#true magazine model on this one

[gloryride]

Lovely Queen

pic by the amazing @syfawn !

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (III)

A whole lot of confusion as to whether Reader and her yakuza friend are actually dating. After much back and forth and a coworker being threatened, the awaited confession might finally take place.

Bonus part: Kazuya tells Reader about his and Daitou's past and how they ended up working for the yakuza.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, violence

Tags: @vinivave @ansy-tea @evvie8 @angelicbunnee @jingerbreadoutofstock @azukoya @randomlyblues @alien-consummation @neverlandlostchild @mimiemie @toji-whore @cloudie-skay @lilkittenmitten

[Part 2] | [Part 4] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

The items are scanned and Kazuya finishes paying. He looks back, searching for Daitou, and finds him wandering among the narrow aisles of magazines and manga. They'd stopped by the konbini at the train station after their job.

"Here's your bentou." The blonde man extends a small box, eyeing his friend suspiciously. "Say, do you have an upset stomach or something? You're uglier than usual." 

Daitou thanks him with a nod, but doesn't take the neatly packaged food. He's idly playing with the cover of a romance volume, bending and straightening its corner.

"Nah, nothing like that. Just, ya know, feels a bit like (Y/N)'s been avoiding me. She hurries straight home after work and barely waves hi. I thought we'd do more things together now that we're dating."

Kazuya nearly spits out the soda he opened while listening to Daitou's troubles. He snorts and quickly wipes his mouth. 

"Wait, are you serious? You actually asked her out? And she said yes??"

Daitou thinks back to the time he gifted you your stalker's finger and teeth, the way you defended him, and the way you quietly walked home and almost held hands. That pretty much made it official, didn't it? So he confidently nods to his utterly baffled partner in crime.

"You little rascal, you! Who would've thought you had it in you?!" He cheerfully slaps Daitou's back and wraps his arm around his neck. The dark haired man blushes and scratches his cheek awkwardly. "You should've told me earlier!"

True. Between the two of them, Kazuya has always been extremely charismatic and popular with women. His perfectly combed blonde hair, his sparkling designer suits, his luxuriously elegant cologne. The handsome features and assertive smile. More than once he'd been approached by modeling agencies, and he likes to joke his lust for violence stopped him from living the glamorous life. In comparison, Daitou has the opposite effect on people. The room will empty if he steps inside. He's unnervingly tall, with bulging muscles, has multiple scars crossing his face, and his prosthetic eye always ends up twisted in the strangest position, causing him to look like he's only missing the straight jacket. Everyone is shocked upon hearing about their friendship. 

So it makes sense that Kazuya would have the required experience to offer him decent advice when it comes to (Y/N).

"Listen here, if there's one thing you should know, it's that women like a guy that fights for them. You gotta show them you care. What can you offer that other guys can't?"

The tall man listens intently, with a concentrated frown as if taking mental notes. He's not entirely sure who he should fight in this ordeal, but he doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of Kazuya, so he nods vehemently to his words.

"That's the short preview. If you have any more questions, just come over later. I'm piss tired, so I'll go home and have the nap of a lifetime." He yawns deeply to showcase his exhaustion and slowly walks away, throwing his hand in a lazy wave. 

The yakuza remains standing, still ruminating over the words of wisdom generously offered by the expert himself. Is he to randomly beat up people on the street as you watch? Won't Boss be angry if he attacks civilians? He gasps in realization. Perhaps this is what Kazuya meant. What kind of man is he if he can't even go against his Boss? So what if Boss won't like it? He has to prove himself to you. 

With newfound determination, he clenches his fists and gazes out of the window. 

That's when he notices you. You seem to be returning from work. Even more - and this causes his jaw to tighten in anger - some unknown man is walking next to you, cheerfully chitchatting and gesturing. 

That settles it. 

"You really didn't have to walk me home." You laugh clumsily to the man at your side.

A new coworker recently joined your company, and you've been asked to show him the ropes. You gradually discovered you had quite a lot in common, throughout your ample opportunities to gossip and talk leisurely. Your schedule isn't as packed nowadays, given you'll show up earlier and leave later.

Normally you'd prefer to be in your warm bed as soon as possible, but you've been feeling rather tense since the incident with Daitou. During his heated exchange with Kazuya, you've heard mentions of 'being liked by women' and 'having a crush on someone'. You thought it involved you and you nervously awaited further explanations from Daitou himself, but on the way back he was completely silent. You didn't have the courage to bring it up, so you assumed there must've been a misunderstanding somewhere along the way. 

Which, after all, would make plenty of sense. What business would a yakuza have with you? He's already shown much more courtesy than it was required of him. Hoping he'd also confess his feelings on top of everything was downright ridiculous and you're embarrassed to admit you'd harbored such cheesy fantasies to begin with. 

"Don't sweat it. You might not know", the coworker warns with lowered voice, "but this area is reeking of gangsters. I'm surprised you've been fine so far, but you should be more careful."

"O-oh...I see..." You glance at him and hold back a smirk. You doubt he could protect you from Daitou or Kazuya, but you appreciate his chivalry nonetheless. 

There's an uncomfortable pause as you stand in your doorframe, having reached the intended destination. The man hasn't left yet, waiting expectantly. He lowers his head towards yours and you swiftly slam the door, muttering something about an emergency. 

"Cute." He thinks to himself as he chuckles and steps away.

There's always a next time.

The coworker heads towards the train station in a relaxed strut. At the first intersection, however, he feels his clothes being pulled and he finds himself abruptly shoved in an empty room by an unknown assailant. 

Daitou easily lifts him up by his collar and nonchalantly throws him in a chair. It seems to be a small storage unit, possibly belonging to one of the shops. 

"What's your business with (Y/N)?" He barks.

"Huh? I should be the one asking-" The man pauses for a second, going over his conversations with you. "Could it be that you're the stalker she mentioned?"

Naturally, you had left out the part where your stalker was carefully packaged and dumped in a place unknown. To your coworker, he was very much still alive and a potential threat.

The yakuza is taken aback. 

"I'm her boyfriend!" He retorts angrily. 

"Bullshit. She doesn't have a boyfriend."

Another slap to the face. Daitou's cheeks are becoming increasingly red and he runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to calm down. Why, this son of a...

He marches to one of the metal shelves behind, grabbing his tool belt. Simultaneously, the door opens and Kazuya sheepishly peeks his head in. His blonde locks are ruffled and one can tell he's freshly woken up. 

"Yo, I just realized I might've been too metaphorical with you back at the store so I've been texting you, but you didn't-...Wait, why is there a guy handcuffed to the chair?"

He crosses his arms, with a habitual scolding glare towards his friend. 

"I just caught this cockroach flirting with (Y/N)! Went all the way to her place!" Daitou whines, his face full of indignation.

"Of course you know where she lives, you fucking stalker." The coworker exclaims bitterly. 

"Watch your mouth buddy, he ain't no stalker!" Kazuya straightens his back and approaches the mysterious man. "If he's right, and you've been messing with his woman...We ain't letting that go. Today you learn why no one fucks with the yakuza." 

The two men exchange a knowing look.

You drop yourself on the sofa and groan. Tomorrow will certainly be strange. Was the coworker trying to kiss you just now? You'll have to think of a polite way to turn him down next shift. Is it because you're not interested, or because you're still hoping to have a chance with Daitou? You slap your cheeks vigorously, trying to pull yourself out of such thoughts. 

You suddenly notice the foreign wallet sticking out of your bag. Your  coworker had dropped it earlier today while running for the train, and you offered to throw it in your bag to save time. Except you forgot to return it.

You check your phone. It hasn't been that long, so maybe you can still reach him if you hurry. Without much contemplation, you pluck the wallet and sprint out.

As you dash past the buildings, you have the idea of calling the man and asking him to wait instead. Why run like a madman? You stop and rest a hand against the wall, trying to catch your breath. Ugh, you've been so scattered today. This should've been the obvious choice, instead you sprang out. Silly. 

From around the corner you can make out the familiar wails you've learned to ignore. Whoever the yakuza tortures is not your problem. You are about to scurry away, yet something about these whimpers feels odd. No...Could it be?

You tiptoe down the vacant alleyway and try to catch a glimpse inside through the small, dirty window. As a matter of fact, it is your beloved coworker. Kazuya is holding his arm against a table, with the fingers forcefully fanned out, and Daitou has a blade secured over the pinky finger. 

You elbow yourself against the door in a theatrical entry. 

"What the hell are you guys doing?! That's my coworker!" You yell.

Daitou freezes, and Kazuya instantly releases his grasp. They turn to you, shocked.

"Stay out of it, (Y/N), this is to be settled among men. This bastard insulted your boyfriend, we can't let it slide!" Kazuya regains his composure and defends his cause fervently, pointing to the man that's now sobbing and crying uncontrollably. 

"Boyfriend?" You question, mouth agape. 

The blonde man stares at you. 

"You're...You're dating, aren't you?"

"Since when?" You demand, confused and upset.

Both you and Kazuya turn to Daitou for answers.

"I'm going to ask you one more time. Did you actually ask her out, Daitou? Did you say it out loud?" Kazuya's voice breaks in exasperation.

"W-well, I didn't...I didn't say it, but I thought..." the man's eyes dart between you and his friend. He gulps. "W-we almost held hands, didn't we?"

Overwhelmed with anger, the blonde stomps over to the shelves and kicks one to make his point, loudly bemoaning his friend's lack of social awareness. He can't believe he went along with his nonsense. Him, of all people! He should've anticipated it. 

As the coworker weeps and Kazuya continues his foul monologue, you can't help the blush that's now burning across your face. You fidget anxiously next to the tattooed man.

"Y-you thought we were dating?"

"Sorry for not making it clear." Daitou is once again twiddling with his prosthetic eye, dejected. "Is it too late to ask you out now? Because I do like you a lot..."

"Since you put it so nicely...I can't really say no~" Your ears are bright red and you're twirling your hair. Is it truly happening? Are you dreaming? Everything feels snug and fuzzy and the butterflies are swarming your stomach. 

You don't have time to enjoy your romantic encounter, as Kazuya is now behind you, clearing his throat.

"Alright, you lovebirds, what about this one here, then?" 

You suddenly remember your coworker and an icy cold flashes through your body. 

"Oh God, how will I explain this at work? I'll get fired!" You bite your nails in terror. You can already visualize the slip of unemployment. The long lines at the Job Center, you and the homeless. Panic begins to build up. 

Until Daitou's large hands rest on your shoulders. He's unexpectedly warm. 

"Don't worry about it, (Y/N). I'll have a word with Boss, and we can get you a job here. This way we can spend more time together", he suggests with childish enthusiasm. 

You glance up at him, moved by his soothing words.

"I wouldn't want to bother you like that."

"Hey, it's my fault you ended up in this situation. You can leave everything to me." He reassures you proudly.

"That didn't answer my damn question." Kazuya points out, annoyed.

"Can't we just kill him or something? He did call me a stalker, and I'm still upset about that..."

Daitou stretches and sighs in boredom, pondering the options. Once he's decided on the outcome, he shoos you away lovingly. You don't need to see this part. 

Bonus: Daitou's backstory 

"Oh, right, how did it go with your tickets?"

Kazuya is walking beside you, hands in pockets. Every now and then he removes the cigarette from his mouth to tap away the piling ash.

"Well, I still have both kidneys, but I won't be swimming in cash for the next months at least." You respond, slouching your shoulders dramatically for the effect. 

"Flying abroad is always expensive. Unless, I don't know, you book years in advance."

"Yeah. I should've looked earlier, but I wasn't sure about my work schedule. At least I get to see my family and friends for Christmas." 

After a few more steps in silence, you glance up at the blonde man. He notices your curious stare and raises his eyebrows, as if encouraging you to speak up. 

"What about you? Will you be going home for the holidays?"

He grins at your question and proudly places a hand on his chest.

"This is my home, actually! I was born and raised in this very neighborhood."

"Really? Was it not a yakuza quarter before?" Your eyes widen at his statement. 

"It was." Kazuya blows some of his smoke in your direction and you cough lightly. "You know the soapland further down the street?"

You nod.

"Mom used to work there. One of the clients got her pregnant and she found out too late. She had a room upstairs, and I just kind of tagged along. The other girls looked after me, too."

You recall one instance when Kazuya received a phone call about some drunkard causing a ruckus at the brothel, and he shot up without a word, rushed out and returned with bloodied knuckles. At the time, you'd assumed he's a client himself and maybe got attached to one of the girls. Now it makes sense. You're a little embarrassed of your obvious prejudice. If he grew up there, it must be his way of showing gratitude to the workers who loved him despite the circumstances. 

"Oh, what about Daitou, then? Is he from the area, too?"

The man frowns and purses his lips thoughtfully. After a moment, his features soften up again and he sighs.

"I suppose you're his girlfriend, after all. It's also not a secret per se..."

Your ears perk up at the strange reaction to your inquiry. 

"I mean, it's just a bit of a grim topic. No one knows for sure. Boss found him on the streets years ago, when he was a wee kid." 

He presses his thumb and index finger together, emphasizing the small size to you. 

"I don't know all the details, just what the Seniors told me - I was a kid myself back then - but it was pretty bad. Had no shoes on, scratches and cuts all over. His left eye was swollen and terribly infected, that's how he lost it, actually. Boss felt sorry for him, so he took him in.

They did try to ask him for parents or relatives, but apparently he wouldn't speak at all. Took him like a year to finally open his mouth. Even now, if you ask him anything about his past, he just pretends he didn't hear you. So maybe don't bring it up to him."

You shake your head along, urging him to continue with more details. Kazuya seems to warm up to the memories and slows down, indulging in the recollection. 

"Anyways, one day Boss' car is followed and he gets shot in the shoulder. Some snot-nosed trainees from the rival gang. They hadn't even gotten their pins yet, wanted to impress their older brothers I guess.

Daitou heard about it and went after them. One of our Seniors - he's a tough guy alright, been with the Family for decades - he told me he was sweating like mad when they found him. Daitou was just a teen at the time, but he butchered those guys up so bad they couldn't tell them apart anymore. Even bit a few bullets, and still kept going, like a crazed animal. The adults were freaking out. They didn't expect him to be this strong.

I suspect they were pretty afraid of him, you know? They were probably thinking, "if one day he has it out for us, we're done for!", so they told Boss they should kick him out. But at this point Daitou was like his own son, so he laughed and said, "What's the matter with ya, he does your dirty work and you wanna get rid of him?! If the boy wants to fight, let him!", and he arranged for Daitou to join the Family officially. I was recruited around the same time.

We didn't get along at first, I mean, they warned me to stay away because he's crazy and also Boss' favorite. He didn't hang out with anyone. He had his own jobs, the mercenary stuff no one else wanted to deal with.

You might not believe it, but back then I was an angry, stubborn asshole. It didn't sit well with me that this guy was out there, doing his own thing. I had a reputation myself, before I dropped out of high school I was pretty much undefeated. I thought I'd see it with my own eyes, this all-powerful jackass even the Seniors avoided."

You smile faintly, trying to imagine a young Kazuya without the expensive, flashy suit and polished appearance.

"So one evening I just walked up to him and told him to join me outside. Didn't even give him a speech, just rammed my fist into his face. This was my signature move, you know, I can't even count how many guys I knocked out with this punch. Straight into the jaw, sends your brain spinning. Whew, and this guy? He didn't even flinch! Just stood there and looked at me like I was dumb. I was pissed off at this point, you can imagine, it felt like he was mocking me. So I yelled we ain't done until one of us gives up. 

He understood what I wanted and finally fought me earnestly. Hell, he even knocked some of my teeth out. This one here's an implant. Mad expensive. Anyhow, as much as it hurt my pride, I'd lost fair and square. So I got up, wiped the blood, and asked him to come grab a drink with me. My treat. 

You should've seen his face, (Y/N). I think it was the first time I've witnessed him smile. 'Really? Can I? Are you sure?' He was like a stray dog after you've thrown him some leftovers. Kept that dumb grin the whole night. You could've given him a clown hat and people would've paid to see the circus. 

That's when I realized this poor bastard probably just wanted a friend. The next day I went to pick him up again and he was beaming like a princess. Heh. Afterwards he started following me around and eventually Boss called me in. I thought I got into trouble or something, even brought a bunch of gauze pads in case I needed to slice off my finger. Turns out he'd heard of us becoming pals, and he asked me to maybe attend Daitou every now and then because he always leaves a mess and everyone's too scared to deal with him. We've been teamed together ever since."

You realize you've been standing in the same spot ever since Kazuya begun talking, completely entranced by his story. He chuckles upon seeing your expression and ruffles your hair. 

"Man, I sure rambled a lot. Sorry about that. In any case, that was my piece about Daitou. I'm sure you already know this, but he's not a bad guy. Just has a twisted sense of loyalty. Once he finds someone to serve, he doesn't see anything else.

Hell, I'm his closest friend and I'm convinced he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if it was for Boss."

Upon further consideration, he smiles and winks at you.

"Or for you. Especially you."

[moondirti]

simon sees a familiar face. (AO3 mirror) tags: darkfic. ghost x nude model! reader. (given a stage name but no discerning characteristics.) violent intrusive thoughts. objectification. rough sex. marking. dacryphilia. possessiveness. dubcon photo sharing.

It's the slip of her skin in his periphery. Moisturised, gold shimmer body glaze. Tucked up against the bar and nursing a negroni in both hands, her dress riding high up on her thigh. Sticks out like a sore thumb in a pub like this, where seedy men come to drink their woes away. Just a little too clean, prim and perfect polish. Pretty enough to make his teeth hurt.

He has to do a double take before he can be sure. Where he would know her calves, those hands and varnished nails, anywhere, he can hardly believe it until she turns a quarter angle and her face comes into full view. Lips he's seen perked up and glossed into erotic O's. Eyes so often half-cast and sultry, lined in kohl, that it's odd to see them wide like this; looking around, searching for something.

Yeah. Simon knows her. Knows her like the grip of a gun, the rip release of a hand grenade, the flat lining of barrack cot mattresses. Knows her so well that his cock chubs up in an almost pavlovian response, fat and heavy and leaking already, like a bloody sixth former seeing a pair of tits for the first time. In all honesty, this might just be the equivalent for a man like himself. Aching jowls, frothy lips. Ageing, dirty beast – thrown the most delectable fucking bone.

Because it's her. Cut straight from the centrefold of his favourite magazine and pasted a mere four feet away. Just as alluring, as provocative as she is in the poster he'd gifted Johnny on a deployment birthday. The object gracing every page not adhered together with dry cum. The one thing that gets him – and frankly, every other mutt on the task force – through long missions.

He throws back the last of his bourbon and slips his mask back over his chin. The haunt is emptier than usual. He assumes the big guy by the doorway is responsible, no doubt hired to follow her around and scare the creeps away. Simon must count as one – if his intentions, latched like filthy claws in his stomach, are anything to go by – but he's also bigger. Bolder. Probably has tattoos that outlast her bodyguard's experience in the field. So he takes his chances as he stretches up and prowls up to where she's sitting.

"Selene Harlow." It's a stage name, of that he's certain. But he has nothing else to call her by, not having fallen short of searching for her true identity. She's good at keeping herself safe from perverts like him. A good fucking girl, if not a little minx.

"Only on the clock." She smiles softly, dipping the orange peel in and out of her drink. It looks untouched, glass sweating onto the bar top. He thinks of holding her head back by her hair and knocking the concoction down her throat. "You don't look like my date."

Simon makes a sound. "No' your usual type, then?"

"I didn't say that." Her dress is low cut, bandage tight. When she breathes in, he devours the way her chest heaves out of the material. Begging to pop free, or else be ripped open right here. He can't imagine she would be opposed to being stripped in public. Not with her breasts plastered on a million different publications, issues displayed in the illicit material case behind every gas station counter.

"Well, he must be soft in th'head."

She shrugs. "Don't sound so surprised." Simon wonders, if he were to press his thumbs down onto each collarbone, how much pressure it would take to snap them in place. He's always liked the delicate arch of her shoulders, the swan-like column of her neck. With how he fixated he is on them now, he can hardly place the dejection in her voice. "Not a lot of people wanna go out with a girl who does what I do. It was only a matter of time before he found out."

"Can' be too pissed at him, a'suppose."

"Hm?"

"His loss is my gain."

"Aha." A flash of teeth. She turns on the bar stool to fully face him, and her knees knock his. Soft fucking legs, plush like a chew toy and he knows– he knows what they look like completely nude and spread open. But nothing could've quite prepared him for how different it is to see them in real life. To see her – real, fleshly, blood full – and not be able to take. Have to hold himself back despite the way he's pumped himself raw to her arse almost a hundred times now. He lost the plot some time ago. His mind must think of her as his. "Is that what this is?"

And what is this? Simon doesn't have a name for it. All he knows is the way his head itches, the tantalisation crawling in his skin. The sheer self-restraint it takes not to pocket her home and chain her to his bed. He wants to dig his teeth into her cheek.

Instead–

"Could be."

"I think that's up to me." She crinkles in a wily little smile and he chuckles because it's funny. Funny because she takes him to be a good man. But with the way her bodyguard is eyeing him from across the room (fucking muppet), he knows that's not the quality he's projecting. There's the urge to crack a sick joke, something about clipping a bird's wings, just to see her pick up on the rot he carries with him. "You military?"

"Tha' obvious?"

"Hm, no. Wild guess." She straightens her back and the vague gesture she makes with her wrist is enough to drive him up a wall. It sets a timer, ticking time bomb, in his brain that'll detonate if he doesn't get his nasty old hands on her waist. Thirty seconds on the clock. He can never be patient when it comes to sweet things. "Your... stature. And I tend to be popular with servicemen, anyway. What's your name?"

"And why do you wan' to know my name, bird?"

She flutters her lashes, pointedly looking down to where he's bulging in his jeans. Bird is right. She shines like one with pretty feathers, begs to be plucked, because why else would mother nature create things like her if not to appease men like him?

"Figure you'd want me to moan it later."

And it's like watching one fly into a cage on its own accord. His blood boils hot and thin, flooding his head until his eyes strain with something ferocious. "Why wait." Simon says. He can't wrap an arm around her waist fast enough, scooping her from her seat and wrapping her tight against his side. Tight enough that, if she changed her mind, she wouldn't be able to flap her way out of it. "Name's Simon, and there's a bathroom 'round back."

It's nasty. Depraved. Graffiti lines all four walls and it's no coincidence that the one he pins her up against looks the filthiest. Something in him craves to see her degraded (the same part that marked a picture of her in black ink, chicken-scratch body writing proclaiming her as his), brought down to the same peg that he occupies. Beasts with too much baggage stored in their marrow. Humans, men, with moral compasses that skew a tad too far left. Animals. Animalistic.

"I don– Don't usually do this..." She breathes, excuse stuttered through little whimpers as he mouths at her jaw. Maybe she's afraid of living up to her name, or whatever image Selene Harlow projects. Not a prostitute, he can almost hear her say. Tastes the fear of misconception, sour on otherwise tart skin. He hums and tugs her breasts free with one, scarred paw.

"Doesn' really matter, bird. Were fuckin' made for it." He squeezes the two mounds, pinches knotted nipples and rolls them between his fingers until she cries. Her voice breaks in little bubbled sobs – starts crying so fast that, christ, it must be some sort of record – and he aches in his trousers. Ready to burst if he doesn't bully his cock into a hole soon, just like she's been ready to be unravelled all night. "Made to be mine, yeah? Bloody 'ell, jus' look at you."

Frayed little tapestry. If he weren't so mad with lust, he'd obsess what drove her to this point. What brought her to some shitty pub in Manchester to meet a good for nothing lemon. Why she mewls and completely melts into him when he slaps her tits, just to see the way they jiggle. He's an ugly bastard, definitely punching just by breathing the same air as her, and yet she's so perfectly willing. Flaying herself open, skinned alive. Gasping selfish gulps of air when he finally pulls off his mask to sink his canines into her shoulder.

He's so used to seeing her posed, perfectly still. To have her like this, a trapped worm underneath him, feels like concentrated lightning on every artery. Overstimulating. Paralysing. He never thought he'd see the day where she exposes herself in motion: folding her dress up over her wide hips, slipping soaked panties down to her ankles.

(In fact, he vividly remembers brooding over an interview her magazine had added to the corner of a cover page, once. Selene Harlow tells all! Answers inquiries on video pornography and more!

I don't think I'm the right person for that sort of scene. Not much of an actress, I'm afraid.)

Not that her feigning was ever a concern. Simon knows the giddy gossamer over her eyes can't be artificially replicated. She's too clumsy, too amateur in the way she readies herself for him. Used to doing all this prep in a frilly dressing room with apathetic staff members directing her. Sways a bit on her heels and holds onto his thick forearms as she widens her stance. He stands until she's steady, then drops to his knees in search of the star of this show.

And the sight is as much a bludgeon to his self control as seeing her for the first time was, trigger for the feral mongrel that barks and chomps on his ribcage. Her cunt is just as perfect up close in this grimy bathroom as it is well lit, professionally oiled, and printed on coated paper. A little fuzzy, swollen enough that it flowers open for him on its own. Shyly inviting him to dig his nose right under her clit and inhale, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the scent of her, undiluted. Salivate blooms around his teeth.

When he flattens his tongue against it, she tries to find purchase in the roots of his shorn hair. Nails scrambling along the buzzcut until she forfeits and clamps her hand behind his ears, head thrown back to knock against the wall. If he were a nice man, he would spend hours buried between her legs. Sated by licking her slick from its source, like a kitten given a bowl of cream. Would make her cum until she forgets how to keep quiet, until she screams his name loud enough for the world knows their muse is off the market now.

But if he were a nice man, he wouldn't be defiling her here. He would've taken her out to the Greek place that never seems to have room for him alone, and then back to her apartment, where he'd drop her off with a chaste kiss and a promise to call her tomorrow.

So Simon combs through her lips once, twice, three times. Coats her in enough spit to be able to shove two fingers with little fuss, and scissors them apart. The little thing stretches to accommodate his ministrations immediately, clutch swallowing him up to the second knuckle and sucking around him when he spreads her hole for his leering eye. It's cute – so fucking cute how she clenches and keens and cries. Neck arched up above him. Apple of eden, blank canvas. His fingers leave her cunt as he rises to bite into it.

(Truthfully, she could've done with more prep. She wasn't lying when she said she doesn't do this often, whatever this is. But the way silver pebbles brim on her lash-line makes his chest twist, the dog rearing on its haunches, ready to pounce – and he thinks he'd like to see her babble in pain as he splits her open on his cock.)

"Gonna take you home after this, y'hear? Fuck you well 'n' good, all proper like. Fold ya over a mattress and print my cock on your guts, birdie. Never let you forget it. "

"S-Si! Simon, please. I n-need..."

Ichor beads in the shape of his teeth, streaking oxygenated red down her throat. He makes a mess of it, smearing it across the marred patch of skin, and brings the fluid up to her face to rub it into her cheek. The type of marking he'd reserve for his third or fourth going with someone – if anyone ever lasts that long – but is absolutely necessary right now. Here, with her. Technically their hundredth something time together, if he were deranged enough to count the various times he'd spent himself over her spreads.

But nothing can supersede the truth of the matter. He streaks blood along her face and licks it off in a show of merciless possession. Pretty things like her get plucked off streets and ruined everyday, despite her cynicism on her value, and he can point to at least three other men by name who would slaughter to be in his place. Best to stake his claim now, clamp a collar on the exotic fowl he pulled down from the sky.

"Need wha', hm?" His tongue laps at her cheek, laving over the contour of her nose and swiping right under her eye to catch the tears that freely fall. She winces when he gets too close, hands faltering along his waistband.

"Your... d-dick. Please, please. Just wanna be fucked, Simon."

He plants a rough kiss onto her mouth, all teeth and tongue, and finally ladles himself free of his jeans.

Just wanna be fucked.

Daft, silly girl.

She should've chosen anyone else.

It takes a bit of pressure to feed himself into her cunt, pinning either leg to the sides of his hips as he guides his cock toward the opening. If she was putty before, she's positively liquid now, boneless rag doll slumped onto him. Dead weight. Letting him take control of this fight. Content to do nothing, slack-jawed and empty eyed as her hot walls come to embrace him completely. Her breath halts, the air recalibrating to just the sound of his ragged grunts, and he considers it an invitation to wrap a fist around her neck.

"I'll do more than jus' fuck you, pretty thing. Won' ever let you out of my sight."

And he means it.

It's impossible to withdraw completely from her – vacuum sealed too tight, too good, around him. So he fucks in short thrusts instead, snapping his pelvis back, only to shove forward once her legs begin to flail about. It's brutal even by his standards, rough in a way that supplants pleasure with pain. A small pity surfaces when her lip trembles, discomfort wringing her darling face up like a dish towel. Wet and pathetic, but he sneaks his free hand down to knead at her swollen clit anyway.

Like oil, it slips and hardens, tense enough that he knows she won't last long if he keeps it up.

Simon feels his own release encroaching. Unfurling at the base of his spine to form something cruel and primal. His vision tunnels to fixate on her – not the filthy bathroom or the lewd squelch of her pussy taking him in. Not the banging on the door by a customer desperately needing to piss, or otherwise, her bodyguard concerned at the choked screams carved from her lungs. Just her. Little bird.

The howling in his head doesn't stop, but it sure as hell quiets down when she soaks the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Squirts, off-white fluid gushing from her and trickling onto the tiled floor. His movements grow stilted, off-rhythm, at the sight. His want grows claws and scales, grows wants that have wants. Beastly. He sees red.

"N-noghonbirfcontraahl." She gasps, suffocated still by the fingers pressing crescent-shaped scars beneath her jaw.

"Don' give a shit." He growls, then cums.

(Really, he doesn't. To see her swell up with his child is just one more added temptation, carrot on a stick. He bucks like a rabid animal and bookmarks that thought away for later.)

His seed doesn't stay put when he pumps her full of it. It gathers and drips out of her, undeterred by the barrage of his softening cock. When he pulls out, it draws milky treks down her legs. There's the instinct to shovel it back into her, tape her lips shut until the spend takes; but as he pockets her panties and helps her readjust her dress (after polishing himself clean on the expensive fabric), he finds he quite likes the thought of parading her around like this.

"C'mon," He nips her earlobe. "let's walk you home."

Simon does end up making good on his promise. They hardly get any sleep that night, sweating on every available surface her flat affords. By the end of it, she's so tuckered out that he has to lift her to bed. Hardly cognisant as he strips to his boxers and sidles up right next to her.

What doesn't escape her notice, however, is when he pulls his phone out to snap a picture of her like this. Fucked to oblivion, puffy pussy oozing about three loads worth of cum.

"W-what are you–" Stuttered. Panicked, like a pet that has at last realised it's been caged.

"Shhhh, birdie. You're my model, ain't you? Let me show you off, yeah? Won' let it get into the wrong hands."

"Promise?" She whimpers, tucking into his broad chest. She isn't in the condition to give her proper assent, but he takes it anyway, kissing both eyes and carding his fingers across her scalp.

"Promise." He mutters, then sends the portrait off. "Jus' to men like me."

Sgt. Garrick: ?! Is that Capt. Price: Christ, Simon. Someone ought to muzzle you. Johnny: I don't believe you. Johnny: Pick up my calls. Johnny: SIMON.

[colleendoran]

How Do I Do Stuff

The question was phrased a little strangely, and I don't want to embarrass the person by posting exactly what was said, but I'll answer it and hope this clears everything up.

I do almost all of my drawing by hand. No, I don't trace in Photoshop. Not a judgment on those who do, but I come from a generation of artists who did not use Poser programs or other digital tools. We learned to draw using a technique called the Sight Size method. I know a lot of people assume everyone - including the old masters - traced everything using optical tools, but while it is true some people did, it is just as true that most didn't, and you can draw with great accuracy if you learned how to draw the old fashioned way.

Sight Size breaks everything down into its barest components of geometric shapes and you build from there. Once you learn it, you never forget, and it applies to everything you will ever draw.

I learned it using a set of Famous Artist Course books my mom had since she was a kid, and they are still the gold standard. They're often on ebay. If I were you, I'd buy them.

I actually find using figure reference really annoying because I like exaggerations and modifications from reality in my final work.

This page from Neil Gaiman's Chivalry was drawn and painted without figure reference of any kind.

I don't know why people assume I trace all the time. If you were to try to use photographs to replicate these figures, you would find they are slightly off. There is no tracing here.

This is not to say I never use reference. This page, for example, was referenced from a photo of my mother. Isn't she pretty.

But this page of Sir Galaad was drawn and painted without reference.

He's pretty, too.

If he were real, I'm sure a lot of people would be very happy about it. But he's not. And had I reference, the art would have gone a lot faster. I had a time trying to nail this face that is very alive in my head but doesn't really exist.

Back in the ancient days, all cartoonists had to learn to draw and paint extemporaneously because reference was limited and digital tools didn't exist. While some high end artists had photography studios and professional models with costume and sets on hand, small fry like me were limited to what was in the house or available at my small local library, which was no bigger than a few rooms of my current house.

Artists kept extensive "morgue files" or "swipe files" which were collected from magazine clippings and photographs so we would have as much of what we might need on hand for quick reference. These ephemera collections could get unwieldy. I have thousands of photographs I've simply never sorted. I finally dumped most of my files this past year.

Have I ever traced anything? Of course, especially if I have to re-use a shot or setting over and over. Making extra work for myself is just silly. It's my job to make pictures, not to perform magical feats, like copying one shot after another over and over without making a mistake.

However, for almost 15 years of my career, I refused to copy or trace anything, and did not even own a lightbox. On the one hand, that forced me to learn to carefully examine what I saw. On the other hand, it was a stupid hill on which many deadlines died.

Only after I realized many professional artists had lightboxes and overhead projectors did I finally break down and get one.

The one thing I use my lightbox for more than anything is for tracing my thumbnail sketches to the final drawing paper. Instead of trying to capture the liveliness of the original sketch by copying what I see - only bigger - I blow the thumbnail up to the size I want the final art to be, then I trace over the thumbnail using a lightbox onto the final drawing paper.

Here's a look at thumbnails from the graphic novel Neil Gaiman's Snow, Glass, Apples.

I enlarged these on my computer to fit onto 11"x14" paper, and traced the thumbs before finishing the art which was drawn in pen and ink and colored in Photoshop.

While I obviously made some changes, the essence of the thumbs is there in the final work. Tracing my thumbs retains some of the looseness of the original sketches, which is often lost otherwise.

So, there is a valid purpose to tracing at times, though in my opinion, too much tracing can weaken drawing ability, substitute for developing skills, and make the work kind of stiff.

If you want to, I'm not your judge. But it's weird to me that people think I must be faking my skills in some way.

Ironically, the word cartoon comes from the Italian word cartone, which is a large heavy sheet of paper - also, the origin of the word carton.

Preparatory sketches were made on this paper which was then transferred to the final work surface via either tracing or by stamping little holes in the paper through which dust was sprinkled, recreating the contours of the drawing for the artist to follow.

So the origin of the word cartoon comes from a process often used...for tracing.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Is it just me or is Leona slightly more muscular in Episode of Savanaclaw’s colored illustrations? I saw the cover and I was all “Jesus Christ he’s jacked! 😰” No pun intended btw

Remember, guys... Be like Leona and nap for half the day to gain abs and super jacked arms/j I think it might just be how he’s posed? It makes the muscles there flex and therefore appear more prominent. Something like that 💦 Leona's arms seem close to his regular... musculature... in most other depictions. For example, the GFantasy magazine cover with the Savanaclaw trio features pretty normal looking Leona arms to me. In the ceremonial robes illustration, he also seems normal... though one could argue the arms are not visible there. (By the way, I'm comparing the sizes in the colored illustrations with the black-and-white illustrations and Leona's in-game live 2D model!)

Hey, at least they kept true to his… body type… I guess?? (As opposed to nerfing his arms like they did for the in-game live 2D models for Sebek and Silver; those two look significantly more buff in their PE cards:)

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

help i have a crush and no guts to tell them. If convenient… some bruce wayne? Bruce is hotter. I am safer dreaming about fictional men than real ones. My crush miiiight know(im 20. WHY the heckkkkk do i even HAVE a crush). I made eye contact and immediately looked away. I literally couldnt be more suspicious. Im begging you to distract me.

Important note: i love love love your writing especially the other half. Which i know is over so im not asking for a continuation of that. But your bruce is enthralling. Also no pressure if youre not in a bruce writing mood.

listen

i hate to tell you/warn you

having a crush at 29 is just as if not more embarrassing. i sadly speak from experience

also what do you call it when Batman skips church

christian bale

"He's going to catch you."

"Catch me what? I'm not doing anything."

"You're staring."

"I am not staring," You insist, "I am...Looking in the direction of his vicinity."

"Well that vicinity is pretty narrow. Completely narrow. You're just looking at him, actually."

You pass a sidelong glance toward your best friend, eyes narrowing as she smiles sweetly at you.

"I'm just sayin'," She shrugs, "The more you stare at him, the more likely it is that he'll catch you."

"No way for him to catch me if there's nothing to catch—Oh, shit," You hurriedly whirl around as you see him twist toward you.

"I told you."

"Shut up!" You hiss. "Is he still looking?"

"Yep."

You groan, raising your drink to your lips and draining it. "I'm gonna go get another one. You wanna come?"

"I'm alright."

It's for the best, you decide. She was right, you've been way too blatant. But how many times are you going to be in the room with the Prince of Gotham, with the Bruce Wayne?

"Prosecco, please," You request, setting your empty glass down.

"It'll be a moment," The bartender warned. "We're waiting for a few bottles."

"Okay! No worries."

You're certain this is the only time that you would be in the same room as Wayne, so you may as well take a look, get your fill. There were whispers of him coming alone, instead of trotting out one of the models that he usually brings to these events. Maybe it was a last-minute acceptance, or he couldn't find anyone to come...Then again, you were certain that that was impossible. Hell, you'd cut off your right arm to say yes—Not that Bruce Wayne would ever ask you.

"Prosecco."

His voice makes you freeze, your eyes widening slightly as his sleeve brushes your arm.

"It'll be a moment, Mr. Wayne," The bartender frowns.

"S'alright."

You glance hesitantly toward him, offering a tight, flighty smile when you find him looking at you.

"Hi," He greets.

"Hi."

Oh god, what the hell is he doing, talking to you?

"Come here often?"

"...To the Natural History museum?" You flounder.

"Not exactly," He chuckles. "I meant to events like these."

"Oh—No. My friend had a plus one, so."

"Mm."

You nod. You should ask if he comes to many of these, right? But you know that he does—every appearance is highly publicized in the Gotham Gazette, US magazine, across gossip blogs and social media. Hell, you'd have to have been living under a rock to not know who he was.

But how can you ask questions without seeming like an ignorant simpleton or a weirdo? Will he think it's odd that you know he goes to these events? Will he think you're lying if you pretend to not know that he does?

You don't even know this man, so why does he make you so nervous?

"Flying solo on this one?"

It's out of your mouth before you can stop it, and—shit. You take in the way Bruce blinks, his lips tipping up with a small smile.

"I am. I accepted last-minute."

"No other way to spend your Friday night?"

"No other good way. It is for charity, after all."

"That's true," You smile. Oh, god look away now. Stop looking into his warm, dark eyes—Damn, how does he get you so hot with just a smile?

"Two proseccos." The two of you turn as the bartender speaks up, setting your drinks on the bar.

"Thanks."

"Thank you."

You take yours, ready to step away and say goodbye. You don't want to linger—but—

"Is your friend going to be missing you?" Bruce asks.

"Um..." You look around, spotting her speaking with one of her colleagues—one that you know she has a crush on. You huff a soft laughing, shaking your head. "No, definitely not."

"So she won't mind if I hold you up for a bit?"

Your heart leaps into your throat, brows creeping high.

"Hold me up? For what?"

"To talk, if you're interested." He holds his hand out for a shake. "Bruce Wayne."

And you can't keep it in anymore. He's introducing himself? You chuckle softly, shaking his hand.

"Yeah. I know."

[cozmicwonder]

Eyes on You

Warnings⚠️(18+ but you know good and well um you don’t care😉) p in v, oral-f receiving-, choking, slapping, nipple play. (Ngl this is my third time writing smut so I’m b it sure if it’ll be good😫 lmk what you think. I like constructive criticism.)

Summary- Your dreams of meeting the one and only Ken Sato comes true after the giants are accepted for a photo shoot. Partnership quickly spirals into Lust.

Being one of the top models in Japan wasn’t an easy title to hold. The pressure was always on no matter how great you were. Sure you never messed up and never planned too, but that was the stressful part. You had people looking up to you, you couldn’t mess up now. All eyes were on you. All eyes except one. Ken Sato.

You’d always see him on TV. The first time you saw him you were like a starstruck teenager all over again. You always tried to watch as many of his games as you could on TV. You even managed to make time to go to one of his games. He’s the reason you even bothered to learn about baseball. Before you found out about him you didn’t even care about sports. The thought of meeting him had quickly turned into the thought of being with him.

You’d be lying if you said your late nights didn’t end with your fingers between your thighs and thoughts of him in your head. God, you were obsessed. You couldn’t get him out of your head. You had it bad. Luckily the agency you worked with was hired to take photos of the Giants team for a sporting magazine. You didn’t know who to thank. Your agency accepting the job or the giants being good enough to make it into a magazine.

Saying you were excited was an understatement. You were ecstatic, but you had to keep it professional. The shoot was later this afternoon. You and a few other models have a chance to take a few shots with the giant players. This was your chance to talk to him! Maybe ask him out on a date..or something fun!

You were freaking out. Hoping you didn’t make a fool of yourself as a first impression. You were walking with your best friend Liza to work to get ready for the shoot. She was a photographer and you were a model. You two were so excited to be accepted into the same workplace. “Dude I can’t believe the giants are going to be here today” you squeal out while jumping lightly. Liza looks and you and chuckles.

“Yeah, I know right! But unfortunately for me, I have another group to work with so I can’t be there” she frowned. I look at her sympathetically. “Oh yeah right..so sorry Liza..I’ll be sure to get an autograph from one of them.” You smile her way hoping what you said would cheer her up, and it did. “Thanks y/n. You’re the best.” She holds you tightly in her arms. You hug her back and let go. “I know, it’s what I do.” You say flicking your hair dramatically as you joked.

Your act received a laugh and a slap on the arm from Liza. “Yeah whatever,” she says as she rolls her eyes. You guys continued to joke as you walked and you two didn’t realize that you made it to your place of work. The thing that took you out of your little world was the flashes of cameras and loud voices begging for attention. Your face was curious and confused. ‘Why are the paparazzi here already? The Giants don’t get here till 3:45’. You look at your watch and it read 3:00 pm in big white numbers.

‘Why are they here so early?’ You questioned yourself. Thinking of different possibilities for the situation. “Hey I think we should walk faster if we want to beat the paparazzi to the door” you spoke quickly and quickened your pace. Although you were in heels you could run like hell If the time called for it. So here you were at 3:01 pm running in pitch black stilettos to the door of the agency with Liza right behind you.

You closed your eyes for a split second chanting ‘please don’t break please don’t break’ and the next thing you knew you were on the ground after hitting something that felt warm and strong. You didn’t dare open your eyes, not ready to bear the embarrassment of the incident. “Hey, are you ok?” Someone in front of you spoke softly. Fear settled in the pit of your stomach. ‘Oh god no! It couldn’t be!’ You slowly open your eyes to reveal your worst nightmare. Ken Sato standing above you. I mean under a different circumstance this would be great! But not now, especially after bumping into him is awful.

He held a hand for you to grab and you took it. “IMSOSOSOOOOOSORRYFORBUMPINGINTOYOUIWASNTLOOKINGATWHEREIWASGOINGSORRY!!” You quickly stuttered out your words, bowed several times, and bolted for the door. Your face was beet red with embarrassment. You didn’t stop running until you were in the ladies' room.

You could of started crying from how embarrassed you were. You walked to the sink and placed your purse on the countertop. You run your hands over your face and take deep breaths to calm yourself down. “Wonderful first impression that was y/n” you mocked yourself quietly. Your heartbeat slowed and your breathing steadied. You let out a sigh followed by a groan. You wanted to scream and disappear.

You grabbed your purse and left the bathroom to the dressing rooms to get ready for the shoot. The briefing was short and simple. Pick a numbered jersey to match the player and come up with pose ideas. ‘They’ll follow your lead’ Mr. Ito’s words replayed in your head. You had to make sure you got lucky number 7.

As soon as you made it to the dressing room you went straight to the rack for your specific shoot. You greet most of the makeup artists and hair stylists as you make your way to the rack. As you get closer you notice someone already there. You silently prayed they didn’t take number 7 or you might’ve broken down and trashed the place.

When you got close enough you realized it was Lexie. She never really cared about anything. She was the ‘I just do what I gotta do so I can go home’ type of gal. You sighed, relieved you still had a strong chance of getting what you wanted. You had waited about a minute behind her. Not that you were checking your watch every few seconds or anything. As soon as she walked off you got straight to work to find number seven. The only sound you could hear was the sound of a metal hanger sliding on a metal rod.

You went from left to right since it had to be in number order. If it wasn't, someone was going to get a stern talking too. I giant stupid smile plastered on your face as your eyes laid on a big number 7. “Yes yes yes!” You said a little loud. Your outburst got you a few looks but you didn’t care at the moment.

You practically ran into a changing room. As you were about to change you realized you didn’t have any pants to change into. You ran back out jersey in hand and went to pick a pair of bottoms. Browsing the options you settled with a thigh-high plain black schoolgirl skirt. You rushed back into the changing rooms and decided to grab a pair of heels on your way out.

You unclothed yourself starting with your jeans and slid up the skirt. You then pulled your shirt over your head, hair falling along your arms. You didn’t want to fully button up the shirt so you left a few buttons unbuttoned near the end of the shirt to leave an opening to show some of your stomach.

You stare at yourself in the mirror trying to figure out what’s missing…a baseball cap could do the trick but what else..? You thought to yourself. ‘Oh yes! A chain dangling from the side will definitely look good! But I need to match Mr .Sato. Hmmm…I could get one for him, yes there we go! Problem solved.’

You grab your clothes and leave the dressing room. Before you head to get accessories you need to go to your locker. You walk a nice distance from the dressing room to the back area where the lockers are located. You do the code on the lock for your locker and open it, placing your things inside. You checked your watch for the time. ‘3:27 perfect! Enough time to finish getting ready’ You close your locker and make your way back to get accessories and a pair of shoes.

As you made your way back you heard loud frivolous laughter. It startled you a little, nearly jumping out of your socks when a loud voice boomed through the hall. You decided to get closer to get a better hear to see who it was. It was coming from the male bathrooms. You decided a minute or two of listening wouldn’t hurt.

As the laughter died down a new conversation started. “Hey did you guys see that girl that bumped into Ken?” One voice spoke sounding excited. The voice is kind of high-pitched. “Hell yeah dude she’s a total babe” one other voice spoke up deeper this time. The comment made you smile a little. Something in your heart was hoping to hear something from Ken Sato himself.

“Yo dude, what’s up? What’s with the furrowed brow?” This voice came with a slapping sound. Wonder what happened. “It’s nothing” it was Ken’s voice. Your heart fluttered at the sound of his voice. “C’mon dude you gotta agree she’s a total babe!” The same deep voice from earlier spoke again.

“Yeah, she’s fine or whatever” he was dismissive and his voice sounded slightly..irritated? The words were like a knife in the back. You almost teared up, but the sounds of people shuffling and walking stopped you and you sped walked away to not suspect anyone of any noise.

You made it back to the main area to get shoes and accessories. It was your favorite part about the place. Minus working with your best friend. Getting accessories and shoes was like shopping it was set up like a store and everything. The walls were decorated with shelves and shoes. The main floor area was decorated with racks and countertops of accessories.

You greeted Shelly when you walked in, she was a sweetheart. You went to the far right corner In search of a black cap. You browsed for a few moments before your eyes fell on a cap that would do the outfit justice. You then head toward a rack that has countless pant chains dangling from them. You found one you really liked but it didn’t have one that matched. So you tried again.

You then found a silver chain that had a few clear jewels on it and jewels as clips at each end. You found a similar one to match it was silver and had jewels at each end as clips. You smiled at yourself at the thought of matching with the Ken Sato. ‘All that’s left is a pair of heels. What kind though..’ you pondered on the thought while staring into space.

‘A chunky platform heel would work.’ You made your way to the shoe wall and browsed for your vision. You decided on a pair of Black chunky platform heels with a thick leg and a strap around the ankle. ‘Time to cash out’ you made sure you had everything you needed and headed for the register.

“Hey, Shelly!” You smiled as you placed your things on the countertop. “Hello y/n, is this all for today?” She asked scanning everything. “Yup! I’m so excited for my shoot today! These are the final touches I need then I’m done”. You decided to check the time. ‘3:38. OK enough time to add accessories’. “Oh yeah you’re working with the Giants today right?” She asked, looking excited as well. You nod rapidly. “Ok, we’ll just type in your name and Id number and make sure you return the items at the end of your shift. Have fun!” You finish typing and grab your things “Will do! Bye!” You say happily and walk out and sit at a nearby bench.

You take off your socks and put on your new heels. You clip them close and fix your hair into a ponytail that’ll stick out the back of the baseball cap. Lastly, the chain. You decide on the left to hold the chain. You put your socks in the bag, grab out the nearly identical chain and head to the picture-taking area. ‘Luckily I did my makeup before this or I’d be totally screwed.’

As you approached you saw the group of girls you were working with today huddled by Mr. Ito. You quickly slid into the group to not miss anything, luckily it seemed he’d just started. “Good afternoon ladies. Today's shoot is a big one so make sure you put in as much effort as you can and do your best. Whatever number you have on your jersey is the player you’ll be working with today. They are going in numerical order number one starting here behind us down to the left. Have fun ladies.” Mr. Ito sent us off with a wave of a hand and the girls flooded the area looking for their partner.

As you followed the many individual white backgrounds you made it to lucky number seven. Your body suddenly felt hot and sweaty and your heart began to race. As you approach, He looks to be in deep thought staring down at the ground. “Uh, Mr.Sato?” you managed to make yourself speak. You now stood in front of him. His head snapped up from his view of the ground. “Uh yes?” He spoke, sounding slightly spooked. You held a hand out for him to grab. “I’m y/n. I’ll be the model working with you today.” You gave a gentle wide smile. “It’s nice to meet you”. He studied your hand momentarily before grabbing it and shaking it gently.

“Nice to meet you too.” He returned the smile. ‘Ugh, he doesn’t know what that smile does to me’. You bite your inner cheek to stop you from biting your lip. “I brought you a pant chain so we could match since I have one.” You hold up the chain. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s totally fine if you don’t want to wear it. I can Just ta-” Your rambling is cut off by him grabbing the chain and putting his hand up to dismiss your rambling.

‘It’s alright I don’t mind. But might I say you have some pretty good taste in accessories…” He says inspecting the item. You felt warm and bubbly inside. Your cheeks felt hot like fire, and you were sure they were bright red. “Thank you” you smile sheepishly as you watch carefully as his fingers play with the buckle of the chains to clip them onto his pants.

Images of late nights with your fingers between your legs wishing they were his popped in your head as you watched. His hand flexed, and it made your knees weak. You were staring so hard you didn’t realize he had finished putting it on. Him clearing his throat brought you back to reality. You mentally slapped yourself for getting caught. “Sorry,” you say sheepishly. He chuckled. He chuckled. ‘God, his voice is attractive, he’s attractive. GAH I need him so baaaddd’.

“It’s alright. Mr. Ito said you guys would be in charge of the poses we do and props used-” ‘You can use me as a prop if you know what I mean.”. “Yes we were tasked to pick out multiple poses to try for the shoot. Only the best will make it into the magazine.” You speak with sudden annoyedness. “Kind of sucks that the fun ones never make it in.” You say and sigh.

This sparked a chuckle from him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right..Now what's first?” He asked clapping his hands together. “So for the first one I was thinking we could capture the back of the Jerseys.” he looked confused. “So like our backs are facing the camera and our thumbs are pointing towards the number on the back of the jersey.” He nods in agreement.

“Then I was thinking we could do something with the baseball bat. So where I’m standing in front of you with my hands on the bat. Afterward, we could do some back-to-back shots and solo pictures. Or even pictures with a Large number seven.” You shrug as your ideas pile out. He nods in agreement with the ideas. “Yeah, it sounds good to me.” He smiles and positions himself right of the middle of the background and turns around. You follow him but move to the left more and point your thumbs to your back, turning around.

You heard the flashes of the camera quite a bit before they stopped. “Ok now let me grab the bat and You figure out what face you wanna make. You made your way to the basket with baseball bats in it and you could swear you felt a pair of eyes on you the whole time. You make your way back and stand in front of him. You flip the bat upside down and place your forearms on it. Almost leaning on it. You bend over with your ass nearly touching Ken. “Is this alright?” You question not turning around. You waited a few seconds and didn’t get a response. You were about to turn your head when you felt slender fingers on your waist pulling you back so you were now currently touching Ken freaking Sato.

You put a smile on your face and a few smirks as the photos were being taken. Though your face displayed a calm professional look you were burning hot. By the end of it you could have sworn you felt something poking your ass. As the shoot progressed you felt lingering gazes from Ken, long touches, and the eye contact got longer. You’d be out of your mind if you said it wasn’t turning you on.

By the end of the shoot, you were hot and bothered. “It looks like we’re all done!” You turn around to face Ken. “This was fun.” You smile at him and all you get in return is a small nod. It disappointed you to say the least. ‘Did he not like having to partner up with me? Maybe it was the girly chain I gave him, it could’ve been the poses.’ You were so lost in thought you didn’t realize you were staring.

When you came back to you realize Ken was staring at you intensely and he had some kind of glint in his eye. You try to rub your legs together discreetly. Partially because you felt like you wanted to disappear with his intense gaze on you. You could tell he knew what you were doing from the way his eyes flicked down and then back up. You really wished you could roll up into a ball and pretend you didn’t exist.

“Do you think you could show me where the bathroom is?” His words broke the deep silence. You blinked a few times, the words sinking in. “Oh..uh yeah, Of course. Follow me.” You turn on your heel and begin walking away. The walk there is dead silent. You never understood the term you could hear a pin drop, until today. You felt his eyes all over you. It made you shiver.

As you two were walking you nearly passed a family bathroom. As you were about to pass it you felt a hand grab yours and pull you into the bathroom. As you were pulled in you were pushed against the door. Lo and behold Ken Sato stood in front of you. You felt him lean in and then heard the door lock. Your heart was racing at this point and your face felt hot once more.

Ken put an arm above your head and rested it on the door. His other hand was used to grab your chin and tilt it upward to see his face directly. He leaned in for a kiss. Your eyes were bolted wide open in shock. ‘Is this really happening, please be real please be real’. Your eyes slowly fluttered close as you returned the kiss.

The kiss started slow and passionate but quickly turned heated full of lust. His lips felt soft on yours and tasted like.. Cherries? Your tongues danced against each other as they both fought for dominance. Ken’s tongue came out on top. You both separated to catch some air. “You know,” He said in between breaths. “I’ve had my eye out for you for a while now”. He spoke while he trailed kisses down your neck. His tongue moved smoothly down your neck as he littered it with hickeys. Sucking and biting on your skin red marks began to appear across your neck and collarbone.

Soft murmurs of delight fell from your lips. “That’s funny because…I’ve had my eye on you for quite a while now too.” You laugh softly but it is quickly replaced by a pleasurable wince. His hands found their way into your shirt and under your bra. He lifted the bra up enough for your boobs to fall out into his hands. His fingers pinched and pulled at your already hard nipples. Quiet moans were pulled from your throat.

He chuckled at your comment. “Yeah? That so?” His voice sounded low and breathy. It made your knees weak. “Mmm yeah,” You say mildly out of breath. His mouth latched onto your right nipple. His tongue swirled around the nub and nibbled on it while his left hand toyed with your free nipple. Your moans got louder at the new sensation.

After sucking on your nipple for a time that satisfied him. He let go of your nipple with a pop. His hands traced your waist down to your hips and snuck behind to grab your ass. He gave it a firm squeeze and a nice slap. This received a surprised gasp from you. His hands then fell to your thighs as he fell to his knees.

He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder giving him a better view of your sex. He began to kiss your inner thigh. Repeating the same process he did on your neck until he stopped. You watched him in anticipation. “What’s this?” he says, bringing a hand up and tracing the now visible tattoo that read eat me. “Tsk tsk tsk, never would’ve thought you of all people would have something like this.” He looked up at you. “But if I may?” He asked with a raised brow.

It made you a hell of a lot wetter than what you would like to admit. “Yes,” You said quicker than you’d like to. He chuckled at your fast response. “No worries sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.”. He moved your leg out further to get better access between your thighs. He ran a thumb down the center of your panties, “My…Someone’s excited”. You internally died.

He moved your panties to the side and ran a finger down your slit. A trail of your arousal followed. Retracting the finger he licked his finger clean. He let out a sound of satisfaction. He grabbed the waistband of your underwear and pulled them down pulling them down one of your legs so they dangled over the other. He wasted no time stuffing his face between your legs.

He licked a stride between your folds with a flat tongue gathering all of your slick. His tongue retracted and did the same motion twice more. Your head is now up against the door and your mouth is agap. His pace is agonizingly slow. He began sucking on your clit which made your moaning louder. You put your hands in his hair. His hair is unsurprisingly soft, silky, and smooth.

You pushed his face into your cunt for further satisfaction. As he continued to suck on your clit you felt something penetrate your hole. It was his fingers. ‘I knew those slender fingers wouldn’t disappoint.’. ‘Mmm fuck!” you spoke out, dragging the word out. His eyes remained on you taking in the way your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes sealing shut. The way your hands gripped his hair made him feel like his pants had just shrunk.

This is even better than what you imagined on your late nights alone. The pace of his fingers quickened and your walls clenched around them. Your thighs clamped around his head when he hit the right spot. “Ahh~! Mm right there” you moan out loudly. “Shh sweetheart don’t want us getting caught do you?”. The thought of someone catching you made you wetter. “Mm, but I guess you’d like that huh? Dirty girl”. He let out a chuckle. The vibrations go straight to your heat.

It felt as though a tight knot had formed in your stomach itching to be untied. Your grip on his hair got tighter as you grinded on his face chasing your release. You felt his tongue flicking and sucking on your clit faster. No head you ever got felt this good. Your breaths shortened and got higher. You let out a loud moan before you reached your climax. Your cum and arousal are being caught by Ken’s tongue. Your rock-solid grip on his hair loosened and your breathing began to steady.

You took a few deep breaths. As he pulled away his chin was shining in the light from your juices. “I just wanna stay between here for hours. Gah, you taste so good.”. He said licking his lips, removing your leg from his shoulder, and standing up tall.

You’re standing against the door with your chest heaving while Ken Sato stands above you. You’ve finally come back, to and see Ken just staring at you. “What is there something on my face?” You question while patting your face in search of the unknown article. He laughs “You’re leaned up against a door with no panties on and that’s what you’re worried about?” He raises a brow at you.

You smile, “I mean yeah, I can’t be getting fucked by the Ken Sato and looking a hot mess.” You laugh. He hums “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’ve been thinking a lot about this” He puts a hand to his chin. You look away, “Whaaat noo”. He doesn’t seem convinced but he drops it. “Well I know just the thing to get your mind off it” he smirks, grabs your hand and brings you to the countertop. He pushes you against it and pulls your head back gently so you can face yourself in the mirror.

“I want your eyes on the mirror at all times ok? You can do that for me sweetheart can’t you?” He asks whilst unzipping his pants. “Hell yeah, I can” You pride yourself in the way you could keep eye contact with certain things. Let’s just say you always won a staring contest. “You sound pretty sure..Better not disappoint.” He leaned against you and whispered in your ear.

He lifted your skirt up and grabbed his cock running it up and down your folds, gathering your slick before lining himself up and slowly pushing in. You wince at the burning stretch. From what you felt he wasn’t very thick, about a little over average but he sure was long. You shut your eyes tight, the stretch feeling to be too much. Your eyes opened just as fast as they closed when you felt a harsh slap on your ass.

“Thought you said you could keep your eyes on the mirror…Fuuck.” His head fell back as he bottomed out. The look on his face made you clench around him. “If you keep wrapping around me like that I’ll cum before I even start.” he began moving slowly, each slow thrust made you yearn for more. His pace began to quicken and the sound of skin on skin was now very audible.

You regret being cocky when you said you could keep your eyes on the mirror. He was hitting all the right places and the view from the mirror wasn’t helping. The pussy drunk look on his face mixed with his toned flexed arms made you want to come undone right then and there. Moans spilled out like a prayer. He let out a few grunts and moans here and there. His hands were tight on your hips, sure to leave a bruise or two.

“You know, that little stunt you pulled out there back at the shoot. Fuck…It was a real dirty move.” He says slowly trying to keep concentration on the rhythm of the thrust. He brought a hand up to your neck and gripped it tight but light enough so you could breathe. His thrust got harsher pounding you down on his cock. Your eyes rolled back into your head when he hit your g-spot, your gummy walls clamping down on him once more.

“Ahh, YES, fuck! Right there…Keep going” you managed to get out. You moved a hand up onto the mirror for more stabilization, the grip on the sink wasn’t enough. The fucked out look on yours and his face was embedded into your head, never to be forgotten. “Yeah, right there sweetheart? What do ya say, hm?” his voice was degrading. You lock eyes with him in the mirror “Mmm please, ahhh~ please keep going.” Your voice was desperate and whiny.

“Since you’ve asked so nicely” he continuously rams into the same spongy spot, rearranging your guts. Another hand left your side and went in between your thighs rubbing and pinching your clit. You were seeing stars at this point. Trying your best to keep your eyes on the now slightly foggy mirror. The same knotted feeling from earlier came back in the pit of your stomach.

“Ah! Ken, m’cuming!” you say mouth a jar and head fogged. “Yeah? C’mon sweets give it to me. I know you can” his words push you over the edge and the coil in your stomach snaps. Your breathing is heavy as your chest rises and falls. The thrust continues as Ken fucks you through your orgasm and chases after his release. The continued stimulation on your clit plus the thrusting becomes too much for your overstimulated body. “Ah ah! Ken mmm s-slow down”. His pace doesn’t let down. “S’too much” Your fingers are bent in on the mirror giving up on trying to stay focused on it.

Your head is hanging low between your shoulders. “Mmm, fuck. I know you can take it sweetheart…mm, ah. You’re doing so…so fucking good.” he whines in the last few words. The rhythm of the thrust begins to falter as his climax approaches. His pace finally lets down as he finishes inside. After he finishes he stays in and continues to toy with your clit determined to give you a third orgasm. You clench down on him. “C’mon sweetheart, give it to me,” he says, voice demanding.

The coil breaks again and you squirt everywhere. Ken continues flicking your clit stimulating you through your orgasm. Your breathing is raspy. “Fuuuck, I haven’t been fucked that good like ever.” You say laughing at your own comment and removing your hand from the mirror. “I can’t believe you came inside. You better hope I don’t end up pregnant. I don’t want to be involved in a scandal.” You say looking at him in the mirror. He pulls out and slaps your ass.

He smirks, “I wouldn’t mind having a mini-me around.”

[flowerandblood]

The Second One (1/2)

[ modern • Aemond x Alys!sister • female ]

[ warnings: angst, kissing, physical violence, swearing, toxic relationship, toxic behaviour, manipulation ]

[ description: On the occasion of their grandfather's birthday, her older sister, Alys, comes to their house and introduces her partner to their family, who from the very beginning arouses her concern with his behavior. After a series of unpleasant words and arguments, he visits her in her room in the night, paying her a strange, ambiguous visit. Dark, manipulative, bitchy Aemond. Anon request. ]

This is Part 1 of The Loved One

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Her family decided to throw a party for her grandfather at their house to celebrate his 90th birthday, at which her older sister appeared for the first time with her partner. She was surprised that her man was so young and thought with shock that the age difference between them was at least 10 years.

She and her never understood each other very well, as Alys pursued her goals over dead bodies. After many years, she realised that she could not trust her, that she had to be careful with her words around her. She loved her and tried to accept her as she was, but she couldn't be her friend.

Nor did it seem to her that Alys could ever see her as such.

She introduced the man she had come with perfunctorily, a scar on his left cheek – it seemed to her, looking at him from a distance, that one of his eyes was artificial, shining strangely in the light of the chandelier.

He was dressed in black tight jumper and fitted trousers, standing with his hands folded in front of him like a bodyguard, not paying much attention to what his sister was saying, biting his lower lip.

She thought that he didn't want to be here at all.

She shuddered when their gazes met for a long moment. Instead of looking away, however, she felt a sense of discomfort as she saw the way his eyes ran shamelessly over her entire body, the tip of his tongue hitting the side of his cheek.

She left the room deciding she didn't want to look at it, walking out through the back door into the garden.

Alys always overshadowed her – she felt small and bland in her presence. Her older sister could make a good impression when she wanted to, always extremely feminine, confident and mysterious, a true femme fatale.

She was very successful in the fashion industry, modeling for many years, her face was on the front pages of the world's magazines.

Unsurprisingly, she did not seek the friendship of her younger sister, who was a nobody next to her, a little girl playing at studying literary history. She loved reading, in the world of books she could be whoever she wanted, she could be the only one, the main character in the story.

Despite what she was feeling, she tried not to show her or anyone else her pain, focusing on her friends from her studies and the fact that she really liked what she was doing, recognising that getting into university thanks to her results without being forced to pay tuition fees was also some kind of success, something her parents always emphasised.

She sat on the grass taking advantage of the fact that it was a pleasant summer evening, due to living far outside the city boundaries she could admire the stars that stretched above her across the cloudless dark sky.

She heard the sound of a door being pushed open and slid shut and thought it was her father smoking compulsively. She smiled as she heard someone's footsteps heading in her direction being sure it was him, hearing the sound of a lighter being fired up and the hiss of a cigarette.

She glanced over her shoulder and froze seeing the man Alys had come with looking at her intently. She pulled back slightly as he sat down next to her, shocked to feel her heart pounding hard, knowing it was strange to say the least.

She felt uncomfortable.

He held out his hand with his cigarette to her and she shook her head without looking at him, wondering if she should return home. He grinned, letting the smoke out loudly through his nose.

"Are you running away from her too?" He asked with some kind of amusement, his voice low, deep, slightly hoarse. She felt a shudder at his words and looked at him uneasily with a expression of surprise on her face, wondering what he was implying.

She was running away from whom?

From Alys?

She swallowed loudly, recognising that his words were rude.

They might not have liked each other, but she was her sister.

"Why be with someone you're running away from?" She asked frustrated, wondering if he had come to arouse her sister's jealousy, to tease her at her expense.

She had no intention of getting dragged into any of their games.

She felt a squeeze in her throat when he looked at her with some kind of mockery – before responding to her, he pressed his cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag, letting the smoke out along with his words.

"She can fuck well." He hummed, as if it was a normal, decent response.

She shook her head in disbelief and stood up, moving ahead, leaving him alone. She walked into her house and passed Alys, who wanted to ask her a question.

"Did you perhaps see −"

"− in the garden."

She couldn't look at him for the entire dinner and, as if he was doing it on purpose, he took the seat opposite her before Alys could decide for him where they would sit. She told him to move closer to her mother, but he settled comfortably in his chair, playing with his fork.

"No. I'm fine here." He muttered, throwing her a long, meaningful look. She pressed her lips together, swallowing loudly, feeling sick to her stomach.

She thought they were both worthy of each other.

She had no idea what their relationship was, but Alys liked to live on the edge and perhaps that was what she experienced with him.

Extreme emotions.

Her older sister finally sat down next to him, noticing her at last, asking her questions out of politeness that she didn't feel like answering, seeing him looking at her with a smirk that made her sick.

What kind of man was this?

"How are you doing in your studies? What are you reading now? Any poetry?" She asked in her soft, low, feminine voice, taking a sip of wine, fixing her long black hair.

She exhaled quietly, swallowing hard, looking down at her plate, on which lay an uneaten piece of meat.

"I'm reading the prose of Witold Gombrowicz right now. He's a Polish writer." She explained, convinced that her sister would certainly not know who it was, she, however, surprised her as she blinked, looking at her partner in wonder.

"Gombrowicz… do you by any chance have books by this author in your flat, Aemond?" She asked him curiously, his gaze, however, not even paying her a moment's attention, fixed on her, making her feel like sinking to the ground.

"Yes." He replied briefly, with some kind of satisfaction from which she grew hot, feeling uncomfortable with the idea that she had any interest in common with the man who sat before her. Alys stirred in her chair, intrigued.

"That's interesting. Well, tell me, little sister, what this Gombrowicz is writing about." She said lightly, putting a bit of salad on her plate.

She felt some kind of humiliation at her words, like a monkey in a circus who was now going to juggle her knowledge for her enjoyment. She sighed quietly, giving up, having no idea how to explain it to her.

"It's complicated." She said truthfully, and her sister snorted.

"Don't you know what you're reading about? What are they teaching you in these studies?" She asked with lively amusement. She felt a tightening in her throat and tears pushing into her eyelids, which she held back with difficulty.

She exhaled and looked at the man sitting in front of her, staring at her expectantly, intrigued as to what she would do, how she would answer, the fingers of his hand rubbing against each other in a gesture of anticipation.

"Gombrowicz uses difficult metaphors, swaps out certain words, using other, infantile ones in their place. Most of it is written as if he himself is the protagonist of events, it is like his stream of consciousness, the plot is simultaneously present and absent.

What all his books have in common is that he is a broken man, rejected by Poland and the Poles because he fled to Argentina on the Transatlantic right after the outbreak of the Second World War instead of staying and fighting.

Everything he writes about is his relationship with his country, which he loves and hates, which he longs for and abhors, his despair about his sexuality and his psyche. He wrote all his life in Polish, but he did not return to Poland, the communists did not want to publish his work.

He was unable to express his feelings in another language and although he was considered a traitor, in my opinion his true feeling for his country, the enormity of his suffering in seeing how much poison there was in his nation, which he pointed his fingers at when others praised it to the skies, is expressed in his work.

He is, in my opinion, an outstanding author." She said on almost one exhale, grabbing her glass of water. She took a deep sip from it, setting it down with a loud clink of glass, not looking at them, feeling her heart pounding hard.

Her sister blinked, raising her eyebrows, shaking her head.

"Oh, Mother, so many long sentences, and I still don't know exactly what his books are about. Anyway, I'm glad that you're doing well with your studies." She said lightly, and she shuddered to see a wide, dangerous smile spread across the lips of the man before her.

He was enjoying what was happening.

He drew satisfaction from it.

Her sister went back to eating, turning to their aunt across the table, not seeing that she was struggling to hold back tears of humiliation.

Nor did she see the way her partner looked at her sister, unaware that he was giving her far too much attention.

She thought they were both fucked up.

She knew that another half hour at the most and she could run upstairs to her room saying she would go to bed and leave this whole gathering.

She saw Aemond grab a bottle of wine and pour himself half a glass, her sister threw him a puzzled, upset look.

"You're driving, aren't you?" She burbled, and he hummed under his breath, taking a deep sip. He set his glass down without looking at her.

"Not anymore. I'm tired."

She felt a squeeze in her pit at the thought that he was trying to make them stay here instead of going back to the city.

She thought the last thing she wanted was to listen to them moaning on the other side of the wall and looked away, resigned and tired.

According to her plan, after several minutes she said a polite goodbye to everyone and said she would go to bed now, not honouring him or her sister with a single glance.

She changed into her pyjamas consisting of a T-shirt and shorts and locked her door, wanting to make sure no one tried to enter her room.

She swallowed loudly when, an hour later, she heard their voices in the corridor, lifting her gaze from the book she had just been reading in the light of her bedside lamp while sitting on her bed.

"I told you already, I don't want to stay here overnight. Let's order an Uber." Her sister insisted, she could hear her muffled, frustrated voice.

"And I told you I am tired. I'd like to finally fucking rest. You wanted me to come, I came, and now I want to go to bed. Is that so fucking much?" She heard his low, angry voice and felt discomfort at the thought of hearing every word knowing that this was their private conversation.

"Can you keep your voice down? Do you always have to act like a little child? And why are you looking like a pervert at my little sister, huh? Do you think I can't see? Do you want to fuck her?" She hissed out in a whisper, and she felt her heart pounding hard, ashamed, embarrassed and horrified by her words, by the fact that she had noticed it and pretended that nothing had happened.

She heard his low chuckle.

"Maybe I want to. Maybe she wouldn't act like a bitch to me like you do." He growled and she heard a loud splat followed by complete silence.

She slapped him.

She stared at her door, breathing unevenly, swallowing her saliva with difficulty, wondering if she should come out and intervene or if it was better to stay quiet.

"Get the fuck out of my house." She hissed and he laughed, as if her words amused him.

"Fuck no. I'll stay here overnight and drive home in the morning by my car. If you want, order an Uber. Sorry −"

She heard someone come upstairs and from the way he spoke she deduced that it was her mother.

"− will it be a problem if I stay here overnight? I feel bad and I wouldn't want to go back to the city in this condition." He said lowly.

There was silence again – she thought that her mother didn't know what to do, having surely heard at least some of their argument.

"− I − yes − of course −" She muttered after a while. She heard the sound of a door opening on the other side of the corridor, their voices becoming increasingly indistinct.

Then she heard the loud clatter of Alys' heels, her and her mother's voices as they ran down the stairs.

"Fucking bastard." Said her sister, their mother trying to reassure her.

"− after all, I can't just throw him out, since you invited him −"

She heard the loud slamming of the front door. She got up on trembling legs and walked slowly to the window, seeing her sister lighting a cigarette with trembling hands, wiping her cheeks.

She cried.

She felt a squeeze in her heart at the sight, and even though she had hurt her so often with her words, she felt sorry for her. After a moment, she saw an Uber pull up in front of their house, and she got into it and just drove off.

She swallowed loudly at the thought that she had gone, but he had stayed.

What was he planning?

She turned off her lamp, hiding under the duvet, swallowing loudly, listening for any sounds. She felt restless – she couldn't fall asleep and she shivered feeling her heart pounding hard.

She felt that something was about to happen.

She shuddered, snapped out of a deep sleep when she heard a quiet knock on her door. She glanced quickly at her phone's display and saw that it was two o'clock in the morning.

She looked at her door, figuring that if she didn't get up he would go away, but he knocked again. She covered her face with her hands, feeling tears under her eyelids with fear.

"Please, go away. Please." She said pleadingly, wanting him to take pity on her, not having the strength for it, for their pushing and shoving, for him to fuck her now when in a week's time they'd be back together with her sister, looking for thrills, hating and loving each other like two elements.

She had no intention of being anyone's plaything.

"I want to talk about Gombrowicz." He said lowly and she groaned loudly, licking her lips, shaking her head.

"It's two in the morning." She muttered beggingly, not understanding completely what he had in mind.

"I'm not going until we talk about him." He said after a moment in a matter-of-fact, cool tone, and she sighed heavily, stood up and walked to the door, turning the key.

She opened it for him and there he was, standing in front of her, looking down at her with an indifferent expression on his face. He stepped inside as if nothing had happened, walking up to the window, opening it wide, pulling cigarettes and a lighter from the back pocket of his trousers.

She thought surprised that she had never met such an insolent man in her life.

She simply closed the door behind him, sitting down on her bed, leaning her back against the wall, covering her bare legs with the duvet.

He didn't look at her but out of the window, straight into the night, his face lit by the warm flame of the fire, his cigarette hissed. He took a drag of it, settling comfortably on her wide windowsill, silent for a long moment.

"Have you read Trans-Atlantyk?" He asked at last indifferently, still not looking at her while letting the smoke out with his mouth, his face turned in profile to her. She swallowed loudly, all tense, wrapping her knees with her hands.

"Yes." She replied quietly.

Silence fell between them again, broken only by the hiss of his cigarette each time he took a drag.

"What do you think about it?" He asked at last, just as matter-of-factly and dispassionately. She pressed her lips together, sleepy and tired.

"That it's his best book." She said truthfully, throwing him a depressed, exhausted look.

She didn't have the strength for this.

She just wanted to go to sleep.

"Why?" He continued, and she sighed heavily, placing her forehead on her knees.

"Because it is his response to what has been going on around him. It is his answer to all the accusations made against him. Proof that his country was not at all indifferent to him – on the contrary, although he wanted to, he could not eradicate it from his heart. He saw what was poisoning his country from within. What was destroying it and he had the courage to speak out about it.

He spoke of it with irony and contempt, but when you read into his words, there is only deep feeling and regret there, regret that his country cannot be what he would like, what he needs, what he loves. His people do not reciprocate this feeling, do not see the need to change, that everything is declining.

His feelings are complicated, but therefore true, because he shows that there are no easy answers. Out of the chaos of his thoughts there emerges some truth, some core, and although elusive, although dressed up in humour and irony that made me laugh, after reading this book I wanted to cry."

She said exactly what she felt, regardless of whether he was listening or not. She heard him hum at her words, silent for a long moment, his cigarette almost completely burnt out.

"After I first read this book I couldn't sleep. I felt anxious. As if I had suddenly entered someone's mind, heard their private thoughts and then no longer knew whether I or the author was thinking about something. I had never felt anything like that before." He said calmly, running his tongue over his lower lip, dropping his cigarette into her glass of water that stood on her desk.

She looked at him uncertainly noticing that his face was no longer so tense and aggressive – he was lying comfortably spread out, leaning his back against a wall, pulling another cigarette from his pack.

She considered his words in silence, recognising with surprise that she understood what he was talking about, that she had in fact felt the same way when she read this author's books.

"Can I sleep here with you?" He asked suddenly, and she threw him a shocked, horrified look. She watched him nonchalantly light another cigarette.

What?

"− no − I − God −" She mumbled out, burying her face in her hands, wanting to tell him that he was just terrifying her, that what he was asking was wrong in so many different ways and was putting her in a very awkward position.

She felt a certain discomfort looking at his face, feeling that it was some kind of game, that he was testing her.

"− I can sleep on the floor − I won't touch you −" He said finally looking at her, letting out a puff of smoke with a quiet hiss of his lips.

She couldn't tell what she saw in that look, dark, cold, proud.

He, however, was still sitting in the same place and still looking at her.

"I don't believe you. You want to have fun at my expense, but I don't feel like it. We've talked, now leave. Please." She said, looking bravely into his face, trying to sound as soft as possible.

She had no intention of offending him.

She just wanted him to let her alone.

"I don't love your sister." He said lightly, as if he were talking about the weather. She snorted, shaking her head.

"I don't care. She cried today because of you after she left our house. You're insolent and unpleasant, intruding on me in my own home and making me feel uncomfortable." She choked out, frustrated and angry, furrowing her brow, feeling that she was losing patience.

He, however, chuckled lowly at her words, amused, shaking the ash from his cigarette out of the window.

"She was crying? That's interesting. She didn't give a shit that you almost cried because of her at the table." He murmured, glancing at her curiously, clearly wanting to check her reaction. She pressed her lips together at his words.

"She told me about you. What an ugly duckling you are. That you don't know how to dress well, don't know how to accentuate your figure and your assets. That you hide yourself in big sweatshirts and sit with your nose in books instead of really living and that there's nothing to talk to you about because you can't converse about anything interesting." He mused, taking another drag, cocking his head with curiosity.

"It's none of your business. Get out." She said dryly.

He stood up, approaching her slowly, crouching in front of her bed – he placed his elbows on her bedding, his cigarette in his mouth, which he lightly removed with his hand as he caught his balance.

She felt pain in her heart at his words and tightness in her throat, her fingers clenched on the material of her duvet, her eyebrows arching in anguish. She felt tears under her eyelids again, but she didn't want to give this bastard any satisfaction.

"Get out." She repeated coolly in a trembling voice, looking at him coldly.

"Did you tell her what she wanted to hear too, before you got bored?" She asked with derision, the corner of her mouth twitching in a mocking smile. She saw his gaze darken – he licked his lower lip involuntarily as if he recognised that he was accepting her challenge.

"But when I saw you today I understood why she said that. Because you're pretty. Because you're kind. Polite and cultured. Because you can converse about high literature, and she just doesn't understand what you're talking about. You don't have to spend hours applying make-up, wearing deep necklines and tight dresses to be naturally beautiful. To attract and intrigue. She's fucking jealous of you, little one." He hummed and she felt a shudder at the way he called her, thinking how inappropriate it was.

She pressed her body against the wall, wanting to be as far away from him and his words as possible, feeling hot, thinking that he was manipulating her.

"I didn't have to say much. She prefers to fuck, you know? To feel desired." He murmured lowly, taking another drag, looking at her expectantly, some dangerous glint in his eye.

"Why are you telling me this?" She asked finally, feeling that she didn't have the strength for it, that she just wanted him to leave her alone. He grinned in a way that made her feel a shiver.

"Just so you know the problem isn't with you." He said lightly, as if it was obvious. She shook her head unable to follow his train of thought.

"Why are you with her if you despise her?" She asked, feeling that she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, her voice slightly raised and trembling.

"Because she has big tits and a big ass. Because she sucks cock well." He said calmly and she shook her head, feeling embarrassed by his words, feeling as one by one tears began to run down her cheeks.

She covered her face with her hands, feeling that it was too much for her, that they were both worthy of each other.

Why was he meddling her in their affairs?

"− hey − hey, little one −" He whispered – she felt the mattress next to her bend under his weight and she immediately jumped back, terrified, pushing him away, shaking her head.

"− no − please, no, leave −" She mumbled out, but he just put his arms around her and pressed her against his chest. She could hear his heart beating fast – he smelled of wine, cigarettes and some intense, masculine perfume.

"− please, let me go −" She wailed through her tears, but he hushed her, his free hand stroking her hair, the other holding his cigarette.

She felt him lean his back against the wall and settle into a half-lying position, drawing her with him, his large, warm hand roaming over her head and back, in some strange, irrational way making her feel comfortable.

"− cry −" He whispered quietly with some kind of understanding, as if he knew what she was going through, and although she didn't want to, she allowed herself to burst into sobs, along with her tears flowing out of her all the years she felt next to her sister like nobody.

She didn't want to come off as the jealous one, the one who couldn't enjoy other people's successes, but she understood that Alys never praised her sincerely – everything she said was the bare minimum so that no one could accuse her of being judgmental towards her.

She felt bad at the thought of sobbing in her man's embrace, cuddled up to his chest, but she couldn't help it. She didn't have the strength anymore: she just wanted to sleep, to simply rest.

"− it's okay, little one − I know −" He hummed stroking her hair with slow, tender movements, playing with her curls once in a while, smoking his cigarette, the pleasant, cool night air breezing over her warm, red cheeks.

They were both quiet, lying like that in silence, looking towards the window. She sniffed with her nose and snuggled into him, surrendering.

She thought that if he tried to rape her she would start screaming loudly to wake her family, but some subconscious feeling told her that he wouldn't do it.

That for some reason he too sought comfort in her.

"− I'm done with her, you know? − after what I saw today − after the way she spoke to you I realised that she has no respect not only for me, but even for her immediate family − I was deluding myself that she was only saying that to me because I'm a piece of shit, but I was wrong −" He murmured quietly, weariness and discouragement in his voice. She swallowed loudly, trembling in his embrace.

"You don't speak respectfully to her either." She whispered resentfully, wondering if he really thought he was blameless.

He chuckled quietly at her words – she shuddered when she felt him kiss her hair as if they had been close, as if they had known each other for years. He rested his chin on the top of her head, playing with her hair.

"− that's true − but I don't pretend to be a saint − I know what I want and I make it clear − she hides her desires behind pretty, empty words −" He grunted, stroking her head with a calm, steady motion of his hand.

For some reason what he was doing was calming her down _ she was no longer so frightened, though she still felt strange and uncomfortable.

"If you make it clear what you want, why don't you say why you came here?" She asked with a grudge, feeling pain at the thought of him toying with her and getting exactly what he wanted. He hummed, letting the smoke out through his nose.

"I already told you. I want to talk to you about Gomborowicz and sleep in the same bed with you." He murmured low, kissing her head again, nuzzling the tip of his nose into her hair.

She felt bad at the thought that for some reason it was pleasurable, that she felt a sense of satisfaction that she was now the one in bed with him and not her sister.

She shuddered when his hand slid up to her face and lifted her chin, forcing her to rise her head. She drew in a loud breath when she felt his full lips immediately pressed to hers, soft, wet and hot, his tobacco-tasting tongue invading deep into her throat making her feel throbbing between her thighs.

She pressed her hand against his sleek black jumper, ashamed and terrified that she didn't have the strength to resist him, that she was taking pleasure in the way his fingers stroked her cheek gently as their tongues met and licked with a loud, lewd clicks, slick and sticky from their saliva, his cigarette slowly burning out in his other hand.

She wasn't sure she'd ever been so terrified and aroused at the same time, her heart pounding like mad. She felt her moisture between her thighs, so she clenched her legs tightly to relieve herself any way she could.

She knew he felt it – his hand slid from her face down her back to her buttocks and slipped from behind between her thighs, his fingers pressed against the material of her shorts, rubbing her there in sure, slow, circular motions.

"No." She mumbled and pulled away from him, terrified, feeling that this had gone too far, that she couldn't do this, that she wouldn't let him take advantage so that he could then laugh in Alys face with the satisfaction that her little sister had welcomed him between her thighs with joy.

They stared at each other with eyes wide open, breathing embarrassingly loudly.

"Come here."

"Please, get out."

"Come."

She felt her heart pounding hard, knowing that they were now fighting each other for dominance, for who would have the last word, who would give in.

"If you don't leave, I'm going to get up and wake my parents saying that you came to my room in the middle of the night and you won't leave me alone." She said dryly. He pressed his lips together feeling that her words were final, that she wasn't joking.

"You don't want me to leave." He whispered lowly pressing his lips together, breathing unevenly, his cigarette extinguished.

She swallowed loudly involuntarily glancing down and felt a shudder as she saw the bulge in his trousers.

He was hard.

She shook her head feeling her tears gather in the corners of her eyes again.

"I can't, I'm sorry, it was a mistake. I don't want to do it, not like this, it's wrong. Fuck!" She cursed, knowing it had gone too far anyway, burying her face in her hands, heartbroken that she could have done such a thing to her own sister.

She heard him rose lazily, dropping his second cigarette into her glass of water. He looked at her over his shoulder in a way that made her feel a tightness in her throat.

"I'm sorry, little one. I didn't mean to hurt you. Really." He said lowly with some kind of pain and just walked out, leaving her alone at last.

She collapsed on her bed, covering herself with her duvet up to her head, wanting to hide, to disappear, to sink into the ground.

She couldn't believe how close it was.

How close it was for them to fuck.

She cried her eyes out terrified that she felt tension between her thighs, that she was aroused.

That some part of her wanted him to come back and finish what he had started.

She was awakened in the morning by the loud slam of the front door of her house. She got up quickly, walking over to her open window, looking out of it into the driveway.

She saw him open his car door and give her one last look, as if he hoped he would see her there. She felt a strange tightening in her heart and pain, burning tears under her eyelids.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him – after a moment she heard the muffled sound of music and the whirr of an engine.

She watched with a blank stare as he drove away and disappeared around the corner, pressing her forehead against the frame of the window, feeling a river of tears begin to run down her cheeks.

She wiped her face with her hands, heartbroken that this man had brought her to such a state in one evening, and turned away, wanting to return to her bed.

I wish I had met you before her.

She froze, spotting something white on the floor beneath her door. After a moment, she noticed that it was a folded piece of paper and she walked over to it quickly, picking it up from the floor and opened it. There was only one sentence written inside.

Aemond Taglist:

_____

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy

[hypnos333]

Good Days

Velvette x Model! Reader

Synopsis: You were a model and also Velvettes anchor for being so calm all the time

You were lying on the bed naked as Velvette picked an outfit for you to match hers. “There we go I found a perfect outfit for you My love” She said pulling out a red and black shirt/Croptop with red stars on the sleeves and black jeans/Skirt to match with it.

“Get dressed sweetheart I’ll bring you something to eat while you get ready for the meeting” Velvette said excitedly making you groan before getting up to get ready.

As she left the room you put on your undergarments that was were thrown early on. Before putting on the outfit your girlfriend picked for you. When you finished Velvette busted in the room with banana bread and Coffee, she shoved it in your hands before she pulled up her phone irritated at something or someone.

You mumbled a thank you before chewing on the Banana bread and drinking the ice coffee she handed to you. She grabbed your hand to walk to the Vee’s lounge to go see Vox about the Overlord meeting.

“What’s up Vox” You greeted him as Velvette stop dragging you.

“Hello My dear Velvette and ___, Now Velvette I have important matters to attend too. Now can I trust you can represent us in the meeting?” He asked your love as she rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“I can do it Smartass but I still don’t understand why I can’t bring ___” Velvette said irritated she can’t bring the one person that keeps her grounded and more calm.

Oh this made sense to her irritation it’s because you couldn’t go with her and it’s true that she brings you everywhere ever since you both been dating. This might’ve been the first time you haven’t gone with her.

“Baby it’s okay maybe this is for the best plus i’m not an overlord so ill probably won’t be able to go in either way” You said calmly holding both her hands as she stopped arguing with Vox. “Plus this could be good for you to be away from me” You added making her contemplate on what to do.

She groans “Finee I’ll go to that stupid fucking meeting without you” She said gritting her teeth before grabbing her purse on the couch before walking out without giving you a kiss or a goodbye.

You sigh before turning to Vox as he raised his eyebrow at you before ushering for you to follow him.

“Lucky for you dear ___ I actually didn’t leave you bored, I need you to model for another company I made a deal for, for about 2 hours” Vox said making you nod as you both headed the Vees vehicle to take you to Devil magazine company.

After the modeling you dragged yourself to yours and Velvettes room, then noticed Velvette wasn’t done with her meeting yet so you had time to shower and eat lunch until she gets back.

Just when you got out the shower Velvette busted in the room she instantly rush over to you with a big hug. Luckily you both were the same height so she had no problem kissing your lips over and over again but you’re not complaining.

“What’s wrong baby?” You asked her as she laid her head on your shoulder.

“Nothing actually everything is just wonderful,In fact I think I aced the meeting” She said sassily making you raise your eyebrows at her.

“Sureee Baby, How bout we get some ice cream and apple pie and call it a day?” You recommended to her making her even more excited before putting her things on the bed except her phone before heading to the kitchen.

This was just a casual day with her regular attitude.

[strawberrysnoopy]

ACT ONE: The Photoshoot, Part Three of Four

prologue, part one, part two. warnings: tobacco, smoking, alcohol use, briefest mention of using alcohol as a coping mechanism, mentions of infidelity (as always), ada slander at times (sorry), texting for a while, leon's a bit of a perv,

author's note: btw I left the husband without a name so there's no overlap on you and your husband having the same name and you live in new york due to the modeling thing. I also try my hardest to keep the reader ambiguous because I realize that skinny, quirky, white girls aren't the only ones that read this series: if there's anything you'd like to recommend or change in the writing to be more reader-friendly, drop in my inbox and let me know! :) thank you guys so much for all the reblogs and 100 FOLLOWERS AHHH!! thank you thank you thank you!

The warmth of your fingers working against his cool and paled skin had him melting like a runny ice cream cone in your hands. His hand was on your hip, rubbing loving circles like he was trying to commit the warm feel of your flesh into his memory. This was the type of life he envisioned when he was younger: married to someone he loved deeply with every crevice of his being. He thought Ada was the person for him, but that was such a costly and emotionally unbalanced guess. "Thank you, honey." You nod in response, applying the rest of the stitching to his busted lip. His hands dare to move a little higher on your hips, squeezing your waist and getting some sick pleasure out of the way your breath stopped in embarrassment. The scene was perfect, just a good ol’ friend taking care of her busted up pal. Leon hated that he couldn’t find you earlier, sooner, before he could even lay eyes on Ada Wong. She had her charms, sure, but there was something about the soft lull of your presence, how gentle you were, how caring you could be with others that had his heart fluttering in his chest. He still can't believe out of all the places he could've met you, it was at a store while you were buying a bottle of wine for yourself and your husband. "Met" would have to be an overrated word in his dictionary. The truth was that Leon had first laid eyes upon you in a magazine. They had released their February shoot that show-cased entrepreneurial photographers on the rise, climbing their way to the top without a care in the world who they scratched on their way there. You happened to be the diamond in the rough, making everyone else's cliche photographs of "lust" or "revenge" or "innocence" themes seem drab. Your theme? Limerence. Beautiful, simmering, and chilling limerence. Your hair was pieced together lazily but curled neatly, wearing simple yet cryptic tops and little boy shorts that lovingly cradled your ass. The rookie photographer that snapped your photos had done a stellar job at making it seem like you were one of those once in a lifetime girls you met in college. He still had the magazine of course, stashed away in the depths of his closet: kept in pristine condition like a filthy little secret he loved to indulge in. "So..." He muses. He feels the little pause in your work, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "How long have you known? About your husband's infidelity?" You've always known. The first? A college girl in the first year of your "official" relationship Bubbly and vibrant and a fucking joy to be around. The kind of girl you see on ABC's 20/20 or some other type of true crime prime-time film. Your husband claimed it was a drunk hook-up. And the first time, you believed him. The second? A school teacher that looked, acted, and talked exactly like you. Maybe she was your long lost twin or some weird rip in the fabric of time and she happened to pop out. He claimed he was mad at you for the way you did laundry. You forgave him a second time, but you'd surely have a knife to his throat the third time.

"A while. It's just like some weird fact I live with, I guess. Like you have some chronic disease and it's something you deal with from time to time." He nodded, bringing your hand up to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to your palm. He knows you don't deserve that. Nobody deserves that. Yet, he always wondered why you stayed. Your husband was an asshole, although that shouldn't be a term that leaves his lips due to the fact he's supposedly your husband's best bud, but for the sake of doing the holy honor of defending you: he was a cheating dick that didn't deserve to be maritally bound to a woman such as yourself. "Wouldn't you get a divorce? I don't mean to be like...rude or anything but I would've thought that you're the type of woman to leave his ass once he cheats." And you were. Headstrong, confident, and self-assured—he's never seen an insecure model before, or maybe that's some weird stereotype he's made in his head unconsciously. "It's a tough situation." And that's all you have to say about your marriage. He nodded, understanding your reluctance to speak on the subject. He can't say he's any different from you either considering his marriage to Ada, the very reason he can't be with you. Especially so intimately. It’s hard. The safety of it all. Having someone next to you at all times despite the shitty relationship. He knew.

Now the bathroom is silent. You’re still doctoring up his wounds while he sits up on the marble counter-top. He really wants to say something until you step in for him.

“I can’t believe you fucked my husband up like that.” You say, pulling your hands away from his face to find some more antibiotic cream. He hates that he feels his head moving forward to get your hands back on him. Pathetic. He feels pathetic, especially considering he beat the dog shit out of your husband when you graciously invited him into your home.

“I’m sorry—“ He begins, you stop him once more.

“No. Don’t apologize. I was thanking you.” He nods again, finding the motion of moving his head back and forth too repetitive. “So, thank you.”

He boldly takes your hand in his own, squeezing it and kissing the palm—feeling like he’s turning into a crazy man when your fingertips brush against his lower eyelids and cheeks.

“You’re welcome.” He releases your hand from his own, feeling guilty for not saying more to you. He feels as if you deserve more than silence, and to be honest, with everything you've gone through this week, you definitely do. "I know I said it already but I'm sorry for saying that I wanted to—" He pauses, not wanting to be so crude with his wording but throwing caution to the wind as he had already fucked everything up so far. "Said that I wanted to fuck you, that's not fair to you nor your husband."

"It's okay if you do." His heart pulses in his chest at those words. He had expected you to ignore it, maybe slap him if you were really pissed. But you agreed? What the fuck, it's like he's living in a fucking alternate universe. "It's not a crime to find someone else attractive. The only thing wrong is if you act on it." That was true, but it never took from how much he dreamed about you. The times he's jerked himself off while thinking of your gorgeous body on his mind had grown to a disgusting amount. Hell, it's gotten to a point where he doesn't even fight it anymore and Ada being in the house used to stop him, but not anymore. He'll just go up to the bathroom and rub one out with your magazine in hand. "Then I guess I'm attracted to you." Your cheeks flush red at the admission, flaring a brighter color when his hand grips your hip once more. And tighter, too. Jesus Christ, the way this whole situation had been playing out like a steamy porno. First, your husband was gone in the hospital. Second, Leon was brought into your home. Alone. Third, he admitted he wants to fuck you. No, he has to resist. You were right. It's not wrong to be attracted to someone other than your spouse but you had him wanting to act. Wanting to drag you down to the marital bed you share with your husband and fuck you senseless. "So, do you want to stay the night tonight? Considering your car is broken down and everything." You ask, your tone beautiful and raspy like it always is.

Oh, God. He's gonna fuck you.

tags:@heylesamis, @sweetserial, @iloveyousomuch1989, @galactict3a, @m1sery-busin3ss, @ssulfurr, @julia13123, @nic-stars, @stillhavingdaddyissues, @greywardensaywhat, @ressespearlz, @xqlenkdy, @g0rep1ty, @nomorekerkanymor,

[sugusoneandonly]

Quixotic - STSG - ch 1

satosugu x fem!reader . ft. model!gojo & designer!geto

next

!! do not repost/copy on any other platform !! if u do at least lmk where and give creds 😒 !! pls don’t tho <3

cw: power dynamics/imbalance?? ,, established!stsg (no cheating) ,, webtoon inspired & lwk self-indulgent 😞 ,, y/n may be unlikable idk ntm on her guys 🥰

exes to lovers (gojo) ,, one-sides enemies to lovers w geto ,, very feminine + slight meek reader??

a/n!! :: hi this is my first fic ,, have mercy <33

some prior info for now i will add more later (and clean it up)

- not much of an age gap, suguru is js very successful at a young age.

- takes place 2 years after their breakup (mc | satoru)

- y/n is currently a fashion major in her final year of college and fortunately lives near her college and the shadowing program.

- the general plot is y/n is shadowing (following around, studying, etc. not rlly working for him

- NOTTT really real life accurate 🥰

Had you known that coming across your biggest idol would come along with meeting your oh so beloved ex, you would’ve thrown away whatever dreams had clouded your ambitious mind. Yet lo and behold, in front of you stood one of the most renowned fashion designers in the industry with your ex-boyfriend hanging off of him as a price tag (a very expensive tag for that matter).

Suguru Geto stood with pride as his spine and extravagance as his feet, hair that could’ve been painted with the midnight sky half up while the rest cascaded down his back. With an arm on his shoulder, and hair that would make the moon had Suguru’s been the sky, stood Satoru Gojo, your beloved ex. Both men dressed to the nines, outfits that were worth your monthly rent each.

You had cursed the creak of the door that had announced your entrance when you saw them. Gojo however, remained unaware of the stress that climbed your body. Instead, his lifted his eyes to meet yours, blinking back yet letting a small grin tickle his face. “Y/N!” his voice had drawn Suguru’s eyes to follow his line of sight like a siren.

Now, you and Gojo hadn’t had a horrendous break-up (although it’s after affects on you weren’t quite so), in fact it was rather peaceful (while it lasted). Gojo had called your 2 years of love off when he decided that he wanted to pursue a bigger, grander, future, one that apparently hadn’t included you. While he had wanted to go out, meet new people, flitter about the industry, the strain of a relationship had left awkward stains on his work. Especially certain modeling gigs that made him some extra cash.

It was your final year out of college and as one of the top students in your major, you had been provided a shadowing opportunity with various fashion designers to mentor the new rising generation of fashion. However, the pairings were randomized and the last person you’d expect to be yours was one of the greatest and youngest designers, who was also rumored to be your exes lover. How romantic. You had come across Geto’s work originally in a magazine for your project, and had looked him up online. While doing your extended research, you had seen the bright face of Gojo on several of his posts wearing his designs. Immediately you fell in love with his success, ethic, and designs. Dresses so intricate and suits embellished, as if they had walked straight of the manhwas you read.

Geto’s brow had raised at the mention of your name, no doubt familiar with it and the story that may have came with it. His eyes pierced through you, a small hum and what appeared to be a shadow of discontent danced over his face before it went away. He had leaned closer into Gojo after a thorough inspection of you. the rumors hold true then

“Hi.” slipped through your lips at last, however, meek. You feel 12 again showcasing your painting to the old judges in an art contest. Not an ounce of professionalism. Perhaps it wasn’t to late to run out yet.

“Y/N? I heard lots about you” Suguru’s voice came out like silk drowned in a snakes hiss, anxiety bubbled in your blood. “Good things I hope..I look forward to working with you..?” His lack of facial response had you lost in which direction to move this conversation. Instead of a response he simply hummed at looked back at the paper in his hands. Gojo, just as awkward standing beside him.

I wanna go home

©sugusoneandonly 2024

next

[carlplsrailme]

𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 | 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬

summary: as enid flips through magazines and you complain about your skincare troubles, she tosses you a page that states "using boyfriends sperm is better than any skincare" and you decide to try it out with carl

carl grimes x fem!reader

cw: dick sucking, cum sitting on face, ball squeezing, etc etc

word count: 1k

request: Ok so i just saw a Video where a Girl Was using his Boyfriends Cum for Skincare,then i had a idea. So like Yn complains to Enid that she hates that she cant find Skincare anywhere ( Zombie Apocalypse) and then enid throws Yn a Magazine in her Face and it says something like "Boyfriends Sperm is better than any Skincare" and then Yn ask Carl and yk smut🤪🤪🤪

you scrape the dirt under your nails as the unexpected pain runs through your body and you recoil back onto enids bed

"fuck! I forgot how sharp my nails have gotten" you mumble to the girl who's on the floor of the bed, but she just throws a nail clipper behind her back as it lands on the mountain of plush blankets

"thanks..." you mumble, expecting this normal girls' day would consist of a lot more than her ignoring you as you stumble around

"so, what were you saying?" her voice rips you out of your whining and you roll onto your stomach, putting your nails out in front of your face as you line the metal clipper with them before hearing a satisfying snap

"I know the world ended..." you jokingly start and she feeds you with a snort

"but I'm really pissed about my face wash" you confessed, another snap coming from your clippers as you move to the next hand

"what's wrong with it?"

"there's nothing to be wrong with it. it's just an empty bottle" you giggle as you clip the last nail before folding it and sitting up, you tap it against enids shoulder and your eyes move to the paper spread out on her legs

"Top ten skincare tricks of 2010?" you snort as she turns around, grabbing the forgotten clipper as you stare stars into the magazine she's gripping

you assumed she's been reading one of her comics this whole time, not pages with possible answers to your all your problems!

paper smacking your nose brought you back as the magazine slid down your face, cover on display as it lays on her fleece bed

"Boyfriends Sperm is better than any Skincare?" you gape, the model on the cover who's on her knees while a white liquid spurts onto her face. this wasn't a skincare magazine...this was a fucking porno

"Enid! what the hell!" you fall back, laughing as she nonchalantly grabs the magazine back, flipping to the page she was already at

"yeah, and I heard it's true" "from where? the fucking walkers?" you say in between your laughs

"it lists the benefits here, if you ever want to try with carl" she tosses it at you with the familiar page screaming at you

"ok, ok, Top ten Skincare Tricks of 2010..." you bit your knuckle to stop your laughing as you begin the list

"use boyfriend's sperm for...baby soft skin-" you couldn't stop your laughing as enid joins, again, snatching the magazine from you when your grip on it looked a little too tight

"don't rip this shit!" she says between her giggles, stomach aching from laughing as you sit up

"whatever, I'm using the hand soap instead of that, any day"

that entire conversation rings in your head as carl kisses down your neck in the shower, his hands traveling down your body as the boiling water meets with your skin

his dick rutting into your thigh softly as he begs for friction, your hands move down as your grip it with ease. his cock stood tall as veins shot out at his pearly tip gleamed with pre

you moved down, knees meeting with the wet tile as you squeezed your legs together, feeling your wetness run down your thigh as your cunt ached

"Carl..." you started, you looked up at him as you stroked his cock,

"do you think you can give me a facial?" you ask, you watch as his brows furrowed and face reddening, dick twitching in your hands at the thought of shooting his cum on your face

"w-what I-" "I read somewhere it's really beneficial for my skin" you spoke as you took him in, lips wrapped around his cock as the plush walls of your warm mouth sucked him in

"fuck" his head fell back onto the tile as your head bobbed, his fingers wrapped around your hair, not to guide you, just to encourage what a mess you're already making of him

your hand reached over to cup one of his balls squeezing softly as he squirms from the touch

"fuck! where did you- learn this!" Page 89 you internally snort to yourself as he endlessly moaned, you felt his cock twitch in your throat as you removed him from your mouth, jerking him above your face as you look up at him

once you heard the words "I'm cumming!" leave his mouth you closed your eyes as his warm cum squirted on your pretty face, baby batter spreading on your features as you knelt there with a cum-soaked face

you felt his fingers soothingly rub on your cheeks, collecting his own semen but he didn't mind as he asked you "do you want me to wash this off?"

"they said to wait as least 3 minutes"

"what?" "what."

an: wow I love this request! this was so fun to write and made my day! thank you so much for requesting this!! ❤︎ ilysm <33

[peoplesgraves]

I have yandere thoughts yet again

Imagine being a Model and you literally can’t get away from obsession.

Yandere Fans cover their walls in pictures of you. They rip out every magazine page your included on and papermache them above the ceiling so you can look down on them every day. If you have shoot with other models they’ll use those too but with cut/scratch the other people out or even crop their face over the other person. If you ever did a meet and greet it would be absolutely packed and would likely get shut down because everyone’s fighting over who’s your biggest fan and who loves you the most. Those who do manage to meet you end up lovesick,sobbing messes so the pictures usually turn out bad. But the fans don’t mind as long as you look good in them.

Yandere Models all want to be pictured with you and they’ll do anything to make it happen. From blackmailing other models to drop out or bribing whoever’s casting, nothing is too dirty or too illegal if it means getting to spend all that time with you. Models will starve themselves and do all matter of dangerous treatments or plastic surgery just to have a leg up and hopefully be chosen to pose alongside you. It doesn’t matter how much it hurts or how much they lose, it’s all worth it to have all the tabloid gossiping about the two of you after the latest editorial you were pictured in together.

Yandere Photographers who only care about you. Who call you their muse and only ever take perfect pictures. They’ll take awful pictures of other models who they feel are a threat to your career until they’ve been all blackballed from the industry. If you have shoots with other people then there’s a super noticeable difference in quality over the way you look and the way other people look. The photographer obviously plays favorites but no ones going to say anything. It’s what his muse deserves.

A Yandere Stylist who is just a little too cheeky. Always staring obviously at your lips when putting gloss on or making jokes about having to punish you if you smear your makeup one more time. They’re always jovial and smiling but there’s something dark in their eyes that only you get to see. Their touch lingers when they’re tailoring your clothes and their hands go from professional to more like a lover whenever they’re helping you take 100 Bobby pins out of your hair. They’re always by your side always joking and touching and waiting for the second you get lipstick on your teeth or a fly away.

A Yandere Manager whos always on your nerves. Who’s older and has more experience. They always have some excuse for steamrolling over you and just making whatever decision they want for you. They’ll keep you in line with their connections and their influence. In a way you both get what you want. You’re the most loved and sought after model in the industry and they have you too dependent on them to ever try to leave. Stylists and photographers are a dime a dozen but your manager has your entire career in his grasp.

Yandere Paparazzi who are ironically more ethical towards you as yanderes then they would be if they were normal. They don’t take bad pictures or catch anything embarrassing about you, or at least not that they show publicly. They might snap a few pictures at vulnerable moments to keep just for them, they’re the only ones who get to see you like that. While they may do their best to protect your reputation the same can’t be said for anyone else. They’ll slander other models left and right. Wether it’s true or a little editing magic they’re good at swaying the public opinion against anyone they need to. Just let them watch from the sidelines and you’ll never have to worry again.

[wooahaeproductions]

Viewfinder

Lee Seokmin (Dokyeom) x Female Reader

Genre: fluff, smut, photographer!reader x bf!seok

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: nude photography, appreciation of Seokmin’s body, a little thigh riding? and protected sex (its gentle and sweet)

Rating: 18+ MDNI!!!

A/N: So this happened…lol. Thank you so much to the lovely June @onlyhuis for brainstorming with me and betaing!

Also tagging: @highvern @wongyuseokie @the-boy-meets-evil for uh reasons lol

Your camera clicked as you snapped multiple photos of the sun's rays against the top of the water’s ripples. Spring was in its prime and when you woke up that morning, you knew the weather was perfect for an outing to the marina park. You stopped clicking the shutter and flipped open the screen to review the photos you just took with a small smile. You had captured several shots of the sun’s reflection, the halo of it spreading out across the water as it nearly blinded you with its brilliance.

As a magazine photographer, you enjoyed your work taking photos of models and fashion items. Still, sometimes it was nice to take photos for yourself, for your own enjoyment and the park at the marina near your home never let you down. Soon, the cherry trees surrounding the area would bloom, providing you with more of the nature content you loved photographing the most.

You stopped looking at the pictures you took and pulled out your phone to look at the time when you noticed a text from your boyfriend letting you know that he was coming to pick you up from the park. He sent that about 10 minutes ago and most likely would be waiting in the parking lot any minute now. You made your way to the lot where he was indeed waiting for you in the car when you arrived.

You opened the door to the back of the car, offloading the tripod you were carrying on your shoulder into the seat and setting your camera bag next to it. “Did you get some good shots today, love?” Seokmin asked you from the front seat. You looked up to answer him and were quite happy you hadn’t put your camera in its bag yet because your boyfriend looked so stunning in the glow of the sunset.

You lifted your camera and looked through the viewfinder, seeing the most perfect shot of him. He had the window rolled open to let in the warm breeze and it ruffled his bangs slightly. His head leaned back against the headrest, and his sunglasses rested on the bridge of his nose just as the oranges of the sunset began to paint his face. You pushed the shutter closed and the camera clicked, taking the photo.

“Yes, Seokmin. I got some great shots today,” you grinned, putting the camera in your bag now that you had captured your favorite human.

“Including the one you took just now?” He said, teasing you and shooting you a devastatingly adorable smile.

“That one might be the best one of the day,” you teased back, although it was a true statement in your mind. You pushed your camera bag into the seat further, making sure it was secure before closing the door and making your way to the passenger side. Seokmin leaned over and opened the door for you to get in. You settled in your seat, putting your seatbelt on before he pulled out of the lot heading for home. You looked over at your boyfriend, marveling at how lucky you were to have someone like him.

A few hours later, you were finishing up dinner when you had an idea to keep the inspiration that you had during the day going. “Hey, Seok?” you started.

“Hmm?” he responded, gathering your empty plate from the table to take them into the kitchen.

“So there’s one type of photography I haven’t done yet and I think I’d like to try it today…” you said a bit nervously.

“Okay, well what is it? Let’s do it,” Seokmin responded enthusiastically before knowing what it was.

“Um, nude photography,” you squeaked, looking down at your hands.

You heard him let out a light laugh before saying, “Anything for you, baby”. You knew that was true, he’d do anything you asked of him.

“Okay, well let me grab one of my cameras and I’ll meet you upstairs?” you said and he nodded after placing the dishes in the sink to wash later.

He went up to the bedroom while you went into the other room that housed all your cameras, and you grabbed your favorite one, the one you knew would capture all his gorgeous angles that made you weak in the knees. You took a deep breath as you made your way up the stairs. You didn’t know why you were so nervous, it’s not like you and Seokmin hadn’t seen each other naked before. But for some reason, the bond between photographer and nude model held a different type of intimacy.

You walked into the bedroom to find Seokmin lying on the bed, peering up at you while his arms propped his head up on the pillows. You fought to keep back a gasp as you eyed the bareness of his back, thighs, and ass. The sunlight that had shone earlier had now changed to moonlight that spilled into the room, creating shadows against the lines of his shoulder blades. Just when you thought he couldn’t get more beautiful, you were proved wrong.

His eyes lit up as you looked at him through your camera, and just as he gave a wide toothy smile, you pushed the shutter down to capture the moment. “Like what you see?” he asked cheekily, albeit a little out of character. You giggled, knowing he likely was nervous too and was acting like that to dissipate the unease.

“I very much like what I see, my muse,” you said back, still laughing. You snapped a few more photos, capturing the planes in his face and the curves of his naked frame. You knew you would edit these photos to be black and white, to better accentuate the shadowing and finer details of his body. You sat next to him on the bed as he moved to pose so you could get a closer shot. His skin looked so smooth that you couldn’t help but reach forward and brush your fingertips along the top of his shoulders.

You went to pull your hand away, but he stopped it with his own. “Couldn’t resist could you?” Seokmin joked.

“No, I couldn’t,” you said, rather bluntly. He wasn’t exactly expecting that answer and tugged you towards him, capturing your lips with his. As you kissed, he slowly took the camera from your other hand and set it down on the end table near the bed. Your now empty hand moved to rake your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

You continued kissing and found yourself further up on the bed, hovering over Seokmin. His hands had moved to the small of your back, pulling your clothed body flush against his naked one. He let out a whimper when your clothed core rubbed against the erection he was now sporting.

“I think we are a little uneven here, love,” he spoke, breaking your makeout session.

You smiled and leaned your forehead against his. “Should I even it out then?” you said, wasting no time and taking off your shirt. It was followed by your pants and undergarments, leaving you bare like Seokmin had been for the past twenty minutes.

“You’re so lovely,” Seokmin breathed out, leaving a peck on the top of your shoulder. You grinned at the notion of the subject complimenting the photographer. His hands found your hips, pulling you back against him. His skin against yours was silky and you couldn’t help but buck your hips against him.

He let out a sharp breath when his tip hit the edges of your folds and knew he couldn’t wait to be inside you. He rubbed his length against you, dragging it lightly as you gave a slight moan. He could feel how wet you were for him already. You reached your hand down to rub small circles on your sensitive nub, desperate for the sensation.

As if he read your mind, Seokmin reached over into the drawer of the end table and pulled out the familiar foil package. A minute later, he was pulling the latex over his cock and you had taken your spot back on top of him. You rolled your hips against his thigh, working yourself up even more to be able to take him soon.

“Please, baby,” He growled as you grinded against his toned thigh, hearing you let out whines. “I need to be in you,” He continued, taking more control now and moving you so your core was lined up for him.

You nodded, confirming that you were ready for him. He pulled you forward, sinking you onto him. He hissed, feeling how molten your walls had become for him. He slowly began pumping and you started a rhythm with your hips meeting his, going faster with each pump.

Moans and whines echoed around the room as you chased your highs together. Hands found purchase wherever they could, his on your ass cheeks pulling you as close as possible and yours digging into his shoulders for leverage. The coil in the pit of your stomach stretched more and more until Seokmin whispered in your ear. “I’m close.”

His warm breath against the shell of your ear and the knowledge that he was going to come undone just for you almost made the coil snap. One more particularly deep thrust later, he came with a groan. The feeling of him twitching within you brought your orgasm along with his.

You collapsed on top of him as he slowly pulled out of you, chests heaving as you caught your breath. Your vision that had gotten a little fuzzy at the peak of your high was returning, rewarding you with a glimpse of Seokmin’s gentle smile. He pressed a kiss to your temple and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear before he rid himself of the condom, tossing it in the trash can.

You moved to lay down next to him, pressing yourself into his side. He turned over to face you, pulling the covers over you as he moved. His arms engulfed you, bringing you closer to his chest and he rested his chin against your cheek. As you snuggled underneath the covers with Seokmin, you knew there was no one else in the world you would want to see in your viewfinder.

©️wooahaeproductions

All works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works.

[moonystoes]

Safe Dance - Elisa De Almeida x international!reader

summary: this pretty much explains it all lol.

Warning: Sexual assault, old man being a creep, mentions of alcohol, not well written, slowww burn like it's pissing me off too im sorry, elisa being our protective queen.

a/n: i'm bringing this up again, i just started writing, especially fics as long as this (the last one -and the first- had only 500 words). So feedback and help is needed!! also sorry i got a little bored and wrote too many useless things lol.

w/c: 5.218k

You knew you needed to celebrate your high GPA after graduating from your bachelor degree at some point. But you've been putting it off, feeling like it's too much effort and energy for your introverted self. It's no secret French people are distant towards foreigners, it's been something known worldwide (which is ironic since a big part of their population are people of color coming from different countries from Africa and Asia). But you ignored all the toxic things you heard about France when you unexpectedly got a scholarship into the University of Paris.

Now, four years later, you are still alone. You have made friends in some projects, but right when the project is over, your friendship ends as well. Your mom has messaged you a long paragraph on how proud she is of you, but the loneliness is still wearing you down. You knew you probably looked silly walking down the street, wearing a short V-neck dress with high heels obviously to party, but there is a permanent frown on your face.

When you looked up from your phone, you didn't even need to look for the club. You can feel the music vibrate the ground and there is a huge line at the entrance. You turned off your phone and waited in line, wanting to just drink all day and celebrate by then. You checked on your friend (an international student like you) who promised that she'll be here, but your message was left on delivered for 2 hours. 

After 15 minutes of scrolling through your Instagram and 3 missed calls to Liz, it was your turn to show the security your ID. His dark eye bags showed you that he was too exhausted to care, so he took less than a second to glance at your card before returning it to you, and opening the door for you in a frustrated way.

You walked in awkwardly, couples grinding and dancing around you, you felt disgusted - and secretly jealous. The club was dark and had red LED lights, it was filled with large posters of icons and models from the 70s, and of course the playboy magazines of women wearing lingerie. It looked good enough for you to settle down on the bar stool and immediately order a light drink. 

While you were sitting there to decide whether you should dance or wait for Liz (you were honestly frustrated at her for ditching you with no explanation), the bartender passed a large drink towards you. You glanced at him with a confused look, “oh sorry, I didn't order this.”

“Yeah I know, it's the man there.” He pointed to the table on your left, to an older man with thin white hair. Your jaw dropped when you looked at him, realizing that he caught you staring.

“Umm… that old man?” You tried your hardest to whisper over the thudding music, trying not to let the creep that is sitting just 2 meters away from you hear what you said. The bartender nodded and walked away to the other side of the bar, making you sigh in annoyance that he didn't bother to even help you out. You slowly pushed the light pink drink away from you, it smelled strong which showed his true intentions, getting you drunk.

You pulled out your phone and texted Liz a quick message, “Liz a man is being weird where are you ☹️☹️?” You scrolled through your gallery to pretend you are doing something and distract yourself from the man on your left, until you are tapped on the shoulder. You froze, quickly turning off your phone as you took a deep breath, pretending that you didn't feel it.

“May I know why you didn't accept the drink, it was really expensive.” you flinched when you felt his breath hit your neck, no way this is happening today. Where the fuck is Liz? You turned around slowly, trying to act calm and collected, “sorry, I didn't want to drink today, I'm just here for someone.”

“I don't see anyone here,” he mockingly glanced around the bar to see the ‘person’ you were waiting for. “I saw you drink just a few minutes ago.”

You closed your eyes for a second and took a deep breath. You glanced at his striking blue eyes and felt your hands starting to shake, you looked away back to the drink he ordered for you and grasped it, taking a small sip just to taste what it is. You knew you were fucked, Liz isn't here and she's probably not going to come, the bartender couldn't give a shit, and this man won't leave you alone. Why was he at a bar on a Wednesday night? Doesn't he have some office job to do tomorrow or is he too old that he's retired now.

The drink tasted sour and tangy, but had a strawberry flavor. The burning of your throat made you cough and your eyes shutting close, it was definitely alcoholic, very alcoholic. You rested the drink on the table and faked-smiled and awkwardly nodded, but your smile disappeared when his hand clutched your arm and pulled you forward, “why don't you dance with me, huh? Wearing this dress for nothing must be a shame.” 

You panicked and took a quick scan of your surroundings to see who could help. On the bar table to your left, there were other older men, possibly friends of the weirdo that's now bruising your arm. On the large leather sofas that were placed on the other corner, there was a couple?...a throple? A man was sitting comfortably on it as he crossed his legs on the mini table in front of him, two girls were sprawled over him, one playing with his hair and the other playing with his shirt while she chugs from a beer can…yeah they will be too busy to help.

You took a quick turn to the VIP entrance, seeing a short girl with a Gucci bag waiting to be let in… rich spoiled people are too busy to look around. You swore you never cared about religion until then, when the man tugged you to his chest, your eyes slowly closing as you were holding your tears praying to God to let you out of this misery.

You felt his hands being placed on your hips, as he forcefully tugged your back towards his groin. He pushed you to the crowded area so people can't see your discomfort in your face. 

But before he does more than this, a large hand tugged you away from the man, making the man behind you exhale loudly. “Anna! I'm sorry for making you wait, hey let's go…umm do you know him?” you've never heard such a soft yet deep voice like this. Before you even had the chance to look at who grabbed you, her right arm tugged you into her chest, trying to hide you from the stranger. “No, I don't.” You whispered, afraid of making the situation even bigger.

“Seriously? you were waiting for this…” His angry voice and arm pointing at the both of you made you anxiously stare at him. He looked at the woman hugging you up and down with disgust before muttering a ‘nevermind’ and stomping off.

You shakingly held tightly into her, staring at the spot the man was at. “Are you okay?” She let out a soft whisper from above your head. You were shaken at the whole encounter, blocking off what she said until you felt soft taps on your shoulder, making you look up at her.

This was the first opportunity you had to actually see who saved you from this, and she was gorgeous. She had sunglasses placed on the collar of her dress shirt with two of the buttons opened. Why was she even wearing a dress shirt at a club? When you looked up to her face (because she's 5 '9 and the first thing you saw was her tan skin), her hair was short, swooped to the side. Her cheekbones were sharp and her eyes were furrowed worriedly. You quickly separated from her and took two steps away.

“Hey, it's okay.” She took a step forward, opening her hands around her face to show you she doesn't want to hurt you, “are you waiting for someone?”

You looked away from her eyes, the smell of alcohol and sweat is making it difficult for you to think straight -literally. You looked at your phone, finding a new notification, “oh thank God she responded!” You relaxed, until you pressed on it.

“Hey baby!! It's your favorite uncle 😉, just saw your post about graduating. Congratulations! I miss you so much. Maybe one day we can all reunite when you graduate your masters 💪keep working hard!”

You inhaled deeply, turning off your phone and throwing it in your mini purse. You looked at the woman, she looked at you with raised brows waiting for an explanation for your reaction. You rested your hand on your forehead and frustratedly groaned out, “no she fucking ignored my messages.”

Her face turned sour as she looked behind you, probably to the place where the old men were sitting, giving you the chance to look at her face once again. You blushed at her clenched sharp jaw, slight pink cheeks, and the soft lips. When you looked back at her eyes, she was already looking at you.

You internally wanted to kill yourself for looking at her lips, because she definitely caught that. You looked away to her arms, doing everything in your power to not look at her face again. But then you realized glancing at her arms will make the situation even worse. Her arms were athletic and the sleeves were tight around her biceps. How is she this hot?

“You can stay with me, my friends are here.” She softly grasped your hand, pulling you away from the crowded dance floor. “It's fine, I'll just go home.”

“No, come on! It's a secluded area, no one will bother us.” She encouraged you, her hand still in yours. You looked down at your heels, you felt like shit. This whole time at the bar was for you and Liz to celebrate your day and you end up being a charity case for a hot woman. You don't even know why you chose the club, you hated partying anyways. You bit into your lip, one single line going through your head:

I deserve to celebrate my achievements no matter with who. I'm the one who worked hard for this, I need this.

“Okay just… Please don't do this because you feel bad for what happened.” her eyes softened, intertwining your fingers with hers and whispering a soft ‘never’. You felt embarrassed as she was dragging you around the bar to the place her friends are staying at, you didn't want to see anyone’s face so you just looked down at your intertwined hands and hoped you won't collide with anyone. Your hand looked small compared to her large ones as she held into you, feeling her rough skin tightly around yours.

When you realized she stopped, you looked up to where she took you. “Oh no… I'm not going there,” You frowned at her, “VIP? I heard it's expensive here.” You felt guilty that she might spend money on a spot for you, but you were curious on how she makes enough money to be here.

“Don't worry, my work has paid for the night here, I didn’t spend a euro on me or anyone.” She smiled at you, finding it cute how you were worried about her money. She let go of your hand and opened the door slowly, signaling her hand to follow her.

You stood still for a few seconds, feeling exhausted and tired. And unfortunately, you felt gross. You looked down at your dress, remembering what the old man said. It was your favorite, it may not look fancy but you've loved it and waited for a moment to wear it, now you can't even glance at it without feeling down. You glanced at the woman, she had already taken a few steps until she realized you weren't following her, “Do you want to go home? I can order you an Uber?”

This was your chance to actually get to know someone, you've been alone all this time in Paris and Liz was an American student. The woman in front of you seemed like the first French woman that actually tried to befriend you, and she's attractive. Her face softened as she took a few steps towards you again, understanding your silence. “My name is Elisa, what's yours?”

“Y/n.” You didn't know what to do after this so you reached out your hand to handshake her, internally cringing from how awkward you are…no wonder why your love life is as low as your mood today. She giggled and grasped your hand, shaking it aggressively. You looked at her with a confused face and she just winked quickly, “so… y/n why are you here at the club on a Wednesday night?”

“I just graduated so I wanted to celebrate.” You were staring at your held hands, feeling awkward when looking at anyone's eyes, especially élisa's. But when you felt her hand immediately let go of yours and wipe it off with her dress pants, you looked at her face slightly hurt. Her eyes are slightly widened, which made you realize why she let go of your hand, “bachelor degree in physical therapy.”

“Ohh! That's so nice. You know at my job we need a lot of physiotherapists, I like them.” Her body physically relaxed, making you laugh at her panic. The poor woman thought you were some high school student, but you didn't blame her, you never made it clear when you spoke about it.

“Cool… what do you work as?” You asked, a smile appearing in your face. You didn't realize that by a small comment, Elise made your feelings better just as she planned. She let out an open smile when she noticed yours, feeling proud of herself for making you feel better.

“Guess.” 

Your smile wiped off your face, “no please I don't like doing this game just say it.”

She laughed, “I'll give you a hint, I wear number 5.”

It took a moment for you to answer because you froze when you heard her laugh, making a stupid grin plaster into your face, “...football?” You dragged the word as you questioned, worried it might be wrong. She nodded with a proud smile.

“Wow, that's so cool I do watch football!... not the women, I don't know where to watch…sorry.”

She laughed, stepping closer and resting her left arm around your shoulder, encouraging you to walk through the dark maroon hallway with her. “It's okay, we're used to it.”

When you looked up from this angle, your attraction worsened. Her side profile was perfect. It took a moment for you to recover from it, “ehm…some girls in my class wanted to be football physios so they could work with Szoboszlai.” You muttered, obviously not knowing what to say. You didn't know if you should wrap your right hand around her waist or just keep it awkwardly limping between the both of you.

She glanced at you and laughed, “and you? Is that what you wanted?”. You looked away, deciding to focus on the dark walnut wood corridor in front of you instead of her eyes. “I don't really like men.”

“Ha! Me too.” Her left arm tapped your shoulder to the beat of the music. Elisa was glad that you weren't into men; she felt like it's finally her time where she can get attention from a woman that isn't a fangirl. She pulled you inside a room, filled with people singing and jumping around.

You felt sick all over again, not knowing Elisa had this many friends. You remembered her speaking about her work paying for this, are all of these people her teammates? The room was built almost like a sunken living room, the leather couches were placed into the ground around the walls with stairs in the side, and two small tables placed in two opposite corners that were filled with drinks and purses. Elisa felt your body turn rigid, she leaned in close to your ear and whispered gently, “They're all nice, I promise.” You turned to look at her, you didn't understand why but you felt at ease around her, maybe because of what she did earlier, but you took a deep breath and calmed down.

She pointed at an empty seat next to a blonde woman, “hey Jackie, this is y/n, she's a physiotherapy graduate.” Jackie turned to look at you and elisa, she smiled brightly and raised her hand to signal you to sit with her. You let out a tight-lipped smile and approached the table to sit. You noticed Jackie looking at your attire and glancing at Elisa with a confused look, but before she said a thing, Elisa interrupted her by saying she needed to go to the bathroom.

Well shit, now you have to do this alone. You stared at Elisa as she was walking out, secretly checking her out and also praying that she’ll come back soon. “Umm… do you work here?”

You turned to look at Jackie, “oh, no. I'm just here to party.”

“Ohh…I thought you were one of the dancers offered here.” She looked at her whiskey and took a sip, clearly not seeing the shock in your face.

You froze as you gave her a confused glance, “oh. You thought I was a stripper?” You glanced down at your dress… It's a short dress, yes, but a dancer? You had no disrespect for them, just felt a little confused. Does Elisa call dancers for a lap dance? Is this where she went to?

“Oh not your dress! It's just that Elisa never spoke about bringing someone here so I assumed. Also, you're really pretty.” She gave you a wink with her compliment.

You gave her a soft smile with a shy ‘thanks’. “Elisa isn't really into those things, that’s why I was kind of confused.” She nudged your arm when you glanced at the exit again, realizing that you were waiting for Elisa. After hearing what Jackie said, you relaxed into your seat and looked at your surroundings.

Everyone seemed drunk except one, her thick black hair was tied in a high ponytail, too engrossed with her phone to really notice anyone. The other players were dancing, some were singing loudly to some song by Aya, an icon in french music from what you noticed in the past four years living here. “May I ask how you know elisa?” Jackie asked.

“Oh we just met here so…” you shrugged, you didn't feel like telling anyone what actually happened. Jackie nodded, taking her purse into her lap and pulling things out, trying to find something in it. After a while of scrolling on tiktok and looking at the girls partying, Elisa came back in, immediately settling down next to you. You looked at her with a smile, glad that she's back, but your smile was wiped off when you saw her frustrated and sweaty state. When she noticed the worry in your eyes she leaned in closer to you, “Do you like this club?”

You were caught off guard from this question and nodded slowly, “good because I want you to come back here,” You were confused, obviously you'll never come here. It doesn't matter how nice and fancy this place is, after that weirdo, you'll never step foot here. “I kicked him out, he's banned from coming here again.”

“Wa- wait what?” You gasped, looking at the door she came back from, expecting to see him standing there. But he wasn't, and even from the small glass window on the door, you can see that his spot is now empty, as well as his friends’.

“I want you to feel safe celebrating your achievements, I know today has probably been shit.” You bit your lip, turning to look at Jackie playing with her now found camera. You couldn't look at Elisa's eyes or else you would cry. You felt her hand softly caress your shoulder, bringing your body closer to hers. “Thank you, I mean… I don't even know what else to say.”

She gave you a gentle smile and turned to look at her teammates singing karaoke now. “No problem, now do you want to sing and dance with them? Or just sit here?”

“I'll just sit here, you can have fun with them.”

She looked back at you, deciding to lean back into the coach and find a comfortable position. “I play for Paris Saint Germain.”

“What! No way…I feel like shit for not watching you play.” You gasped, psg is the biggest team in France. And that's probably because they are loaded with money and can afford the top players, but you wondered how powerful the women's team is.

She laughed, quickly shaking her head, “don't feel that way! I just wanted to tell you. We just got qualified for the quarterfinals of the champions league that's why they're all drunk and shit.” She tilted her head towards a player dancing on the table. You bit your lip trying not to laugh at the poor woman, but when you heard Elisa's cackle, you let out a little laugh.

“Quarterfinals to the champions league… that's great! That's so cool, honestly, you should go and dance with them!” You pushed her towards the women, but she didn't even budge. She winked at you when she saw you try to move her and held your arm down, “Are you actually trying to push me or are you playing around?”

You knew she was joking, she can tell your struggling face when you tried to push her. You glanced at the way she grabbed your forearm, feeling the blush coming around your cheeks. Her muscles tensed beneath her fitted black shirt, elisa has been trying to subtly send you hints without panicking too much. But she knew she needed to do something even more, so she let her hand slowly go from your forearm to your hand, intertwining your fingers with hers. A shy smile broke out in both of your faces, looking up to see her already smiling at you. “Okay…maybe I do want to dance a little.”

You bite your lip and give her a soft nod, indicating that you wanted to dance with her. She grinned brightly and stood up from the couch, delicately pulling you with her. You felt content for the first time, you're finally going to dance and party like how you wanted before you came here in the first place. Elisa pulled you into her body, looking at your eyes to see if you're okay with her wrapping her arms around your waist. You felt speechless so you just nodded and dragged your hands from her forearms all the way to her shoulders, blushing at the feeling of her rough muscles.

Because you were busy trying to mask your flustered state, you didn't notice the panic Elisa was in. Her tightly wrapped hands were shaking and it seemed like she couldn't even glance at your face for three seconds without finding something else to look at. The girls had stopped singing karaoke now, the speaker playing some french afrobeats. “I forgot to tell you, I'm shit at dancing. I was planning on getting too drunk to care.” You admitted with a laugh, elisa tightened her hands around your waist, making your chest flush with hers. “Oh wait until you see me dance.” 

“You do realize this song isn’t for slow dancing?” You loved the feeling of her body against yours, but the idea of slow dancing to afrobeats in front of people is confusing you. “Shhh don’t ruin the moment now.” she joked, turning her head around the room, she looked back at you and said, “They’re all too drunk to care.”

You looked around the room, and fortunately she was right. The girls were all dancing, separated into multiple groups and only focusing on them. Even the sober one had stood up and was dancing with the rest. You rested your head on her shoulder, feeling like it doesn’t matter at this point what happens between you. Elisa will probably forget about you, and date an instagram model like every football player does -well… that’s what the male players do at least.

“You tired?” her velvety voice soothed you as she leaned her head on yours. You closed your eyes and hummed in response, not feeling like moving your body. You tried to excuse the exhaustion as the sickness from the old man, but throughout the semester, you have been sleeping 4 hours and only working and studying. And today has been the day you can finally rest.

Elisa moved her hands from your waist to wrap them around your shoulders instead. As much as she was worried about the possible rejection from you, she felt great about you being okay with her physical touches and wanted to enjoy the chance. She can feel your beating heart from the thin dress you’re wearing against her sternum. Elisa’s long fingers were playing with the hem of the dress from your neck, her body slowly rocking as if she’s putting a baby to sleep.

“Thank you,” You whispered, opening your eyes just to see her jaw. “For today. I may not seem happy, but I am really grateful for this, I’m happy.”

“Do you want to go home?”

You stayed silent for a few seconds, before letting out a short breathy laugh, “Is it obvious I don’t like to party?” You didn’t want to offend her, especially after what she did.

“I can call an uber for you, or I can drive you home if you don’t feel safe.” You almost wanted to cry at how thoughtful she is, but you knew you needed some alone time after all of this. Also, the thought of parting ways with Elisa and her completely forgetting about you is eating you alive.

“Thank you, but I’ll feel very guilty if I take you away from the party you should be celebrating.” You let go of the tight embrace you were in, looking at her eyes to let her know how much you meant it. She sighed and nodded with a small hidden frown in her face. Elisa felt like a child attached to a toy, she was worried to let you go and never find you again. Now that she kicked the assaulters out, she hoped you’d come to the club more often.

“Okay, I’ll walk you out.” She held your hand and walked you out of the VIP entrance. The smell of sweat and alcohol hit you in the face, the club is even busier now since it was around 10 at night. Elisa pulled you to her body, putting her arm around your shoulder protectively in case someone does a thing to you. Once you reached the closest exit, she pushed the heavy door and let you go out.

“Ehm… Can I have your phone number?” Elisa suddenly blurted, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye, so she said the lamest thing she thought, “Just to make sure you went home safe…you never know what can happen.”

When Elisa asked that question, your heart started beating faster, your worry about losing her is now out of your head, feeling glad that she wanted to contact you. But after her explanation, you sighed in disappointment, she’s probably not interested in you, she wants to know if you went home safe only.

“Yeah, okay.” You opened your hand, waiting for her to hand you her phone. She pulled out her phone from her front pocket, and passed it to you quickly. Her palms were sweaty from anxiousness, and she hoped her sweat wasn’t all over the phone. She knew she fucked up, she could’ve told you the truth but instead she acted like some sick teenager, and it made her even more annoyed with herself when she saw the excitement in your face disappear like fog. She wanted you to know she’s interested in you. You typed your phone number quickly, before giving it back to her with a tight smile.

“Bye-Bye,” You stepped back, still facing her. “Again, thank you for today.” You gave her a small wave, and then turned and walked your way back home. She was invading your thoughts, her face, her smile, her deep yet delicate voice, her body, and the fact that she’s a professional player that can get anyone she wants.

Once you reached home, you looked at your phone notifications, there were none. 0 from Liz, and 0 from Elisa. You cussed yourself, why would she even bother to text you? She is the hottest woman you’ve ever seen, you probably look like charity work next to her exes. You boiled water for instant noodles, feeling too low to even worry about making dinner. After eating the soggy cheap noodles, you turned on the bathtub faucet and added some oils to calm you down and distract you from Elisa. You contemplated on searching up her name and see what google says about her, but you forced yourself to not even look up a picture of her. She clearly doesn’t care about you, why would you care about her?

After the 30 minute depressing bath, you plopped into the bed, not bothering to put the blanket over you. You suddenly heard a notification ding from your phone. Closing your eyes tightly, you swore that if it's Liz you'll run to her house barefoot to yell at her. When you heard another ding, you opened your eyes slowly and reached out for your bedside table.

[Unknown number]

I'm sorry

I was acting like a kid around u I wanted to ask you out but I got too shy

Can I take you to dinner one day?

You bit into your lip harshly, trying so hard to suppress your blush. You thought about it for a second, you weren't mad because she couldn't ask you out in front of you. You couldn't do it either, and you were also flattered to the thought of her being too shy in front of you. It felt as though she was the confident one there. It didn't matter anyways, what mattered is that you wanted to be hers. And if this date is the first step, you'll take it.

[You]

Okay

Only if I can go and watch you play on the quarterfinals

[Elisa ⚽️]

Really??

YES OF COURSE

Only with my jersey 😉

You turned off your phone and banged your head into the pillow, grabbing your phone again to send her a quick message.

[You]

Of course

I'm going to sleep rn

Good night 💞

[Elisa ⚽️]

Good night 😴

You turned off your phone and closed your eyes, immediately sleeping from the exhaustion of the day.

[Elisa⚽️]

The dress looked perfect on you.

[god-has-entered-my-body]

Sun drowns the house - George Daniel & Matty Healy

aka: the spit roasting fic

A/N: took my meds just to write this fic, also thank you my love @justleaveatnine for forcing me to write and ALSO proofing this for me xx

wc: 6k

content warnings: litch everything i fear, smut, dirty talk, degradation, praise, so insanely gay dont look at me, this is what happens when a gatty truther writes a threesome fic, spit roasting (obv), handjobs (sort of), matty in lingerie (a given at this point), knife play, dom George for literally three seconds, insanely pathetic gatty for the rest, she orders them around (also a given atp), cunnilingus, slight impact play if u squint, begging, denial (sort of), facials, cumplay, mention of sub drop, but he's well taken care of x, disgustingly sweet because i have to, MDNI!!!!!!!!

You hear them first  

The door clicking open, Matty struggling to get the chain off to let George in, and then muffled footsteps as he toes his shoes off, throwing them into the floor next to the coat rack. Muffled voices laugh as Matty says something out of pocket, ushering him upstairs with a giggle. The door to the bedroom creaks open, stopping halfway through the motion because of its broken hinge.   

That's when you see both of them. Matty’s hand touching George’s arm, right above where his elbow creases. The glossy magazine in your hands is heavy, pictures of models in posh clothes littering the pages, pops of vibrant color drawing you in. It’s one of Matty’s, his extensive collection of them growing in piles next to the bed. You joke that you don't even need a nightstand anymore, you could just put the lamp on the stack of old vogue. 

You set it down, straightening your back as George looks in your direction, nodding at you as Matty keeps touching him, only letting go to close the door, leaning his back against it as you pat the bed next to you, asking George to come sit down next to you. The furniture creaks awkwardly, making you giggle when the mattress dips beside you, the unmade sheets crumpling even more under the two of you. 

George's eyes wander over to Matty, who surprisingly, is still just standing there, looking at both of you. He shifts on the bed, uncrossing his legs to sit with his feet planted on the floor, both hands on his knees as you move behind him, trying to figure out what he’s doing. 

That's when you see it. 

Matty stands there, a filthy smirk plastered on his face as both you and George stare at him, everything clicking into place slowly. His clothing gives his intentions away so blatantly, it almost makes you laugh. Clad in his favorite black, skin-tight jeans, he’s paired them with a pair of new heels neither of you had seen before. Cherry red platforms, rhinestones lined along the bottom, glimmering mesmerizingly as your eyes travel further up, taking in the sight of him all dressed up for you. 

You can feel George move oddly, and you know his little ensemble affects him just as much as you, if not even more. Matty’s top is pink and slightly see through, and you recognise it as one of yours, seeing how it hangs a bit loosely, folding and draping itself over his chest and torso. You hear the soft metallic sounds of jewelry as Matty takes a step forward, the glitter around his eyes becoming more and more visible the closer he gets the the foot of the bed

“What are you playing at, Matty?” George speaks, making you jump just a bit as his voice reverberates through your body, the low tone of his voice going straight to your core. Matty scoffs and shakes his head at the accusation, however true it might ring. 

“Just want to hang out with my mates, is that a crime now?” he deflects with another question, waving his hands around him gesturing to you, then George, like that somehow strengthens his point. 

“No one gets that done up just to hang out.” you breathe, blatantly enjoying the view as Matty’s hands find his hair, brushing back the freshly washed curls out of his face. George cocks an eyebrow at him, nodding along in agreement. Matty simply shrugs, picking at his nails in a bored way as the tension in the room builds, Both of you know what he wants, you just want to hear him say it. 

“What did you really have planned when you invited G over?” you say, hearing George suck in a deep breath in through his nose, steadying himself before Matty answers, who puts his hands up in defeat.   

“Got me there darling, m’not as slick as I thought.” now it’s your turn to scoff, “You really aren’t.”

Matty isn’t bothered by your jabs, pulling a playful face at you.

“I brought our sweet George over here to fuck him” he walks over to the foot of the bed, finding George’s choked reaction quite amusing. “Or watch him fuck you, I don't mind either way. But you knew that from the moment I walked in here.” 

"D'you want to get in my panties, George? Want me to scream your name like I scream hers?" Matty speaks, his voice sultry and low as George lunges towards him, catching his lips in a hot kiss, full of teeth and tongue and desperation as Matty whines into it, letting George take over. George’s eyes are wide when he finally pulls away, darting over Matty’s features before pulling him back in, both of them breathless as though they had just to run a marathon. You watch intently, taking in every movement and noise coming from the two of them, committing it all to memory. 

“Oh, I like this.” you whisper, grinning at the two of them as they turn to glance at you, sat back with your back against the headboard, watching the scene in front of you. “Of course you do, freak.” Matty murmurs, nipping Georges bottom lip with his teeth as the blonde gasps softly, eyes blown out and flicking between you and Matty frantically, not sure where to look. 

A delicate hand guides his face to look straight at Matty, their lips locking in another bruising kiss, making even you feel the heat of it, your fingers brushing your hair out of your face as they break away and turn to look at you. Both of their chests heave with effort, George using every ounce of self control left in him to not kiss him again, opting to bite his lip and try to catch his breath instead. Matty grins wildly, looking you up and down as ideas run through his mind, all of them absolutely filthy.

“Don’t want her to miss out on the action, yeah?” His voice is teasing as George looks at you in the same way Matty did, full of desire and want. “‘Course not.” The bed creaks loudly as Matty climbs off George, quickly pouncing onto you and slamming your back into the headboard, your crash cushioned by pillows and blankets. You yelp, a small giggle escaping you as a mess of curls bends down to press his lips to yours, tongue licking into your mouth dizzyingly 

Now it’s George's turn to watch how Matty kisses you, his lips moving from your lips to your cheek to your jaw, slowly trailing down until he reaches your collar bones, his teeth nipping at them lightly. He makes his way down your body, hands pushing your top up to reveal inches of skin previously concealed, a soft gasp leaving your lips as he presses a hot kiss right between your tits, pulling at your shirt hard enough to get you to raise your arms and have George pull it off you. No words, except a quiet “Fucking hell,” from George, are exchanged as you lean forward to unhook your bra, letting it slowly fall off you and be discarded in the corner. 

You can hear Matty exhale sharply, licking his lips before diving back in, sucking marks and bruises onto the skin of your tits, biting down every so often just to feel you twitch. He grins against you as George catches your lips in a sweet kiss, his hand coming up to cup your face as Matty presses wet kisses all down your stomach, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. 

The bed creaks again as George disconnects his lips from yours, proceeding to nudge Matty off to the left, making you spread your legs even wider. You feel obscene as George kneels in between your legs, right next to Matty, his large hands gripping your jean clad thigh and peppering kisses over the material.

“Fucking gorgeous, tastes amazing as well.” Matty mutters, almost inaudibly, his fingers toying with the button of your pants, tongue running over the zipper teasingly. The eye contact makes you dizzy with need, his eyes fluttering as the thought of his mouth on you takes over his mind. 

You look over at George, who looks like he’s trying to desperately suppress a moan at Matty’s words, his breathing heavy. Matty senses how worked up he is, his own cock starting to fill in the confines of his tight jeans. His fingers work to undo the button of your pants, the quiet pop insanely loud in the near silent room. Matty runs his thumb over the zipper, looking up and slightly behind him to get a good look at George, who is panting and bright red, rock hard in his shorts.   

“Want a taste?” Matty’s words are smooth, sure, sultry. George looks like he’s about to pass out when he pulls your zipper down, the sound ringing through his head as loud as sirens, his eyes wide and lips parted. “Fuck, can I?” George pants, his voice shaky and so turned on, he can barely form words. Matty looks up to you, his look asking for your approval, and you vigorously nod your head, pulling your gaze over to George.  “Yeah, yeah please, George– fuck.” you breathe, your eyes heavy and hooded, nipples hard against the cool air. 

Matty works on tugging your jeans down your thighs and off you, George’s hands coming up to roll your nipples between his fingers, making you gasp in a mix of pain and pleasure, head foggy with lust and desire for both of them. The moment your pants hit the floor you can feel Matty’s tongue on you, licking and sucking your clit over your cotton panties, the front of them painted with a visible wet spot, making his grin against you as the taste envelopes his senses. You roll your hips against his mouth, desperate for any friction you can get, a soft moan leaving George’s lips at the sight of Matty’s head buried between your thighs. 

With your eyes closed, you can only hear how George properly settles between your legs, mirroring Matty’s position, on his stomach. You watch as Matty moves to the side, leaving hickeys all over your thigh as George lets his fingers trace over the wet patch on the front of your panties, a mix of your arousal and Matty’s spit, shuddering as he feels you twitch under his touch. You genuinely can't think straight as George hooks his thumb into the waistband of your panties, slipping them down and off you as you arch your hips, Matty so blatantly staring at your glistening core it almost makes you giggle. 

You  bite back a whimper when George takes your panties into his right hand, stuffing them into his pocket with a smirk, Matty grinning wildly once he realizes what he'd done. George’s tongue on you feels like absolute heaven, his hand snaking around your waist to grip you tighter, pulling you impossibly close to him. Matty watches with lustful eyes, his gaze flicking from where you and George connect and your face, very much enjoying the blissed out expression painting your features. 

Your skin is flush, sweat making your hair stick to your forehead as your hips arch up and grind onto George’s tongue, blinding pleasure shooting into every corner of your body as he laps at your clit, quickly being pulled away by a very eager Matty, yelping as he’s yanked back by the hair. His lips are replaced by Matty’s, who is moaning into your cunt so obscenely it makes you blush even harder. “Want you to kiss him baby, show G some love, yeah?” you whisper, your hand running through Matty’s messed up curls as he nods, turning his head and being met with George’s face already incredibly close to his. 

The kiss is hot, all tongue and teeth and soft, breathy whimpers, the sound like music to your ears. George’s fingers circle your clit as they make out, sparks of pleasure making pressure build in your core. It doesn’t take long for George to pull away, his hand threading through Matty’s hair and staying there, guiding his mouth back to your clit, a choked moan leaving your lips. “Making her feel so good, doll, look how loud she is for us.” George coos, looking up at you as his hand presses Matty’s face further into your cunt, depriving him of any oxygen. 

You can tell how much Matty is enjoying this, his hips bucking into the mattress helplessly as George talks him through it, whispering filthy things into his ear as his lips connect with his neck, the angle awkward but still insanely hot, your eyes rolling back when George rests his head on your thigh, watching Matty eat you out with such an intensity it makes his head spin. You can feel your orgasm approaching rapidly, your chest heaving and mind hazy with pleasure, making Matty redouble his efforts as George keeps guiding his head. 

You try to warn him, but Matty just nods into your cunt, swirling his tongue around your clit and sucking it between his lips, making your vision white out in pleasure as you cum, legs trembling even in George’s firm grip. “Fuck, there you go doll, making her cum so hard, aren’t you?” George whispers, breathless at the sight of you thrashing and grinding down onto Matty’s tongue to ride out your orgasm. 

Matty’s face is slick when he pulls away, licking his lip with a filthy smirk plastered on his face. Both of them get on their knees, now kneeling in front of you, still panting and hazy from your climax. 

The kiss they share is frantic, needy, almost animalistic as Matty presses his body against his, hands tugging at George’s shirt, moaning wantonly into his mouth. “Off, need this off.” he whines, George obeying and lifting his arms up to allow Matty to take his shirt off him, leaving his sweaty chest bare. You watch as Matty’s teeth sink into the skin of his shoulder, making George cry out in surprise. The yelp slowly turns into a groan as the pain morphs into pleasure, Matty sucking hickeys into the space right below his jaw, hands roaming his chest and tweaking his nipples. 

George gives in to his touch for a while, feeling every intense sensation tenfold as Matty touches him, overwhelming him with pleasure and pure need. It’s almost painful to pull away, but he does, making eye contact with you as Matty cocks his head, following his gaze to you. You’re still laying there, though slightly sat up now as you watch the scene in front of you unfold, grinning at the show they’re putting on for you with hungry eyes. 

“I want..'' George stammers a bit, trying to form a coherent sentence as his cock strains against his trousers, Matty’s mouth back on his chest not helping him in the slightest. You smirk at Matty, parting your bruised lips to speak, your words coated in thick honey. “Tell me, baby, what do you want? Don’t be shy.” Your tone doesn’t help George speak clearly, it only clouds his mind even more, thoughts and fantasies flashing in front of his eyes faster than he can verbalize them. 

“I want you to, uhm–,” George pauses again, biting his lip as teeth graze over his nipple, the sharp pain making his cock even harder. Matty giggles at his reaction boyishly, like he isn't just as hard and twice as desperate as him, his cockiness turning you on even more. 

 “I want you to fuck him. Like you told me, wanna see him take it.” 

Those words make Matty perk up, his eyes fluttering at the thought of being filled by you, feeling you pounding into him mercilessly. You don't even acknowledge his reaction, ignoring him completely as you speak to George and only George. 

“Yeah? Wanna see how pretty he looks crying for us?” You can tell how turned on Matty is, the way you two speak about him like he isnt in the room making him dizzy with lust and want, his lips pulling away from George’s now marked up chest in favor of frantically trying to look at both of you at once, hoping to see a spark of interest in your eyes. What he sees is so much more than interest. He sees promise, and George’s next words only solidify what he hopes is going to happen. 

 “Please…Fuck, darling–”

“I know baby, just lie on the bed for me, yeah?” you coo, getting up to a kneeling position and pressing a (hardly) chaste kiss to George’s wet lips. You get up slowly, turning your back to sift through the nightstand drawer, hearing the bed creak behind you as George lays down where you previously were, leaning his back against the headboard. Your hands finally feel what you were searching for, grinning to yourself as you pull the strapon out from the mess of toys and lube that live in your bedside drawer. 

Turning back around, your breath hitches at the sight in front of you. Matty on his stomach, settled between George’s spread legs, cheek nuzzling into his tensed thigh. Strap in hand, you grin at them, both blatantly ogling your naked frame, eyes raking over the curve of your hips, the slight pudge of your stomach, and you feel a flash of power, of control rush through you at how much you affect them. 

“Getting started without me? Not that I'm complaining.” you giggle at Matty’s smile, eyes hooded in overwhelming lust as he rubs against George’s bulge, knowing how much you love it when he does shit like this. 

“And I thought Georgie here was the voyeur.” he says, his teasing tone making an already nervous George stammer and stutter over his words pathetically, trying to defend himself. “I– I don’t–” 

“Shh, it’s alright darling, no need to be shy.” you speak, slipping on the strap tightening the harness around your hips, watching how Matty’s eyes widen in anticipation. You know you look hot, evident in the way they both look at you, silently begging you to do something, anything, or at least allow them to do something to each other. 

“Oh– fuckk– ” the desperate noise comes from George, caused by Matty suddenly unzipping his trousers, the pressure on his cock finally being relieved after what feels like hours. Matty practically salivates at the sight of his cock straining against his boxers, eyes flicking back up to where you're standing, wordlessly begging for permission to touch him properly. “Just keep being pretty for me, I'll be right there.” you tell him, his defeated nod making your core stir with desire. 

Brushing your hair with your fingers, you grab the bottle of lube sitting on the nightstand, fumbling it and earning a giggle from Matty. You watch him mouth along George’s cock through his boxers, the blonde’s eyes screwed shut in torturous pleasure as Matty teases him. Matty, still fully clothed, attempts to grind against the mattress, being the only one that hasn't been properly touched this whole time. You chuckle to yourself and so does George, and you make playful eye contact as Matty whines, slowly getting more and more impatient. 

“Getting so worked up for us, aren’t you baby? Want me to fuck you, is that it?” you tease mercilessly, dragging out each syllable until Matty feels like he’s going to cum on the fucking spot, his hips bucking wildly against the sheets. George watches as you kneel on the bed right behind Matty, nudging his legs telling him to spread them. “Let's get these off you, yeah?” Matty nods frantically, too turned on to speak as he licks up George’s shaft, watching him twitch under the heat of his tongue. 

Matty shuffles on the bed, kneeling and staring at George as he unbuttons his skin-tight jeans, moaning in relief as the pressure is lifted off his leaking cock. The lust is so dizzying that he fumbles with the zipper for a few beats, finally getting it down far enough to show both of you the new lace he had gotten especially for today. You make eye contact with George, the sight of him palming himself over his boxers, skin flushed bright red and chest heaving burning itself into your memory. Matty throws his jeans off the bed, taking a moment to mirror George’s movements on his own cock, pornographic moans spilling from his lips at the sensation. 

Matty’s your top is next to go, joining the crumpled up jeans on the floor. Your breath hitches when he looks back at you, winking provocatively before running his hands up his chest, finally able to touch himself properly. You let him, knowing how much George is enjoying the show based on the choked groans leaving his lips, the whole scene going straight to your core. 

“Get on your stomach, baby, make G here feel so good for me.” you speak slowly, smiling condescendingly as Matty’s eyes cloud over with lust, his nod dazed and desperate, and you know he’d do anything right in that moment. He does what you say, leaning forward and scooting onto his stomach, back in the position he was before. Clicking your tongue, you grab his hips harshly. “You know what I need from you Matty– yeahh that's it baby, arch that pretty back for me, doesn't he look so good like this, George?” 

Both of them whine at your words, and you can physically feel how bad Matty needs you, his breathing heavy and irregular, skin glistening with sweat. You’ve dragged this out as long as you can, teasing and toying with both of them to near tears. Right when they think it's over, all the games and demands, that's when you pull out one final item from under the sheets. 

A small pocket knife. 

Matty can’t see it, but George can. His eyes widen as you twirl it at him, grinning wildly as you lean down to whisper into Matty’s ear, your strap pressing up against him, making him tremble in anticipation. Trailing the blade down his spine, you watch goosebumps erupt all over his skin as he slowly realizes exactly what you’re doing, a strangled whine ripping itself from his throat. 

“Want me to cut your pretty panties off you, baby? Have you all exposed for us?” 

Your words make Matty genuinely shiver, his nodding frantic as he turns his head back to catch a glimpse of the knife, so overwhelmed with sensation he can't form a single coherent thought, his hips pressing back into your strap. “Don’t neglect poor George just because you’re a fucking whore for me, yeah?” As the focus is brought back to him, you watch George’s eyes snap up to meet yours, wide and hazy. 

Matty whimpers quietly, his fingers quickly working to tug George’s shorts further down, taking his boxers with them. George stifles a moan as Matty’s cool hand wraps around his cock, gathering the precum at the tip and smearing it down his shaft. “Fuck, you’re so hard.” are the only words he can force out, mesmerized by George and his reaction. “C’mon baby, spit on his pretty dick, get him nice and wet.” you urge him, and George can't stop the pathetic obscene moan that leaves his lips when Matty does just that, spit dribbling down his as his hand moves up and down his cock. 

What finally does George in is the way Matty looks at him, teary eyed and desperate, his tongue darting out to kitten lick the tip, sucking the head of his cock between his lips. The look of absolute bliss on George’s face makes your breath hitch, one of your hands trailing up to grope yourself, enjoying the scene playing out in front of you. 

You use Matty’s preoccupation to trace the knife in your hand further down his back, hooking the blad into the waistband of his panties, slowly letting the material split until it quite literally falls off him. 

You can tell exactly when Matty takes George completely into his mouth, a dragged out, “O-oh god– shittt.” leaving his lips as George lets one of his hands find Matty’s cheek, soothingly rubbing it as he bobs his head, making the blonde’s eyes screw shut in pleasure. You don’t let yourself get lost in it though, but fuck, it’s hard not to. The sound of the cap opening is impossibly loud, and Matty recognises it immediately, his hips bucking violently as he gags around George, eyes tearing up from the effort. 

You slick up your strap with a generous amount of lube, using the remaining liquid to draw a small heart on Matty’s back, the shape shining even in the dim light of the bedroom. Matty coughs violently as George accidentally thrusts up into his mouth, a mix of spit and precum dripping down his chin as he pulls off for a second, wiping away a few tears.

“I’m okay G, I promise. Fuck, that was so hot.” he assures George, grinning up at him with sparkling eyes, mouthing an inaudible “I love you,” before taking him back down his throat. 

You watch as George threads his hand into Matty’s hair, pushing his head down slightly and gauging his reaction, a muffled moan telling him all he needs to know. Using more force, he guides Matty’s head up and down his cock, slowly, almost lovingly, fucking his mouth. The groans that spill from his lips are nothing short of delicious, spurring Matty on to take him even further, doing his absolute best to suppress his gag reflex, relishing in the feeling of George’s cock hitting the back of his throat. 

Leaning down once again, you whisper quietly against Matty’s ear, “Relax a bit Matty, mhm? I’m so proud of you, you’re taking this so well for us.” Matty can only whine in response, attempting to nod even with his mouth stuffed full of cock. . 

You inhale deeply before pressing the tip of the strap to his hole, teasing him one last time, just for the sake of watching him squirm and writhe under you. You know his cock is leaking onto the sheets by now, making a mess of them because he can’t help himself when it's the two of you, thinking his with dick instead of his brain. 

“He’s so fucking pretty George. Look how good he’s gonna take my cock, aren't you baby?” you speak, nodding at a blissed out George, so overwhelmed with pleasure he can barely respond, nodding back at you. The relieved moan that leaves Matty’s lips when you finally, finally press into him is nothing short of pornographic, audible even over the wet sounds of his lips sinking down on George’s cock, bringing him closer and closer to the edge with each and every movement. 

“So gorgeous doll, feels good?” you coo, your hands gripping his hips and holding him in place, mercilessly fucking into him and never once letting up for even a second. Matty pulls off of George to answer, his hand taking over while he speaks, stumbling over his words pathetically. “P-please, feel so full, fuckk–” 

George just watches you thrust into him, brushing against his g-spot with each movement of your hips, Matty’s whines once again muffled by his cock fuckign into his mouth, taking pleasure like it belongs to him. “Taking us so good Matty– looks so fucking pretty too, doesn't he?” Your words motivate Matty to no end, and he deepthroats George until he can’t breathe, so eager to please it literally possesses him, the only thing on his mind being you and George. 

“Yeah, y’look so beautiful choking on my cock, fuck.” George groans, and you know he’s close because of how his voice pitches up, sounding eerily similar to Matty. You almost scold him when he pulls off again, his obscene moans now even louder as your strap hits his g-spot over and over again, making him dizzy and all his thoughts go away, pleasure taking over every inch of his being. 

“Feels s’good, shit– Please make me cum, darling I need to cum so fucking bad, been so good f’you, please.'' Wet sounds fill the room, and you're sure you look like something straight out of a porno, the position so filthy it clouds your mind, your movements speeding up, causing Matty to moan louder, loud enough for even the neighbors to hear. Not that you would mind.   

“George–” he starts, interrupted by your chest pressing to his back and you reaching to wrap your hand around his cock, squeezing him before putting on a condescending tone “Speak up baby, he can’t hear you.” George can barely think, so fucking close to the edge he can taste it, his cock leaking and twitching with every jerk of Matty’s hand, his knuckles ghostly white where he grips the sheets, trying desperately to hold off his rapidly approaching orgasm. 

“George, I want– FUCK– please, oh god fuck.” Matty’s voice cracks as you start drilling impossibly deeper into him, stretching his hole around your strap, mesmerized by how absolutely fucked out he looks even though you can barely see his face. 

“Want you to cum on m’face G, please darling, please.” he slurs, eyes hooded and heavy as he twitches in your hand, threatening to cum in mere seconds if you don’t get your hands off of him. You want this to last, after all.  

“So filthy, and here we thought you had a bit of dignity left in you. I don’t blame you though, baby, just look at him.” you let go of his cock, a quiet whine interrupting you, earning Matty a soft slap to the flesh of his arse. 

George pants, his hair wild and eyes glazed over with lust, looking like the fucking personification of sex. Matty’s eyes light up when he nods, blinking slowly as his hands settle on his stomach, leaving Matty to do all the work for him. You can tell how much he loves the idea of finishing on Matty’s face, the thought messing with him much more than he lets on. But you know, and he knows you know. 

It doesn't take anything but a few jerks of his cock and Matty batting his lashes, looking up at him with that eager, fucked out expression on his face that could make anyone give in to him to make George spill all over his face, painting his features with thick ropes of cum. George shudders violently, bucking his hips into Matty’s hand as he works him through his orgasm, sticking his tongue out to fuck with him even more. 

You don't stop pounding into Matty, not even for a second, the bed shaking with the sheer force of your thrusts as Matty’s moans and whimpers go unmuffled. “M’so close, fuck, please darling, fuck me harder.” George sees him genuinely tear up, bringing his hand up to cup his face sweetly, wiping away stray tears as a wanton moan spills from his lips. 

“Jesus christ, he’s–” you don't even let him finish, nodding in agreement as Matty presses his cheek into George’s hand, his please borderline incoherent by now.

“Fucking wet dream, isn’t he? Can never get used to how sweet he sounds, can I, baby?” Matty nods violently, his cock twitching and leaking precum, and you know he’s never been more ready to cum in his life. Yet, he knows he can’t, not until you allow him to. 

“Pleasepleaseplease, oh god m’gonna cum, please George–” Matty uses the last of his strength to beg the one person who he knows would let him, tears rolling down his cheeks, mascara and eyeshadow mixing with his smeared lipstick as he begs for permission

“Go on doll, cum for us. I know how bad you want to, yeah? Fucking soak our sheets.” George speaks slowly, his voice rough and strong, a flash of dominance coursing through his veins right in that moment. 

Matty cums, hard, writhing against the mattress, legs shaking while George's hand soothingly runs through his messed up hair, the touch comforting as his orgasm washes over him in violent, almost forceful waves. 

“Look so beautiful Matty, just let go, let it all out, baby.” 

You swear he’s never looked this good in your life, having taken absolutely everything you’ve given to him with an obedient nod and an eager expression, holding off until he’s made both you and George cum. You stroke his back lovingly as he goes limp against the bed, breathing heavy, his small sounds of pleasure as you pull out making you smile. 

George whispers unintelligible praise, making sure he knows how good he had been for both of you, how absolutely loved he is. 

“I love you so much baby, did so well for us.” you say, your tone loving and soft, peppering kisses down his spine as you slip off the harness, discarding it somewhere behind you. Matty nods weakly into George’s thigh, muttering a small “love you too,” back at you. 

“Gotta get up for us, doll, need to clean you up.” Matty groans in protest to Georges implication that he should move, eventually giving in at the promise of a more comfortable, less wet sleep. You get up to get tissues, wiping the cum off his face with a giggle, earning an amused chuckle from George, who is holding Matty against his chest, stroking his hair and kissing his shoulders lovingly, showering him with the affection he most definitely deserves. 

“Sleep?” Matty whispers quietly, evidently tired and half asleep already, his head resting against George’s shoulder. You nod, guiding his frame to lay down between you and George, letting your arm drape over him comfortingly. 

“You were so amazing Matty, we’re both so, so proud of you.” Matty, now slightly more coherent, offers a cheeky “Yeah I know that, fucking look at the state of me.”  

George lets out a girlish giggle at his words, wrapping his arm around his waist, letting Matty slowly drift off into sleep, absolutely exhausted and rightfully so, given the relentless teasing and torture you had put to poor boy through. He loved it though, and reassures you of that every chance he gets

You make eye contact with him one last time, George mouthing a barely audible “I love you,” shutting his eyes just in time to miss the massive, stupid grin plastered on your face. 

Their soft snoring and the heat of their bodies beside you lulls you into a deep, comfortable sleep, peacefully surrounded by the two people you love most.