#this song is so dancing around in heels coded

[cadaverre]

GODD WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?? YOURE A PINK PONY GIRL!!! AND YOU DANCE AT THE CLUB!!!! YOU FUCKING SLUT!!!

[slushycoookie]

Between Two Worlds ~ Loser!Miguel O'Hara x Stripper! Reader

★Word Count: 4k ★Content: Reader is Fem!/chubby, I also made them more black-coded (I usually do with all my readers but it's much more prominent here), Miguel gets a lap dance AND a hand job on the same night, Tyler and Dana shows up (ugh), but so does Gabriel (yay!) ★A/N: The demons won, idk what to say. Dividers by @/rookthornesartistry Next ✩°｡⋆˚⁺ Masterlist | Commissions

Miguel stops by to see you again.

He wanted to explain himself to you. The way he ran off a few days ago after you laid a finger on him, hearing everyone else laugh at his shyness wasn’t how he wanted that to go. How watching you spin around the pole changed his life. Especially after a couple of rough days. Well, rough weeks. His job hounding him for constant updates on a major project he was working on. And the fact that he lost his fiancé to another man.

He thought going to The Weave, one of the hottest clubs in Nueva York, would help a lot. Only for him to see you, the most beautiful person in the world. But he didn't need to explain all of that to you. The most he could do as an acceptable form of apology was to give you your money. After witnessing your amazing dancing.

Miguel asks one of the bartenders if he could talk to you alone but gets pushback. From the owner, Jessica, the only way to get you alone with him during club hours is to request a private VIP room. To talk or do other things. He begrudgingly settled for a simple lap dance, knowing he was going to leave as soon as he gave you the money.

Miguel’s resolve starts to falter at the idea of being alone with you like that. He heard his heart in his ears as he stood alone in the empty room. It wasn’t even that small, a comfortable size for endeavors such as these. The music booming across the walls matched the beat of his heart. Miguel rehearsed in his head what to say to you a bunch of times, only to come crashing down when you walked in.

The same sweet scent as before hits his nostrils. Your outfit was different this time, of course, it would be. A matching sparkly, purple bikini set. You must really like to shine. And be tall as he noticed you walking easily in platform heels. But you didn’t match his height.

“Hi.”

Miguel wipes his sweaty palms on his pants to give you a handshake, “Hello.”

Your gaze hits the outstretched arm, not expecting that. He still has some manners. So you take it, a pretty smile across your face.

“You requested a dance from me?”

“Yes! Wait, uh no not exactly.” Before you get confused, he pulls out the large stack of money he was supposed to throw the other night. Around five hundred dollars. “I-I wanted to give you this.”

Your eyes widened at the stack of cash, “For what?”

“Your dance. I didn’t throw any money.” He feels himself blush once more, “I was too… enraptured with your dance. I'm sorry.” Miguel extends out the money and you hesitate for a moment before taking the cash, settling it on the table for now.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He shoots you a shy smile before maneuvering towards the exit.

“You don't want the dance?”

Miguel quickly shakes his head, “No, no I just wanted to give you the money. I didn’t have any cruel intentions.”

You laugh and his heart squeezes with pain. Once again, he's become a joke to you.

“Honey,” You place a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Requesting a lap dance isn't cruel. We have about thirty minutes in here, it'd be a shame to let it go to waste.”

He nods, the idea making sense. “Only if you're comfortable with that.”

“I should be saying that to you.”

A gentle hand rubs his arm for comfort and he sits on one of the black leather chairs. His hands gripping the arms of the seat, trying to calm his nerves. You fiddle with the remote and turn on music to match the mood. A slow, sensual song sets the atmosphere. The simple action of flipping your curly hair, the strands gracefully covering your shoulders causes him to get hard.

Miguel swallows, tugging at his shirt collar. You strut towards him and he feels like he's seeing you better the second time. How your thigh slightly jiggles from your walk to your breasts almost pouring out from your top. He tries not to stare when you spin around in front of him, letting him get a good look at you.

You lean over and cup his face, he tries not to lean into your touch but closes his eyes. Your soft, manicured hands trailing down to his neck, down to his blazer.

“Do you wanna take this off?”

He opens his eyes and sees you not too far from his face. Your dazzling makeup highlights your wonderful eyes, while you’re tugging at his clothes. “Can I?”

“Of course, babe.” You help him remove the jacket, gently placing it on the other chair instead of tossing it. “Does that feel better?”

“Yes.”

Once again, you shoot him a fine smile and he wonders if you could see him sweating. You don't say anything as you continue, taking off his glasses, and setting them on the table. Miguel blinks a few times to get used to the slightly blurry vision. His eyesight becomes clear when your full ass comes into view -slowly sliding back against his thighs, up to his growing erection. The grip on the chair arms gets tighter as he restrains himself from touching you. Even when you do it again, rolling your lower body, putting him in a trance.

He tries not to jump when your hands rest on top of his, sliding up to his forearms and back down to his knuckles. You squat, gyrating your entire body, hair swishing amid the quiet air before you slowly stand back up. He sits still as he's afraid to make any movements.

You straddle him, placing your thumb and index finger on his chin for him to have his eyes on you. And he does, not looking away when you lean back, showing off your perfect body. Your hips roll in tandem with the music, so fluid like water. Your clothed cunt brushed against his painfully obvious bulge. You hardly break a sweat, your makeup still as fresh as it was when you walked in.

Miguel feels cum leaking out his tip, unsure if he should end the session short. So he can fuck his hand and imagine it was you. He whimpers, wanting to show you what you were doing to him. You seem to notice as you grin during the dance. Leaning forward, hands tracing his chest, feeling what a built man he is underneath that white buttoned-down shirt.

“You want a hand job?”

He almost chokes on his saliva, “W-What?”

“You heard me.” You don’t stop while speaking, playfully unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m good at them. And you seem like you want one.” His eyes dart down to the bulge in his pants, face getting hot.

“I-I…” Miguel wasn’t sure the type of person he’d be if he said yes. Especially when he barely knows you. But you offered and he's a man of decent manners. Plus, he wasn’t looking forward to coating his hand with his cum tonight. “I would like that.”

You take your time reaching for his cock. Your purple acrylic nails, scrapped along his chest, down to his abdomen. He tries to slow down his breathing when you reach his belt, carefully undoing it. Unbuttoning his pants and pulling down his zipper. It doesn’t take much for you to pull him out of his boxers. And your eyes grow wide at the sight of him.

Cock hard, veins running along his shaft, pre cum leaking from his tip. He tries to look anywhere else but you don’t let him when you grab his chin. Face close to his.

“Don’t get all shy on me now.”

“I’m not…” He proves it when you let go, eyes on you.

“You’re a big boy.” You still look at his cock, fascinated at the sight of him. Miguel doesn’t say anything, unsure how to respond to that. “I’ll take care of you.” You spit in your hand before touching him.

He tries not to orgasm right then and there. More cum leaks out, helping with the lubrication as you slide down his shaft. Your touch is better than anything else he’s had. He groans when you come back up to his tip, swirling your thumb around it. All while your eyes remain on him, not watching yourself and seeing what you’re doing.

“You like that?”

Miguel shudders as you stroke him, “Y-Yes.”

He still doesn’t touch you. He doesn’t buck his hips up into you. He allows you full control. A gorgeous person like yourself, messing with someone like him. He didn’t know how it came to this and he didn’t want to think about that.

You go faster, a tighter hold on his shaft. Miguel inadvertently spreads his legs wider, louder groans escaping his lips. He’s trapped between your voluptuous body and the fragrant scent he desperately wants to be full of. His lips parted with a plea to taste you, but that would be selfish.

“You want a kiss?” You whisper, nose pressed against his nose, lips hovering above his own.

He doesn’t trust his voice when he nods immediately. You kiss him, swallowing his eager noises. A part of him starts to slip when he grips the back of your neck. Your lips part and he slips his tongue inside, whining at your taste. He bucks his hips up into your hand, feeling that familiar sensation in his stomach. The music is blocked from his ears as he hears your moans, showing you’re also enjoying it. And that makes him happy. So happy that you’re enjoying what you’re doing to him.

To the point where he climaxes.

It was sudden when he moans between your lips, body stilling as his cum coats your hand, staining his pants. You pump him as much as you can, placing small kisses over his face while he comes down from his high. When you stand, he remembers your cum covered hand and points to his jacket.

“I have something you can use…” You dig into his jacket, using the non-cum covered hand. Miguel’s heart flipped at the small gesture. You pull out his pocket square, brows furrowed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I can wash it later.”

You wipe your hand off, saving some room for him to wipe off any mess he made. For once, he was glad he didn’t cum so much this time. As he grabs his things and puts on his glasses, you start making your way to the exit, five hundred in hand. “Hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“W-Wait.” He quickly goes up to you, pulling out his wallet for any cash he’s had on hand. It was only a hundred, but he hoped it was enough.

“That’s nice of you.” You say while taking the hundred, “I was okay with the five you gave me.”

“I can give you more if you want.” He sees his card and wonders if there’s an ATM nearby he could use. Would another five hundred be enough? Maybe he should shoot for a thousand.

“No, no. Don’t spend all your money on me.” You push the wallet close to his chest, “You gotta eat dinner, you know?”

Miguel lets out a light chuckle, “Right…”

“What’s your name?”

“Miguel.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Miguel.” He loves how his name sounds across your lips. “Come back soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

He doesn't stop thinking about you when he's home. You fill up his mind as he eats dinner, takes a shower, and lie in bed. An extraordinary person like yourself looks his way, even if it is mandatory. Miguel hasn’t felt this way since he met Dana, his ex-fiancé. Before, she was all he could think about and get lost in. Now, he had you.

His coworkers told him not to fall in love with the dancers. Albeit, they said it jokingly but now he was screwed. This wasn’t even a good time, Dana still had some of her clothes at his place. The break-up was still fresh. Miguel tried to push it out of his mind by focusing on work and strengthening his relationship with his family. But some days were bad. Like he didn’t think if he was worthy of love again.

Miguel was afraid of others thinking you were a rebound and he was seeing it himself. That wasn't the case in his mind. Maybe he should set an arrangement? Otherwise, he’d come and see you every day if he can. And while he wasn’t low on funds, he didn’t want to get that way.

So he started with having you fill his thoughts.

At work, he was in a much better mood. Splicing genes and dealing with DNA, regular geneticist things. He was even for talking to his coworkers, who finally asked about his strip club experience.

“Who did you go see?” Miguel’s colleague, Aaron, asked while handing him a cup of coffee.

“Silk. I liked her dance.”

“Oh, so you got a personal lap dance from her?” He nods, not wanting to go into detail on his experience with you. That was for him and him alone. “Man, lemme tell you, the perfect woman right there. That rack alone? Top tier breasts.”

Miguel shook his head, “She’s more than just her body.”

“Says the man who went in there to see a woman’s body.”

“Right, I’m the problem here.” He bit his tongue, deciding that was enough conversation for the day. Miguel excused himself from the break room, aiming to finish up work in his lab. He tried not to let his coworker's comments sour his mood, but something else sideswiped him.

Tyler called Miguel into his office. And he was not looking forward to that.

He saw the reason when Dana was on Tyler’s lap, laughing and joking around. Her face close to his, almost whispering about something he didn’t catch.

“Miguel!” Dana noticed him first and tried to stand but Tyler stopped her, sitting her back down—a possessive arm around her.

“Don’t go, my dear. You just got comfortable.”

She wanted to object to the fact her husband-to-be was in the office but Miguel stepped forward, “It's fine. You wanted to see me, sir?”

Or he should say father, with venom laced through his words. That would've caused a scene.

“Yes, I wanted to ask about the spider DNA and how that's going?”

Miguel clenched his jaw, knowing full well this could've been done through a phone call. “It's going fine. Still have hundreds of DNA to go through.”

“Hundreds? You’ve been having a slow work ethic these past couple of weeks.” Tyler's brows furrowed, “I wonder why.”

‘You know why.’

“It's nothing, sir. I promise you, I'll catch up.”

“You better. I need something to give these shareholders at the end of the quarter.”

Miguel nods, motioning to the door, “May I go now?”

“Sure, sure.” Tyler allows, not before letting Miguel see him pull Dana close to him, showing what he stole.

The day was now ruined. Even thoughts of you weren't enough to get him back to his happy state. He needed to see you again, and go over the arrangement he wanted to set. But he's already been there for three days this week. And he didn’t want anyone to get suspicious of his constant presence.

Luckily, Gabriel called him after work.

“Mig! I'm hungry!”

He held in a sigh, “You know where to get food, Gabri.”

“Duh, this was an invitation to go out with Kasey and me. Have dinner with us?”

Miguel glanced at the clock in his apartment, “Fine. Where?”

“I'll text you the place.”

It resulted in him being a third wheel to his brother and girlfriend. The Italian restaurant they picked was low-key as Miguel stared out the window to ignore Gabriel and Kasey's banter. Wishing he was somewhere else.

“Soooo,” Gabriel leaned forward, capturing his brother's attention, “How have you been?”

Miguel raised a brow, “I've been okay.”

“Just okay?” He leans closer, almost brushing along the breadsticks.

“Just okay.”

“Oh good.” He leans back, arm draped over his girlfriend, “For a second there, I thought you’d be hung up on Dana.”

“That bitch of a whore.” Kasey added, nibbling on a breadstick.

“Exactly.”

“Don’t call her that.” Miguel says, no matter how right Kasey was. “She chose not to be with me anymore, I can respect that.”

“By cheating on you with your boss.” Gabriel reminds him as if the entire ordeal was still fresh. The pain, the heartbreak, the constant thoughts of Miguel wondering what he did wrong in the relationship and how it came to this.

“Tyler…was a better option for her.” It was all he could say before intentionally propping up his menu to get a good look at what he was ordering. He didn’t want to go back and forth with his brother. He’s already done that enough with one too many people. Once they ordered, Miguel couldn’t hide behind his menu anymore, so he thought to bring up something else. “I’ve already met someone else.”

“And proceeded to not tell your little brother?” Gabriel clutches his chest in dramatics, “Does Mami know?”

“What do you think?” Miguel gave him a look, which his brother reciprocated when Kasey took over.

“Okay, who are they? Spill.”

“I’d…rather not.”

“What? Why not?”

“I’m feeling it out. I want to make sure it’s not a rebound because of what happened with Dana.” As much as he wanted to boast about you, there was still the problem that he barely knew you. He couldn’t let anyone know about you until he does.

“Fair.”

“Are they cute at least?” Gabriel earned a smack on the head from her, “What? I’m just asking!”

“He’ll talk about them when he wants to talk about them.”

“Alright, alright.” Miguel’s lips curled upwards with amusement at the two. “Keep me updated, okay?”

“I will.”

Miguel comes back to The Weave with a mission. He stands in line, waiting to be admitted with the others, rehearsing what he wants to propose to you. The head of security, which Miguel finds out his name is Noir, pats him down after collecting the thirty-dollar admissions fee.

“Have fun, Mr. Science Guy.”

Miguel walks in, getting used to the bright flashing lights inside the club. A few dancers are already on stage, getting covered with money. He doesn't see you though. So he goes to the bar to ask for you. And be graced by the owner herself.

“Oooh the nerdy guy came back.” She teases, handing customers shots of tequila. Her outfit is slightly more modest compared to her employees. A red, leather bodysuit paired with a matching jacket and black boots that went to her thighs. He glanced down at her exposed cleavage before he looked at her eyes, “This is your third time being here, so you must got some money.”

Miguel snorts, “Are you counting?”

“Hell yeah. You pay well, gotta make sure it stays that way.” She offers him a shot but he declines, going back to the task at hand.

“Is she here?”

“Now, you know I need a name.” Jessica peers through her yellow-coated shades.

“Silk.” He swallows, “I want to talk to her for a bit.”

“Sure. ‘Talk’.” She emphasizes before stepping out from behind the bar, calling in some blonde guy named Ben to take over. “She's on her break but I'll give you a bit to speak to her.”

Miguel follows Jess to the back of the place. Maneuvering past half-drunk people, not trying to step on the money that was thrown all over the place, while keeping his eyes straight ahead at the multiple lap dances and pole dancing he came across. She led him down a series of steps, the loud, thumping music fading away.

“Guess who's baaaack?” Jess sings as she leads him to the dressing room. A large room filled with bright lights, plenty of locker rooms and mirrors, and an area in the corner which he assumed was the bathroom. Momentarily, he saw you leaning against the table, slowly munching away on a cookie. Eyes unfocused but coming back to reality when they stepped into the room.

“Hey, Miguel.”

“Ooh, so yall are on a first-name basis already?” You shake your head as Miguel seals his lips. Jess grins, not wanting to tease any further. “He wanted to talk to you. So you got ten minutes before I need you back out there.”

You shoot her an ok sign when Miguel says, “Thank you.”

“Mmhm.”

As Jess walks out of the room, he sees your outfit. Your body is in full view through the long, sheer black outfit, exposing your legs. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thanks.” You give him a brief smile, “So what brings you here? Want another hand job?”

“Ah no, thank you.”

“Aww, you didn’t like the last one? I’ll admit it was a bit impromptu, I didn’t have my lube on me.” You explain. Miguel figures you must give a lot of hand jobs.

“No, I enjoyed it. Very much so.” He admits, ducking his head, the linoleum floor looking a lot nicer right now. “I wanted to see if we could come up with an arrangement.”

“An arrangement?”

“Yes. A certain day when I can see you and only you.” He continues, “All of these other ladies are nice but I only want you.”

“I'm flattered.” You tap on the table to get him to sit beside you and he does. Taking in the close proximity, “I'm surprised a man like you wants to frequent this place, out of all places.”

“A man like me?” He questions but then understands what you meant, “You mean a scientist?”

“…yeah, sure. Let's go with that.” You pat his shoulder.

“Is it wrong that I want to do something different? I go to work, go home, see my family, and that's it. Not a way to live.”

“True. But you thought that something different was going to a strip club?”

“Y-Yes.” He rubs the back of his neck while your eyes are filled with questions. But you didn’t ask any. “My ex-fiancé thought I was boring. And maybe I am, but I wanted to prove it.”

“Ah, so this is for getting back at your ex, got it.”

Miguel feels a shift from you after saying that and he goes to correct himself, “No wait, I'm not using you, don't think that way. I just wanted something new to my routine.”

“Then what does this arrangement entail?” You ask, hands on your hips. “Because a lot of people come to the club to see ass, tiddies, and pussy. Then go about their business. It looks like you're asking for more than that.”

This conversation is going all wrong. Now, it looks like he offended you which wasn't his intention. Miguel wasn’t sure what exactly he said to make you hostile towards him in the first place so he backtracks.

“I just want to see you and talk.”

“While I give you a lap dance or something?” He nods, “You know I'm not a therapist.”

“I know.”

“And you know you're still going to have to pay me.”

“R-Right, of course. I have plenty of money.”

“But don't waste it all on me. You got yourself to take care of.”

“Yes, yes you're absolutely right.”

“Okay.” You sigh, stuffing the rest of the cookie in your mouth before brushing the crumbs off your body. Miguel wished he was the cookie crumb that grazed along your chest, but he bit his lip not to say anything. “I have a headlining dance on Tuesdays but if you want to make sure we have plenty of time together, then Thursdays.”

“Okay.”

Time was up and you had to go back out on the floor. As you push him out, he stops right by the doorway to the establishment, blocking your path.

“So I'll see you on Tuesday?”

You roll your eyes, “I told you I have a dance on Tuesdays.”

“I know.”

Your lips twitch, unsure if they want to smile or not. “I'll see you then.”

Tag list (lemme know if you guys wanna be tagged): @miguelzslvtz @kitcatcrunch @nina-from-317

@slut4oscarissac23 @anythigbutmiguel @moonlight00sthings @bajbr @freehentai

@chubbybyunnie @ilikeowlsidkwhy @questionable-behaviour @imamexican @tatatida

[shellshocklove]

brat three: i don't wanna feel feelings | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x brat!female!reader – no outbreak

summary: joel’s brat summer is coming to an end.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap, enemies to lovers vibes? swearing, drinking of alcohol, smoking, reader wears a dress, heels and makeup but otherwise no other descriptions, use of pet names, some angst, smut, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, some daddy!joel, manhandling, some light bondage, degradation (whore, slut), oral sex (f+m receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!), no use of y/n

a/n: ok so here's part three to brat! there's one more part planned, and then that's it! <3 big thank you to @dustydaddyyy for reading through this, i love you!! <333 happy reading! 💚

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

The gravel moaned under your heels as you carefully left your uber at the foot of the driveway. The air smelled of summer; flower-y notes with a hint of anticipation. Cars lined the driveway, tightly parked with the wheels almost hanging in the air over the ditch. The sky turned purple then pink as the sun started to dip beneath the horizon, the small beams of light coming through the doors of the big barn beamed brighter and brighter the closer you got.

This wasn’t the first time you’d crashed a party, but it was your first wedding. You’d looked up the place online, Pecan Grove Ranch. It was nice, but pedestrian, not filled with the extravagance a party of this size would rank up in your father’s circles – the ones you’d been dragged too ever since you were old enough to put on a charming smile. This felt real, no fake happy smiles and secret codes, just people gathering to celebrate love.

Love.

It had always been a thing that happened to other people. To your friends, to the protagonist in a movie, to the person on the other side of your kiss. They always thought they were in love with you, but love always felt like a joke everyone was in on except for you, a story told to sell movie tickets or for a song to hit number one.

Sex was different, sex you understood. It was like acting, and you had no problem slipping into the role. It was fun, it was a release, it was a fleeting connection you couldn’t help but chase.

One you were chasing right now.

Maybe Joel was right, maybe you are desperate, but it was his fault for leaving you like that, right on edge but without the release. Honestly, it was his fault you were here, you thought as you stood outside the open barn doors.

Off to the side a few of the guests had gathered around a picnic table. Billowing white smoke clouded them as you watched their animated conversation between drags of their cigarettes and sips of their drinks. A small boy ran past you, almost crashing into you as a little girl chased after him with a giggling laugh. They chased each other on the grass, as they ran between the large trees where a million lighting bugs danced between them.

The air felt light like cotton candy, a sweetness of celebrated love coated the faces that emerged as you stepped inside. The picking guitar intro of TLC’s ‘No Scrubs’ met you at the door, followed by a large cheer, bordering on collective scream, coming from the people on the dance floor. Walking slowly, you followed the back wall of the barn. A light breeze came through the open doors and windows, and tugged at your dress as you closed in on the bar. 

Open bar… Nice, Tommy. 

Most of the guest had their assigned seats at the round tables pressed up against the wooden walls of the barn. They must’ve been moved to make room for the dancefloor, you thought as you leaned up against the side of the bar. It was rustic, made entirely of untreated wood and decorated with large white bows. The bartender was around your age, handsome, and painfully bored it seemed by the way he lit up when you approached.

“What can I getcha?” he asked, a charming lilt to his voice.

“Um…” your teeth caught on your bottom lip, as you scanned the drinks menu. They all had quirky names, most likely inside jokes or references to the wedding couple that mostly went over your head.

“One ‘Contractor Juice’, please?” you ordered, holding back from cringing at the name. At least you got this reference, and the promise of mint and citrus mixed with alcohol had never failed you before.

“Sure thing, doll,” the bartender smiled, a little too sweet for your liking, or maybe you’d developed a preference for grumpy frowns.

“So… bride or groom?” he asked, making conversation as he worked.

“Um… groom,” you told him, leaning your back against the bar as your eyes rolled over the tables, searching.

“Ain’t seen you up here yet,” he said, a question unsaid hanging in the air as he handed you your drink.

Turning around, you thanked him and slipped a five-dollar bill in the tip jar. “There,” you said, “Now you can turn off the charm.”

You watched how he tried to hide his smile, as he held up his hands in a surrender, “Who’s to say I can turn it off?”

He smiled when you rolled your eyes at him. It was cute, two dimples separated by perfect white teeth. At the start of the summer, you might’ve let him fuck you at the end of the night, but the summer was coming to a close, and you had your eyes set on someone else.

He had his back turned, but you knew it was him, you’d recognize those broad shoulders anywhere. Something bubbled under your skin then, and your hands felt clammy around your glass – you were nervous, there was a whole room between you, but he still managed to make you nervous.

Maybe this was a bad idea?

He sat with his body turned, his hand around a beer bottle, as he watched the dancefloor move. Your eyes followed his and found Tommy where he danced, his hand clasping a woman’s, a woman you’d only seen in photos.

Joel’s daughter.

She was beautiful. Clad in a dark lavender satin dress, matching the other bridesmaids. Her dark hair was slicked back and gathered at the nape of her neck, held together by a matching satin bow, perfect curls spilled across her back. Her smile was even prettier as she laughed and sang with her uncle, swinging to ‘Build Me up Buttercup’. It was the same smile you could see across Joel’s face as he watched them. 

The drink burned slightly from the acidity at the back of your throat, and you were grateful that he’d been heavy on the liquor. You needed to catch up, let the alcohol loosen you up, pull away your unexpected nerves. 

“Who’s that?” you heard behind you. A warmth coated your neck and cheeks at being caught staring, and the embarrassment mixed with anger.

“I don’t think that’s any of your fucking business,” you scoffed. 

The bartender huffed out a dry laugh, “Jesus, it’s wedding small talk, no need to bite my head off.”

“Well, I’d prefer it if you didn’t talk,” you told him, sending him an annoyed look over your shoulder.

When you turned back around, Joel’s seat was empty, the beer bottle he’d nursed left behind on the table, the only sign he’d ever been seated there in the first place. Your tongue found the straw of your drink, twirling it around while you sipped, eyes scanning the dancefloor.

Nothing.

Did he slip out? Out to catch some fresh air or go to the bathroom? Maybe you could find the restroom, hover outside the door and ‘accidently’ bump into him?

No.

You cringed. Did you even hear yourself? As you took another sip, trying and failing to come up with a plan, a familiar gruff voice heaved a heavy sigh behind you.

“You got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” 

He didn’t look angry, but the way his hand rubbed over his face was worse, he was disappointed to see you. 

“What the fuck you doin’ here?”

“Celebrating Tommy, and–” you squinted your eyes, looking at the name scrawled elegantly next to Tommy’s on the bar menu, “–Maria... aren’t you?” 

You gave Joel an easy smile, and stepped closer, crossing one foot nonchalantly over the other. There was no way in hell you’d give him the satisfaction of seeing you even a bit phased he’d caught you crashing his brother’s wedding. 

A huff escaped Joel at your lie before the corners of his mouth pulled ever so slightly in a dry, sarcastic smile. 

“That’s cute,” he told you, his voice devoid of any humor in it, tone entirely disbelieving. 

“I’ve been known to be described as such,” you grinned. 

Joel didn’t seem to like your joke, his face not moving an inch. “You know this is way out of line, right?” 

“What?” you snorted, taking a sip of your drink as your eyes fanned out over the room for a second, before landing back on Joel, “Aren’t you happy to see me?” 

Joel let out an almost incredulous scoff, shaking his head as his eyes quickly scanned across the room, going to Tommy still on the dancefloor with Sarah. Something seemed to flash over his eyes, or maybe it was the lights but he leaned forward then, fingers wrapping around your forearm in a firm grip. 

“Way to make it obvious,” you said under your breath as he pulled you a bit. Not letting him have it, you planted your feet, “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ brat,” he told you, his voice filled with annoyance. 

Something ignited in you then, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him. Unable to contain your smile as the words crossed his lips, you felt them settle in your core, drip down your thighs like sticky honey. 

“You’d know just what do about that, wouldn’t you?” you challenged, your eyes burning into his, and for a second, you had his attention. He held your gaze, and his eyes flickered with the same intensity you felt.

A beat passed between you, and you watched as his jaw tightened, waiting for the bomb to tick down to zero. 

Then it popped.

The guests cheered as a song faded into another, and Joel took a step closer to you. His hand released your forearm to slip around your waist as his eyes never left yours. 

“Come,” he spoke through his teeth, his voice low and quiet.

The feel of his hand so close to your skin sent your brain into a temporary reboot. You’d craved it all week, missed him so close to you, missed his scent on your skin, and you let yourself be steered away. 

Quickly, Joel led you out the barn doors, his hand firmly pressed against your lower back as he looked over his shoulder. The music faded as he guided you towards a handful of small, scattered cabins hidden away behind a grove of trees. The trail snaked its way from tree to tree, your heels digging into the gravel making it hard to keep up with Joel’s pace. He walked with haste, passing cabin after cabin until the hand on your lower back looped around your waist, turning you around to face him as he came to a stop outside the last cabin.

His eyes drilled into your own, giving you a wild look, “I want you to leave,” he said, voice stern.

Leaning into his touch, you tilted your head to the side and let your eyes roll over him. He’d combed his hair back, wavy curls held back by gel. You raised your hand to cup his cheek, letting your thumb run through his trimmed scruff, hints of salt and pepper shone under the rising moonlight. The full of his lips was pressed together in a tight line, your eyes trailing your thumb as you let it gently run over his lips. Something softened in him under your touch, his eyes brown and deep as they watched you, it made your heart pick up its beat, hammering out of your chest.

Leaning closer, your eyes flickered to his lips again, and you thought about how you didn’t know what he tasted like, didn’t know how his lips felt against your own. You were so close now; his breath came out in small puffs against your face. Slowly you tilted your head, your nose accidentally brushing up against the crook of his own.

“You owe me a fucking orgasm,” you whispered.

His hand around your waist tightened, and with a small huff he tilted his head back.

“I owe you nothin’, princess.”

God, he could be stubborn sometimes. 

It might’ve annoyed you if it didn’t turn you on as much as it did. You loved how he made you work for it, and he was worth doing the work. Something deep down inside you knew it. Joel was a good man. If you weren’t careful he’d remove the walls built up by that lonely girl you’d kept hidden inside; one emotional stone at a time. Maybe it was ironic? The man who’d devoted his life to building walls, now breaking them down?

“Why do you deny yourself something you want?”

“You...” Joel swallowed hard, dark eyes watching your face with an unreadable expression, “You're a piece of work, you know that?”

The words stung more than you’d like to admit, and when Joel’s hand slipped from your body as he stepped away, a wave of anxiety washed over you. 

Had you gone too far? 

Joel didn’t look happy, and a small knot started to tie itself in your stomach under his gaze. You watched as he unbuttoned the top button of his tuxedo jacket, making it fall open and showing you his perfectly pressed shirt underneath. His right hand dug into his inner pocket, fishing out a white key card.

His steps were heavy up the front stairs to the cabin, almost dragging, like he moved through molasses. The lock clicked as he held the key card against it, a green light blinking before he opened the door. 

Dumbfounded, you stood at the foot of the front steps. You’d riled him up, played your little game and he’d gone along with it like always. 

Was this how it was gonna end?

He stood in the opening, hand on the handle with one foot on either side –  halfway in, but also halfway out. He didn’t move, his head tipped forward, weighing his options. Then he sighed and pushed the door open, and stepped inside the darkness.

“C‘mon, get in before anyone sees you.” 

The cabin was quaint, but cozy, with only the necessities. It was more like a hut, not bigger than a hotel room. A narrow hallway opened up to the bedroom, with a door to the right leading to a bathroom. Joel had placed his overnight bag on the chair in the corner, a worn leather duffle bag with a dark t-shirt and pair of jeans thrown over it, clearly thrown in a hurry to get ready. White lace curtains hung over the windows, bright against the dark wood of the paneled walls. 

The clinking of Joel’s belt pulled you from the silence, your head twitched like a reflex turning towards him. He’d shed his tuxedo jacket, his broad shoulders fighting against his pristine white shirt. He walked towards you slowly as he removed his cufflinks; the warmth in his eyes had turned darker. Taking a step backwards the back of your thighs pressed into the chair, almost tipping you over, but he caught you, one arm tight around your wrist while the other threw the cufflinks on the pile of clothes behind you.

“You say ‘red’ ‘nd we stop,” he told you, eyes holding your gaze so intently you didn’t dare look away. An inaudible breath pressed past your lips when his other hand cupped your cheek, the touch reminding you to nod your head.

“Or I pinch you,” you said.

A pleased smile spread across his face, “Good.” He punctuated his approval with a light pat to your cheek. 

Stepping away, he nodded towards the bed, an unspoken order, while his hands found his tie around his neck where he tugged at the knot. You sat at the foot of the bed, knees pressed together, waiting for him to make the first move. The white sheets smelled strongly of detergent, nothing like the faded hints of his cologne mixed with sawdust you’d smelled on his own sheets that first night he’d fucked you. 

The tie slipped from his neck and you fell back on your arms, feigning boredom while you let out an audible sigh. It made him laugh.

“What’s so funny?” you queried, your brows pulled together in a frown. 

A smile leftover from his chuckle coated his lips as he stepped closer, your legs spreading for him to slot between as he threw the tie on the bed beside you.

“Nothin’.” 

Over you, he gently rolled up his sleeves with practiced hands before he wrapped a hand tightly around your upper arm. Then he tugged. 

“Hey!” you said, fighting against his grip as he manhandled you. He turned you roughly, his other hand fingering the zipper of your dress, while the other held you in place. “Be careful with the dress,” you whined.

“Stop actin’ like a fuckin’ child,” he muttered, helping you out of your dress.

“A child? Well… that doesn’t bode well for you with what you’re about to do.”

That stopped him in his tracks, eyes burning as he let go of you. “Jesus Christ,” he hissed, throwing your dress over his pile of clothes, “you’re fuckin’ unbelievable.”

Freed from his grip, a smirk pulled at your lips as you shuffled up the bed. Leaning back on your elbows, you seductively parted your legs for him, showing him the darkened patch of fabric scarcely covering your cunt.

“You keep saying that,” you smiled, saccharine and sticky like syrup. 

“I’ll stop when you finally start behavin’.” Joel’s hand wrapped around your ankle, tugging you towards him with a hard jerk, making a giggly squeal escape you. 

“Never– HEY!”

A ripping sound tore through the room, your skimpy panties tattered in his large hands. A smirk spread over his face. The motherfucker looked mighty pleased with himself.

“Surprised you’re even wearin’ these,” he said, thumbing at the wet patch of arousal, before he tossed them to the floor. “A slut like you should’ve gone without, shouldn't you?” 

The warmth of his touch over your knees had you twitching for him, goosebumps following his hands as they rubbed gently up and down your legs. His eyes never left your face though, watching every reaction you gave up. 

“I…” your rebuttal trailed off when he fell to his knees, slotting between your own and spreading you open for him, one hand glided down the outside of your thigh to your ass, while the other found your aching clit.

Then he spat. A thick blob of saliva ran from the top of your mound down your clit, where it combined with your arousal shining through your glistening folds.

“Joel!?” you gasped when the rough pad made contact, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure, spreading his spit around in small circles. 

You kinda hated this part; getting eaten out. No partner had gotten it right before. Not that it wasn’t enjoyable, it could be, but never seeing stars good… And you couldn’t help but think about that first time someone had gone down on you, about the boytoy you’d had wrapped around your finger freshman year. He’d given you an orgasm maybe 60% of the time he’d fucked you (which was a better successrate than your later hook-ups), but his comment as he’d gotten on his knees for you for the first time still rang loudly in your head.

It’s not supposed to look like that, is it? 

The small laugh he’d let out had only made it worse, and you’d dumped him less than twenty-four hours later. Now, you hated having a man this close to your pussy.

Your hand found Joel’s shoulder, where it pushed. “I don’t…” you interrupted yourself with a hand over your face, not wanting to look at him.

“What, baby?” 

Suddenly he was there, hovering above you, caging you in with his body, heavy hand pushing at your own over your face. 

“Ain’t in the mood for the orgasm I owe ya, is that it?” he smirked, and you stayed obstinately silent for a second.

“What is it, hm?” he asks you, “Not gonna let me taste that pretty pussy?” 

Pretty…

“Joel…” 

Your eyes searched his face, looking to find where he’d hidden his lie. His face grew sterner, eyebrows pulling together in a furrow. 

“Tell me.”

Your front tooth caught on your lip and a heat prickled up your neck. You couldn’t tell him, you just couldn’t. Joel’s palm found your cheek, heavy and safe against your skin, letting his thumb sooth you and your eyelids fluttered from his touch. A breath got caught in your throat when he leaned forward, placing a soft kiss to the column of your neck, your pulse vibrating under his lips.

“Do I have to wring it outta you?” he whispered against your skin, his hand gliding from your cheek to fit around your neck. The air between you changed and you forced yourself to snap back into your disguise. 

“I’d like to see you try.”

A deep rumbling laugh vibrated against your skin and Joel found your eyes again. His hand around your neck soothed over your skin and you found yourself pushing up into his hand, daring him to tighten his grip.

“There she is… my brat,” he smiled.

Mine.

He was gone before the possessive word could settle, hovering over your body as he rid himself of his shirt. You couldn’t help but drink him in, he was so handsome, broad and strong with speckled grey hairs trailing to the heavy bulge hidden away behind the soft fabric of his dress pants. His undone belt clicked as he moved closer, climbing onto the bed between your legs.

“Scoot up,” Joel ordered with a tap to the outer skin of your thigh. 

The huff you let out was exasperated, earning you a stern look as his large palms found the cheeks of your ass, patting your skin lightly, before he helped you move. The way he fluffed the pillows behind your back was almost tender, and your eyebrows pulled together in the slightest frown. 

“Is your definition of ‘wringin’ it outta me’–” you mocked his drawl, “–fucking like a boring old married couple in missionary? Is that what you used to do with your wife?”

The way Joel’s eyes hardened made a smile break over your face. Quickly, you regretted the smile when his hand clasped around your wrist, bending it backwards towards the bed post.

“Hey! What are you doing?” you demanded, playfully fighting against his grip, but Joel was too strong.

“Behave.”

“But I hate that,” you exclaimed with a sigh, pushing your head back into the pillow.

His silk tie tickled against the thin skin under your wrist, and you had to turn your head to watch him as he tied your hand to the bed. The way he did it exuded no nonsense; his eyebrows were tied together in concentration as practiced fingers danced over the knots, testing them with a light tug.

“I’m givin’ you what you ain’t closed to earned– so you oughta be grateful, princess, ‘nd thank me,” he told you as he moved on to your other hand.

Joel raised an eyebrow at you when he grabbed a hold of it, daring you to put up a fight again. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” 

The way you said it was sugary sweet, and you knew he didn’t believe a word you said, but a pleased smile settled over his lips either way. Then his fingers found his belt, tugging it from his waist all in one go, his muscles moved under his skin from the strain. The leather felt harsher around your skin than his tie, but Joel made sure to not tie it to tightly. When he was pleased with you, he found his spot between your legs again. 

His rough hands teased over your naked skin, eyes fixed on the way it gave way for him when he squeezed ever so slightly. You couldn’t help but watch him – there was nothing you could do now, your hands literally tied. 

“I oughta tie these too I reckon,” he mused, pushing your legs wider, “but I’m outta rope,” he chuckled, way too pleased with his own joke.

“Ha-ha-ha,” you said, voice dry with an unimpressed look on your face. 

Lowering himself, he placed playful lovebites to the soft skin of the inside of your thigh. The lower he got, the closer he got, you felt yourself brace for impact as your eyes found the ceiling. 

You felt his hot breath first, gentle huffs against your spit-soaked clit. How soft his kiss was, you didn’t expect– didn’t expect the fluttering touch of his lips down your pussy, so gentle against the core of you. A stuttering breath caught in your throat, and quickly you melted against the pillows. 

“Hey,” Joel caught your attention. He had that look in his eyes, something dark and filled with lust as he let the scratch of his rough beard rub against the thin skin of your inner thigh. “Look at me, only me, you hear?” 

He underlined his order with a soothing kiss to the sensitive skin, pulling a nod from you. Pleased, his lips skated downwards, teeth nipping playfully at the skin, leaving small bursts of electricity in the wake of his touch. 

“Such a pretty pussy, baby– all wet ‘nd messy f’me.” Joel spoke with a deep bass, as two fingers found your seam, swiping them through your folds. “Listen,” he told you, as the slick sound of your arousal filled the cabin. 

The beat in your chest seemed louder and louder in your ears the more he taunted you. You didn’t want to do this with Joel – fake it – feel that stone of disappointment sink into the depths of yourself as the orgasm you so desperately wanted fizzled away into nothing. Couldn’t he just rub your clit a little? Finger you instead? 

With his fingers Joel spread you apart and a heat travelled up your neck. You felt so exposed, and you had to fight not to look away from him when he leaned forward with the flat of his tongue, tasting you. A breath caught in your throat like a reflex, and a low hum rumbled out of Joel’s chest, almost in… contentment. Your eyebrows met in a furrow then.

He couldn’t seriously like this? 

He continued to lap at your folds, taking his time, and it felt… good, really good. When he licked a stripe from your hole to your clit, you couldn’t fight back your moan. 

“C’mon, let me hear you, princess,” he said, his tone of voice way too cocky.

He latched on to your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue in a way no man had ever done before. It was intense, sloppy, almost primal. Small, breathy sighs built in your chest, and you wished you could touch him, hold on to him.

Joel licked down through your folds again; his tongue teasing at your hole. “Is–” you cut yourself off with a surprised gasp, reeling from the way his tongue pushed into you. “Is t-this what you call e-eating pussy?” you tried again to taunt, far from convincing. 

Joel didn’t bother with a reply. Instead, he switched his tongue with his fingers. The wet mix of your arousal and saliva made the slide easy. A breathy whimper escaped your lips when he curled them, hitting the spongy spot inside you and hurling you quickly towards your release.

“Fuck,” you sighed, bucking your hips against his lips closing around your clit again.

You couldn’t stay still, your hips moving erratically to meet the swipes and zigzags of his tongue. Never had it felt like this, this good, this perfect. His fingers moved easily in and out, in and out, with a slick squelch. Squeezing your eyes shut, Joel coaxed you closer and closer to your orgasm. The pads of his fingers hit you just right, massaging with every thrust. An increasing pressure swiweled in your stomach around the laps of his tongue around your clit. Your back moved on it’s own, arching off the bed as his makeshift restraints tightened with your movement. A hand found your ass then, holding you flush to his face and you felt yourself starting to wither.

“There she goes… my good girl,” he hummed against you, “Come all over my tongue, princess.”

You let the wave of pleasure wash over you with a broken scream. You didn’t have to fake a thing as your whole body shook with your orgasm. His fingers continued their pace, pushing through your spasming walls and prolonging your ecstasy. Every sigh and whimpering moan was real, and you lost yourself in the buzzing feeling of Joel taking you apart and putting you back together again. 

When the aftershocks fizzled out Joel pulled his fingers, slicked up and soaked from your cunt. A cocky grin coated his face as he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking your cum off his fingers. When your eyes found his, something in them had you slipping under, a want so strong to drown in them. 

He climbed off the bed, your blissed out gaze rolling over him as he removed his dress pants and underwear. You could feel yourself go doe eyed when he took his hard cock in hand, giving it a few practiced tugs as he studied you at his mercy, spread apart and dripping with a mix of your pearly arousal, his spit and your cum. 

He was perfect; his broad chest, tanned under the Texan sun with speckled hairs trailing down his torso where it ended in a dark wiry patch at the base of his impressive cock. Your mouth dropped open in the smallest of o’s – you wanted to taste him again, feel your spit mixed with his precum on your tongue, the thick head of his cock knock at the back of your throat. 

“Daddy…” you pleaded, putting on your best puppy dog eyes.

“What, princess?” he taunted, voice laced with fake pity as he climbed on the bed again. Letting go of his thick cock, he wrapped his hands under your armpits and hiked you upright against the pillows. Under him you couldn’t help but soften at the edges.

“What d’you want, huh? What does my slut want?” he continued, straddling your body, two strong thighs on either side of your torso. He was so close like this, veiny cock inches from your waiting mouth. Reluctantly, you tore your gaze away to find his eyes, focusing hard on finding your words as you could see him start to stroke himself again in your peripheral. The large head of his cock grazed your lips with every stroke, pearling a salty taste of precum for you to taste.

“Why do you ask, when you already know?” you said, your voice lacking your infamous bite. A smile tore at Joel’s face, and a rumbling laugh escaped him as he moved closer. 

“Maybe my cock pluggin’ up that throat will make you behave f’me?” he mused, like he was speaking his inner thoughts out loud and you weren’t even there. “At least  you’d be quiet for once.”

His other hand found your chin, then, robbing you of your answer as he squeezed at the flesh, forcing your mouth to pop open. “Kiss it for Daddy, princess,” he ordered, slapping his cock on your waiting tongue. 

When he let go of your face, you wrapped your plush lips around his thick head, suckling wet kisses to the tip. A lewd moan escaped you at the familiar taste of him, his musk filling your nostrils. It was addicting, Joel was addicting, and you needed more.

The desperate whine you let out, earned you a reprimanding slap to your cheek. “Don’t get greedy now, ‘m gonna give ya what you want,” he told you and pulled back, while the sting prickled away. You couldn’t help the pout forming, and Joel was quick to sooth it away with his thumb tracing over your lips. 

“Listen, baby,” he found your eyes, “You kick me, alright? You kick me ‘f you wanna stop.”

“Okay,” you sighed.

“Okay, what?” he demanded with a slap of his cock against your cheek, smearing glistening precum over your skin.

“Okay, Daddy,” you smiled and dropped your mouth open so he could feed you his cock – all the way this time.

“That’s it, my good girl.”

Eagerly, your plush lips wrapped around his cock, his heavy cock plugged up your throat as he made room for himself. You didn’t gag right away like last time, you had practice now. As he pushed himself deeper, his hand braced himself against the headboard, while the other cradled your head – his rough thumb skated gently over your skin as he gently rocked his hips.

“Fuck,” he moaned above you, “That’s it, slut, let me feel your throat open f’me.”

Closing your eyes, you tried to calm yourself, holding back your gag reflex as tears started to prickle at your eyes. Even with practice, Joel wasn’t easy to take. Your lips stretched wide around the girth of him, swollen and used as spit slicked up his pubes. With each rock of his hips you felt the bulbous head knock at the back of your throat, bruising your flesh.

The sight of you must’ve been pornographic; your throat bulging with every rock of his hips as your spit dripped down your chest, pooling at his thighs stretched over your chest.

A vicious gag choked you, and Joel pulled back quickly, his cock wet with your spit bopping heavily in front of you face. You spluttered between gasps of air, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth as tears ran in a steady stream, smudging your make-up. His hand cradling your head tightened slightly, tilting you to catch his eyes as something close to worry flashed over his face.

“Don’t close your eyes, you hear me?” his voice was strict, “‘nd I need ya to kick me!”

“Keep going!” 

Your voice was hoarse and wet, but it didn’t seem to convince Joel. His face gave nothing away, stern and hard, teeth biting down a scowl – but his hands were tender, stroking at your skin.

“Ain’t ever been with a woman who’s as much of a slut as you I reckon,” he mused, his hand leaving your face to grip himself, tapping the length of himself against your skin.

“Embarrassing way to admit you haven’t been with a lot of women, Joel,” you told him, hiding your smile behind a soft kiss to the wet head of his cock. 

“Jesus Christ.” A laugh escaped him, surprisingly light for someone out to punish you. 

Moving your head, you started to press light kisses down his shaft, waiting for Joel to take control again, to punish you – like you ‘deserved,’ but all he did was a whole lot of nothing. When your tongue finally reached the base of him, your cheek pressed into the crease between his thigh and hip as your lips brushed gently against the soft skin of his balls – so heavy and full. Wrapping his hand around himself, he stroked in languid motions, like he savored it, wanted to memorize every calculated jerk.

“‘s that what you want, huh?” he asked, voice low and dark, almost tainting, and you couldn’t hold back the mewl escaping you. “Go on then, princess, suck on my balls like a good whore.”

With his other hand he guided one of his balls to your mouth. When you wrapped your lips around him, suckling gently at the sensitive skin, a deep groan fell from Joel’s lips.

“That’s good, princess, that’s so fuckin’ good.”

Being so close, breathing in the masculine musk of him, you almost squirmed under his weight, your cunt desperate and dripping with arousal. You felt so dirty, sucking on the balls of a man more than twice your age as he had his way with you. It would never feel like this again with anyone else – you knew it, you didn’t know how, but you did. 

“C’mon, give the other one some sugar too.”

Humming out in an agreement, you let go with a pop as he guided the other ball into your waiting mouth for you to suckle around. The rhythm of his strokes picked up when you flattened your tongue, licking at the seam.

“God,” he groaned, “such a fuckin’ slut f’me– so fuckin’ desperate for my balls in your mouth–” 

Joel cut himself off with a deep groan, as he backed up, making you chase after him as he held himself at the base, squeezing. Your restraints dug into your wrists, and you whined in defeat. 

This bondage act was starting to get old.

“Gonna come already, old man?” 

Joel didn’t seem to like your attitude, his joints cracking as he climbed back onto the bed, the welcomed weight of him now gone. 

“That’s rich,” he spat, “coming from the one showin’ up here all desperate for me to fuck her.”

“Well, I’m waiting,” you told him with a roll of your eyes, voice bored. 

That seemed to finally inspire some action in him. With stern eyes, and a stern grip, Joel parted your legs to slot between. The way his hands dug into your skin hurt, angry finger-shaped welts as he manuveroured you, had you wishing for the dizzying pain of a bruise tomorrow to remind you of this, of Joel.

Your hips bucked when you felt the blunt head of his cock against your clit, making him throw a hand over your waist to keep you still. A heat coated your cheeks when you heard it, the slick sound of your wet cunt as he dragged himself up and down your folds, coating himself in your desperation. 

“Missionary?” you bit, fighting hard to hold back your moans as he teased at your dripping opening, “You’re so old fashioned.”

“I like to watch brats break when they finally get a cock in them,” he bit back, “Now beg f’mine.”

“No,” you hiccuped, with a weak shake of your head. 

Joel played dirty – his thumb came up to graze over your clit, as he continued to tease his cock at your opening, pressing in slightly and then pulling out again just as quickly. He had you squirming for him in seconds, desperate to feel him make a home for himself inside you.

“Beg, brat.”

His thumb on your clit pressed down harder in tight, practiced figure eights, and you had no choice but to break. You needed him, needed Joel inside. 

“Please,” you gasped, “Please, fuck me.”

But Joel continued circling his thumb, drawing you closer to the edge again. It got harder and harder to stay still as he pushed at your boundaries. Everything inside you screamed for him, like you were a piece of metal and he was the magnet. You couldn’t stay away, you’d always end up pressed against him. 

“Whose cunt is this?” he demanded, suddenly hovering above you, dark eyes staring into yours. A large palm held your head in place, anchoring you to him, his face, this moment.

“Yours,” you whispered, “Yours, Joel.”

His name left your lips as a sight, the syllables stolen out of the air when he pushed at your opening, heavy cock splitting you in two and seating himself in your heat. He had your legs shaking, head lulling into his palm at the pleasurable pressure poking at the depths of you, where no one but Joel could reach.

“It’s okay, baby– you come on that cock if ya need to,” he hummed, a hint of condescension in his low voice as he continued to rub your clit.

Everything was coming to a head. Pleasure beamed through your body, like a supernova, as you exploded for Joel, shaking under his body as your eyes rolled back in your head. Whimpering moans stole your breaths, and you almost didn’t register Joel’s deep voice rumbling against the collum of your throat.

“C’mon… that’s it… good girl, that’s my good girl– y’feel so good, baby.”

His warm breath felt sticky against your skin, and you found yourself hoping he’d never leave; that you could somehow tattoo how he felt against you on your skin, let him mark you as his. 

When your legs stopped shaking, Joel’s thumb stopped bullying your clit. He let you catch your breath, heaving chest slowing to steady rhythm again. His eyes found yours again, and for a moment they were almost tender, as something real started to weigh between you. You wanted to say something, anything, but Joel pulled away, hooking his arms under your knees before he finally started to pound into you, chasing his own high.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your walls already sensitive from the multiple orgasms he’d already given you. The way he split you open around the girth of him, it was always too much, you couldn’t see how you’d ever get used to the feeling of him. 

Joel's breath got heavier as he picked up his pace, balls slapping wetly against your ass, as deep groans vibrated through his chest.

“That’s it, princess, you take it,” he rambled, “Good girl– go dumb on that cock f’me.”

His hands dug into your skin, his mind so caught up in you, in the way you felt squeezing around him.

Slap, slap, slap.

He was so deep, he must’ve fucked his way into your stomach. You felt yourself go limp in his arms, letting him take what he needed, letting him use you for his own pleasure. 

“God, y’were made f’takin’ my big cock, baby.”

“Gonna fill up this pretty cunt– watch it leak outta ya.”

“Please,” you begged between harsh thrusts, your tits bouncing with every sway of his hips, “Please, come inside me, Daddy.”

With a particularly sharp thrust, his balls pulled tight against your ass, and Joel came. Deep groans of satisfaction filled your ears, the sweetest sound, as he pumped you full. He rutted into you until there was nothing left, your cunt overflowing with his sticky seed. A content sigh left your lips at the feeling, your body finally sated. 

Thoughts traveled to the next moments, how you wanted him to pull you into his chest, strong arms pulled tight around your body as you both calmed down. To be held close in his embrace, a comforting hand at the back of your neck. You wanted him to kiss you, longed to feel his lips brush over yours. You searched for Joel’s eyes, searched for a small inkling of reciprocation.

Maybe you’d say something stupid – finally let go of all the feelings you can’t control anymore.

But Joel’s eyes didn’t want to catch yours, and he pulled away too quickly, sliding his softening cock from your ruined cunt. You were gonna make a mess of his sheets, you probably already had judging from the slick feeling on the inside of your thighs as you closed them. 

Something in the air felt loaded suddenly, and you wanted to reach for him, touch his rough skin and ground yourself away from your nagging insecurities– But you couldn’t, your hands were bound. His strong back muscles moved under his skin as he fished his shirt from the floor, now crinkled, ruined. 

“Wanna go again?” you tried, pushing at his back, barely out of reach, with your foot. 

He let you push at him, but the sigh he let out as he stood to his feet to get dressed had your stomach tie itself in a knot. 

“This ain’t happenin’ again,” he sighed, getting dressed. 

“Sure,” you nodded in a scoff, unconvinced as a mischievous smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. Between your legs you felt yourself start to leak, his thick spend running down your folds to your ass, and onto the sheets.

When he finally turned around, large fingers fiddling with the small buttons of his shirt, his eyes finally caught yours. Biting down on your lip, you spread your legs coquettishly, showing him where he’d claimed you. 

His eyes, however, never wandered, the familiar warmth that you had seen barely a few minutes ago now gone, his expression stoic and unreadable. You felt the knot in your stomach from earlier tighten.

“I’m serious,” he told you, and almost on instinct you felt your legs close as he leaned over you, untying one of your hands, “You ever pull something like this again, and it’ll be the last time you ever see me.” 

You felt your face drop despite yourself as he untied the other hand, the corners of your mouth straightening out as a small frown appeared between your brows. You were silent for a moment as Joel walked to the other end of the room, plucking his jacket up off of the chair. Your eyes tracked his movements apprehensively. 

“I thought you liked it when I behaved this way,” you said eventually, and you hated the way your tone sounded. You had meant for it to be a challenge, a call-out of his hypocrisy, but instead you sounded like a child; disappointed and petulant. 

“Listen,” he started, voice calm but with a seriousness that made a nervousness tug at the back of your neck. “You’ve had your fun, and I can tolerate a lotta shit, but–... you gotta learn some fuckin’ boundaries.” Your frown only deepened at his words. 

“Comin’ here–” his voice stalled as he shook his head, shrugging on the jacket “This is my family, my brother’s wedding– my fuckin’ daughter is here… You can’t just show up in my life like some kind of trainwreck every time you need me to fuck you.” 

“How else am I supposed to do it? You don’t exactly text,” you bit back, “And don’t pretend like you don’t like it,” you fumbled for a retort. 

“That’s just a shitty excuse for unacceptable behaviour, and you know it,” Joel said, and you felt yourself get angry at how calm he was. 

It was embarrassing; your cheeks burned bright like a flame, and it fueled a deep pit of annoyance inside of you, one you didn’t even know existed as your jaw bit down in a clench. Lifting your chin in a defiant scoff, you’re not proud of the next words out of your mouth.

“You’re full of shit,” you said with a shake of your head, “You’ll barely last a week and you know it... you love it, love putting me in my place like this.”

“Sure I do,” Joel said with a nonchalant shrug, “But I sure as shit didn't sign up to deal with your antics... that’s a job for your real Daddy, sweetheart.”   

That last comment felt like a slap in the face. A job for your real Daddy. In your chest you felt something cave in, as a paralyzing shock swept over your body. You went cold, so cold as your eyes drifted past Joel, and swiveled into the wood walls. He was right, Joel was right, but you never imagined he’d slap you in the face like this with the truth. 

“So, listen up now, this is what you’re gonna do,” Joel said as he stepped towards you, looking you straight in the eye, ”You're gonna take your shit, ‘nd your shitty attitude, ‘nd you're gonna quietly slip outta here ‘nd pretend like you were never even fuckin’ here in the first place. ‘s that clear?” 

You were barely able to nod before he stepped back and turned his back on you. When his hand found the doorknob, he threw you one last look. 

“You better not be here when I get back.”

part four -> here!

hopefully this was okay? please let me know what you thought of the new part! a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[thewriterg]

𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧

pairing(s); johnny castle x fem!reader,

summary; ever since she showed up johnny was practically all over her and if he wanted to have her he could for all you cared but he protested the deal —angstober day; 15—

word count; 1.6k+

warning(s); jealousy, angst, Johnny only wants ONE woman, crying, pet names, arguing, readers nickname is doll/dolly, biker/punk coded reader, dirty dancing ofc, and language

playlist; lover boy by sylvia and mickey, I wish it would rain by the temptations

A/n:—GIFs; @fruitblr & @duchessofhastings— GIF does not determine race also the lack of dirty dancing fic is disgusting and disrespectful

“You know, Johnny missed you Dolly we all did” Penny smiled walking up to staff cabin having already dropped your stuff off at your personal dorm cabin you were glad to be back for in time for the ending show of the summer

“I missed you guys too, you throwin’ a party?” You questioned a teasing underline in your voice at the faint sound of blasting music getting more clear as you both strolled on the boardwalk

“Always, Johnny’s jaws gonna drop” She stated in a matter of fact tone a wide smile on her face throwing a directed look to your attire a size too big leather jacket, a fitted black top that rested above your belly button, flared jeans that hugged your hips yet let your calveshave roaming room, and a pair of boots to match

“I know what else is gonna drop” You hummed rolling your hips in a mock performance while the blonde made gaging sounds in the back of her throat while you snickered at the sight before opening the familiar doors dancing bodies moving around the floor your eyes peered around until they landed on Johnny dancing or attempting to with a brunette head filled of loose spirals it didn’t bother you sometimes you’d have to have different dance partners when it came to performances hell Penny had been filling in for you the two weeks you were gone and neither of you took it to heart but if either of you were questioned about grinding and rolling your hips a little harder on someone at a party to get the other one jealous you’d be lying

You split from Penny and took a hold of a random blonde he took no protest as you rolled your hips on him and he thrusted up to meet your hips with a matching rhythm and you appreciated him for nonverbally letting you lead you kept the pace building the passion back up in your movements before you hiked your thigh up against his hip that he grabbed onto letting you lean back while he trailed his hands against your exposed hips a knee in between your thighs there was now cheering and whistles building up along the crowd catching Johnnys attention his view was blocked from the warm bodies forming a circle around the attraction he left the girl known as Baby to go up to the ring of fire not expecting to see you dancing with someone else a grin instantly etching on his face as the song came to an end you you partner swung you up from the floor and you pat him on the shoulder in a farewell you turned to partway not expecting to see those familiar blue eyes staring back at you and it caused a uncommon smile to make its way to your skin

You met eacother halfway way smashing your lips together and suddenly the applause was louder than ever as your black painted fingernails rested on the back of his pale neck and his rough hands rested softly on your hips you didn’t break apart until your shared favorite song came on and you smirked at him in response circling his standing form as if he was prey and you could hear low whistles mixing in with the rift of the song Johnny mirrored your hungry expression as you ran up to his form your heeled boots dragging against the the wooden floor jumping into his hold and hips leaning backwards crossing your ankles against the back of his thighs while he took hold of your lower body before propelling you up so your knees were now on his shoulders your crotch directly in front of his face you whistled out to Johnnys cousin Neal who wore a cowboy hat that he tossed to you and you caught it putting it on top of your head one hand holding it down and your other arm imitating a lasso rolling your hips and whipping your hair on the brunette who’s lower half mirrored yours his steps precise yet loose and wild Baby watched you with admiration and well meaning envy she wish she could move like that

or even have enough confidence and courage to do so

💌💌💌💌 (begin; love is strange by mickey and sylvia)

You and Johnny stood in the dance studio he rested a hand on your hip as you rested an arm on his shoulder he purposely messed with you slouching his shoulder his arms loose and floppy and you snickered as he trailed down your body from your chest to your lower abdomen before shimmying away from his hold while he dramatically dropped to floor staring up at your form you swayed your hips to beat before turning to the brunette who mouthed the lyrics to your favorite part of the song

“Sylvia!”

“Yes Mickey?” You mouthed back doing a ‘come here’ motion with you index before trailing behind the folding screen you silhouette peeking through

“How do you call your lover boy?”

“Come here lover boy!”

“And if he doesn’t answer?”

“Oh lover boy?”

“And if he still doesn’t answer” Johnny was up on his knees now shaking his head that moved the strands of his hair you finally trailed from behind the changing screen locking eyes with the the brunette

“I simply say, baby” You took less than three steps before lowering to the floor crawling towards the man while he did the same in imitating the occasional guitar rifts until you finally met he lowered his head into your stomach dragging it up into your chest bringing the both of you up to stand

“Johnny?” You heard a soft yet carrying voice calm out in the dance studio footsteps carrying up the short staircase and your eyebrows furrow as he quickly parted from you Inching towards the record player and you look to see Baby staring back at you her brown eyes darting between you and Johnny

“I-I’m not interrupting anything am I?” She questions and you shake your head grabbing your jacket from a stray chair your steps that were once loose and non caring now stern and forward as you approach the first step the brunette calls out to you in return

“Dolly! I’ll see you soon alright?” He continues when you looks back to him after a moment and you don’t return his gratitude before trailing down the stairs the sound of the door slamming behind you bouncing off the walls you weren’t twenty steps away from the building before Johnny was sprinting towards your frame holding your arms since you wouldn’t have stopped walking otherwise

“What’s going on Doll? Whats the matter you just stormed ou-”

“Seemed like you had a secret to keep so you know, I just helped you out” You shrugged your tone more sarcastic than it usually was something he had noted over the years you did when your feelings were hurts

“Come on Baby you know it’s not like that” Your eyebrows furrow and you laugh interrupting him as he looked at you with furrowed brows as you shake your head in disbelief a fabricated smile on your face

“What the hell did you just call me?” You pry his hands from your arms taking a large step back a space forming in between the both of you that he was begging to fill you ignored his desperate attempts of explanation

“Johnny in the last fifteen years we’ve known each other and the last three we’ve been together you’ve never, called me Baby so save me that shit” You hissed before storming off to the personal dorm cabins

💌💌💌💌 (begin; I wish it would rain by; the temptations

“Go away!” You yelled out there had been knocking on your door all day at different time periods you knew it was Johnny and you didn’t want to talk to him and you hated that you were crying over it god why were you crying over that, that fucking prick

“Come on Dolly it’s me” You hear Pennys voice slip from the small crack underneath the door and for the first time since you’d made it to your room you peel yourself from your bed dragging your feet as you swing the door open the short haired blonde looking over you with a small frown on her face at your appearance

“Oh Doll” She whispered bringing you into her arms inching you towards your bed until you fully yourself dip and she takes your hands in hers with a small sigh

“Now listen to me Dolly, Johnny loves you like nothin’ else, you’ve been one of the only… stable thing in his life and he needs you. He only wants you, not Baby, or any tourist, only you. He was an asshole for what he pulled but I promise you as your friend that he doesn’t want anyone else but you so please don’t let this end you, so go get him, go on!” You nod tearfully lifting from your position jogging out of your cabin and towards his the numbers of his doors glaring at you

You took a breath before knocking on the wooden door and before you could back out it swung open and you were met with the sight of Johnny teary eyed his nose red and eyes puffy, his lashes wet he brings you into his embrace pulling you into his cabin

“Please Dolly I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry Doll, please don’t leave, please don’t leave me” He sobbed into your you stomach having dropped to his knees arms wrapped firmly around your waist and you pet his hair shushing him gently tears in your own eyes, running down your face, dripping from your chin, and onto his forehead

“You have to promise me, promise me it’s only me… that you’re not into her” You whispered and blue eyes looked up at you eyebrows furrowed

“I swear on my life I don’t see anyone but you Doll, you’re my life the only person who hasn’t left god Dolly I breathe you” He sniffled and you get down onto his level as you hold each other, rocking each other,

being there for each other.

©2023 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

[kaleidoscopiccc]

little things i loved about trinity theatre's production of rtc (because i love this cast more than life and am totally not biased) (Ferris wheel cast btw)

 Feral Ocean (she kept trying to fight literally everyone)

Jane and Constance my darlings

Karnak laughing at his own jokes

Mischa kissing both Noel and Ricky out-of-song just for the hell of it

Noel and Constance friendship

"Talia" was a woman randomly picked from the audience and they all sung and danced around her

Noel doing basically the whole show in heels

The extra cats in SABM

The parts of the script from 2016 (Ricky kept his disability!!!)

Jane giving Noel a hug after Noels Lament (they are so best friend coded istg)

All. Of. Their. Voices

Mischa had a mullet

The extra bits they added

The actors looked exactly what I imagine their respective characters look like in my head (POC Noel, curly haired Ocean, literally everything about Constance)

SPEAKING OF CONSTANCE

OH MY GOD I LOVE HER

IM USUALLY NOT THE BIGGEST CONSTANCE FAN

BUT HOLY SHIT TIFFANY POLITE MADE HER EASILY MY FAVORITE CHARACTER

TRINITY CONSTANCE IS MY WIFE FUCK YOU

Jane making the doll clap after Ocean's speech

Just the doll in general

Ocean coming out with a little sombrero after Karnak mentions the song about affordable Mexican cuisine

Ricky playing the violin in Noel's Lament

Janes movements and eyes

Noel and Mischa cuddling after TNBS

Penny's dog is named Savannah

CONSTANCE SMILED AT ME DURING TBOJD I NEARLY DIED RIGHT THEN AND THERE

Ricky and Jane playing with the accordion and doll to make a rollercoaster after the Savannah scene

"FORNICATION UNDER CONSENT OF THE KINGGG" "no."

ESGAL kazoos

They changed the notes in Sugar Cloud to make it more fit for an altos range and I honestly liked it better than the og

Penny became a roller coaster engineer

Prop cameos in Penny's house

Jawbreaker and Sugar Cloud was surreal irl I will never shut up about how good Constance was

Virgil was just a projected video of a mouse eating cheese it was hilarious

Jane sung TBOJD while spinning on one of those the magicians boards

Constance had 2 party hats during TNBS, one on each space bun, she was adorable

Noel and Mischa started hyping Constance up after she punched Ocean

Noel and Ocean making up at the end

Ocean angrily sweeping the feathers from the boa after Noel's Lament

Noel was so sassy but supportive I love him

Jane disappearing behind the curtain after her entrance and Constance jump scaring her and everyone else when she opens it to see no one there… twice

Jane tying a ribbon around her neck then untying in the beginning and end Dream of Lifes

Ocean looked like that one character from over the garden wall with her party hat in TNBS

Constance crossing herself when Karnak brings up her virginity like Ocean

Ocean stealing the halo from Jane after the erection line

Ocean stretching and doing vocal warmups every time Constance tried to start the improv

THE ACTORS

HOLY HELL THEY WERE SO NICE

I LOVED ALL OF THEM

ESPECIALLY MIA

SHE WAS THE SINGLE COOLEST PERSON I HAVE EVER MET HOLY SHIT

[rjmartin11]

Faded Love

Pairing: Elvis & female!reader

Summary: After finding out about Elvis infidelity, you decide to have one final decision before you walk out the door for good.

Word Count: ???

Warnings: Infidelity, lies, crying, SMUT, cussing

Material is not suitable for people under 18 years of age. Viewer discretion is advised!

Author's Notes: I had a dream about this one. It was weird and amusing, too. This could have a happy ending if I write another chapter...

・ʚ♡ɞ・💙・ʚ♡ɞ・

You dated Elvis for three years, and you have been happily married for two years. There's nothing Elvis wouldn't do for you. He was your baby boy as you were his Satnin.

Life with Elvis wasn't perfect, but it was damn near close. You two shared everything together. He made love to you after knowing you for a week. He showed you things he had never ever shown anyone. You were head over heels in love with this lovely, blue-eyed man. He had your soul fly, and your heart sang.

When he proposed to you, your mouth was frozen. You almost forgot to say yes, but Elvis has a way of moving your tongue. The first week of marriage, you two were stuck in your room, never making it out. Room service delivered around the clock. Life was so sweet with Elvis by your side.

Elvis was the man of your dreams. Yet in the last month, you felt him drifting away from you.

Elvis would kiss you in the morning and whisper in your ear, "Good morning, my love." He would always hold your hand whether people were there or not. Now, it seemed he'd hold your hand for appearances sake. Lovemaking slowed down, and he stopped holding you in bed. It was all so random to you.

You feared the worst happened. He found another lover. Someone prettier, kinder, and more fun than you.

Someone who could give him the baby you couldn't. You tried. God knows how much you tried to give him that blue-eyed baby. He told you that he never worried about it. That the both of you could just spoil each other. He'd be your baby, and you'd be his mommy. Still, you wanted to give him more.

You saw him staring at a random beauty when you two were at the studio. You didn't pester or gripe. You simply just took his hand, getting his attention. He looked at you, and you leaned, placing your foreheads together. You whisper to him softly, "I love you the mostest, babe."

"Forever," Elvis says, kissing your lips gently.

This was your special thing with Elvis. It was your secret hand shake, password to love, and lover's coat of arms in one. At one time, it was your code for let's go upstairs and get naked. Now, it's an affirmation of love.

Tonight, Elvis had a one night only show in Memphis at the Orpheum. Elvis was on fire. He nearly brought the house down, and he looked astonishing in his black and green jumpsuit with the gold buttons. You screamed and cheered along with the crowd. You knew that Elvis was truly alive when he was on stage.

You danced to all the classics. That's Alright, Mama, Jailhouse Rock, Blue Suede Shoes, All Shock Up, and Hound Dog. The newer additions like Little Sister, and you swayed to sweet, slow songs like Love Me Tender.

Elvis started his joking segment and had the Memphis crowd laughing.

"He's incredible, don't you think?" The young woman beside you asks.

"Yes, very," you answered, your hands folded together over your heart.

"One of his guys asked me if I wanted to meet Elvis backstage, and I was like, "Who wouldn't?" She tells you. "I'm going to meet Elvis Presley."

You take a really good look at her. She's a blonde with beautiful blue eyes. Not as beautiful as Elvis's eyes, but beautiful nonetheless. She has to be about nineteen or twenty years old. Flawless skin and a nice figure. Her smile is pretty. Altogether, you understand how Elvis could be drawn to her charms. It's not her fault he requested her. Does she know who you are?

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be spreading this, but I'm here by myself. All my friends are on Beale Street, and I wanted to be here. God, I'm I lucky."

"Yes," you reply. "You are a very lucky girl."

"I'm Daphne," she says, extending her hand to you.

"It's nice to meet you, Daphne. I'm... Y/N," you say, trying to compose yourself.

"You are beautiful, Y/N. Have I seen you somewhere before? Like a magazine? Are you famous?" Daphne asks you.

"No. I'm no one special, but thank you for saying that. I needed that nudge of confidence."

A moment or so later, Jerry comes to take you backstage. Elvis was already in the middle of his final song, and you had to make a run for it. You politely say your goodbyes to Daphne, running away to get to Elvis.

As you run backstage, you formulate a plan to be the one in Elvis' arms tonight. He is your husband, after all, and there's not a sin that's has been committed against your marriage.

Confidence brims through you. You know what to say to Elvis. As you wait for him to get out of the shower, you catch up with the Sweet Inspirations. They have always been so... sweet and kind to you. They liven up the background of the show, giving it that lady's touch and soulful edge.

Five minutes later, Elvis emerges looking gorgeous in his all black jumpsuit. He was coming off of his high from the performance, and his cheeks are aglow. You can tell. He's absolutely breathtaking. You want him.

After shaking a few hands, Elvis makes his way to you. Excited, you jump into his arms to embrace him. You both laughed. You inhale his manly musk, allowing your senses to become aroused by him.

"My love, you were incredible tonight," you whisper in his ear.

"Thank you, baby," Elvis says, kissing your cheek.

He places you down on your feet, allowing you a moment to grasp his face in your hands to place a tender kiss on his soft lips. Elvis seems taken aback by this action, but he kisses you back. You take this as initiative to lean more into this kiss. You open your mouth to let him slip his tongue in your mouth. You taste each other, and Elvis pulls away slowly.

"What was that for?" Elvis asks, curiosity plaguing his mind.

"Do I need an excuse to love you?" You ask him.

"Not at all, Y/N," he says, combing a strand of hair behind your ear with his fingers.

He stares into your eyes for a moment.

"Darling, you seem tired? You ready to go home?" Elvis asks.

"If that's code for, let's go home and have fun. Yes, take me home, baby."

"I'll walk you to the car," Elvis says, taking your arm and escorting you to the black stretch limo.

He walks you to the private alley where the getaway limos are located for fewer fans to come swallow the car.

A few members of the Memphis Mafia are around for protection purposes. Elvis opens the door for you to get in.

"Wait," you say. "You aren't coming home with me?"

"No, I'll be home soon. I got some business to take care of first at the studio, then I'll be there."

How could he lie to you to you so effortlessly? You won't call him out on it, though. He hasn't done anything yet.

"Elvis. I want you. It's been a month since we've been physically intimate. I miss that part of us. Why are you pushing away?" You question.

"I'm not pushing you away. I'm... I'm just busy with work and this latest record. The Colonel's on my ass. I'm tired..."

"Are you tired of me?"

"Baby, never. Why would you think..."

"I want you to come home with me. Now. Please, Elvis," you beg.

"I told you I can't."

"The last month feels like you have been pushing me away. It's like you don't love me anymore."

"That's not true, Y/N," Elvis says, trying to convince you.

"Then come home with me. I'll give you that baby I promised."

"I'll be home before midnight, baby."

"Elvis, if you don't come home with me, something's going to happen," you say quietly.

"Jerry will be there with you. Nothing's gonna happen."

Elvis gives you a kiss on the forehead. Desperate, you grab his face and kiss him one more time.

"I love you the mostest, babe," you whisper.

"I know, darling. I know," he whispers back. "I'll see you when I get home."

He kisses you once more and walks back inside. You're left there wondering what you've done wrong. A second later, you get into the back of the limo, with Jerry sliding in behind.

"Jerry, can you please ride in the other car?" You ask. "I need to be alone for a little while."

"Y/N, I don't think..."

"Please!" You shout.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, opening the car door, exiting the vehicle.

Once the door is shut and you're alone, you begin to cry. Your heart shatters into a million pieces. For the man who was promised to be yours rather be with another woman.

The car starts to pull off, making its way to Graceland. You cry the entire ride home. You don't know what to do. You're speechless.

The car stops at the front door, and you start to pat the tears away from cheeks. The car door opens, and you get out heading to the house.

Once inside, you head straight to the kitchen for a bottle of wine and a glass. You're pouring your sorrows in this bottle tonight.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Jerry asks.

"Just fine," you answer.

You move past Jerry, heading upstairs. Your mind wonders, and you have the most evil thought come to your mind.

"Jerry?" you say.

"Yes, Y/N?"

You look at his face. You look into his eyes. For the very first time, you realize Jerry has hazel eyes. He's always been attractive. He's not Elvis, though. That's a betrayal you can't even fathom. You breathy laugh at the thought of taking out your sexual frustrations out on Jerry.

"Y/N..."

"Thank you, Jerry," you interrupt him. "Thank you for being so kind. I'll never ever forget that. Take the night off and go home."

You make your way upstairs and pour yourself a drink as you sit on the bed. The tears begin to form in your eyes as you contemplate your next move. You don't bother taking off your dress.

You think about his lips and all the sweet things he used to say to you. Is he saying those same loving terms to her? These thoughts plague your mind as you glance at the clock.

12:35am...

No Elvis.

You refuse to sleep until you give him a piece of your mind.

As dawn approaches, you lift the wine bottle in your hand to see if there's any left. There's just enough to fill the glass that sits on your bedside table. You don't bother pouring it. You just put it back down on the floor by your feet.

As you look up, Elvis walks through the door. He sees you sitting there with the bottle at your feet. You look over at the clock and see that it's 6:05am. Six hours later than Elvis told you he'd be home. You look back at him.

"Baby, what are you doing up so early?" Elvis questions you.

"Did you have fun last night?" You ask. There's no time beating around the bush.

"What?" Elvis comes in the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Did you have fun last night? With her?" You restate.

"Baby, you've been drinkin'."

"Yet my mind is completely clear. Answer me. Did you have fun with her last night?!" You raise your voice.

Elvis doesn't take this lightly. He demands respect and doesn't appreciate being spoken down to. You don't know where you find the courage to speak to him like this, but you do.

"Watch your tone speaking to me like that, Y/N. I give you ever gawd damn thing you could want..."

"Except for your respect," you cut him off.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. There was no her," Elvis explains.

"Her name is Daphne. She's a petite blonde with blue eyes, and she loves a good time," you tell him.

Elvis freezes in place. How could you know what her name was or what she looked like? Did someone say something to her?

"How... did you know?" Elvis asks quietly. "Y/N, I'm..."

"I just want to know one thing, Elvis."

You stand up from your position on the bed and slowly walk over to him. Your blood boils as the tears wail in your eyes again. Elvis doesn't know what to expect from you, but he's prepared to be scolded.

"Was she good?" You ask.

"What?"

"Was she good in bed? Was she fun? Did you tell her all your secrets? Did you tell her about your spot right behind your neck? How you like it kissed? Licked?" The tears pour down your face as you approach him, kissing his lips.

Elvis, out of breath, folds to your advances. It used to be so easy for you and him. A simple look. The brush of your hand. The sparkle of your eye. The sound of your voice would drive to nuts about you. Now you have to cry to get his attention.

You unbutton his shirt and slide your hands down his hairy chest. You smell her all over him, which adds fuel to the fire within you.

"Does she know how you like you dick massaged?" You ask him as you undo his chucky belt from around his waist.

You drop the belt to the floor. You kiss his lips as you undo his pants, sliding them down his slender hips. As his cock springs forward, you get down on your knees in front of him.

"Did she kiss it like this?"

You ask kissing the head of his cock. You lick it the tip of him as he drips with precum, and he shivers. You slowly take him in your mouth, measure by measure. You moan and suck him off just the way he likes. Elvis holds the back of your head as you drive him deeper into his mouth. You pop him out of your mouth, then tend to his balls, licking and swirling them with your tongue.

Elvis is beside himself with lust. He recalls all the times you two made love. No one he's been with has ever made him feel this good or this pleased. You knew his body like no other.

After Elvis comes, you look at his face as he goes slackjawed. You know how to make him weak in the knees to get whatever you wanted from him sexually.

You stand up and push him on the bed. You take his pants off his legs and slide your dress off your shoulders, leaving you bare before him.

You climb on top of him, pumping his cock softly until he's good and hard.

"Does she know you like to be called Daddy?"

"No," Elvis sighed, catching his breath.

"You tell her about our baby talk, Daddy? Needs you, baby girl does. Miss you much, daddy waddy," you whisper to him as you lower yourself on top of him.

Unable to answer, Elvis shakes his head.

"Daddy in need of baby girl. Daddy need her," Elvis whimpers.

You slowly rise in fall on his hardened dick. You roll your hips so his tip touches the part inside of you that only he knows. You inhale sharply when he touches it just right that it drenches you completely. Excited, you start to push yourself off and on his penis.

You lean forward, looking Elvis in his eyes. You always get lost within his eyes. This was the way you glazed into the very soul of this incredible human being. This is when he showed you the real him. There was so much love within him give.

Elvis grasped your hips, forcing himself inside you deeper. He has felt this good in a long time. You knew him so well. You knew how to make feel alive when he was off stage, yet you knew how to bring him peace.

"Her wet for Daddy?" He asks.

"Daddy, waddy ever had it this wet?" You ask.

"No, baby. No," he answered. "Daddy cumming fast."

You speed up your rhythm a bit, chasing the orgasm within you both.

"Oh, Elvis, Daddy," you moan.

And like a count down. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two...

You fall over the edge of pleasure into the space of oblivion.

"Holy fucking shit, Y/N!" Elvis shouts, releasing his seed all over your walls as they pulse around his dick.

One.

Elvis holds you close as you both catch your breath. He kisses your lips, taking all you give him. You sit up on his chest.

"Was Daphne that good, daddy?" You ask him.

"No, baby girl. No where close. She doesn't compare to you," he says.

"If that's true... why would you even fuck someone that's not better than me?" You say.

Elvis is left speechless yet again by you this morning. You climb off of him and head to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

"Y/N, baby," Elvis calls out to you, but you ignore him.

You clean yourself off and wash your face. You dress yourself in your jeans and an old tee shirt.

"Y/N, c-can we talk?" Elvis asks from the other side of the door.

You open the door and look at him.

"What about?" You ask. "There's nothing left to say. I begged you to come home with me last night, and you refused me. You lied and went to be with that girl."

"I'm... I'm..."

"I'm done, Elvis."

"Done? Done with what? Where are you going?" Elvis asks.

"I'm leaving you! You've broken my heart. You promised me you'd never do that. I'm gone!"

"Y/N, baby. Please don't go," Elvis begs you.

You push past Elvis, leaving him standing there completely naked. You run down the stairs and out the front door. You hear him yelling for you to stay, but ignore him. You run to the front gate, asking Uncle Vester to open it. You run down the sidewalk and stick out your thumb to flag some down.

An old truck driver in a navy blue pickup stops and picks you up. You ask him to take you to Union Street near Beale. He kindly helps you to your destination.

Taglist: @missmaywemeetagain @beeandheroddobsessions @headfullofpresley @everythingpresley @epforeverohyes @vintagepresley @pianginferno @powerofelvis @ab4eva @foreverdolly @searchingforgravity @thatbanditqueen @daffieapple @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @epsgirl @richardslady121 @literally-just-elvis-fics @eptodaytommorwforever @vintageshanny @iloveelvis @dreamingofep @aliypop

[allthingsfangirl101]

Cupid's Little Helper - Keys

I walked into the office, unfazed by the hearts and the cupids everywhere. Valentine's Day at a company like Soonami was a lot like Valentine's Day at an elementary school. Everyone wore pink and red and brought little valentines for everyone. There was also a huge party that started at 2 and didn't end until people went home.

Soonami takes holidays very seriously.

I laughed when I saw the look on Keys' face. I walked over and leaned on his cubicle.

"Why is my favorite coder so pouty?" I teased. I was one of the only people at our company who knew what Keys was actually good at. I often went to him for help fixing a coding issue.

"I'm fine," he said shifting in his seat.

"Keys," I elongated as I pulled a chair over and sat next to him. "Spill it."

"There's nothing to spill," he said very unsuccessfully. He turned back to his computer to look distracted.

"Is it Valentine's Day?" I suggested. "It's just a stupid holiday."

"A holiday that makes you feel like shit for not having anyone," he mumbled.

"You know," I started carefully, "it could also be seen as a great day for you to confess your feelings."

"My feelings?" He asked as his head snapped toward me.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "It's kinda obvious."

"Is it?" He asked, his voice dropping.

"Little bit," I teased. "You come into work already distracted. And every time you get a text, you jump. Is it that one girl? Your old partner?"

"Millie? You think she's the one. . ."

"Of course. I mean, who else could it be?"

I didn't give him a chance to answer me. I turned on my heels and headed to my desk. I sat down and instantly started going through the complaints Keys went through yesterday.

Before I knew it, the Valentine's Day party was in full swing. I ignored it and continued fixing the problem I'd spent the last three hours trying to get rid of. I continued ignoring my surroundings when someone knocked on my desk.

"Come on, Y/N," Keys chuckled. "The party started an hour ago."

"I'm aware," I said with little to no emotion.

"Y/N," he sighed. I pouted when my chair was dragged away from my desk.

"Keys!" I pouted. I spun around and crossed my arms over my chest. "I was still working on that complaint that you sent me. . ."

"I know. I know. I know," he chuckled. "You never stop working, but it's the Valentine's Day party."

"I thought you hated Valentine's Day," I chuckled as I stood up and walked over to the drink table.

"I do," Keys said as he followed me. "Doesn't mean I can't appreciate a party."

A little while later, I wasn't sure where Keys had disappeared. I made myself not care and focused on talking to some of the girls from the graphic design department.

I was in the middle of getting myself a drink when someone walked up to me. My heart felt weird when I turned around and realized it was Mouser instead of Keys.

"You know," he said, overly confident, "your nickname should be Smooth. . ."

"Don't finish that sentence," I cut him off. "Mouser, how many times have you asked me out?"

He opened his mouth to say something, but I didn't give him the chance. "And how many times have I rejected you? So add up those and use that number to help you figure out whether or not you should continue to ask me out."

I started to walk away but he grabbed my wrist. "Come on, Y/N," Mouser scoffed. "All I'm asking you for is one dance."

"I don't really feel like having you grope me to a Rhianna song," I said, trying to tear my hand out of his hold.

"But Y/N. . ."

"Hey, baby," I gasped when Keys wrapped his arm around my waist and kissed my cheek.

"Are you guys. . ." Mouser didn't finish his question.

"Yeah," Keys cut him off. "And you are still holding onto her."

Mouser jumped when Keys ripped his hand off my wrist. My heart felt weird again as Keys let go of me and slowly moved me behind him.

"You really need to work on understanding the word, 'no', Mouser. You hear it enough," Keys said.

"I didn't know. . ." Mouser stuttered.

"Walk away, Mouser. Now."

I held my breath, not letting out a sigh of relief until Mouser walked away. The second he was gone, Keys turned toward me.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah," I said, my voice weirdly quiet. "Thank you, Keys. You didn't. . . You didn't have to do that."

"Of course I did," he shrugged. "What kind of guy would I be if I let Mouser hit on you?"

Awkward tension suddenly fell between us. I nervously started ringing my neck as Keys opened and closed his mouth.

"I should. . ." I started.

"I'm sorry," Keys laughed awkwardly. "I shouldn't have kissed you. I just. . . I saw Mouser not leaving you alone and then he grabbed you. . . I just thought. . . Maybe kissing you wasn't the right route."

"I think it was," I cut him off. That tension thickened even more between us.

"You do?" He stuttered.

"Yeah," I said, my voice dropping. "I mean. . . It worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Keys chuckled. "It worked."

I cleared my throat as I added, "You better stay by my side the rest of the party. Just in case, you know, in case Mouser sees me."

"He should think that we're together," Keys said, catching on.

After that, we hung out the rest of the night. The more we did, the harder it was to get rid of the weird feeling in my heart. Around nine o'clock, the party was finally starting to wind down.

"Well," I sighed. "I think I'm gonna head home. We still have work tomorrow."

We stared at each other for a minute before I finally broke the contest. I looked away and pretended to check my watch.

"Thanks again, Keys," I whispered. I sent him a smile before beginning to walk away. I didn't get very far away. I gasped when my elbow was grabbed and I was quickly spun around.

The second I was facing whoever grabbed me, they leaned down and smashed their lips onto mine. When I realized it was Keys, I closed my eyes and started kissing him back. The second I kissed him back, neither one of us held back anymore.

"Keys," I gasped when we broke the kiss.

"I'm sorry," he quickly started to explain. "The truth is, I have a really big crush on you, Y/N. I have for a really long time. And when I saw Mouser hitting on you. . . It was stupid. I know that. I guess you could say I got swept up in all the hearts and cupids and the party and. . ."

I cut him off by grabbing his face and pressing my lips back to his. He let out a small chuckle as he instantly started kissing me back. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer.

This time, Keys broke the kiss. When he did, he leaned back and looked deeply into my eyes.

"I know it's Valentine's Day and kinda late," he said, his voice soft, "but would you like to get a drink? Or maybe go to dinner sometime?"

"I'd love to," I said, my face burning. Keys smiled as he reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering on my face.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Y/N."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Keys."

[opal-kitty333]

@qin-qin16 The brain rot has consumed me. Had to put words to page before I got eaten alive. First time I've written Cross and I really leaned into dog coding so he may be ooc, oops. Hope you enjoy.

---

It takes far too much fumbling with one hand to actually pull out your keys, let alone turn them in the lock. The recent heat wave made your door expand, so the door has to be pulled on to unlock without your key snapping. A difficult task with a plastic bag full of food in your other hand. It’s a common struggle, an annoying one you hate having to deal with, but you're far too stubborn to set down whatever is in your hands first.

But there’s always one silver lining to taking so long just to open a stupid door.

You can hear Cross' heavy footfalls as he practically marches through the house towards the front door. A small glance to the nearby window and you can catch see him peeking through the curtains out to watch you continuing to futz with the lock before he ducks out of view, embarrassed at being caught. Still, you can see his silhouette shifting in place as he impatiently waits for you to pull it together long enough to enter your own house.

Finally, you finagle the door into unlocking, opening it and quickly making your way past the entry way. You turn, shutting and re-locking the door, and when you turn again Cross is already in front of you. His eyes are wide and excited, all but bouncing on his heels as he fights the urge to pounce on you.

"You were gone for so long. We'd you go?”

You huff at him, but you’re smiling. He doesn’t technically live with you, yet this has become an all too familiar song and dance by now. Leaving for work, or just to wander about, only to return to Cross waiting for you to return. In all his excitement, he shift closer and closer, leaning in till you're all but pressed against your front door.

“Back up. Back up!” You scold, not liking to be cornered the moment you got home.

Cross bows his head, slouching as he shuffles away to let you breathe. He always tries not to crowd, being so much larger, built broad and sturdy, able to easily corner and cage you in without meaning to. Of course, he forgets sometimes, especially when excited, but it’s nothing a quick reminder doesn’t fix.

Now with a bit of space, you do your usual routine when you get home. Off goes your shoes, out your keys and wallet into their proper places, and up in the closet goes your coat. Cross follows, circling and moving all the while, careful to always be in just the right spot to not be underfoot so he doesn’t get scolded again. Diligently he waits for you to give the word, to let him know when he can greet you properly without you getting grumpy at him.

Once you’re all done and ready, you set the bag on the coffee table in the living room. You turn to Cross, opening your arms.

“Come here big guy,” you say with a fond smile.

It’s barely a second and then he’s on you, pawing at your sides to pull you closer, nosing through your hair to try and smell where you’ve been. You’re pressed firmly to his chest, a wall of bone wrapped in soft cloth and fur. He trails down, sniffing and huffing against your skin in a way that's just shy of tickling. He passing your temple, then your cheek, jaw, giving an affectionate nip against your neck just to hear you giggle at him, until he pauses at your shoulder. You can feel his chest expanding as inhales deeply, gathering as much of the scent left on your clothes as he can as he wraps his arms around your back and pulls you all the closer.

You expected this, of course, smiling as you rub your cheek against his. He always loved the smell of the maple trees blooming, so you had made sure to take a slow stroll beneath them in the park at some point on your impromptu adventure, soaking up as much of their scent as you could. You’re sure there’s other things, traces of the pet shop you wandered around in to see all the animals on display, the dampness of rain, sweat from speed walking home as fast as you could so the food wouldn’t cool to much, and of course the indescribable scent of you that Cross can never seem to get enough of.

You pull away, and while he whines at the loss of contact, he lets you slip through his arms despite having the strength and skill to pin you to his chest and never let go. You look up at him to see his eye-lights blown wide, focused solely on you as his jaw trembles in a pout. His head lowers, leaning towards you to try and follow as you take a step backwards, his hands making grabbing motions towards you as he internally fights the urge to yank you back to his side.

You laugh, taking his hands in your own and gently tugging him towards the couch.

“Sit.” You command, and he obeys without question, plopping heavy enough on the couch to bounce and make the springs protest. You don’t wait, nestling yourself into his side, pulling the bag to your lap.

“Ever had mole sauce?” You ask, pulling out two Styrofoam containers from the bag. The plastic is tossed aside to be taken care of later.

He shakes his head, leaning in to see what treat you’ve brought him this time. “What’s that?”

“It’s a Mexican chocolate sauce. It’s savory though. I think you’ll like it.”

You hand him his food along with an unwrapped plastic fork. It’s not piping hot, but you know he’s never one to be picky. He’s always happy to accept just about anything you give him, even when he doesn’t like it. Taking each bit of kindness like it’ll be the last he’ll ever get. Popping open the lid, Cross observes his food for a moment, inspecting the tamales and mole sauce like they’re a puzzle to be solved. Tentatively, he cuts off a small chunk with his fork and brings the bite to his mouth. You smile as he pauses, all but able to see the loading bar in his mind as mulls over the taste of something familiar but so very different.

You start eating your own food, barely even a bite in before he snaps to wolfing down the rest like a man starved.

“Slow down. You’re barely even tasting it.”

He stops mid bite, not even done with the previous before he was going to shovel more into his mouth. He’s bashful as he lowers his fork, slowly chewing instead. It was a bad habit of his, so used to rushing through eating the scraps tossed onto his plate to tide him over before being dragged to do something else. You’ve been hard at work to train it out of him, always making sure he had plenty to eat when you were around. Be it small snacks or proper meals like this, you wanted to make sure he learned to enjoy his food and know the next bite would be just as tasty and filling.

You go return to eating, putting extra effort to be methodical and slow, knowing that Cross will follow the example. He does, looking to you for approval the whole time. You’re quick to give it, bumping your forehead against the shoulder with a smile. Crosses expression softens, his tense posture finally starting to relax into the moment with you. He leans back, a smile of his own creeping up as he watches you eat between bites of his own.

It’ll be a long meal, each small morsel savored for as long as possible before moving onto the next, but that’s okay. You’re savoring a more than the food, after all.

[waytooinvested]

Forgotten, Not Forgiven - Chapter 24

This and previous chapters are also on AO3

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

The next few days were a whirlwind of events that left Lena with no time to think about anything else, let alone to explore her surroundings, but at last on her fourth evening the final Q&A finished at 6pm and for once would be followed by a clear morning as they traveled on to the next city, so she decided to take advantage of the opportunity she had been given.

After several nights of unbroken sleep on excellent mattresses, and several days of intense focus on the intricate scientific details of her work, Lena felt ready to let her hair down with more than just a bath and an early night. She needed to do something with her body and not her brain for a few hours.

Her visit to Violet’s with Alex had sparked something in Lena, and she decided that that was what she wanted tonight – not just a club, but a club where she could go and drink something with a rainbow straw in it, dance with women, and feel like a whole person who belonged to a beautiful, vibrant community that would welcome her with open arms.

When she had packed her case she hadn’t really considered leisure wear, and most of the clothes she had with her were suits, but she’d brought jeans for traveling, and paired with a shirt left open at the throat, rolled up sleeves and an open waistcoat, she could just about pass for club-casual rather than business formal. The place she found wasn’t one with a strict dress code in any case, and Lena was reassured to notice that the group going in ahead of her were variously sporting an eclectic mix of:

Ripped jeans, sneakers and a tank top.

Velvet pants and a waistcoat not unlike Lena’s, though buttoned up and without the shirt underneath.

A slinky black dress that left just enough to the imagination, creatively paired with a full, bushy red beard sprinkled with glitter and heels so high even Lena would have been worried about breaking an ankle in them.

A full Victorian style tailcoat complete with top hat and monocle.

It was safe to say she was not going to stand out here.

Inside was hot and dimly lit, and more crowded than might be expected for a week night when most people would have to be up for work in the morning (or maybe Lena just didn’t spend enough time on the clubbing scene to gauge it). The music was almost-but-not-quite too loud, and she let it wash over and through her, soaking it all in while she downed her first drink and waited for it to loosen her up enough to get out there. She took in the crowd from the edge of the dance floor, everyone moving with the music’s rhythm in varying degrees of cool, sexy, inebriated, but over all blending into the single, undulating entity of the club.

She couldn’t help her mind wandering briefly to Kara’s dancing style as she watched. Kara would never have faded into the background here, no matter how many people were around her. When she danced she was somehow simultaneously awkward and uninhibited, throwing her whole self into it as she leapt about, waved her arms and created her own made up actions to go along with the lyrics of whatever song was playing. Kara embodied ‘dance like nobody’s watching’ more purely than any other person she had ever met, and being with her gave Lena permission to have fun and be silly with it too, rather than focusing on making her movements look good.

She wished she felt free enough to do that now, but she didn’t. Not without Kara. So she searched out the best dancer in the room and tried to subtly imitate them instead, allowing her body to feel the music in a more restrained way as the beat vibrated in her chest and she tipped her head back, multicoloured lights strobing across her closed eyelids.

Her hips swayed and her arms came up above her head. She was flesh and bone and skin, thrumming blood and rushing breath, all physical sensation and no room for thought or feelings beyond the ones the music gave her.

Then there were hands on her hips and another body in her space, and Lena wasn’t dancing alone anymore.

She looked down from the ceiling to find blue eyes gazing back at her. Blonde waves of hair sweeping bare, toned shoulders. A seductive grin as her pelvis was pulled fractionally closer to another person’s.

It wasn’t Kara.

Of course it wasn’t – what would Kara be doing in Metropolis? But God, for a second she thought it was, and it was as if she had slipped directly into a fantasy.

The woman did look a little like her, superficially. The hair, the skin tone, the blue eyes. But they weren’t really alike. This woman was confident, sensual, practically oozing sex as she swayed her hips in time with Lena’s, her nails digging very slightly into the flesh of her sides.

They danced several songs together, growing more comfortable with each other as they found a shared rhythm, and Lena let herself relax into the feeling of being physical with another person as the woman moved closer still, her breasts brushing Lena’s as they swayed on the tightly packed dance floor. She was near enough now that she barely had to lean forwards to be heard over the thumping bass-line, lips so close that her breath tickled Lena’s ear and made the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

‘I haven’t seen you here before.’

The woman’s voice was a deep velvet rasp, reminiscent of Bonnie Tyler, or a habitual smoker. It was unexpected, but appealing for this woman, in this place, and Lena couldn’t help being drawn by it.

‘I’m just visiting – I’ll be flying out again tomorrow morning.’

‘Well then, we’d better make the most of tonight. I’m Sierra.’

‘Lulu.’

Lena hadn’t wanted to give her real name – it was too distinctive, too recognisable when combined with all the publicity she was garnering this week with her product launch, but she hadn’t consciously decided to go with ‘Lulu’ until the word was out there, irretrievable. Shit, she had better make sure Alex never found out about this story, or she would have an absolute field day.

Sierra smiled at her, playful and teasing as she ran the fingers of one hand down Lena’s bicep.

‘I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Lulu.’

She shrugged, no choice but to go with it now she’d said it.

‘Blame my big sister – she started it, and I guess the nickname just stuck.’

‘Cute. So can I get you a drink Lulu?’

Lena hesitated. But after all why not? She was single, she was here for one more night and had been up front about that, there were no strings, and she was having a good time. A little harmless flirtation in a club would be good for her. They moved over to the bar, and Sierra ordered two margaritas. It wouldn’t have been Lena’s first choice, but she accepted hers without a murmur, and they found a comparatively quiet booth away from the main dance floor to cool off and sip their drinks.

‘So, what brings you to Metropolis?’

‘Just work, but I had the night off so I thought I’d come and see what else the city had to offer.’

She smiled at Sierra, allowing herself a quick approving up-and-down glance that lingered on the woman’s lips for just a beat too long to be accidental on the way back up to meeting her eyes. ‘I’m glad I did.’

Sierra smirked back at her, performing the same quick appraisal in return before leaning forward over the table to better display her cleavage.

‘So am I. What is it you do for work Lulu?’

Urgh, why the hell had Lena gone with Lulu? It had been a terrible idea. Now every time Sierra said her name she thought about Alex, and Project Atlantis, and Kara…

She pushed the thoughts away and tried to focus on the moment instead.

‘I’m an engineer.’

Well, that wasn’t a lie, it just wasn’t the full story. Sierra’s eyebrows rose, and Lena noticed that she had a little birthmark above one of them, like someone had kissed her there and left a slight smudge of lipstick behind. It was cute. She could imagine kissing that spot herself, straddling Sierra’s lap while the fingers of one hand tangled in her hair and the other roamed lower to Kara’s- no, not Kara. Fuck.

‘You’re just full of surprises. I bet that means you’re really good with your hands.’

Sierra dragged her teeth slowly across her full lower lip as if she could see exactly what sort of thing Lena had been picturing doing with her hands, and she felt her cheeks warm at the thought. She was no stranger to flirting and being flirted with, but this woman was bold, even by her standards. Perhaps that was the difference between flirting at a VIP members only event and an ordinary club. Or perhaps it was just Sierra.

She shrugged with feigned nonchalance, trying to slow things down a bit until she had regained her composure from the mental slip.

‘You could say that... How about you? What do you do when you’re not drinking margaritas with Metropolis tourists?’

‘Oh, I’m a trust fund brat. I more or less do as I like. Get what I like…’

Sierra’s voice was a seductive purr as she laid a hand on Lena’s wrist, running her fingertips lightly over the skin there to show off her long, manicured nails. All but the middle and forefinger, which were trimmed short and filed smooth, blatantly signalling, clearly having no intention at all of slowing down.

‘Do you want to come back to my place for another drink? I think you’ll really like it. I have the best views in the city...’

Lena swallowed.

This wasn’t where she had expected her night to go, but now it was being offered, maybe it should be. It would be easy, anonymous – an itch to scratch to be touched like that when she hadn’t been for so long.

And she did want that.

She desperately missed the feeling of bare skin pressed fully against her own, breaths mingling in the dark, sweat and heat and the shuddering of another person’s body as they found release in each other…

But not like this.

Lena didn’t want a one night stand with a stranger she’d met in a club. She wanted something real.

She wanted Kara.

She drew her hand gently back from Sierra’s and shook her head.

‘I’m sorry. You’re beautiful, but I’m not looking for more than this.’

‘You have a girlfriend?’

‘No. Not… exactly. But there is someone.’

Sierra pulled her own hand back into her lap and smiled at Lena – a real smile this time, not a seductive curl, and it softened her face. She looked unoffended, if mildly disappointed.

‘Lucky someone.’

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Passion

Dance Like We're Making Love Part 1

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: Tango would usually be right up your ally. But with your best friend's wedding coming up and as her Maid of Honor, you're feeling stretched thin. There's also the matter of the Best Man. Rooster Bradshaw is a dick. He can't even speak to you normally. And now you need dance solo with him in front of a ballroom full of people. He and you are like oil and water. As attractive as you find him, his personality is the antithesis to everything you are. Will getting to know him make things better?

Disclaimers: Female! Reader, Dancing, Sexual Themes, Kissing, UST, Phone Sex

Warnings: This story does not start explicit but does get there. Minors do not interact. This story is 18+.

Word Count: 2766

A/N: This entire mini-series is for @cherrycola27 who asked for a passionate kiss for my Kiss Writing Game Event. I couldn't write a short version of this so Nik you're getting an entire mini-series. I hope you love it!

AO3: Cross Posted Here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

Tango! Who the hell makes their bridesmaids and groomsmen learn an entire Tango routine for their wedding? Your best friend, of course. She and her accountant husband-to-be only have to sway on the dance floor, looking besottedly into each other's eyes. You and every other bridesmaid and groomsman in attendance will have to dance a fully choreographed routine ending in a solo song danced by the maid of honor - that’s you - and the best man.

"Tango, ladies and gentlemen, is a dance of passion." Your instructor Rodrigo's thick put-upon Spanish accent is starting to get on your nerves. So is the apathetic attitude of the Best Man. This is the fourth time you’ve met him, and he’d grunted when you reminded him of your name. Around Sophie and Greg, as well as the rest of the bridesmaids and groomsmen, he’s all smiles and genial laughter, but around you, he seems to turn into a caveman.

He’s an officer in the Navy! He should be able to make small talk. So yeah, Rooster Bradshaw, as he introduced himself to you, is indeed getting on your nerves. Sophie’s been lumping the two of you together every time you’re in the same room. You know she hopes you’ll fall in love, just like in a fairy tale - just as she and Greg did. But you’re not sure Bradshaw is the man to make that happen.

What kind of man shows up to a ballroom dance class in a Hawaiian shirt, worn jeans, and sneakers anyways? You've all been told quite strictly that the dress code was formal for these lessons. If you had to put on a dress and heels, the man could damn well have dug out a pair of slacks, dress shoes, and a polo, at the very least. Even so, he doesn't look half as out of place as you do, as you feel. With his aviators propped on his aquiline nose and a careless smile, he's got half of the bridesmaids swooning at him.

Meanwhile, you're sitting in a corner with Sophie's twin Will. He's the reason why the other groomsmen won't even look at you - him and Sophie, that is. They'd both put the fear of god into the groomsmen to stay away from you. But Rooster wasn't there when they gave that particular lecture. So he must not like you for a wholly different reason.

"You're staring, missy!" Will's whisper startles you out of your head. He's smirking at you as you turn to him, his bright blue eyes glinting mischievously in the sunlight slanting through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "If I didn't know any better, I'd assume that you liked him!"

You roll your eyes and scratch your temple with your middle finger just as your teacher finishes his lecture on the need for passion in tango. You'd normally be fascinated, but with the final dress fitting, planning the bachelor and bachelorette parties, and coordinating with the wedding planner and caterer, this dance feels like the last item on a very long list of priorities. You’re supposed to be doing this with Rooster, planning the bachelor and bachelorette parties. But he’s been deployed for months and used it as an excuse to the greatest effect on Greg and Sophie. With the extra additional load, you feel like a rubber band stretched too tight already. Add in the dance and you’re going to snap under the pressure.

“Can I have the Best Man and Maid of Honor partnered together, please?”

You ignore the chittering giggles of the bridesmaids and Will’s knowing chuckle as well as the sudden nerves that make your hands shake as you place your hand in Rooster’s own. His hand is warm and secure, the pads of his fingers calloused as they send gooseflesh prickling down your back. You’re instantly over-aware of everything about him, from the scent of his cologne to the amber sparks in his whiskey eyes.

But the minute you start dancing with him, all of the electricity in your veins at the proximity of his presence fades into pure, abject, abhorrent, hatred. He may look like sin, but the man can’t dance to save his life. He’s supposed to be leading you, but instead he seems to be jerking you around on the dance floor. You bump into his hard angular body so many times that by the time the dance is done, you feel like one enormous bruise and there is a flush rising on your cheeks. All of the other partners get praises. You and Rooster get a disappointed look and a heaving sigh. You’re not done for the day either. You and Rooster get put through the same routine over and over again until your feet ache in your pinching shoes and his half smirk has turned into a full frown.

When the others get dismissed, you and Rooster stay put, as you have to rehearse the moves for the solo dance the two of you are gifting Greg and Sophie. You have to admit that you were wrong in your earlier assumption. Rooster can dance, in fact he’s perfect when he’s leading your second instructor, Maria, around on the floor. They’re a striking couple out there on the dance floor. You do just fine with Rodrigo as well. But when you’re paired with Rooster again, it’s a train wreck to put it mildly. You bite the inside of your cheek with each stumble and each glancing blow that has you colliding with his chest.

“I’m afraid, miss and sir, this is all the time I have for you today. Please practice during the week, and we’ll see you both on Saturday morning?” You’re forced to agree to Rodrigo and Maria’s request, if only for Sophie, for wanting to give Sophie the best wedding she can have. You gather your things slowly, waiting until Maria and Rodrigo have exited the practice room before whirling around to look at Rooster again. He’s sitting on the floor with that ridiculous Hawaiian shirt off and his bare chest glistening with sweat. With his eyes closed, pink lips parted, and his dog tags resting between his pecs, he looks like a piece of art one of the greats puts on canvas. He’s also one of the sexiest men you’ve ever seen. Looking at him takes all of the fire out of your words and changes them.

“We suck at this dancing thing, huh?” You sit down next to him, proffering your water bottle to him.

“We don’t suck at the dancing thing. You danced beautifully with Rodrigo, sweetheart.” That one easy endearment spilling from his lips nearly strikes you dumb. He chugs the water greedily and it takes every bit of control you have to prevent yourself from tracing one stray droplet with your tongue as it drips down his neck. “We just suck at dancing with each other.”

“Yeah.” You’re not sure why your voice sounds so breathy.

“Maybe we should do as Rodrigo and Maria said and practice? When are you free in the evenings?” You weren’t expecting this from him, not at all. You were just about to suggest the same thing and expected it to be like pulling nails to get him to agree to your request.

“I’m free most evenings, actually. But let’s make a deal. When we meet up, it has to be half dance practice and half Bachelor and Bachelorette party planning, okay?” At his nod, you put your schedule into his phone along with his phone number. You pretend not to notice how he shrugs the shirt back on, leaving it unbuttoned to his sternum.

“Let’s meet tomorrow night at 6pm at my place? I just texted you the address. I have a house off-base with a brick patio. It would be perfect to rehearse on.” You’re a little shocked at how sweet he’s being as he walks you out of the studio with his hand at the small of your back.

“Text me what you want for dinner and from where, and I’ll bring it over?” Your smile is soft as he opens your car door for you and closes it softly once you’re belted in.

“Deal. Drive safe, sweetheart.”

You have to pinch yourself as you watch his tall form diminish in your rear view mirror. Is this the same Rooster Bradshaw who couldn’t speak two words to you every other time you’ve met him? Where was this suave, sweet man every other time you’ve interacted with him?

The enigma of Rooster Bradshaw stays with you as you shower and settle onto your couch with your sad dinner of leftovers. That is, of course, when your phone rings.

“Hey Sophie!” You’re always happy to talk to your best friend.

“Hey! So Melissa called. She said that you and Bradley were a train wreck today during your tango lessons?” Your sigh is soft as you tell your best friend the whole story.

“God, sweetheart, that sounds rough. If you really can’t get along with him, you don’t have to do the dance just to make me happy.” This is why Sophie is your best friend ever. Your happiness matters just as much as her own. She’s not happy, though, when you tell her that.

“We’ll be fine, Soph. I’m going to his place tomorrow night to practice.” You have to pull the phone away from your ears at the decibel level her piercing squeal hits and let your best friend’s joy wash your bad mood away. When you fall asleep that night, it’s with a clear resolve to make sure this dance goes better. You just have to think of Sophie's face shining with happiness at one of her wedding gifts, right?

Your resolve is flagging just a little when you pull into Rooster Bradshaw’s driveway at 5:50 PM sharp the next day, though. It’s been a day from hell. You’d woken up late and had to rush to work. Not to mention how you’d been running from meeting to meeting all day either. Dancing isn’t even on your list for the night, which has in particular order, a shower, food and sleep. But you’d promised and you don’t welch out on your responsibilities.

Rooster doesn’t look any better than you do when he opens the door and lets you in. His house is different from what you expected. It doesn’t look like a bachelor’s place at all. There are pictures all over the walls with a man who looks just like him and a gorgeous blonde woman and a little boy. You recognize that little boy as Rooster the further into the house you walk. You can track every moment of his life on these walls.

“Your house is great.” You trace your fingers lightly over one of the frames, straightening it.

“Thanks. My mom left it to me when she passed away. It’s pretty much the same as when she left it.” His words make you feel like shit for thinking all of the unflattering things about him that you have been.

“It feels like a home.” His eyes are misty when you meet them, and you busy yourself with pulling the food out of the tote bag you’d had the restaurant pack it in.

“I grabbed dinner from that place you suggested. I’ve never been but I know that I’m going to have to go there again. It smelled so good when I walked in.” Your voice is light as you fold the bag up.

“Here are the plates. Would you like a glass of wine?” At your nod, he grabs the bottle off of the counter and pours you a healthy glass.

“Let’s eat out on the patio?” At your nod, he’s quick to grab the plates and lead the way. All you’re holding is the cutlery, and the glasses of wine.

Rooster’s backyard is gorgeous. There are small lights strung over the fence and as the ground slopes downwards, you can see the beach and the blue of the sea close enough to touch.

“It’s beautiful out here.” Your words make him flush, just a little as he sets the plates down and grabs the glasses from you.

“Thanks. This yard is why my mom had my dad buy this house.” His smile is soft and fond as he takes in the salty sea air and beautiful view.

“You sound like you were happy here with them.”

“Yeah, I was. But for too short a time.” He pulls your chair out for you before taking his own seat.

“So, about this dance. I figure that we can’t dance with each other because we don’t know each other. So why don’t we take this week to get to know one another in addition to practicing?” His words take you slightly unawares as you nibble on the piece of garlic bread on your plate.

“Okay. So what do you want to know about me?” Maybe you shouldn’t have asked that question.

“How did you meet Sophie?” That’s a question you’re only too happy to answer.

“Why, Rooster? Your parents can’t have named you that.” His smile is more smirk as he explains that his first name is Bradley and that his callsign is Rooster.

It seems like time passes in a blink. When you check your phone, you see that it’s already 8 o’clock and your plates are empty in front of you.

“Maybe we should actually practice, now?” You’re smiling as you say the words, a smile that’s mirrored on his face.

This time, the electricity dancing through your veins magnifies when Rooster takes your hand in his. Each touch of your body to his makes your body sing as you move through the routine near perfectly. You run through the routine four times, getting used to each other as you do so.

“That’s not so bad, now, is it?” His voice sounds like whiskey feels dripping warm down your throat.

“No, that wasn’t bad at all. You’re not a half bad dancer, Bradley.” His eyes keep glancing between yours and your lips.

“Nor are you, sweetheart.” You can feel the heat of his breath across your lips and that’s what makes you snap.

You kiss him before you know what you’re doing, your lips crashing against his with a force you never knew you were capable of. It’s wet and filthy, each brush of his lips against yours sending your heart rate sky-rocketing. His tongue finds its way into your mouth as you unbutton the floral shirt covering his broad shoulders. He tastes like sweet tomatoes and wine, with herby basil and something that you can’t place. When he pulls away, his lips are spit-slicked and you’ve succeeded in undoing every button on his shirt but one. The sight has a needy moan spilling out from between your lips.

“Baby. Sweetheart. We can’t do this. We barely know each other.” You just tug him in closer, kissing his cheek and neck as you sway to the beat of the song still playing in the background.

“We can get to know each other better, Bradley. Unless there’s someone else?” You’re poking a little, but you haven’t felt this good in a man’s arms in your whole life.

“There’s nobody else. But our priority has to be Greg and Sophie right now. So why don’t you go sit down and I’ll bring you a glass of water? Then we can discuss the bachelor and bachelorette parties?” Your pout must be a thing to behold because Bradley’s eyes twinkle with the force of his laughter as he pecks your lips one more time. “I promise I’ll kiss you goodnight?”

You’re as good as gold the rest of the night, arousal simmering under your skin at every innocent touch. It doesn’t take very long at all to decide what you’re doing for the combined bachelor and bachelorette parties. So you’re expectant as you stand by the open door of your car for your goodnight kiss a couple of hours later.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Your goodnight kiss is sweet yet full of a filthy promise as he cups your ass in his big hands and tugs you in until you’re pressed against his chest.

“Goodnight.” You’re smiling like a silly fool the whole way home. If you make yourself cum on your fingers at the scent of Bradley Bradshaw on your skin while lying in your bed that night, he’s the only person who’ll know, especially since you called him yourself. His resulting moan as he spilled over his fingers is something you’re not sure you’ll forget anytime soon.

Taglist:

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[stupidstrawberrystars]

Funny, it’s like 1am and about 30 minutes ago I was listening to this song. And it just hit me that it’s SO Wolfstar coded!

So i wrote a thing :) I took a lot of the lines in the song, in order, and wrote this fic about Remus reminiscing over his time with Sirius now he knows he’s not the traitor.

I have no idea if the song is obvious, I tried to make it not? Or maybe this is pretty hard and i’m just tired?

Anyway I challenge you to see if you can figure out what the song is before you get to the end.

Reminiscing hurts Remus sometimes. Thinking back, he always just seems to run out of energy. He ran out of energy to fight the wolf his whole life. He even ran out of energy to fight for Sirius.

He should’ve known.

Back in fifth year, in Remus’ dumb vintage tee that looked so much better on Sirius than him, and high heels stolen from Marlene, balanced precariously on the Hogwarts paths ugly cobblestone, Sirius said that Lily gave him the courage to wear what he wanted.

He said he really hoped Lily would marry James. He wanted her as a sister in law.

Remus didn’t know much then. But he knew Sirius.

And when Sirius wore a ridiculous fake smile to a “family” event of murders in sequins, and then snuck out to smother on black lipstick and run to a muggle concert, Remus knew he’d leave that life soon. 

And the first night he agreed to meet Remus in muggle London, summer of fifth year, Sirius pulled Remus out under a streetlight, already drunk. He danced in his new Levi’s and pulled Remus closer with a hand from under his sweater, hellbent on kissing all his problems away.

That year wasn’t easy. He watched as his friends decided what they’d do after Hogwarts, knowing he could never have that many options. James brought up some war. That was the first time Remus ever heard of it. 

And when he felt useless, like old clothes rotting away under a breaking bed, Sirius always lifted him back up. 

But then it all broke. The first time things shifted between them.

Because it was then that Snape found out. And Sirius broke it all for the first time. Sirius tried to get Remus back. But he got so caught up chasing others who were mad at his actions he fell through when it came to the person who meant the most to him. 

And in a heart wrenching way, it’s funny really. How they all just assumed Remus didn’t know what this meant. They never truly accepted him. But he knew that now. And he’s be proved right years later when they’re all sure he’s the traitor. 

And yet Sirius and Remus made up. Played hide and seek with a magic map and crazy cloak over holidays. The moon trapped Remus at Hogwarts and Sirius couldn’t go home. So they spent their wasted time together. 

They went out again for the first time after that. And Sirius promised he’d always give every weekend of his life to spend Remus if he’d just believe that Sirius will never get bored or tired or fed up with him. 

But Remus will never forget the small moments. The rush of knowing that at least once in these lifetimes, Sirius would pick him. Even if it’d hurt. 

No matter how many times he felt old or useless, Sirius somehow loved it all. Always said Remus was his favourite. 

And no matter how many times Sirius dragged Remus on motorbike rides to downtown bars, he was always Remus’ favourite as well. 

Back in second year, when Sirius got bored, Remus let him doodled on his arm with a muggle pen he brought from home. It slowly became habit.

And quickly, after every full moon, it became a trend. Sirius would draw beautiful stars all around Remus’s newer scars. Once they were healed of course. Sirius said the stars were proof that he was always there.

When Sirius begun to suspect Remus was the mole, it all came crashing down. 

Remus waited for Sirius to leave. He never did. He stayed, as if waiting for a knife to be driven into his back.

As if he could never voluntarily leave Remus.

He drew stars just a few days before it all. Before they died. 

Remus ripped his face apart that moon. Bleeding.

Sirius didn’t see it until twelve years later. 

And now he’s here, he’s home. 

He’s doodling on the scars again but Remus won’t let Sirius near that one. Remus deserves that one. For ever believing Sirius would be the reason for James and Lily’s murder. 

But Remus knows despite it all, Sirius wants so bad to just trace that scar. To truly know him again. 

In the end, they don’t get time for that. But Remus doesn’t know that yet.

And last years Remus would be shocked he even successfully got on that train to Hogwarts that was scarred with bloodstains. Despite always knowing in his heart it wasn’t over, he wasn’t ready for it.

In another universe, maybe he could’ve changed the ending. 

It’s funny how Dumbledore thought he knew nothing. 

But Remus knew what mattered. 

Because Sirius lingered in all the spaces he used to be like a permanent tattoo he cannot erase. 

He stayed in every dream, every broken and screaming and begging version of what if. 

He smelt Sirius in every cigarette. That’s actually why he quit. 

Because honestly? Remus knew it all when he was young.

He knew Sirius would devastate him. He knew he’d curse him until he ran out of energy. He knew every shadow caught in the corner of Remus’ eye would always be Sirius. 

He knew he’d see him again. Remus somehow always knows when the last moment is the last moment. 

Sirius felt like someone who’d sort of always come back. As he has now.

And no matter how long he’s gone, Sirius always manages to take Remus’ battered and broken flaws and call him worthy. 

Like an old cardigan left under somebody’s bed, finally put on and called a favourite. 

(Okay if you don’t know the song by now i’m ashamed with you. Also if I wake up in the morning, read this and realise it makes no sense, I apologise for my writing failures)

[st-armand]

Disco Demolition

( Reposted from @armands-sanctum ) Summary: You're in a disco group, performing for your first time at a rock music festival as a special guest, you meet Hobie amidst the fray.

Author's Notes: Request for @barkbarkbo <3, not a song fic but definitely seems like one, I feel like this couldve been better but I've been sitting on it for days and I'm still getting used to writing and flushing out characters in each piece. CW: Fem!Reader, reader is the keyboardist and sometimes lead singer, the band is coded to be Chic and A Taste of Honey. Not beta read but ill be re-reading it after posting

Word Count: 1.9K Masterlist

People everywhere, and expectation hanging in the air. The music bellows through the street blocks, reverberating through the cement jungle. Bodies expertly navigating the space through music stands and merchandise booths.

Hobie’s band the Spider Slayers have already finished their seat, sweat drips from his scalp and down the nape of his neck, getting caught inside of his leather choker, causing the cow hide to slip around mindlessly and uncomfortably. Reeling from the high of guiding droves of people to an auditory paradise of striking chords, and vexed riffs, giving them all he can give, them taking it—and bestowing their adoration, an offering to their melodious liberators. The Spider-Slayer set ends, the dust settles, and everyone sobers from the experience, ready to participate in another. The groups boots thud together in a dulled tandem to the breakneck drumming of the other performers. They take in the goods offered at the festival, perusing street foods, festal drinks and garments. All in joyous moods, and aching limbs, ready to immerse themselves as the participants.

Two young adults stand in the fray of people, freshly printed, high glossed sheets in hand.

“ ‘IN VOGUE’ First performance Set D 12:30 Come get a taste of aural honey”

They stand out amongst the droves of punks and other alternative people— chic mini skirts, tailored satins, high waisted extravagant flares, that painfully snatch the small of the waist, sequenced gems, thick platformed boots, heels worn down from walking and dancing in place. A pair of rhythmic dancefloor idols amongst a cohort of hardcore fanatics. But regardless you all shared the space considerately, anticipating the cultural exchange of synths and shreds.

The two adults dance subtly to the high energy chords that decorate time and agitate their eardrums. You tumble back a bit, trying to comfortably balance in your platforms after a long period of standing, brushing your hip into an obscured figure. Before you can even croak out an apology, you watch your band member and best friend Zera perk up with some unrecognizable expression.

“Hey! Tall, dark and, handsome! Yeah you!”

Hobie doesn’t even register that you’ve bumped into him, so accustomed to people tripping over his streetlight frame, but he does pull a furrowed pierced brow to the call of your friend, he maneuvers through the rat-king of people, towards you and Zera, band close to his heels.

When your gazes locked, you’re drawn into a ruse of inaudibility, overtaken by the unnamed man’s beauty. Silver metal glinting and casting a bright shine into your eyes, a lopsided grin perfect to meld your lips into, and free emergent hair that shades you from the devastating gleam of the sun. You’re taken in by the strong undercurrent of his countenance, senses drowned in the visage of a god amongst men, like Mary of Magdalene taking in the image of her benevolent savior as she’s primed to be stoned. A punk prophet coming to liberate you from the pop music hoax.

“What’s all this then?”

Zera notices the trance Hobie coaxes you into and leads the conversation.

“We’re IN VOGUE, performing for the first time tonight!”

“You should come see us handsome, huh? Bet my friend would really like that,”

Hobie’s eyes rake down your form leisurely and thoughtlessly, consuming you in your exaltation a Venusian image of a human, body rocking and swaying, dancing effortlessly, heeled feet coordinating to every chord and hit of the drum. You draw him into a melodic perplexity of movement he didn’t know could be concocted from the heavy guitar, and you do so instinctively.

“Names ‘obie, ‘obie Brown, but you can keep calling me handsome.”

Zera, Hobie and his bandmates chat amongst each other as you come down from the veil of delusion the tall man cast over you, as you return to your senses Hobie glances between the two of you noting the lack of musical instruments in your space.

“Don’t see yall wit’ any instruments?”

“I play the bass, my friend plays the synthesizer, but we all play a lil’ bit of everything.”

And that was the truth, depending on the songs played, others would take up a classical approach playing strings, or horns, other times you’d be the only instrument working the synth keyboard with your hands like a blue collared machinist while everyone else creates a vocal concoction alongside the electronic harmony.

“Alright, we’ll stay to see you play, good luck by the way!”

The group waves their goodbyes after a few more rounds of congratulations and good lucks to the first time performers, you watch the band saunter off, being eaten by the sea of other attendees.

Zera turns to you with a shit eating grin, “Sexy seemed to be real interested in you huh? The others look good too, I’ve got my eye on the drummer.”

As the evening settles into the night, time decorated with eardrum rattling rock music, In Vogue prepares backstage for their first performance, harmonizing, hydrating, cracking jokes, and gossiping about the inhumanely attractive members of the Spider Slayers, everyone is hyped to preform. But the most prominent thought on the minds of the band was the reality they were in, forced to perform at a rock music festival considering the climate of the Disco scene, criminally oversaturated with nepotism babies, industry plants, and drug bemused performers more concerned with the high than the art of musical conception. In Vogue stood out amongst their peers as a group of young adults consecrated with the talents of auditory synthesis and a certainty in their sound.

As the curtain call ends for another set of performers, In Vogue prepares for their entrance, being ushered in by the host,

“And today we have a special performance, a disco delusion, ready to get us all ‘jive’ to their rhythm, for their first performance ever we welcome, In Vogue.”

The crowd cheers, but some members seem disinterested at the idea of a pop music group performing at their festival, but luckily all are kind enough to give them an opportunity to grace their ears with something out of their normal.

You and your band step onstage, your respective instruments awaiting you, Zera takes her position on bass, and you take your position at the pair of synthesizer keyboards, fingers glossing over the worn keys preparing yourself mentally to give parts of you you’ve never given to anyone, to an entire maritime of people.

Zera the most extroverted is the first to speak into the mic, “We know we’re not the usual crowd of folks to preform, but today let us guide you through an aural mediation of funk!”

And with that, the high beam stage lights wash over you all like a summer rainfall, and you bask in it for a moment before you lead the group with the first hit of your key and an opening bassline.

The crowd begins to move and sway to the movement of the baseline and the synths until you all sing in accord,

“Oh, what, wow, he’s the greatest dancer!” “Oh, what, wow, that I’ve ever seen!”

Your eyes scan the crowd for a particular punk and his band, you mentally dedicate the song to him even when you can’t immediately make him out in the mass of battle jackets and plaid.

You move closer to the mic to sing, “One night in a disco on the outskirts of Frisco, I was cruising’ with my favorite gang,” “The place was so borin’ filled with out-of-towners tourin’ I knew that it wasn’t my thing.” “I really wasn’t carin’, but I felt my eyes starin’ at a guy who stuck out in the crowd.”

The viewers still seem to be assessing the performance before showing any negative or positive emotion, taking the music as it’s given to them raw. “He had the kind of body that would shame Adonis, and a face that would make any man proud.”

The crowd starts getting more excited at the tonal capacities you all hold, dancing to the drum snares and kicks, letting In Vogue conduct them through the aural honey of disco they’ve advertised, discothèque mystics mediating the movements of a sea of breakneck thrashers and moshers. Amongst the dancing alternatives, you finally find Hobie, in his Herculean beauty, dancing and swaying in tandem to song, your eyes lock onto each other, a lightening strike of excitement and a wave of inspiration furthers you to dance more, to sing harder, and to offer yourself as a sacrificial lamb to your audience. Zera smirks, watching the epiphany that graces you the moment you catch sight of Hobie.

“The champion of dance, his moves will put you in a trance, and he never leaves the disco alone.” “Arrogance but not conceit, as a man he’s complete, my crème d’ la crème, please take me home.”

Hobie looks upon you like a child being embraced by the tenderness of Christ, to him you’re an choral seraphim, bringing him to rapture and into a salvation from the punk rock everyday he experience. Hobie loves all music, especially made by black people, and today is a culmination of that, letting his body groove freely in a way he hasn’t done since dancing with his grandparents in the sanctuary of his childhood home while perusing their dust-stained records.

“He wears the finest clothes, the best designers heaven knows,” “Ooh~ from his head down to his toes,” “Halston, Gucci, Fiorucci, he looks like a still, that man is dressed to kill.”

As you preform, you’re experiencing a oneness that you’ve never felt before alongside your group, despite being friends for years the idea of creating a band was something sloppily put together, a smorgasbord of creatives looking to imprint space and time with their own colors, but today you feel like In Vogue, like this was something meant to happen, like the way the stars and the sun move in accordance with each other to create a surplus of astrological alignments.

“Oh, what, wow, he’s the greatest dancer!” “Oh, what, wow, that I’ve ever seen!”

“Oh, what, wow, he’s the greatest dancer!” “Oh, what, wow, that I’ve ever seen!”

As the song ends with a few more minutes of instrumentals, the perfect time for you all to focus on getting as funky as your viewers, dancing and jiving, a few members abandon their original instruments to pick up violins, shredding the strings with shrill melodic cries before everyone else’s instruments return to the skirmish. You all play until there are no more notes, and no more lyrics to be offered, you all hold a breathe to wait for their reaction. And the audience’s response doesn’t disappoint, they whoop and cheer for you, the grueling work is over, and there is celebration to be had after the hard work.

“Thank you everyone for allowing us into your space tonight, we’re all happy to have a cultural exchange of music!”

You walk off stage, attendants lugging your instruments behind your group.

As you wade backstage while another group goes to perform, heavy footfalls shake you out of your reverie. And there stands Adonis himself, Hobie, his eyes glazed over, and a wide grin etched onto his marble features.

“Did p’etty damn good out there ‘f I do say so myself!”

Zera takes the time to introduce the groups to each other, as they chatter amongst themselves Hobie pulls you aside, a piece of paper with something sloppily scrawled onto it, he urges it into your hand with a telling twinkle in his eye.

“Maybe next time we can all groove together, yeah?” “Yeah I’d love that.”

[laurasimonsdaughter]

What if Disney adapted Tatterhood?

Well then I would be very nervous, because I love Tatterhood. And my sister and I both agree that Disney shouldn't adapt it, but Studio Ghibli. That being said, if I put the (modern) Disney Goggles back on:

First of all, like most adaptations, the beginning with the adopted child and the beggar woman from Asbjørnsen and Moe's version will be cut, and with good reason. (It's very folkloric, but has no bearing on the plot at all.) Instead, the story will start thusly:

Once upon a time (in a place that looks inspired by Norway) there were a King and Queen who longed to have children and sought the help of a wise fairy (no, sadly she can't be a witch). She teaches them some magic and warns them that two flowers will grow, but that the queen must only eat one of them.

They (the king has to be more involved than in the fairy tale) do the magic and find the flowers. One is a beautiful rose and one is oddly bright, with strangely shaped leaves that scream 'magical'. The king picks the rose and the queen eats it, but likes it so much she wants to eat the other flower too, so the king gives it to her. Some time later the queen gives birth to twins. One is as beautiful as the rose and the other is going to give the concept artists an absolute headache.

Because Tatterhood has to look different and not-princessy, while still being Disney princess material, and they also have to avoid any racial coding at all cost (as many adaptations sadly do not). In any case, they are adorable little Disney children together and the sweet little princess - let's call her Goldenlocks - adores her strange, wild sister, who rides around on a goat (like Esmeralda's, her trusty animal sidekick) and wears a tattered hood. They grow up together in a lovely montage with a song about sisterhood.

The random witch infestation in the castle from the original will probably get changed to something a bit more coherent. Maybe a sorcerer will come to ask for Goldenlocks' hand in marriage, or a witch queen will come to demand one of the sisters marry her son. Either way, poor princess Goldenlocks ends up cursed. I don't know if they will give her the calf's head, that might look too grotesque. She'll probably turn fully into a beautiful animal, like a deer.

Tatterhood will demand her parents give her a ship, so she can cure her sister and she sets off with her twin, acting very Mulan/Merida-ish. Tatterhood sings a very catchy song while she swings in the rigging, about her need to be free and her love for her sister. She confronts and/or tricks the sorcerer/witch who cursed her sister and manages to uncurse her, but as the two girls make their escape a magic storm blows their ship off course as revenge.

They get hopelessly lost and end up in the harbour of a strange kingdom. Of course having the widowed king marry Goldenlocks and force his son to marry Tatterhood is absolutely out of the question. Instead there is kind old queen ruling the country, and she has two sons: twin princes. Princess Goldenlocks happens to see the youngest and falls head over heels in love. She's so lovesick that Tatterhood resolves to make sure they can meet.

Luckily the queen is giving a great masquerade ball to celebrate her sons coming of age. Goldenlocks and Tatterhood show up to the ball. One ridden on a beautiful horse, the other on a goat, one in a glittering gown, the other in an outfit that is meant to look strange and wild but can still look very fashionable.

Their appearance causes a lot of confusion, and everyone wants to dance with princess Goldenlocks, but she will not accept any dance unless her sister has a partner too. The youngest prince begs his brother to ask Tatterhood to dance so he can dance with Goldenlocks, he agrees, and so the two princes dance with the two princesses. And because Goldenlocks and her prince are smitten already, they dance the entire night, and the other prince is stuck with Tatterhood. There is a song for this, consisting of two duets split across the two couples, one of which are falling in love, the other are snarky and almost antagonistic.

Now this is not easy to resolve, because in the fairy tale Tatterhood makes the prince question her about why she she rides an ugly goat, wears and ugly hood and has such an ugly face, and when he does she tells him that he is wrong and she is suddenly more beautiful than her sister, more richly dressed, and astride a beautiful horse. This will not do for a Disney ending. In many adaptations it is implied that Tatterhood's sister has always seen her "true face" and that it is now revealed to the world, which is still a bit unsatisfying. And of course we cannot get rid of the beloved goat sidekick. The best ending I can think of is this:

Everyone at court is enchanted with Goldenlocks but scandalized by Tatterhood, who does not behave like a princess ought and looks so Different and Wild. They laugh that the oldest prince has to spend the entire evening with her while his younger brother gets the beautiful Goldenlocks and this makes the prince embarassed and sulky.

When his younger brother tells him he wants to marry Goldenlocks, however, he puts his own feelings aside and is genuinely happy for him. Of course Goldenlocks wants to accept, but says they must first go to meet her father and mother. The foreign queen wants to give them a crew to man their ship, but Tatterhood insists that she does not need one, since she sailed the ship all alone before. To prevent the boat setting off with just the prince and three princesses on board, the prince's twin insists he come too, since surely the sisters cannot mean to separate him from his twin brother. They indeed do not argue with that and the four of them set sail.

Now we get a beautiful sailing montage where the Goldenlocks and her prince are cutesy and in love, but the focus is on the older prince, who sees Tatterhood magically sail the entire ship on her own and whose wildness is actually wonderful and free-spirited etc, etc. Tatterhood sings a reprise of her sailing song and the prince maybe gets a few lines too, to express his slow change of heart.

(Depending on who is on the creative team, the evil sorcerer/witch might attack one last time while they are at sea. Giving Tatterhood an opportunity to go full warrior princes and team up with the princes to destroy them once and for all. At the final moment Tatterhood trusts the younger prince to save her sister while she and the older prince kill the villain, who now probably has the shape of a sea serpent.)

They arrive back at the court and the king and queen are overjoyed to see their children back again. If there ever was any preference for Goldenlocks, it is now gone, they embrace both their daughters with equal joy. They immediately give their blessing to Goldenlocks' engagement, but to everyone's surprise the other prince suddenly begs for another moment of their time, turns to Tatterhood, and asks her to marry him.

She accepts, either immediately, and they will have a double wedding to end the movie on. Or she will archly tell him that he can court her first, in which case he will accompany her to their siblings' wedding. (The prince's mother will be there too, of course.)

Either way the good fairy is present at the royal wedding that ends the movie, to give her blessing, and say something meaningful about magic and love and destiny. There will be a hint of magic around both Tatterhood and the fairy here, betraying that her power comes from fairy magic, and that she is actually the coolest fae warrior princess ever. Her goat is the only one who notices.

They all live happily ever after, the end.

[lesbomination]

a trim and some color

2.7k words | Rated Gen | The Magnus Archives

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Dissociation, Depression, Past Addiction (The Hunt), Self-Injurious Behavior, Self-Deprecation, Panic Attacks, and Mentions of Murder.

Summary: Daisy asks Melanie to fix her hair.

Note: Originally published October 2023. Archivist Annabelle Cane AU, set mid-s4. Daisy & Basira (not cops) are going through tension after the Coffin/Unknowing.

-

It’s been three months since the coffin but Daisy still feels trapped.

The feeling fluctuates in intensity. Some days are worse than others; when she wakes up in the middle of the night unable to breathe, shaky limbs tangled in the thin duvet she keeps on her bed; or when it rains outside, even lightly, because she swears she hears the choked weeping and cries for an unseen force of nature that too far from reach. 

Often, Daisy does not sleep. She tosses and turns, making sure her arms and legs are outstretched at all times so she may feel the open space around her. The humid temperatures of summer only stresses her out. Even with the air conditioning chilling the flat, Daisy still wakes up sweating as she did in the dirt. Because of this, more or less, Basira has started sleeping on the couch. 

It’s clear Basira is… not doing well, without the energy. The anticipation of a cathartic hunt (Basira on research, Daisy on action), she supposes it used to be fun , hunting and trapping and taking down the Other. But now, it just feels like an expectation. They’re both stuck in a place that feels utterly uncomfortable. Daisy only silenced her Blood but she knows Basira might as well have lost an entire person. 

When they sit for breakfast, no one speaks. Hesitation keeps them silent. It’s claustrophobic. 

Daisy hates it. 

-

She goes into work wearing the loosest outfit she can find: A large, white t-shirt and baggy running shorts, fresh out of the laundry. No bra. The dress code is below consideration at this point and today is going to be especially bad, she senses. Her teeth are growing sharp and she feels so damn hungry. Daisy ignores the whimpering in her stomach and lets her mind go blank when she walks through the nearly empty lobby. 

When she comes to, the archive is a lot louder than expected. Georgie is shifting through some files and Melanie… 

Melanie is dancing. 

Well, maybe dancing isn't the right word. She’s nodding her head along to some heavy metal song, leaning back in her chair and tapping the desk with the heel of her combat boots. Melanie’s deep in her own world, where pounding drums and aggressive screams cry out to be understood. Daisy hears the howls through the old, wired headphones loose on Melanie’s ears. 

She doesn’t think much of it. 

Until she does. 

-

Basira slips away about an hour into the shift. Looking for a quiet place to record a statement or read a book, it seems. But Melanie’s turned her music off and Annabelle’s already got the tape recorder going. 

Georgie takes the opportunity to work up a conversation. “So... There’s a new pub down the street,” she says, looking up from her computer. “I was thinking about going down there later today.”

“Mmh,” Daisy hums, a little taken aback. Since when does she talk to me? “That’s... nice.” 

“...What I mean is, we should go,” Georgie reiterates. There’s a tense little pause that makes Daisy feel more breathless and crushed down than usual. “All of us. Erm. Only if you’re fine to grab a drink, of course.”

Daisy doesn’t try to think about it. The dirt in her head feels sticky. Strangely sharp. Difficult to scrub it all away, and it wouldn’t be the first time. Thinking coherently is too difficult anyway these days. 

“I dunno,” Daisy shrugs. Her voice comes out too small and thin. Weak. “Basira doesn’t drink anymore, and I’m not big on crowds at the moment.”

Something in Melanie’s expression seems to change. A curiosity shows, and her nose scrunches ever so slightly. “Maybe group takeaway, then? A chill lads’ night? Perfect for a Friday.”

“Hon,” Georgie cuts in, though not unkindly. “Don’t push.”

Daisy bites back a confused “it’s Friday?” that would allow the humiliation to grow. She’s not quite sure why she agrees to it but finds herself nodding half-heartedly regardless.

“Sure,” she says. “That sounds good.”

For once, honesty buds. Melanie’s looking right at her with a proud grin and well, it’s… sad, that she can’t even remember the last time someone looked at her like that. It’s painful, maybe, if she thinks about it for too long. Daisy hopes it doesn’t show on her flustered expression. 

And then Melanie’s off again, back to business with a gleam in her eyes. Georgie says something soft but the words don’t process. 

Daisy can’t seem to form a grateful response, mouth frozen, tongue numb. Her mind feels like it’s been shoved into another tiny, crowded coffin. A hellish, soil-filled punishment; just perfect for a rabid, unruly bitch. A constant migraine but worse. Without the pain, it’s just pressure. Pressure, pressing in, crushing down, burying. 

Christ. She’s barely keeping it together. The strain even now is killing her. Of all times, the negative bloody thoughts are beginning to lurk. It howls something awful and wicked inside, like the feelings of guilt and faded justice and impulsivity; the “ what we’re doing is good, Basira, because no one else is going to punish these bastards ”; the formation of scars. Old bruises and scrapes, bite marks and scratches, all testaments to how she kills– killed , past tense. Things are different now. She has to be different. Has to be strong, because that’s all she has left. 

Stay in control. Stay clean of the addiction. Focus on the quiet , Annabelle had whispered after.

Daisy inhales sharply, blinking herself into the present. Somehow, reality is much worse. Louder than the loudness of Blood. 

Can’t take it anymore. Got to get out, away from the smell of sweat. 

And so, according to plan, Daisy gets out.

-

She can’t remember the last time she ate a proper meal. Food is just not the same anymore. Daisy doesn’t want to miss the taste of blood, and yet… the warm reward after a euphoric brutalization, a hunt well-spent. It sounds so right . This cage of a body is in a constant state of hunger and craving, a painful need to feed something she’s suddenly so damn ashamed of. She cannot lose control. Not now, not without anyone to protect her and have her back. 

She’s been here for years, it seems. Last she checked, it was in all of her childhood memories: The Hunt, towering over her young shoulders, hissing in her ears sweet commands of pain and hate and vengeance. 

Daisy opens her eyes and finds herself staggering along an eroded sidewalk. Huh... 

She’s not sure where she is. She doesn’t recognize this part of Chelsea. Her legs are trembling without suitable strength, giving out now. One knee slams particularly rough against the concrete, sending a fresh scrape across her skin as familiar pain tears through. Daisy pauses, hands clinging to the wall just nearby. Her entire body is drenched in sweat and her hair is greasy and damp. Bile rises in her throat. 

Right. Find your bearings. Listen for the silence. 

Oh, but the blood of the beasts, just too powerful to ignore, surrounds her like an organized pack. Too easy, no work required. That rich, intoxicating scent lingers in the air; stalks between the crowds of people and in the accursed dirt and—

No. Shut up!

She’s lost. That is what matters right now. Find a way back to the institute or the flat, then you can rest. 

But she’s probably so far off by now. Who knows how long she’s been dissociating. 

“Daisy?!” Basira’s voice pierces her consciousness. It’s distant and tremulous, but her ears are keen enough to pick it up. She keeps still, her body leaning against the wall. Her heart is thudding so loudly in her ears that she’s surprised she can hear anything else.

“What did you– What happened? I don’t...” Basira sounds so scared. Soft arms start to wrap around her, pressing Daisy into a tight embrace. She wrenches herself away immediately, violently. The last thing she needs right now is touching. “...No!!” Daisy snarls with more strength than what she thought she had. Perhaps it’s the adrenaline. 

Basira just stands there, her hands open at her sides, palms facing outwards in a typical coaxing manner. Her eyes are wide and bright with tears. 

A sob escapes Daisy’s lips, loud and gasping. Admitting anguish has never been such a relief. “I’m not well,” her voice cracks, near inaudible. “I-I can’t…”

The people around her, the textures of the surrounding buildings, they’re all blurred and indistinct. Basira is too, as close as she is. 

“Hey, I’m here now. It’s alright,” Basira says, her voice still nervous. Daisy knows she’s trying her best to be reassuring, but there’s still that edge of fear and reluctance in her voice. Daisy tries to avoid it and instead focuses on the fact her knees are bleeding. She puts her hands on them, feeling the warm wetness. Digs her uncut fingernails into the open wound. Punishment. A welcome distraction. 

Basira doesn’t stop her.

“Come on, Daisy,” she sighs. “Let’s get back.”

-

They decide to close the archives early, two hours ahead of the typical schedule. Even Annabelle agrees to it, despite all her moping. “I got what I needed anyways,” she insists, satiated and bitter. “What else is there to do here?”.

It was true. They had accomplished a significant amount with just that day’s work. Besides, it’s not as if Montague cares. She’s too busy firing Annabelle up and sending her on reckless errands to pay any attention to the archives below. Let it stay that way, then.

-

The hair dye is brand new, straight from the box. It’s a teal sort of blue, bright and saturated, a heavy contrast from Daisy’s dirty blonde. The label claims it has enough strength to last for about six weeks. She stares at the fine print for a while, then back at her reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. Her face is sickly pale under the glaring fluorescent lights, but that’s not surprising considering how little sleep she’s had, the bags beneath her eyes only adding to the effect.

The bathroom door opens. Melanie walks in dressed in baggy clothes, worn for the clear purpose of getting dirty: A frayed t-shirt and gray pajama shorts covered in cat hair. Daisy tries not to look at the thin scar snaking across her collarbone, or the healed cigarette burns on her forearms.

Melanie settles on the tile floor in front of her, crossing her legs as she grabs a pair of scissors from the lower sink cabinet. She places them by her side and hums.

“Y’know, I was saving this for a rainy day,” she grabs the hair dye and shakes it a little, “but I think you need it more than me.”

Daisy says nothing. She bites the inside of her cheek, tastes blood and guilt.

Melanie leans forward. A sharp shiver runs down Daisy’s spine as she feels a strange tickle of dark hair brushing up against her cheek and a warm breath that smells faintly of something spicy. When up this close, she can hear Melanie’s pulse thrumming in her throat. The shuddering beat of her heart. That arrogant delinquent blood, swimming through her veins. It’s agonizing. 

In one perspective, she’s sitting next to a girl who’s about to give her a haircut and a dye job; in another, she’s hunched close to a calm animal. Whether a competitive predator or respectable prey, though, Daisy honestly cannot tell.

Melanie’s fingers sort through her pale mop of thick, sallow hair, gently tugging out the small clumps and snarls that make her scalp itch. It’s been uncut since two months ago when she sawed a few ends off in a whirlwind of tearful panic and fed-up rage. In the back of her mind, she wonders why the hell Melanie would even bother cutting her hair at all when she has better things to do. Like going to new pubs, or getting takeaway with her girlfriend.

The scissors on the floor are finally picked up. Daisy’s pulse jumps. Right, okay, this is it. She’s slitting my throat. The thought is intrusive, but she doubts Melanie would just cut her head off without some sort of explanation, so she braces herself for whatever comes next.

(maybe this is where Mel gives into her Slaughter, strikes her down for being too much of a wounded animal).

But Melanie doesn’t yell. Of course she doesn’t. Instead, she asks, awkwardly, “ Oh . Is this still okay?”.

Daisy swallows and rolls back her shoulders. “Y-Yeah... Yeah, it’s fine.”

And it is. It really is, despite her unease. Because she’s never had someone she likes cut her hair before, never out of what seems to be genuine kindness.

(she doesn’t want to dwell on that thought for too long).

Daisy’s eyes squeeze tight as the blades begin to move against her hair, carefully trimming away the ends of her natural locks. She breathes deeply, or tries to, as the noise picks up. The scissors move closer and closer to her shoulders. They brush against her t-shirt, though never enough to nick it. Her hands ball into fists, white knuckles gripping the hems of her running shorts.

The blades pause when they reach neck length. Daisy opens her eyes to see the other woman’s gaze is focused intensely on her styling in progress. Melanie pulls back only slightly, and her face is so close that Daisy can see the tiny flecks of gray in her hazel eyes and the light dusting of concealer around her cheeks. Her nose ring is crooked. Daisy almost wants to reach out and fix it, simply to settle her own irritation. She doesn’t though, not yet at least because neither of them are prepared for such intimacy just yet; and she cannot tell how far she would be able to push another survivor right now.

“Feeling any better?” she asks.

Daisy shrugs slowly. It’s not a Yes or a No . She’s just thankful the weight isn’t as heavy now. It takes a moment to realize the question wasn’t about her hair.

Melanie leans forward again, tilting Daisy’s head to the side with an index and middle finger. Then the scissors move once more, slowly, almost tenderly. A knotted lock is snipped from the back of her neck and suddenly the entire world feels much lighter. Daisy’s eyes fall shut. The relief is saccharine, bone-deep.

After a few more cuts, Melanie places the scissors down and reaches over to wipe off the stray hairs from Daisy’s chest. She sits back, looking satisfied. “Not too bad,” she remarks.

Daisy blinks. “What?”

“Your hair. I mean, you look good.”

She does? Daisy hadn’t noticed. “Uhm. Thanks.”

Melanie scoffs, nudges her. “Go on, look!”

As Daisy turns her head, it’s as if something clicks into place inside her brain; a piece of her that had been missing for weeks ( months , maybe), finally fitting perfectly in place. She looks in the mirror, expression softening.

Her hair is bobbed between her chin and shoulders. It’s layered neatly, slightly shorter from the back with edges that frame her weary face like angelic wings. Or dog ears. It’s... It’s nice. Pretty.

Melanie’s reflection is beaming. “Yeah. You look good.”

Daisy can’t help but grin back. Her gaze falls away for a moment and she picks up the bottle of hair dye next to the sink. She takes a long deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. 

“Part two?” Daisy prompts.

Melanie’s eyes glint like a knife. “Part two.”

-

Basira and Georgie step into the flat with three bags of takeaway. It’s comfort food, from some Hungarian place up by Wembley. It smells delicious. They set the food down on the kitchen counter, shooing The Admiral away from any loose boxes. Curious little thing.

Basira pauses when she sees her and Melanie lounging by the television, frozen like an animal caught in headlights. She looks over her hair for one… two… three seconds. That teal color, energetic and vibrant like a cascade, will no doubt take some time to get used to judging by Basira’s reaction. She says nothing and yet everything. Basira exhales audibly before turning back to the kitchen.

Daisy swallows and looks away, inspecting her fingernails. There’s a small smudge of dirt on her left thumbnail that will need to be scrubbed off soon if it can.

“So!” Melanie straightens her posture, breaking the silence. “Who’s hungry?”

Georgie laughs and says she’s starving.

Daisy shrugs with a smile. Honestly, she could take it or leave it.

[chuulyssa]

YOURE BEASTZAI BIRTHDAY HC WERE SO SOFT AND CUTEEEE OMGG, ALSO HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY TO THAT ANON WHO SENT IT IN(do you think you can put out some beastChuu crumbs too….? 👉🏾👈🏾 he’s so sad but in a hot way and i wanna cherish him)

i broke down thrice writing this i love this man he deserves everything

play: state of grace + begin again by taylor swift

BEAST!CHUUYA is a lonely man. he doesn't have friends in the mafia, nor any outside. all he has in his life is the vow to forever protect his boss, dazai - perhaps his only connection to another human.

but then he meets you all of a sudden, and, what? you want to talk to him? you want to be with him? you want to love him? how? how can you love someone like him? he's a mess, he's fucked in the head. everybody says that. why do you trust him so much? he doesn't understand at all.

BEAST!CHUUYA is confused, but shuts up and nods along to whatever you're saying. it's your 6th date already, and here you are, sitting in the most gorgeous dress in a fully booked restaurant. just the two of you together.

he's startled. how did it lead to this? one second he's in the restaurant, the other he's in your arms on his couch. he doesn't know why you're willing to fix him, to give him hope. all love does is break in the end anyway. but he shuts up again, and hums and closes his eyes.

BEAST!CHUUYA who knows you being with him will ultimately hurt you in the end. he's known it all along, he just thought you'd realize it sooner. but you didn't. you continue to cling onto him when he gets back from dangerous missions, you continue to pull him up to dance around the kitchen to imaginary melodies, you continue to love him like you don't see the consequences.

maybe you did, but you chose to ignore that. that's stupid, he thought. but then he feels your breath on his neck, and his brain short-circuits again. it's stupid, stupid but he likes it.

BEAST!CHUUYA who starts to show some more emotion. he's started smiling, he's started laughing, he's even started giggling and blushing like a teen with a crush. it perplexes his subordinates to see him this way, and all they can think of is the mighty chuuya nakahara has found his achilles heel, but he pays them no mind.

around you, he's even more human. he's pouting like a child. he's puffing his cheeks and throwing tantrums when you don't give him kisses. he's sulking behind your shoulder when you don't give him enough attention. they call you his weak spot, but he thinks you make him stronger, more soulful.

BEAST!CHUUYA who has a secretly calendar for every date you've been on. he marks it with little bows indicating the colour of the dress you wore that day. when he goes to the shop to buy pink coquette-coded bows, he earns a few horrified glances - perhaps because of his mafia attire - but he merely smiles back at them.

he has his notes app filled with a record of things you like. there are files like food, restaurants, hobbies, date ideas, pets, and so much more. chuuya hopes its not too weird to be this love-struck, but he also hopes its enough to know only so much about you.

BEAST!CHUUYA who is delighted when you laugh at his jokes which no one else seems to understand. when you vibe along to his favourite songs which no one else seems to like.

the things you're doing to him, he thinks you mean it when you say you love him. but, after all, who'd love him? he does not even care anymore. he can protect you if there's danger. he wants to be careless, free, for once. and so one day, he says it back. he loves you too.

[wqbytop100]

WQBY

Top100 for the week ending July 2, 2023

If We Ever Broke Up---Mae Stephens -6

Happy----NF -1

Pwdr Blu----Kx5 -5

Where Are You----John Summit, Hayla -2

Submarine----Seeb, BANNERS, SUPER-Hi -4

Die For A Night----A R I Z O N A -28

The Way----Manchester Orchestra -9

Jacare----Sofi Tukker -10

Misbehave---Ship Wrek, Disco Lines -12

Strangely Sentimental----Anabel Englund -15

Sweet Goodbye----Robin Schulz, *Svidden remix -3

I Feel Love----Freya Ridings -13

One Time----Kyle Walker -14

Sickly Sweet----Kenzie, *Kyle Walker remix -11

Borderline----Tove Lo -7

Chill Like That---Sunday Scaries, PICKUPLINES -(re-entry)

Upside Down---MEDUZA, Poppy Baskcomb -21

Waterfall----Michael Schulte, R3HAB -24

Dressed For A Funeral----Groupthink, Sunday Scaries -20

Waffle House----Jonas Brothers -19

Seasons----Bebe Rexha, Dolly Parton -27

Pearls----Jessie Ware -16

Here We Go Again----Oliver Tree, David Guetta -26

High Heels - Party Down Under----Flo Rida, Walker Hayes, * Sam Feldt remix -23

Sunset---Gus Dapperton -68

Miami----Lola Audreys f/ Nile Rodgers -29

Padam Padam----Kylie Minogue -116

Part Of Me----Cian Ducrot -18

Killer Queen----Robin Schulz, FLO BO RIVA -101

Crying On The Dancefloor----Sam Feldt, Jonas Blue, Endless Summer, Violet Days -25

Rhyme Dust----MK & Dom Dolla -8

Chemical----Post Malone -32

Church Outfit---Poppy -34

Stereo---SUM SUN, Sly Chance -31

Something's Coming----Cheat Codes, Lady A -33

Gone (Da Da Da)-----Imanbek, Jay Sean -35

Sparks-----MEDUZA, DEL-30, Mali-Koa -17

Begin Again-----Jessie Ware -38

Sweat----ESSEL -55

Feels This Good-----Sigala, Mae Muller, Caity Baser, Stefflon Don -22

This Is What Losing Someone Feels Like----JVKE -42

Psychos---Jenny Lewis -95

Dancing In The Courthouse----Dominic Fike -46

Back To You---Bob Moses, *Amtrac remix/cut -47

Eyes Wide Shut---ILLENIUM, Avril Lavigne, Travis Barker -52

Lost Souls---Jeffery Sutorius, Jay Hardway -40

Broken ----Isak Danielson, Lost Frequencies, *Lost Frequencies remix/cut -41

It's Euphoric----Georgia -96

Hey Little Mama----Morgan Evans -43

Hooked----Sam Short -44

***Dance Around It----Joel Cory, Caity Baser -(new)

***Sometimes----Snakechips, Daya, Earthgang -(new)

***Vroom----Hoodie Allen Conner Price -(new)

No One Dies From Love----Tove Lo -39

<>Highs & Lows---Chance Pena -(re-entry) new 5.21 [last 5.28 #95] 2weeks

Break For You----Valley -(re-entry) new 5.7 [last 5.28 #66] 3weeks

Toxic---AnnenMayKantereit -48

Kill For You---Gigi Perez -49

Miss Me The Same----Sara Kays, Anson Seabra -50

Good Girl ERA-----UPSAHL -51

Back Around----Tiesto, AR/CO -61

Upside----PLS&TY, Sam Samama -87

Lucid Dream----Topic -77

Disco Ball Soul----Rebounder -63

All For Love---Felix Jaehn, Sandro Cavazza -80

Over The Moon---Eddie Benjamin -69

Five4Three2One---Layto -81

Tough (The Girls Song)---Will Linley -70

Flirt To Convert---Armin Van Helden, Brittles -64

Bad---Young Bomb, Discrete, Alex Hosking -71

Tattoos & Therapy---Madilyn Bailey, Madilyn -72

Would You Even Know---Audien, Willaim Black, Tia Tia -73

A Thousand Knives-----RY X, *Enamour remix/cut -66

Lose My Mind----AC Slater, NuBass, Kaleena Zanders -78

Gangster----W&W, VINAI -109

On The Glamour---Alok, MNEK, Pablio Vittar, Eden Prince -86

Moderation----Col3trane -93

The Sound Of San Francisco -----Global Deejays, *Progressive Album cut -84

Wet White Tee Shirt----UPSAHL -85

A Year Ago----James Arthur -75

Call My Name---BLOND:ISH -76

Lungs Burn---Little Image -79

Hungry Heart----Steve Aoki, Galantis, Hayley Kiyoko -36

***Die Young---VeeBee, Rudimental -(new)

***Giving Me----Jazzy -(new)

Puppet On Your String---Abe Parker -61

<>Lipstick Lover ----Janelle Monae -(re-entry) new 6.11 [last 6.11] 1week

***Let Me Go----Theresa Rex, Afrojack -(new)

Hot In Herre----Nelly -89

The One----INJI -65

I'm Not Dead Yet-----Mike Posner -74

What The Hell Are We Dying For----Shawn Mendez -90

***From This Day On---Andrew Rayel, JES -(new)

Stars-----PNAU, Bebe Rexha, Ozuna -106

So Many Ways To Get Downtown----Proxima Parada -54

Say Say Say----Kygo, Michael Jackson, Paul McCartney -53

No One Knows Were Dancing----Everything But The Girl -56

Good Time----The Dare -45

<>Revelations----ZHU, Devault, BabyJake -(re-entry) new 5.28 [last #105 6.23]

Too Many Things----The Linda Lindas -

Don't Give Up----Zoe Wees -

Change----LAUREL -

Take Me Home----VAVO, Clara Mae -

Reborn----SIDEPIECE, *Kyle Walker remix/cut -

No One Dies From Love----Tove Lo -

Lost In The Rhythm----David Guetta, MORTEN -

Elastic Heart----Sia -

Bohemian Rhapsody----Queen -