that he'd noticed.

Oh sure, he tried to keep quiet. Tried to stop himself from letting out that small, strangled gasp when he watched your nipples pebble. Tried to still his thundering heart when your reactive shiver cut across you, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Tried to stop himself from whispering your name in a thick voice, telling you how beautiful you looked in the warm-glow lighting. At least he managed to temper his hand and hold it back from palming his quickly stiffening cock. Thank God for the small mercies.

His reaction was so much more than you'd been expecting. You'd been nude plenty of times before, like showering together, or that time you'd shared a hot spring once on vacation. Not to mention all the THE SEX. But this??

He had your body memorized at this point, but watching you strip layer by layer as you lost each round was really doing it for him?

The way his voice caught when he said your name, the way the muscles around his ribs stretched and relaxed as he took deep breaths to calm himself, the dilation of his pupils as his eyes trailed you from navel to nose, finally making eye contact after a lengthy pause on your lips.

Zayne might have been winning at kitty cards, but you were starting to get the feeling your luck was about to turn around.

"I forfeit." His normal, rational tone returns, albeit with great strain.

You sputter out a few expletives, dropping the stack of cards you'd started to shuffle. "What?! But we weren't- I was going to- I didn't even get to-!" Too many thoughts at once try tumbling from you, tangling on your tongue. How dare he! I mean sure you won, but a victory of forfeiture was hardly a victory worth bragging about.

Standing from the couch you watch as Zayne extends a large hand towards you, that same hungry look in his eye again that has you feeling small and vulnerable, and reminds you that you're very exposed.

"I've had my fun hunting the hunter. I think it's time I reward her for her win."

ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ʳᵉᵇˡᵒᵍˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵉᶜᶦᵃᵗᵉᵈᵎ ᵀʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵒʳ ʳᵉᵃᵈᶦⁿᵍᵎ

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic may 11th & 13th - gentle & mischievous - 634words

bickering boyfriends~ <3

The thing about Regulus is that he’s a little thief.

A remote thief to be exact.

James plops down on the couch next to him and dumps the chocolates in his lap. He smacks a kiss against the side of his head and Regulus hums in appreciation.

His eyes are trained on the little baggie of M&Ms and James can’t help the smile tugging on his lips as Regulus crunches away happily.

“Brooklyn99?” James asks, flipping the remote once and burying his feet underneath Regulus’ blanket as well.

Regulus makes a grumbling noise and buries deeper into James’ chest.

James grins, “Modern Family?”

Regulus huffs and then turns to blink sweetly back up at him, voice all saccharine innocence, “Bridgerton?”

James groans, “Again?”

There’s a hand caressing down James’ abdomen, resting low just above his waistband. It’s distracting, sort of. Regulus twirls his fingers into the strings of James’ sweatpants, rosy lips contorted, “There’s a new spin off.”

James narrows his eyes. “I dunno.”

“It’s about the queen,” Regulus explains, nosing at the crook of James’ neck and eliciting a small shudder. One of James’ hands twists into the curls of his boyfriend’s dark hair, the other fisting the cushion.

“Baby,” he reprimands. Regulus is dangerously skilled at distracting James, pushing his buttons.

Regulus licks and James breath hitches and then he’s pulling him off gently.

Before James is even entirely back in the present he registers faint classical music in the background.

He whips to the screen and sees fancy dresses and a horse carriage.

James scowls. When he turns to glare at Regulus he’s already immersed into his show.

James clears his throat pointedly.

Regulus gives no reaction.

“Regulus, love?”

“Hm?”

“Where’s the remote?”

Regulus shrugs feebly, “Dunno.”

His voice is way too light. Faux innocence.

James hums, “So the TV just opened Netflix and chose Bridgerton all on its own, huh?”

Regulus makes a vague meh sound, “Y’know how electronics are these days. CIA listening and everything.”

“You-” James huffs, “baby, gimme the damn remote.”

“I don’t have it,” Regulus insists. “Now, shush.”

“Ohh,” James chuckles, “Oh, that’s how we’re gonna play it?”

“Play?” Regulus inquires, “I don’t know what you’re talking ab—James!”

James is too busy to respond, currently forging his way under Regulus’ blanket where James knows he’s hiding the remote.

“James, stop it! You’re invading my personal space! Stop—”

“Hand me the remote control, Reginald.”

“You’re violating,” Regulus growls, “my boundaries.”

“You’re violating my trust,” James counters.

“No!”

“Yes!” James volleys back, “Clearly you are, you little—”

“Ja-ames,” Regulus whines, still trying to fight him off, angling his body this way and that and hiding the device somewhere.

James lets himself fall back into the cushion, glowering at Regulus. “My love.”

“What?” Regulus bites out. He’s all flushed in the face, breathing shallowly.

James wants to snog him but his detest for 19th century drama wins, “I am trying to reason with you.”

“And I’m trying to watch this show.”

“I will cut the power cable.”

Regulus gasps dramatically. “You wouldn’t.”

James only raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Magically, the TV clicks off.

They’re pushed into immediate silence, both facing forward as they pout, shoulder against shoulder.

“Now what?” Regulus asks.

James looks over. Regulus’ cheeks are flushed angrily and his mouth is all twisted and teeth worrying the inside of his cheek.

“Look at me,” James orders softly and suddenly they’re nose to nose.

Regulus’ eyelids flutter, blinking him into focus. He blushes more deeply, eyes flitting down to James’ lips.

James slips into a grin.

Regulus blinks again, then scowls, “No.”

“Yes, baby,” James responds, cupping his jaw.

Their lips brush and James hears his boyfriend’s breath stutter. Victory.

Needless to say they get the hours of the evening filled just fine without any Netflix.

[ch3rry-wink]

Prom Night (AU)

Pairing: Suguru Getō x f!reader

Summary: After rejecting Getō's invitation to the prom, your refusal turns into a nightmare.

CW: +18, dark content, kidnapping, dub-con, rough sex, creampie, doggy style, choking, handjob, kinda Stockholm syndrome, unprotected sex, fingering, missionary, cum eating, oral sex, kinda fuck or die, coercion

Author's note: inspired by the loved ones. Getō And the reader are in college.

Your friends made an effort to plan that dance. It was just a few weeks before graduation, and their best idea was to mimic the Americans with their high school dances every season. They wanted something very traditional: inviting the person you liked, corsages, choosing the king and queen of the dance, and reviving every Hollywood movie stereotype.

The halls and classrooms filled with cheesy people striving to get a date, including Getō who, with a bouquet of red roses, proposed to be your partner. With a small (and cruel rejection), you let him know that you only saw him as the awkward country boy who helped you with your work. Perhaps you should have been kinder.

The big night had arrived, and you waited for a taxi on the corner in your stunning black dress and heels that hurt your feet. You admitted to yourself that your boyfriend was an idiot for not picking you up. A black car pulled up in front of you, and panic instantly set in as a white-haired man with blue eyes rolled down the passenger window.

"Get in the car," he ordered. You tried to walk away, but other burly men blocked your path. "Get in the car; we have a dance to attend," you obeyed; there wasn't much else to do.

You woke up dizzy and tied to a chair, with electronic music playing in the background and disco lights spinning. When your head stopped spinning, you saw the place completely decorated to simulate the event you were supposed to attend.

"Surprise!" the white-haired man pointed out, and when the other crossed the doorway, you finally understood what was happening.

"You shouldn't have bothered, Satoru," Getō entered, adjusting the buttons of his bespoke tuxedo.

"Just say thank you, Suguru," Satoru adjusted your head and removed the gag. "It's no trouble at all, all for my friend."

"Let me go," tears fell from your eyes, your makeup starting to run, and Satoru dug his nails into your shoulders.

"No, you are the guest of honor," his fingers trailed down your arms to reach the restraints. "You'll give Suguru the perfect night, and I'll consider letting you go, understood?"

"I promise," the restraints softened until you were completely free. You stood up, Satoru wiped your tears, and led you to where Suguru was with a corsage, putting it on your wrist.

"It's very beautiful," you approached Suguru. "And you look very handsome tonight." It wasn't a lie, Suguru was handsome; but his personal style killed all the charm, you were somewhat superficial, and you admitted it.

"You look stunning," your makeup was smudged, and your hair tangled; under different circumstances, you might have believed his compliment.

"We should get a drink," you walked together to the table filled with expensive liquors and fine snacks, Getō poured you a glass of champagne.

"Courtesy of Satoru Gojō," both raised your glasses in a toast, and after a few sips, you threw the liquid in his face and started to run.

"Catch her," you heard Satoru shout to his people as you ran through the door.

"I found her!" someone shouted behind you, and you crawled pathetically on the ground in hopes of escaping; he lifted you and carried you regardless of your injuries.

There was not a soul in sight, only the echo of the menacing steps of the henchmen behind you. The hallways were vast with dozens of closed doors and stairs that seemed to lead to the same place; however, one door stood out, it was large and heavy when moved, a forest was revealed before you. On the uneven ground, you stumbled occasionally, wild animals sounded dangerously close, and after a couple of falls that marked your body with scrapes, you knew you wouldn't go far, but now it was a reality with the flashlight illuminating your face:

"Please let me go," you begged and kicked in vain because in seconds, you were back in the hall with the big blue eyes in front of you.

"I'm not happy, stop mistreating my friend, or I will make these gentlemen mistreat your family," he laughed when your eyes filled with panic. "It's time to dance."

Suguru returned to the hall, some damp spots visible on the fabric of his suit.

"You're back!" he hugged you, dragged you to the dance floor, and started moving to the rhythm of the slow song Gojō had put on.

"Suguru, let me go."

"No, Satoru put a lot of effort into planning this."

"You're insane."

"You humiliated me and took advantage of me." You had been a complete bitch and had never taken the time to thank him for what he had done for you.

"I'm sorry... I..." your apologies and explanations were cut short when Satoru spoke from a microphone.

"It's time to choose the king and queen of the dance." He waved an envelope in the air and then opened it. "Suguru Getō," he read from a little piece of paper. Getō had the crown on his head and waited for you to join him; Satoru said your name and crowned you queen with that small cheap plastic crown.

"We should dance as king and queen," you started to accept your condition, cooperating might get you free sooner. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and his around your waist, your bodies were too close. Suguru's fingers moved delicately down your back. Under the lights and slow music, he kissed you, and you followed, believing that was enough to convince Gojō that the night was perfect (hopefully he would ignore your escape attempt).

"That was wonderful," Getō smiled foolishly, and Gojō appeared behind you.

"That was beautiful," his applause sounded sarcastic.

"I'll get a drink," Getō kissed you on the cheek and then walked away.

"Before your escape attempt, I didn't consider this would be necessary," he handed you a card and waited for you to take it. "I was going to let it go, a moonlight kiss, and you would go home."

"What is this?!"

"It's the suite, you'll take him there and show him how much you love him," he smiled playfully, "And make it seem like your idea," he walked away when he saw Getō returning.

"I brought champagne," you pounced on him, put your mouth close to his ear, and whispered:

"I want us to go somewhere more private," you felt his heart race and his breath catch, he nodded eagerly, and you guided him out of the hall. The footsteps of an escort sounded close by; the whole building was full of them.

The room was beautiful with crystal chandeliers adorning the ceiling, vases full of flowers, elegant furniture, and an immense bed; everything was pure luxury.

Getō put his hand on your waist and turned you to face him, the suit jacket had disappeared, and only the tight white shirt remained. He kissed you passionately as his hands went to the straps of the dress, which fell to the ground in seconds.

His hands slowly went down your torso until they touched the edge of your panties, you felt how they slid down your legs and kicked them aside, Getō kissed you again, your hot body rubbed against the coolness of his clothes and this made your nipples stiffen from the friction.

"I've long dreamed of this moment" he distributed a few kisses on your neck, his fingers reached your pussy he slid them between your folds, a small moan escaped your mouth from the pleasant sensation and without warning you felt him pressing your clitoris, your legs faltered and you held on to his shoulders, while he kept rubbing again and again, unable to give you clarity.

"Suguru," you moaned, and then something landed on you; you felt guilty, you were being unfaithful, you were letting another name come out of your mouth, and yet it felt so good. Perhaps the adrenaline from the danger involved was playing tricks on you.

"Tell me you love me," you shook your head and pulled away from him. Suguru had those same sad eyes as when you rejected him. You knew that if he left this room, Gojō was ready to ruin your life.

"Suguru, I love you," you brought your lips to his and your fingers to the buttons of his shirt, then to his belt and zipper; the pants fell with the metallic noise of the belt.

You were kneeling in front of him, his bulge just growing inside his boxers, you rubbed your hand and with your mouth you gave little kisses over the fabric hoping it would keep growing; your hands ran up his thighs to the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulled them down, his cock gave a little jump and bumped against his abdomen. A small sound of surprise came out of you and followed by biting your lip as panic set in.

One of Getō's hands landed on the back of your head, but you didn't move you just stood there pondering whether or not you could take him in your mouth.

"You don't need to" Suguru spoke calmly and your eyes watched him from below, you opened your mouth and he closed it before you could fit it into his red tip.

"I want to" you said almost pleading.

"We'll have more time" he was convinced you would be one more time with him, after this you never wanted to see him again.

"Let me make you feel good" you put one of your hands on the base of his cock, you squeezed it a little and started to move it up and down, its heat was intense; you gave kisses and licks to its rosy tip. Getō had his eyes closed and some delicate moans escaped from his mouth. You felt something inside him clench seeking his release, you simply pulled away not allowing him to get to that point. You smiled teasingly at him.

"You're cruel," he helped you to stand up and guided you to the bed, sitting you down on the edge and started to unstrap the heels, touching the small bruises and scrapes, "I'm sorry, I didn't want this to happen..." You didn't want him to keep talking, reminding you of what happened tonight; you needed him to be quiet, for all of this to end.

"Suguru, enough," you put your finger on his mouth to silence him, "Just make me feel like in your dreams." His eyes lit up with joy.

Getō's face was between your legs, his tongue was moving in circles over your clit and two of his fingers were moving in and out of your insides; you had underestimated him the gangly country boy knew what to do he wasn't a frigid puritan.

"That's enough" you stood there indignantly in the middle of a high, watching him smirk at you just as you had a while ago; you settled in the middle of the bed with your legs slightly spread in anticipation of Getō.

He landed in the middle, his hands reached your breasts and lightly squeezed your nipples, his mouth landed on one to lick and suck it, you played with his hair and giggled nervously from the pleasure, you accepted that you were enjoying him a lot and the feeling he was giving you.

Suguru pulled you a few inches until you were closer to him, he rubbed his red tip between your folds making sure to brush your clit.

"I love you" he said between heavy breaths and moans, as he slowly pushed himself inside you; stretching you and filling you to perfection. He began to move slow; but hard without much consideration, just watching your face contort into a grimace of pleasure and listening to your moans scraping your throat and echoing around the room.

His hands clung firmly to your hips, imposing the rhythm, exerting absolute control. In that space, he was the one in charge, the one who determined every movement. You, who were the queen bee in public, became a mere plaything here, without any voice or power, and that stimulated you.

Your face was sunk between the pillows and your ass raised in the air, his cock well buried inside you as his balls bounced in your pussy.

"You look pathetic, you're just a slut" your pussy clenched "Maybe I should call Satoru and have him join.... Would you like that?" The very mention of Satoru Gojō terrified you and in a frightened voice you replied:

"No" Getō tugged on your hair pulling you to him, your back was pressed against his torso and his cock kept up that erratic, hard rhythm.

"Why not" His hand went to your neck and squeezed it, you were losing air and you felt suffocated by all the sensations.

"Because I'm only yours" your improvised reply made him relax as did his grip on your neck. The speed and roughness of his lunges slowed, as did the sound of skin against skin. Suguru gifted you with a slow, passionate kiss, accompanied by his fingers touching your clit, your toes curling, your body filled with spasms.

"Come for me" Getō kept burying himself to the hilt inside you, feeling you clench around him and whimper as your orgasm finally came.

He carelessly dropped your body on the bed, continued ramming your over stimulated pussy chasing his own release until he succeeded, his hot seed painted your walls white.

Suguru didn't pull out he continued to fuck his own seed inside you and your own pussy was eager to have him again.

"Open your mouth" Suguru came out of you, he rubbed his thumb on your core and then brought it closer to your mouth, you hesitated to do so; but his pleading eyes motivated you. You savored the mixture of the two of you together and without wasting time he kissed you.

"Suguru... I need you" It was the first time a simple orgasm had made you feel so vulnerable, leaving your body like jelly. You had wasted so much time rejecting Suguru that now you simply didn't want him to separate from you; you wanted him to fuck you every minute.

None of your friends or your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, actually—understood why that morning you had arrived hand in hand with Suguru Getō. They had all seen you reject him brutally; however, there you were, hugging and exchanging small kisses. You understood it, though, and it wasn't necessary for them to know that in one weekend you had become addicted to his cock or the way he fucked you.

[kairismess]

looks like he could kill you . . . would kill you (with his teasing).

🎧 currently listening to . . . runaway baby by bruno mars.

🔌 this playlist absolutely slaps please give it a listen. (creds: mel on youtube !)

🏐 genre: fluff with a hint of suggestive

✒️ word count: 368

💗 special mentions: @zdenque @xoxo-cha 💕

many say he's a bit of a playboy, and, with looks like those... you would be inclined to believe so. his dark, spiky hair that stood up from behind and curtained over the right side of his face was pretty eye-catching–especially with how his light brown, hazelnut eyes peered from underneath his bangs. and his smile... oh, was it ever so charming. the way he loomed over you whenever he got close, the sound of his low, husky voice when he whispers in your ear–he knew how to drive you crazy. the best, or worst, part of it all, though? he had no idea just how much of an effect he had on you. he wasn't event teasing you, he was just your close friend... your hottest close friend, that was.

he'd never believe it whenever he'd be told that you had a crush on him, it never came obvious to the boy. well, how could you ever like a nerd like him whose evening habits before sleeping is studying and doing electron configurations in his head? he does smile to himself often at the idea of him making you all flustered and shy–oh, what he wouldn't do to see you lose your cool at his teasing... but like that'd ever happen, right?

but when it did... oh, he'd never let you live it down. his wide-eyed expression lasted for a split second, until he realized just what kind of an effect this nerdy boy had on you. you find him hot, don't you? you want him to just scoop you up and remind you of how tiny you are, of how he wants to mark you all over so everyone knows you're his, huh?

"aww, so hot and bothered for me... you're so bite-sized, shrimpy, how can i ever say no to you?" he muttered under his breathy in such a throaty voice, it sounded like he groaned every word out for your enjoyment. he loved this, having your face inches away from his broad chest–with him looking down at you with such a sly grin, his whole aura dripping with smugness and confidence that he seemed like an asshole... but one you fell for even more.

[kirikorik]

- And yet you left me. - And yet I left you. You'll never forget…

Joost Klein × fem!reader.

Summary: You loved each other when you were teenagers, then he ran away, and now he's back again, and no matter how much you try to avoid him, you won't succeed... After many years, you receive an invitation to a party in honor of Joost's loss at Eurovision.

Warnings: DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 16+! Triggers! Violence! Sexualization! Sexy theme! Not canon! The story is not reality and everything except the known facts is my fantasy!

I don't know English. Maybe there are a lot of mistakes. ♡♡♡

The party is in full swing. The sounds of electronic music are hitting your ears, but you are laughing happily, feeling the vibration in your chest. You are a little drunk, you want to relax a little after work, so you replace your drink with a new one and go further to the dance floor to forget yourself this evening. This party was a celebration of losing.

Just a few days ago, Eurovision ended, Switzerland won with some damn singer. You had nothing against the performer from this country, but you were still bitter and offended for what you did to the «main star» of this party. Joost Klein was expelled. He could have easily won, the vote ratings in his honor were skyrocketing. People liked his songs, his style, people liked him as a person. But the truth is that people couldn't help but like Joost. He was something of a cherished dream. Unattainable and too mundane. The guys wanted to be friends with him, the girls just wanted him. And yet he was excluded from Eurovision, and now Joost was celebrating his loss, his lost dream…

You raise your hands, the flashing lights in front of your eyes spin, sweat rolls down your forehead. The room is hot and stuffy, but you don't care. You don't care. Your only dream is that this evening will never end and that you will never see Joost again. But he's like a ghost, a silhouette shining in the golden light. Joost is irresistible from the tips of his snow-white hair to his bottomless blue eyes.

The crowd is moving, changing, and no matter how much you blink, you still see only him in front of you. He has white paint on his face, black circles around his eyes, he's wearing his favorite makeup, which makes your legs give way. He looks so fake… Joost is unpredictable. Joost is crazy. Joost… You're fucking in love with him.

Someone steps on your foot, but you don't care. You close your eyes painfully and swear to yourself that you won't open them until dawn today. So as not to see his silhouette, so as not to hear his voice in the songs tickling your ears, so as not to feel his hot palms on your ribs, so as not to cry from how hard his nails dig into your skin. He's standing behind you, snuggling up to you, dancing to your rhythm. He is tall, even very tall, so casually he puts his chin on top of your head and slows down to the beat of his music, as if you are dancing not to loud, rhythmic hip-hop, but to the melody accompanying your unforgettable waltz. People are drunk and don't notice you. You don't want to think about whether it's a dream, whether you feel his touch. You take a deep breath…

You and Joost weren't friends, but you were definitely more than just acquaintances. You've known him for most of your life, ever since you went to school, when you lived next door to him. Joost Klein is a naughty, arrogant wretch. — that's what your parents used to say. Joost Klein was a couple of years older than you, and you were forbidden to communicate with him, but, to tell the truth, you didn't even know him. You often watched from the window of the children's bedroom as he played ball with his father and older brother, but you were always afraid to approach them. Your parents never paid enough attention to you.

Once in childhood, your mother ordered you to put on black clothes. But you didn't listen and chose a white shirt with red hearts. Of course, no one told you that it was very important, your parents ignored you. Standing at the funeral of Joost's father, who died of cancer, you realized what a mistake you had made. Joost looked into your eyes without blinking, as if he had known you for a long time. He probably hated the scarlet hearts on your shirt. You tightened your grip on your mother's hand and lowered your tear-stained gaze to the ground.

He was thirteen, and you were a couple of years younger and didn't understand much when an ambulance arrived at your neighbor's house a year later. You didn't understand much when a body covered with a black cloth was carried out of the house on a stretcher. You didn't understand much when the white-haired boy jumped out after the doctors, screaming loudly and heartbreakingly. You didn't understand much when Joost's older brother held him in his arms, comforting him. You didn't understand a lot, but bitter tears were rolling down your cheeks. You never saw Miss Klein again.

You're afraid, but you still lean back against Joost's wide, sweat-soaked chest, cling to him as if for the last breath of air, but you don't open your eyes even when his right palm begins to slide over your cheek. He knows that you won't dare to look at him, and yet he's watching your face intently in the hope of seeing at least something.…

When Joost returned to school a few months later, he was smiling as if nothing had happened. As if his heart didn't hurt unbearably much. Then, looking at him from around the corner, you promised to share his pain with him. Being the only viewer of his YouTube channel, you, as the most devoted fan, listened attentively to all his speeches. You left likes on his videos, wrote comments, it seemed like you knew everything about him. You weren't sure if Joost at least remember your name.…

When you turned 15, you often watched at night as Joost ran away from home, as each time he was picked up by the same dark blue car with his friends. You dreamed of going to the same place where Joost went one day. He always returned just before dawn, always with a drunken sincere smile on his lips, always happy. Was he happy? Even a fool would have realized that it wasn't.

Your hips move in a slow rhythm to the right and left, Joost pressing his pelvis against you follows your every movement, exhaling hotly into the back of your head, making you tremble and tremble…

You remember the horror reflected on your face when you looked into someone else's blue eyes. So similar to Joost's eyes… A brunette twice your size was pinning you to the wall with his body… It's the first time you've run away from home after your adult friends. The guy standing in front of you was Joost's classmate, one of his best friends. But, nevertheless, it was he who persistently groped you, drunkenly muttering something and ignoring your tears, running his hands under your short skirt. The room is dark, music is blaring outside the door, no one will hear you.…

A calloused palm squeezes your thin neck, interrupting you breathing for a few moments, and then sliding back to your cheekbone. Your ears are blocked, you can't hear the music and Joost's ragged breathing over your temple. He doesn't say a word, but you understand everything and therefore drink the remaining alcohol in the glass at a time. There's no way you're going to listen to him. Do you want to forget about the existence of Joost Klein… And yet you're at his party. And yet you responded to his invitation, but not to the bell.…

You swallow back tears, mumble something about your parents, about your mother, beg him to stop and not touch you. But other men's hands are not listening to you, lifting up your short top. Other people's lips wetly kiss your neck, nibble your shoulders. You try to push Joost's friend away, but you can't do anything, he's older and twice your size, stronger…

You dig your nails into Joost's forearm, trying to stop him and forbid him to stop. You pray that he doesn't stop, and you hope that you're dreaming all this.

The flash is followed by a loud bang and swearing. Dirty alien hands are letting you go. You shiver and cling to the wall, staring wide-eyed at the floor. Your fingers lower the edge of your skirt, wanting to cover your body as much as possible. You're almost hysterical, and when someone else's hands fall on your shaking shoulders again, you shudder violently, raising your head sharply. Joost is standing in front of you. Pale. He seems very scared. There are drops of blood on his cheekbone, the knuckles of his right hand are broken, and his best friend is lying unconscious on the icy floor next to you. But he hugs you with trembling hands and prays that you will be all right. His sweet lonely neighbor, who seems to know everything about him and at the same time nothing at all. Joost was not a fighter, he was not an athlete, and although in junior high he often fought with other children, as he got older, he completely forgot about it. And yet, when he saw you in tears, his fists automatically clenched. He was only thinking about how to protect you. — It's time for us to go home. He says softly, before borrowing an old navy blue car from a friend and taking you away.…

You hate him. You hate it as much as you hate yourself. But for Joost, you are the most valuable, the closest. You're what he always wants, but his hands only touch you when he's drunk. His lips don't know the taste of your lips. His eyes have never seen your naked body. Although he would be willing to give a lot if you told him at least once — yes. You loved him. He knew it, but it was all terribly ridiculous, almost disgustingly funny.

It's cold in the car, it smells like weed and alcohol. Joost doesn't seem to have a driver's license. But you don't even think about it, clinging to the car window and shivering in the front seat. Joost's doesn't look at you, but he's gripping the steering wheel tightly. An oppressive silence fills the interior of the car, and only occasionally your short sobs scare the two of you.

— Bastard… — you whisper softly, bringing your hands back and painfully digging your nails into Joost's scalpel, tangling your hands in his snow—white hair. You think he doesn't hear your words, but Just just chuckles softly and snuggles closer to you.

You don't say a word to each other when your parents meet you at the door of the house more angry than scared, you want to hate Joost for telling your parents everything. But it seems that the contempt in the eyes of your mother and father in Joost's direction is enough for you two.

— Y/n… — he drunkenly mutters your name…

You're under house arrest, and all you have is a view of his house from the window. You cry, remembering everything that happened, and you can't contain your anger when you see Joost climbing out of his room window again late at night. But the car in the yard is already a different color: scarlet, expensive and shiny, and a tall brunette is driving… There is disappointment in your heart, pain in your soul…

His hands tickle your ribs, stroke your waist, pity your body. Joost is unpredictable, like the first snow in October or the last in May. He comes unexpectedly, bursts into your life without any warning, as if you've been waiting for him for a long time. Have you been waiting for him? In response, you are silent, but your trembling hands stroke his cheekbones, slide along his neck while you press your back against his chest. You arch in the small of your back and hear your bones crunch, but it doesn't hurt you, just a little bit.

He smiles, it seems to sparkle and happily at his new girlfriend, a fateful brunette his high school classmate. She is one of the most beautiful girls in school: rich parents, good reputation, excellent grades. Joost is her opposite, but opposites eventually attract, don't they? You bite the inside of your cheek, talking to your friends, but your eyes are glued to the newly minted couple cooing at the entrance to the chemistry room…

— Why again? — you mumble, knowing the answer perfectly well…

When you see them naked in Joost's bedroom through the window of your house, something inside dies. You cry loudly, wipe your tears into your pillow, swallow your sobs and hope that everything will end soon.…

— I promised you, — Joost replies with an ironic laugh, whispering in your ear. Your skin is covered with goosebumps, and tears come to your eyes again.

You're drunk again, you ran away from home again, but now you have a reason for it — non-reciprocal love. There is a fog in my head, a picture floats before my eyes, how you joyfully rush into the arms of some unknown guy. Now you're 16, now you can. Someone's lips are sliding down your neck, somewhere in your head your mind is screaming at you to run, whispering that you don't want this. Your heart squeezes painfully in my chest, and your watery eyes are filled with memories of that damn night when Joost's ex-best friend tried to force you… You feel sick, sick and…

— Do you remember the night I promised I'd never leave you? — that damn grin that suits Joost so well doesn't leave his lips while he leaves a trail of kisses on your neck. Maybe you'll finally come to terms, maybe you'll finally give a damn and just say — yes?

Your head is spinning, and your legs don't hold you at all when long-familiar male hands, covered with ridiculous tattoos, pull you out of someone else's arms. You want to scream, but you just melt under the influence of a few bottles of alcohol and obediently follow Joost through the crowd. Somewhere behind you, you hear a woman screaming. The scream of that brunette bitch, that's what you called her.

— You were very drunk, crying and begging me not to leave you, remember? — Joost is circling you in his arms, hoarsely and insistently, without stopping whispering…

You're screaming. Loudly, tearing his throat out as the car leaves the city. Joost doesn't say a word, he's mad as hell, and except for the look in his eyes — «I told you never to go to high school parties again.» — You can't see anything anymore.

— I'd like to forget… — you see bright lights through your closed eyelids.…

It's night outside, the sky is overcast, and you can't see the moon or the stars, only the headlights of a damn car you know illuminate the road. Joost is looking at you, right into your eyes. His face is young without wrinkles and although his life has been hard, he still has naivety in his soft features. His white fluffy hair, always sticking out in different directions is wet. His white T-shirt is stuck to his chest, he breathes loudly, pulls his light eyebrows together and shushes through his teeth… In all the years that you've known each other, you've never had a normal conversation. But it doesn't seem to be necessary for any of you when you impulsively approach him and find his lips at random. You're fucking drunk giving Joost your first kiss. Joost doesn't push you away, and you beg him never to leave you again, he swears he won't leave you.…

— You'll never forget… — the blond man laughs slyly, resting his chin on your shoulder, you can feel his heart beating in his chest with your shoulder blades, and you want to tear out your own.…

A ringing slap in the face tears the air with a pop. The fatal couple, consisting of an failed singer, a party lover and the obedient daughter of rich parents, breaks up right in the hallway of the school. Now Joost's ex-girlfriend slaps him in the face. It's painful. But instead of at least saying something to her, Joost looks sideways with his icy blue eyes at you…

— Never… — you stutter, and tears come to your eyes… It's not even fair…

You have never said words of love to each other, never swore eternal feelings and promised nothing. You did not meet, did not touch each other, only with glances, only in whispers, only with short poems and songs.

— Never… — he whispers in response to your words, but the music interrupts him.…

And after that, Joost drops out of school, just leaves without even finishing his studies, he doesn't tell you a damn thing, just disappears after your long nights on the hood of his battered car, when you watched the stars with such love, each other…

You beg him to tell you why when he's packing his bags. You ask him to explain to you why when he buys train tickets. You whisper, «What about me?» When he just sighs softly and obediently turns away and goes deep into his house. You do not dare to follow him.

— And yet you left me… — you say, laughing softly, with irony, as lonely tears roll down your cheeks.

A few hours before his flight, you call him on the phone, ignoring the screaming music behind you, the laughter of people and… Joost knows perfectly well where you are, but only listens silently to your drunken pleas to come back, pick you up from this damn party, as he always did. Take you home and take care of you. Joost hangs up, you try again, you text him with loud sobs: — «Damn bastard, I love you!» — But it never reaches him, and a notification is displayed on your phone screen: «The contact blocked you.»

— And yet I left you. — Joost confirms your words. There's no need to lie, you both know everything.

The house opposite is now empty, you will no longer find any of the members of the little Klein family. And neither his friends nor classmates know where he is. After six months, you give up and stop looking for him…

— I was looking for you. — you're not lying, and, to tell the truth, all those five years that you were so far from each other, you kept looking for him. You kept looking until one day you came across a song with a familiar voice on the radio. You were ready to die to those damn lines: «Hearts on her shirt, kisses on her cheeks. Tears, behind which the eyes are not visible, she screamed after: You swore! And I blocked her contact with a bitter smile on my lips.»

— I'm sorry. — the only thing he says, and you don't know if he's really sorry, but you just nod. Tears are already streaming down your cheeks…

— I hate you. — your hands drop, and you finally open your eyes, which are glistening with tears, but still don't turn around.

— It's not true! — Joost exclaims almost resentfully in your ear and jerks you sharply.

In the five years that he was gone, you tried to live without him. You graduated from high school with honors and entered a prestigious university. You forbade yourself to listen to songs and all the art, it reminded you of only one person you've known for a long time.

Your tear-stained eyes express neither hatred nor contempt, only deep resentment when you meet the gaze of clear blue irises. Joost is still the same, although he is five years older. He's 26 now, and your age difference doesn't seem that surprising. Blond tousled hair, the same as before but shorter. Bright eyebrows, the same as eyelashes. He has grown a short beard and a small mustache above his plump lips, but it suits him. He smiles and… It's still the same smile. A smile you haven't seen in so long. And the smile you've been in love with for so long.

Joost suffered and tortured himself all these five years, but he knew that it was necessary, he knew that otherwise his dreams would not come true. Sacrifices were required, and unfortunately, on the way to his success, the first and biggest obstacle was you, and he decided that before it was too late, before things went too far, he needed to leave. But he loved you, loved you all these years, and you can't count the countless drafts and tracks that he wrote for you, but without releasing them in the hope that one day, when he returns, you will forgive him and listen to all these hundreds of tracks dedicated only to you with him. He had a lot of albums with your name on them.

— I don't want to see you anymore… — you mumble, your gaze slides down. You don't want to see his painted face anymore, he always hid behind the mask of his openness. But you knew how his heart could ache, how his hands could tremble, what his needy hugs could be. He needed you as much as you needed him, and yet…

Joost's eyes narrow, he shakes his head with a slight understanding smile on his lips, and then bends lower knowing that you will not pull away and whispers monotonously and hoarsely:

— Liar. — Joost concludes the verdict, crawling with his fingertips under your short top, wanting to feel you closer, wanting you…

— Which one of us is a liar here? — you laugh ironically and put your hand behind his head, tangling your fingers in his blond hair, they feel as soft as before and if you close your eyes you can probably believe that five years is not so much.

— Forgive me, honing(Honey)… — he does not dare to look into your eyes, even though you are looking for his gaze.

The crowd around you is pushing, jumping and shouting something loudly, the bright flashes of the spotlights hurt your eyes, make them water. You feel dizzy, your chest hurts, your legs can't hold you, and if it weren't for Joost's firm grip on your waist, you would have fallen. You wouldn't mind being trampled by a crowd. You wouldn't mind not seeing his face anymore, not feeling the air saturated with his scent…

And yet you can't take your eyes off his makeup, from his plump lips mutilated by a bitter smile. Even if he was regretting it wasn't that he left and left you. But he was definitely regretting for you.

— You know what, I won't forgive you, — you snort, biting your lip. Regret has long settled in your heart, and now, except for tears and aching pain, you can't seem to feel anything else.

— I know you hate me, — Joost freezes in front of your face, looks straight into your eyes, exhales hotly on your cracked, bleeding lips. — I know you love me. — he has an apologetic smile on his lips, but he doesn't regret anything when he touches your lips with a sweet kiss soaked in poison. You don't regret anything, biting his lips in return. The kiss is sour from the taste of blood, salty from the bitter tears rolling down your cheeks, and yet it's the only thing you want from each other.…

The sound of music is deafening, but your heart is beating much louder and your chest is constricted much more than from the touch of his lips. Joost pulls you to him, hugs you tightly, circles you, takes you out of the room. You know that tomorrow won't come. Joost's eyes are clear, clear, blue, almost transparent, so similar to the cloudless sky you looked at as a child. Behind the veil of tears, your eyes look like the cloudy sky that Joost looked at, holding back tears, at his father's funeral. And yet you whisper love to each other, and yet you beg not to leave.…

The loud, ear-piercing ringing of the alarm clock makes your heart skip a beat. You jump up clutching your aching head. The alcohol you drank yesterday makes itself felt and you slide back onto the soft pillow, smearing your bedroom with a blurry look. Fortunately, at least you are at home. A tired sigh leaves your lips and you jerk your head, a damn dream, a damn ghost with the face of your first love — Joost Klein. You roll over on your side and a single tear rolls down your cheek before you turn on your phone, open social media and notice hundreds of notifications. You're confused, your eyebrows furrow and you click on one of the links, looking closely at the photo with the caption: «Childhood friend of Joost Klein…»

In the photo, your eyes are glistening with alcohol, and your pupils are large and dark, your head is tilted back, a half-smile plays on your lips, and you look at the man in front of you in love, but his face is in shadow and you can hardly see anything. You feel awkward, even scared, confused. You straighten up, sit on the bed and zoom in on the image, noticing with a surprised «oh» traces of white paint on your face…

— Good morning, liefste(love). — a familiar hoarse, almost purring purring voice takes care of your ears, you freeze with your eyes wide open and turn to the door. There he stood at the threshold. Almost completely naked, with a rustic food tray in his hands and traces of remaining white makeup on his face. Joost Klein.

Your first and only love. Your first and last addiction. Your first and greatest pain.

— I brought us breakfast! — he laughs and talks as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't disappeared for five whole years and then returned without warning. You frown, the heart in your chest once again makes itself felt, but you shrug off the pain when you notice traces of pinkish kisses on Joost's face, neck, chest and arms. White paint and red lipstick mixed together. Joost grins, and you realize with surprise, but without any regrets, that the heart and the first kiss are now not the only thing that you gave him…

Don't post this anywhere without my permission!

I'm waiting for requests if there are any?

[shiroikabocha]

mods I would make for The Long Dark if 1. that game were more amenable to modding and 2. I were a more skilled modder:

- indoor locations with fire barrels but no chimney (Quonset Garage, Carter Hydro Dam, Hibernia Processing) give the affliction Carbon Monoxide Poisoning if you burn fires there for too long. You hear phantom wolf howls, moose bellows, sparking electronics. Your vision gets blurry. Cure is fresh air for a significant amount of time—sort of like Cabin Fever

- Effectiveness of medicine is chance-based. Manmade medicines in good condition are highly effective, but as their condition deteriorates, their chances of successfully curing an ailment decline. Natural remedies have a fixed ~75% chance to cure your ailment, so you might have to use more than one to get the benefit—but a fresh cup of reishi tea will still be a better bet than a bottle of 7% condition antibiotics. Gives players a reason to keep some antiseptic around instead of solely wrapping their infected wounds in lichen

- some kind of Wolf Fear setting that makes wolves flee from you 95% of the time, but still (rarely) stalk/attack. Bear, Timberwolf, and Moose aggression is unchanged. You still need to be wary while trekking through the woods, but wolves no longer provide a predictable source of food and pelts by throwing themselves at you constantly.

- Add a tiny chance that the bunny bites you while you’re staring into its eyes trying to decide whether or not to snap its neck. Minor affliction, minor damage to gloves. Major justice for bunny.

- lighting a campfire directly on the ice slowly weakens the ice around the fire. You will fall through if you stick around for too long. Does not affect the stoves in fishing huts—there’s enough space and insulation between the fire and the ice below for this not to be a problem.

- make more skill books spawn in the Nomad challenge. Like, 2x the number of skill books that normally spawn on a Pilgrim game. Give your character something to do while sitting around

- remove headache affliction from eating the “sweet” pies and instead apply the headache affliction when the player chugs an entire bottle of maple syrup in one go. Status message reads: Why did you do that?

- re-remove the pork from the pork n beans and add pork to the ingredients list of all other canned goods

- change the Escape the Darkwalker challenge so that everything stays the same except the noises the Darkwalker makes are all fart sounds now

- change the Timberwolf growls to be recordings of dudes yelling. Just a bunch of “HEY. HEY. HEY YOU. YEAH YOU. YOU FUCKED UP. HEY. HEY FUCKER. HEY.”

- when the Aurora comes around, the computer inside the Milton Post Office boots up and somehow, Milton Library Assistant is there. He questions the player’s choices and discusses whether morality exists in the Quiet Apocalypse: “Do you find that you enjoy this lonely existence? Aren’t things so much less complicated now? Do you revel in having an excuse to be completely, thoroughly selfish for once—now that everyone you know and love is dead? How does that make you feel?”

[bullet-prooflove]

The Necklace: Kimball Cho x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@caitlinrosa@mcfriggingonagall@kniselle@aiko24k

Companion piece to Break

You still wear the necklace that Cho gave you. You keep it tucked under your blouse so no one else can see it. It’s a small gold medallion with a Korean character etched into the beaten surface. You developed a habit when the two of you were together, of toying with it, of rubbing your thumb over the engraving.

“It means protection.” He’d told you as he’d helped to fasten it around your neck. “I don’t believe in it but every little helps right?”

You’d caught a bullet the day before. The vest had held but it had scared the living hell out of him when he’d heard about from your partner. He’d come over to you place that night to see for himself, undressed you, loved you.

The bruising had been coming out by then, a purple blossom over the place where your heart resided. You’d fallen sleep wrapped up in his arms that night and he had stayed awake listening to the sound of your breathing, replaying how much he could have lost.

He gives you the necklace the next day because he’ll do anything to tip the odds in your favour, even something as ridiculous as a protection talisman.

It’s a year later and the two of you aren’t together anymore, you haven’t been since he ended things because it got a little too real, made him feel a little too vulnerable. He regrets that, that he chose to run when he should have stayed.

The two of you still work in the same building, different departments but he still has to live with that decision, he has to face the consequences of his actions every damn day.

Tonight it’s worse. It’s past midnight and he’s sitting at his desk finishing up reports because he doesn’t want to go back to an empty apartment when he glances up across the corridor and sees your desk light still on, your brow furrowed in concentration. A glimpse of gold captures the light and he realises your fingers are toying with the chain that’s looped around your throat. His breath catches in his throat because he realises it’s the pendant that he gave you, that you still wear it after all this time.

It gives him hope, hope that maybe one day you’ll forgive him, that he can make you understand it was never about you, it was his own demons he was contending with.

It's three in the morning when you bump into each other at the elevator, he’s finally decided to call it quits and you’re lagging, he can tell from the way you keep rubbing at your eyes. When the elevator arrives he gestures for you to step in first. The entire ride you stand beside each in silence, watching the floor numbers on the electronic panel as the elevator descends.  

It’s when you get to the parking lot that you realise the lights on the left side where you’ve parked your car are out. They’ve been having issues with flickering for a few days now.

“Let me walk you to your car.” Cho requests because he hates the thought of you alone in the dark. He’s worked too many cases that start with circumstances just like this and he won’t be one of those people you see crying on TV who say things like ‘If only…”

He expects you to fight him, to remind him you’re a trained CBI agent, one that carries a gun and teaches seminars on hand to hand combat but you don’t.

“Thank you.” You say to his immense surprise. “I’d appreciate it.”

Love Cho? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[voxaholic]

The Worst Day

A ficlet that got out of hand for @randomly--accessed--memories

Vox accidentally stumbles into the basement studio where he was tortured into insanity. Velvette finds him and Valentino is forced to leave mid-shoot because Vox needs him.

Part 1 of 3

Content Warnings: It's Valentino's pov, I feel like that's a warning in of itself.

Beta-read by the lovely @redladydeath

Vox is missing. It’s not exactly an uncommon occurrence, especially on his more lucid days when he remembers that he can travel through electricity and therefore that Valentino and Velvette can’t actually stop him from going anywhere. He never ends up going far and they’ve finally managed to make it so that he mostly can’t leave the tower, but that doesn’t mean it’s not stressful enough to give Val spiritual grey hairs every time it happens.

Velvette is the only one searching for Vox this time because the film he’s currently supervising is gonna be a big moneymaker and apparently the useless idiots he has under contract can’t do their damn job right without his constant fucking supervision. So, instead of helping Velvette, he’s stuck sitting next to a prattling Travis trying to hold himself back from wringing the fucker’s feathery neck since Travis is the director and he unfortunately kind of needs him in one piece today.

Then, his phone rings and he holds up a hand right in Travis’s face. He’s at the very least smart enough to take that as the sign to shut up that it is. Before he even answers the phone there’s already a sinking feeling in his stomach. If Vel had found Vox and he was okay, she would have just texted.

He answers the call, holds the phone to his ear and immediately has to jerk it away when the sound of electronic screeching nearly deafens him. “I found Vox, we need you now. We’re in the studio basement, bring the kit,” Velvette shouts over the sound of what Val now realizes must be Vox freaking out in the background.

He stands up abruptly. “I’ll be there in five,” he says before he hangs up and shoves his phone in his pocket and turns his attention briefly to the useless fucks gaping at him. “Shows over. Keep on task. I’ll be back when I’m back and I’ll fucking know if any of you’ve been slacking,” he snaps before he turns and leaves.

In the hallway, he stops to pick up what he and Vel have begun calling “the kit”– a Vox specific first aid kit that they’d put together shortly after Vox first “woke up”. He knows where to look at this point- doesn’t even have to squint to see it. 

Kit in hand, he leaves the main area of the tower and squints down at his phone following the directions that Velvette gave him to where she and Vox are. The tower really feels too fucking big sometimes.

Valentino thinks he can count the number of times he’s stepped foot on this level of the tower on one hand. Why does he even have a creepy basement studio anyways? Whose idea was this? Was it his? If it was, he must’ve been high as balls to think of it, and if it wasn’t, then he should find whoever’s idea it was and shoot the fucker.

It’s dark as shit down here and the light of his phone isn’t doing much. He’s making progress though, he thinks. The gps seems to think he’s going the right way and he’ll trust that over his shitty eyes.

All unrelated thoughts are pushed from his mind when he spies the vague blob in the corner that he knows must be Vox and Velvette. He can’t make out any details but he notices that both figures are covered in an alarming amount of the horribly distinctive blue of Vox’s strange blood. Suddenly, the pungent, chemical scent of coolant is overwhelming.

Valentino breaks into a sprint and quickly closes the remaining distance between them.

Velvette has Vox backed up into a corner, a hand on each of Vox’s wrists, trying both to hold him still and stem the bleeding. Holy shit, that’s a lot of blood. Vox did a fucking number on himself, those gashes are deep. Something silver glints out from the mess of blue and Val suddenly feels nauseous. Vox had never clawed himself to the bone before.

“The hell are you doing just standing there? Fucking help me!” Velvette snaps, screaming to be heard over Vox’s panicked electronic gibberish. Vox is fighting her the best he can considering how weak he must be from blood loss. Velvette is holding her own,, but even in his weakened state, Vox still has over two feet on her heightwise, so she’s struggling.

He hurries over and kneels down so that he’s at eye-level with the struggling, panicking ex-overlord.  “Voxxy?” he calls, voice softening into a tone he pretty much only uses with Vox on his worst days.

Vox stops thrashing when he sees him. Velvette releases Vox and moves aside to let him half stumble, half crawl into Valentino’s waiting arms, absolutely covering him in that neon blue blood of his. For some fucking reason, despite being either scared or confused by him on his more lucid days, when Vox is like this – out of his mind, terrified, vulnerable – Valentino is the only person able to calm him down; the only one he seems to trust.

Velvette leans forward to snatch the first aid kit he’d dropped. He tactfully pretends not to notice the way her hands shake when she opens it and pulls out a needle and thread. “Keep him calm and as still as possible. I need to try and fix the bloody mess he made of himself,” she instructs and it’s a testament to how serious the situation is that Val listens to her without complaint. There’s little he hates more than being ordered around. 

He adjusts his hold on Vox, so that Velvette can grab Vox’s right arm and then reaches into the kit to grab some gauze, which he immediately wraps around Vox’s left, putting pressure on the wound by wrapping his hand around Vox’s thin – and so fucking fragile – wrist. It’s going to take Vel time to get one arm done, so he should probably try and make sure Vox doesn’t bleed out in the meantime. 

They’ll have to call up one of Vox’s on-call repair guys later. Vox doesn’t really heal like normal sinners– doesn’t heal at all, in fact. He has to be repaired, his broken parts replaced. They don’t have the knowledge or equipment necessary to replace the damaged panels on his arms, so the bandaid solution of stitching the torn, synthetic skin back together is all they fucking can do for now.

Vox, for his part, is remarkably still and pliant, screen buried in Valentino’s ruff. He’s shaking like a whore going through withdrawal though and making these awful little staticky whimpering noises that Val is trying hard not to pay too much attention to because they are kind of breaking his heart a little bit. He previously wasn’t even aware he had a heart capable of breaking, but he’s learned so many fun new things about himself since that radio bastard ruined Vox, ruined everything. 

“So, you have any idea what set him off this badly?” Val asks, mostly to try and drown out the pitiful sounds Vox continues to make whenever Velvette makes another stitch. He is curious though. Vox can get bad, but usually not to this extent. He’s torn up not just his arms (although they certainly got the worst of it) but his whole torso, with what little remains of his shirt hanging in blood-stained shreds off his frame. 

“No clue,” Velvette replies just a little bit too quickly, her shoulders tense, eyes averted. Oh, she’s lying through her fucking teeth. Really, she’s usually better at lying than this. Valentino considers pushing but decides against it– he really does not care right now. She’s lucky that he doesn’t because usually he fucking despises being lied to, especially so poorly. 

Instead of replying, he watches Velvette work with morbid fascination. Her stitches aren’t neat exactly– hard to be when Vox is shaking and the synthetic flesh is ripped so jaggedly and uneven– but they’ll do until Vox’s nerds can fix him up properly. The red thread really pops out against the dark blue of Vox’s skin, it’s almost pretty in a really morbid way. He wonders if stitchplay is a thing. This could be pretty sexy in a different context.

Vox’s shaking suddenly transitions into violent full-body spasms and his background staticked noises of pain turn into a glitched out, inhuman screech as he tries to jerk his arm out of Vel’s grasp, causing her to reflexively tighten her grip and yank Vox’s arm back. That only freaks Vox out more and now he’s struggling in earnest, almost to the point Val can’t keep a hold on him.

“Val!” Velvette snaps between curses as she struggles to keep Vox from reopening his brand new stitches. That’s his cue to do something because he’s supposed to fix this some-fucking-how.

With the one hand that’s not occupied with keeping hold of some part of Vox, Valentino grabs the edge of Vox’s screen, forcing him to look up at him. Vox’s face is flickering in and out, pupils darting, mouth twisted in either agony or terror, probably both. 

“I’ve got you,” he soothes, fingers tracing gently across the glass that makes up the equivalent of Vox’s cheek. He continues to murmur soothing nonsense and pet names to him. He really doubts Vox can understand a thing. It doesn’t seem to matter what he says as long as he’s the one who’s saying it. 

There’s a whoosh of air from Vox’s vents before he goes limp in Val’s arms again, head only supported by Val, expression dazed. Valentino carefully guides his face back into his neck ruff, grimacing a bit at the way his fur immediately puffs up due to the static. Aah, the things he endures for this man.

“Don’t stop talking,” Velvette demands and he’s struck by how novel it is for her to ask that of him. Usually, she’s one of the few people who can get away with telling him to shut up and she abuses that privilege liberally. “He freaked out because you shut up. I’d like to get this done without any more meltdowns,” she explains because of course she couldn’t just let him think she enjoyed the sound of his beautiful voice.

“Hmn, what should I talk about?” he muses aloud, fingers idly tracing the back of Vox’s monitor. “Liiike, should I just talk to myself or am I gonna get the privilege of having you as a conversation partner?” he asks teasingly.

That gets him a frigid glare in return and Vel sighs like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “It doesn’t fucking matter. Just– I’m really not in the mood right now, Val.” 

Okay, well, fuck him for trying to lighten the mood. Talking to himself it is since Velvette’s being such a bitch about the situation and not even in the cool way she normally is.

He settles on bitching about the useless fucks back at the studio, because that is a topic he’s always willing to go on about and it’s not one Velvette’s usually willing to listen to, but he kind of has her hostage now, so fuck her. Valentino allows the annoyed scowl on her face to soothe the bubbling rage in the pit of his stomach as he rants about how Angel Dust has been taking over three fucking minutes to respond to his texts recently.

He’s on his sixth Angel-related story when Velvette finishes stitching and begins winding gauze around Vox’s arm. He hates how the bandages make Vox somehow seem even smaller, more visibly broken. He holds Vox a little tighter.

Velvette brushes some of her hair out of her face and God, she’s a mess. Her hair is all fucked up and she’s absolutely covered in blood– mostly Vox’s but a little bit of her’s from where Vox’s claws nicked her in his struggle.

“Okay, fuck, one down, one to go. Flip him over for me,” she instructs and Val knows what she means but he’s immediately hit with the mental image of flipping Vox over with a spatula like he’s a pancake.

He doesn’t tell Vel about his hilarious thought because he’s apparently not allowed to even try and make this shitty situation even slightly less miserable. He just does what she tells him to, even if the high-pitched noise of alarm Vox makes when he pulls his screen from his chest to reposition him makes him desperately wish there was someone or something around he could maim.

It takes at least another half an hour for Velvette to finish with his left arm and she does so not a moment too soon because somehow, Val was about to run out of people to complain about. He was really scraping the bottom of the barrel there for a sec.

“You’re not gonna let me flake out on the shoot, are you?” Val asks as Velvette puts the thread and gauze back in the kit. The last thing he wants is to go back to the shoot with Vox in his arms, but with the state he’s in, they both know he’s not going to be able to be left alone. 

“I can’t make you do shit, but we both know how much is riding on this movie selling well,” she responds and Val can’t help but groan. She’s right. They both know she is and he fucking hates that.

“Ugh, fine, but you can’t bitch at me if I shoot a bitch or two,” he concedes as he stands up, Vox still held securely in his arms. God, Vox is hot as Hell, in a literal sense. It feels like he’s hugging an overheated laptop. The rest of this day is going to suck, but whatever, it’s not like the past several years of his afterlife haven’t also sucked. It’s not like he has much hope left of it - of Vox - getting any better.

->