#DJ x Commander

[bichiisannii]

🔥10 more!!!🔥

[xo-hoon]

club nights — DJ p.sh

minors do not interact!

pairing: dj!sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: smut, strangers to lovers (maybe)

synopsis: you just wanted to unwind after studying hard for your upcoming exams. little did you expect that your quest for relaxation turned into an electrifying connection that left you pleasantly surprised.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: contains smut MDNI! unprotected sex (don’t..), fingering, public sexual interaction, clubbing, intimate dancing, slight alcohol consumption.

You were sprawled on your bed, textbooks and notes scattered around like a battlefield.

You were powering through your study session, knowing full well you'd ace your exams. This was more about keeping the edge sharp than actual worry.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Wonyoung

Wony🐰: big night for jay’s celebration. clubbing’s on us. come on, you deserve a break!

You smirked, your focus momentarily shifting from the textbooks. Before you could reply, Winter’s call came through.

“Y/N, you coming to Jay’s party? It’s gonna be epic. You need to let loose for a bit."

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Just finishing up some stuff first.”

You answered with a casual tone.

Winter chuckled.

“Thought you might say that. See you soon.”

You ended the call and tossed your phone aside, gathered your things with a practiced efficiency, and slipped into your clubbing gear—something that combined effortless style with a hint of rebellion.

The exams were no sweat, but tonight was about embracing the energy and leaving the stress behind.

As you headed out, you knew you’d hit the ground running again tomorrow, but for now, it was time to reclaim the night.

The lights flicker in a chaotic dance with the bass, casting shadows that meld with the crowd's movement. You were nestled in a dimly lit corner, nursing a drink that’s losing its chill. Your friends are lost in the pulsating rhythm on the dance floor, but you're craving something different—something with an edge.

As you watched the swarming sea of bodies, you catch snippets of conversations and laughter. The usual group of guys has wandered over, but their small talk falls flat. They offer nothing but predictable flattery and lackluster charm.

Your gaze sweeps through the crowd until it landed on the DJ.

He was almost surreal, his features striking and chiseled as if crafted by divine hands. The way he commands the decks, lost in the rhythm, makes him look effortlessly magnetic. Every movement is fluid and intense, and there’s an undeniable allure about him that keeps your eyes locked on him.

But despite your fascination, you held back from approaching. You’ve always been the one to stay aloof, letting others make the first move.

Tonight, you were determined to stick to that principle.

If he’s interested, he’ll have to find a way to chase you—because that's how things have always worked for you.

You spent the night there, stealing glances at him from time to time. You knew right then and there that you wanted him.

—

Over the past few weeks, you've returned to this exact club every night, disregarding your exams because you knew you'd ace them anyway.

The club was throbbing with energy as usual, and you were nestled in your favorite corner, watching the DJ work his magic at the booth. The music feels particularly electrifying, and your focus remains unwaveringly on him. A mix of curiosity and desire simmers beneath your cool exterior.

As the night wears on, a sober friend of a friend, someone you’ve seen around but never spoken to, strikes up a conversation with you. He was a regular and seems to know everything about the club’s inner workings.

After a few exchanged pleasantries and a bit of small talk, he leans in conspiratorially, as if sharing a well-kept secret.

“You know,” he says with a smirk, nodding toward the DJ booth, “that guy up there? His name is Park Sunghoon. He’s not just some random DJ. He’s actually loaded. His family’s got more money than they know what to do with.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he continues, “He’s got this whole other life. Runs a bunch of businesses and everything. But he’s here every night, spinning records because he genuinely loves it. He’s quite famous around here; definitely one of the best assets of this club. And despite the fact that girls are practically falling over themselves for him, he couldn’t care less. It’s like he’s got this whole detached cool thing going on. Makes him even more interesting, don’t you think?”

You were taken aback, sensing that he’s aware of your interest. “So, why does he stick around here if he’s got all that?”

The informant’s smirk widens, as if he’s been waiting for you to ask.

“Well, it’s obvious you’ve been keeping an eye on him. I figured you’d want to know. He sticks around because this is his sanctuary. No one bothers him about business or family here.”

You nod, feeling a mix of surprise and satisfaction at his perceptiveness. “Sounds like he’s got a lot more going on.”

“Exactly,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with knowing. “And he’s not one for easy connections. If you want to get to know him, you’ll have to bring something real to the table. He’s not impressed by the usual attempts.”

The revelation hits you with a jolt of excitement. The fact that Sunghoon is both wealthy and dedicated to his craft, combined with his indifference to the attention he gets, only deepens the intrigue you feel.

You thanked your informant with a nod, and he headed off, leaving you to process this new layer of mystery surrounding Sunghoon.

As the night progressed, you watched him with renewed interest. His effortless charisma and the way he immerses himself in his music take on a new significance. There’s a sense of challenge now, a question of whether you can penetrate the cool facade and discover what lies beneath.

The Next Night

You were at the club again, drink in hand, the familiar beat of the music pulsing through the air. The night is set for its usual course: you’re in your favorite corner, eyes fixed on Sunghoon at the DJ booth. It’s become a bit of a routine for you—an exercise in patience and subtlety.

Tonight, you were ready for what you have expected. To be just another night of silently sending your unspoken message: “Fuck me.”

You figured if you stared hard enough, he might have somehow pick up on it. It’s a game you’ve gotten used to, even if it seemed a little ridiculous. You were so focused on him until a guy approached you.

The guy was tall and confident, his smile effortlessly charming. "Hey there. Care for a dance?"

Normally, you’d turn a man down without a second thought, but tonight, you were feeling a bit adventurous. You considered the offer, a spark of curiosity piqued by the idea of doing something different. With a playful smile, you sat your drink down and nodded.

“Sure,” you said, rising from your seat. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As you headed towards the dance floor, you stole one last glance at Sunghoon, who was focused on his turntables but would glance at your way occasionally.

You wondered if he noticed your change in routine. The night just might turned out to be more interesting than you’d anticipated.

The music is pulsating, and the crowd is moving in sync with the beats. As you start dancing, you make sure to catch Sunghoon’s eye, knowing he was watching.

You danced seductively, grinding and moving in intimate ways with the guy, all the while keeping Sunghoon in your peripheral vision. The guy seems to enjoy the attention but notices your focus elsewhere.

As you were dancing, you felt a presence behind you. The guy you were dancing with seemed to have sensed it too and steps aside, giving way to the new arrival.

And there he was. The famous Park Sunghoon emerges from the crowd, his gaze locked on you with a smirk.

He approached with purpose, his confidence radiating.

"Mind if I cut in?" Sunghoon’s voice was deep and smooth, and you can hear the hint of a challenge in it.

You turned to face him, your heart racing. "Not at all," you replied, flashing him a flirtatious smile.

Sunghoon took the guy’s place, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you close. The intensity between you two is palpable, and you can feel the heat of his body against yours.

"You’ve been coming here a lot," Sunghoon murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.

You looked up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Hmm, I have my reasons."

"Really? And what might that reason be?" Sunghoon asks, his voice low and intrigued.

You teased, "You'll have to find out."

Sunghoon's smile widens, and he pulled you even closer. The music faded into the background as you focused solely on each other. His hands were firm but gentle on your body, guiding you as you moved to the beat. The chemistry between you was undeniable, and you can feel the passion building.

"So, what made you decide to come back here night after night?" Sunghoon asked, his lips brushing against your ear.

You shivered at his touch, your voice barely a whisper. "I’m seeing someone."

"Someone like me?" he probed, his tone both teasing and serious.

"Maybe," you replied with a playful smile. "Or maybe someone who makes me feel this way."

Sunghoon's eyes darkened with desire as he looked at you. "And what is that feeling?"

You met his gaze, your voice steady but filled with longing. "Excited. Alive. Wet. Like I can’t get enough."

Sunghoon’s fingers traced a path down your side, sending shivers through you. "You’re making it hard for me to keep my distance."

You leaned closer, your lips almost touching his ear. "Then don’t."

The dance floor seems to blur around you as you lose yourself in the moment. Sunghoon's touch is electrifying, and you can feel the heat between you growing stronger. The music was pulsing around you, creating a perfect backdrop for the connection you're building.

After a few more songs, Sunghoon took your hand and guided you through the crowd, out of the club and into the cool night air. The contrast between the stifling heat of the club and the crispness of the night is refreshing.

You walked in silence for a moment, the adrenaline from the dance still coursing through your veins.

Sunghoon led you to a quieter, darker alleyway behind the club, away from prying eyes. The city's sounds faded as you stepped into the shadows, and he turned to face you. The intensity in his eyes was palpable, and you felt the electric charge between you.

He pressed you against the wall, his lips crashing onto yours in a fiery kiss. The urgency and passion of his touch took your breath away, and you responded eagerly, your hands exploring his body as his hands finds their way to your curves. Every touch, every kiss is a whirlwind of sensation, and you lost yourself in the moment.

Sunghoon’s hands slid under your dress, and you gasped as he found the sensitive spots that made you shiver. Your moans were muffled by his mouth as he kissed you deeply, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you.

His touch was both rough and tender, igniting a fire within you. You can feel his desire growing, and it heightens your own.

He lifted you slightly, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The alleyway’s cold walls press against your back, but the warmth of his body and the intensity of his touch creates a cocoon of heat around you. The world outside seems distant and irrelevant; it's just the two of you and the throbbing beat of your hearts.

He pulled back slightly, making you slightly groan at the lack of closeness, his breath mingling with yours. His gaze is full of raw emotion, and you saw the hunger in his eyes.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.

You smiled, your voice a soft purr. “That’s the idea.”

With renewed passion, Sunghoon's hands grew bolder as they roamed over your body, starting from your legs and moving up to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze.

The touch elicited a soft whimper from you, a sound that made his eyes darken with desire. Taking advantage of the moment, he plunged his tongue into your mouth, exploring it thoroughly and claiming it as his own.

He lifted on of your legs off the ground, securing your waist in a possessive grip as he pressed your body tightly against his.

Your fingers traced a slow, tantalizing path from his neck down to his broad chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles under your fingertips. They continued their journey to his defined abs, each touch sending shivers of excitement through you.

Just as you were about to reach for his clothed cock, his hand shot out to stop you, and with a swift, controlled movement, he pinned both your hands above your head, holding them there firmly.

“Fuck… Not so fast, baby.” He whispered in your mouth as you looked up at him, your breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. His eyes were dark and filled with desire.

“S-sunghoon.. please—“ He smirked at the sight of your neediness.

“Shh, let me handle this.” He lowered his head, trailing kisses down your neck, leaving a blazing trail of heat in his wake. You arched your back, pressing your body closer to his, craving more of his touch.

His other hand roamed over your body, exploring every curve and inch of your exposed skin that he could, making you even needier and wetter than you already were.

“Sunghoon… Please. I need you.” He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“Patience, baby. Good things come from those who wait.”

His lips captured yours once again, and this time the kiss was sloppy and even more intense, filled with a hunger that leaves you breathless. He releases your hands, and you immediately tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

“I can’t wait anymore.”

“I know, baby.” He whispered against your lips.

With that, he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He carries you to a more secluded area of the club, where the lights are dim and the music is just a distant thrum. He sets you down on a couch, his body pressing against yours.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked genuinely, you locked your eyes with his as you nodded.

“I have never been more sure,”

Sunghoon groaned at your response as his hands roam over your body again, this time more urgent, more demanding.

He slips his hand under your dress, fingers teasing the edge of your panties.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” He stared in to your eyes, his hand slipping inside your panties, fingers finding your most sensitive spot. You moan into his mouth, your body arching into his touch.

He continued to rub circles on your clit, thoroughly enjoying the expression you were giving him. You moved your hand to his, pushing his fingers deeper, indicating that you wanted him to give you more.

“So, so needy,” he murmured, his voice dripping with a mix of amusement and desire. He leaned in, licking your earlobes before slipping two fingers inside you.

The sudden intrusion made you moan out loud, arching your back as waves of pleasure coursed through your body.

“Fuck,” you breathed into his ear, your voice trembling with need. You began to grind your hips, matching the rhythm of his fingers. Each thrust of his hand sent shivers down your spine, making you crave more.

“Fuck me now, please. I want your cock inside me. Fuck me hard.”

He smirked against your neck, his fingers pumping in and out of you faster, curling just right to hit that perfect spot inside you.

“You want it that badly, huh?” he teased, his voice a low, seductive growl.

You could only nod frantically, your body desperate for more. “Yes, Sunghoon. Please,” you begged, your hips bucking against his hand. “I need you. Make me yours.”

His eyes darkened with lust as he withdrew his fingers, leaving you feeling empty and yearning. He quickly undid his pants, freeing his hard length. You glanced down, your eyes widening at the sight of him.

Without another word, he positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you a bit by rubbing his tip against your wet folds. The sensation made you whimper, your hands clutching his broad shoulders.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he demanded, his eyes locking onto yours.

“I want you so fucking,” you gasped, your voice almost a plea. “I want you to fuck me hard, fuck me until I go dumb.”

With a groan, he thrust into you inch by inch, slowly filling you completely. The fullness made you cry out in pleasure, your nails digging into his skin.

Without letting you savor the moment of his cock deep inside you, he started to move in a rough, fast pace, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy through your body, making you roll your eyes.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your moans and his grunts blending with the pounding music in the background.

“God, you feel so good,” he panted, his lips crashing onto yours in a heated kiss. “So tight, so perfectly made for my cock.”

You could only moan in response, the pleasure overwhelming your senses. You matched his rhythm, meeting each of his powerful thrusts with equal fervor. The pressure built up inside you, threatening to explode.

“Sunghoon, I’m gonna—” you managed to gasp out, your body trembling on the edge of release.

“Cum for me, baby,” he urged, his voice rough with need. “Cum all over my cock.”

With one more thrust, you shattered, your orgasm ripping through you. Your walls clenched around him in intense pleasure, making him moan.

Sunghoon continued thrusting into you, riding out his own high. Still sensitive from your release, the overwhelming pleasure made you moan on the top of your lungs and cling to him tightly.

"I'm cumming, baby," he groaned. With one final, powerful thrust, he poured his hot release into your tight, convulsing heat, filling you completely.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and spent. After a moment, he lifted his head, looking down at you with a satisfied smirk.

“You were amazing,” He murmured, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips.

"That was... incredible," you say, your voice still shaky with emotion.

Sunghoon chuckles softly, pulling you close again. "It really was. We should do this more often, and maybe you might consider going on a date with me.”

You smile, feeling a new connection with him. "A date? With that Park Sunghoon? I’d like that."

As you walked back to busy area of the club, hand in hand, you were filled with excitement and anticipation for what comes next. The night has just begun, and you can't wait to see where this new connection with Sunghoon will lead.

[bella-goths-wife]

How yandere Vs use your ability

Platonic vox, val and velvette x assistant reader

Please let me know if you enjoy this :)

MDNI

Warnings: Valentino, SA mentions, porn mentions, reader is uncomfortable a lot, reader uses their ability to hurt people

Vox:

When vox first met you in that disgusting alley way, he assumed that he’d get a few good uses of your ability for a few months and then either work you to death or kick you to the curb

But when he took a closer look at your ability, he realised how powerful he could make you

He looked at you and saw pure potential of the future, someone he could mold to his image and rise to his level

Or well, just below him

He saw how effectively you could manipulate and summon sound at your command, he saw the easy way you could charm someone just by giving them a soothing song in their ear

Or how you could steal someone’s words and make a completely new sentence with them, like a DJ remix’s songs but with actual words instead of music

You were like a perfected piece of AI, someone who could make something new from something old

He claims his favourite way to use your ability is when he combines his hypnosis with your ability to create new music, he’d have you make him jingles for voxtech and combined his hypnosis within them to make the most profit

But this is a lie, he enjoys his private uses of your ability much more

He likes watching you use your ability to hurt other people, because he can see the true potential in you in moments like that

He sees how he could make you like him, bloodthirsty and ambitious

He wants to make you into something similar to a successor, an heir of sorts even if he’d never allow himself to die

But he believes you must earn that title, so he will command cruelty out of you no matter how hesitant you are

He’s seen how you can be a soft touch and while he appreciates some gentleness in his afterlife, he finds himself wanting to make it so your cruel to everyone but him and the Vs

He sees softness as weakness, and he wants to have that weakness preserved for him

He would never admit his intentions to anyone, it’s best they think your just a lowly assistant who is just another soul chained to vox’s cruel hand

For your safety of course, or that’s the reason he’s deluded himself into believing

But he can’t hide his pride in certain moments, when he commands you to make a sinners ears bleed by using high frequencies of sound on them

And when your forced to comply, he can’t help the fondness that seeps into his smile as he watches you and your wincing face

Almost like a proud father watching his daughter…

Velvette:

When velvette first met you, all she saw was some scrappy sewer rat that vox hired for a few months to make up for the fact that exterminations had wiped out a few voxtech employees

So she assumed that she’d just make do with your presence until your eventually killed or fired

So she didn’t really want to spend time getting to know you, what was the point of that?

That was until she saw you using your ability, now that was a sight for sore eyes

She knew that people in the V tower were rude to you, called you names or mocked you

She didn’t particularly care so she just let it continue, even when it happened around her

But someone had said something velvette couldn’t hear, but she could definitely see it struck a very deep nerve in you

They collapsed and held their ears while screeching in pain, but you just held a calm look as you stared at them

That definitely intrigued her, and that rarely happens in hell nowadays

So she cornered you one night as you were doing the Vs paperwork and interrogated you about what else you could do

And when she heard you could manipulate sounds around you, even words, she couldn’t stop the devilish grin that spread across her face

She’d show you countless videos of people who posed a threat to her speaking, and then she’d command you to manipulate the words with your ability to make them say extremely damaging or embarrassing things

People can still get cancelled in hell y’know, just takes a lot more effort

She’d record you doing this and upload the audio online and watch as the business that was a threat to her crumble

You became an asset to velvette that day, and that’s as close as friends you could get with velvette

Her obsession grew from there, she used to look at you like a temporary nuisance

Now she looks at you like a prized pet who she can command to bark when she’s bored

She’ll even teach you a few tricks if you behave

Valentino:

At first Valentino saw in you what he sees in most sinners, a pretty face and good body

He presented himself around you like he would any other sinner, and vox allowed this to happen until he felt himself growing attached

So vox forbid Valentino from his usual behaviours around you, claimed you were too young for it despite being 18

But you were thankful enough to be spared from the lavish porn sets that Valentino was usually found in

So originally Valentino just used you as an assistant and then he realised how you could use your ability to help him

You could manipulate sounds, and he knew he could use you to cut out hours of editing time for his videos

You see, a pornstar may be a great actor but after five shoots in a row they aren’t gonna sound as enthusiastic at the end as they do at the start

So Valentino would force you to listen to an actors moans from the first few shoots of the day and then would command you to use your ability to make the moans sound more enthusiastic

You were extremely uncomfortable at all times and even vox couldn’t make Valentino stop, so eventually you had to get used to the sound and drown it out as best you could while using your ability

But this wasn’t his favourite way to use your ability, no that came a few months into your employment with voxtech

Valentino was prone to creating a dramatic, rage filled fit when things didn’t go his way

Usually only vox could calm him down from these fits, until you came along

He was raging in his studio one evening when everyone had left because he felt neglected by vox and angel dust wasn’t answering his calls

He thought he was alone as he destroyed his studio, he obviously failed to see little you in the corner as you were filling in paperwork

He continued to rage until he heard something ringing in his ears

It was a gentle humming, similar to one a mother would hum to her child in an attempt to get them to sleep

But the humming was mixed with a rhythmic, heart beat like sound behind it

Valentino felt himself sink into the sound as he sat on the ground for a few moments

He followed this siren song until his eyes met yours

He demanded an explanation, and you simply explained that you used your ability to manipulate your humming and heartbeat to create a calming effect on him

After that night Valentino would call for you every time he felt himself experiencing an emotion he wanted to get rid of quickly

You became more in his eyes after that, you became more valued and thus were treated better

He found himself craving your presence more and more, like how a child craves his favourite toy

He’s never shown affection or favouritism towards a sinner who he wasn’t sexually involved with, but he never felt that urge with you

You were more of a possession than someone he’d want to get with, he just couldn’t get himself to be attracted to you in that way

You were a calming toy, his little music box

You better hope you don’t refuse to play, Valentino doesn’t throw away his toys when they stop working

He just does what he can to ‘fix’ them no matter the pain caused

So don’t let yourself become rusty, or your face the consequences from all three of the Vs

What did you guys think

Also @buttercupfangirl asked for a tag so here you go :)

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Hi DJ! If you’re still doing the ficlet requests, can I get 24 (cuddles of reassurance) with Wolffe? Maybe fem!reader is having a hard time with sex and feels embarrassed/overwhelmed? (If that’s too explicit/uncomy feel free to ignore :))

Just a Little Bit More

A/N: Thank you so much for this request, Alli! I’ve actually been wanting to write a fic like this for a while. I feel like so much of the smut we see in fanfiction AND in published fiction/media in general is so idealized that even when it has elements of realism, it can present a distorted idea of what sex and intimacy can really be like. I’m certainly guilty of writing somewhat idealized smut, though I do try to maintain at least some semblance of realism (unless Sev is involved; all bets are off with that man). While there’s nothing wrong with having that fantasy, I think it’s healthy and important to also show the reality that it isn’t always easy or flawless, even with a caring, experienced partner who takes our pleasure seriously and does everything “right.”

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader (Fem; has hair)

Rating: M (mature content intended for readers 18+; minors DNI)

Wordcount: 3.3K of straight smut with some cuddles

Warnings and tags: cuddles; hurt comfort; language; SMUT; oral sex; PIV; nipple play; light/playful spanking; body worship; sex toys; fingering; exhibitionism; voyeurism; creampie; difficulty with orgasm. AKA, the return of SMUTKEA.

Summary: Wolffe is the best you’ve ever had. That doesn’t mean it’s always perfect.

Suggested Listening: 

This fic smells like: Fruit de La Créativité by Grès (raspberry & leather)

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

Wolffe gazed up into your eyes as you rolled your hips slowly, searching for the perfect angle. You knew you could find it: you’d done it before, countless times. His strong, warm hands glided up your thighs to your hips, pulling you closer, thrusting deeper, guiding you closer and closer to your pleasure. You could feel it building inside you, the tension gathering slowly.

Too slowly.

He smoothed one hand up your side, grazing along your rib cage until he cupped your breast, circling your nipple with his thumb. He knew exactly how much pressure you liked, and the way he touched you was perfect.

God, he’s so hot. Just focus on how hot he is.

Sweat glistened on your skin. The room hadn’t been this hot when he’d pulled you into bed, but after an hour and a half of vigorous activity, you were both slick with perspiration, saliva, arousal, and lube. He’d mapped your body with kisses, gliding his lips and tongue across your skin as he devoured you, bringing you right to the edge until you begged him to fuck you. 

You’d wrapped your legs around his waist as he eased into you, a tormented groan rumbling from his lips as he felt your heat envelope him. Gods, he felt amazing, and when he started to move, you knew it would only be a matter of minutes before you came. 

It took longer than you expected, and after a while, you realized something needed to change. 

“Take me from behind,” you’d murmured, knowing how much he loved the way your ass pressed into his hips in that position.

“God, yes,” he’d replied, pulling out and rolling you over with enthusiasm.

You loved the way he handled you in bed. He was so fucking strong. He could toss you around so easily—it was hot as hell, but the best thing about it was the care he took to make sure you were comfortable and he didn’t accidentally hurt you. He lifted your hips up and positioned you exactly the way he wanted you. You heard a small click as he closed the bottle of lube, and then you felt his slickened fingers glide over your cunt as he ensured you were ready to take him from the new angle.

“Maker, that ass is gorgeous,” he said, squeezing your cheeks before giving you a playful smack. 

Your mischievous giggle turned into a breathless moan as he sank into you, reaching deeper, stretching you wider, as his hand slid down your body to tease your clit. You loved the way he touched you, the way he caged you in with his body, making you feel incredibly safe and protected. And of course, you loved his cock. He knew exactly how to use it to ensure he gave you as much pleasure as he took—or more.

And still, your orgasm remained tantalizingly just out of reach. He shifted, and for a moment, his body rested heavily on you before he resumed his rhythm.

He’s getting tired. Fuck. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up. I need to give him a break.

“Want me to be on top?” you offered, hoping that yet another angle would be the one that finally pushed you past whatever mental block was keeping you from your release.

He paused, his hands resting on your hips. “Is that what you want?”

“Sure,” you replied. “If you do?”

He trailed his fingers down your spine before slowly withdrawing from your body. You turned to watch as he rolled onto his back and kicked the blankets off the bed. He reached for you with that sexy smirk that you loved so much, and you knew without question that he still wanted you.

He’s such a good man. Gods, he deserves the world.

“Hop on, darlin’,” he invited.

You crawled toward him with a smile, pausing a moment to kneel between his thighs. You traced your fingertips up his legs and over his balls, then ghosted a line up the underside of his cock. You glanced up to see his eyes fixed on you with an intense expression. Holding his gaze, you dropped lower and flicked your tongue over his tip, then slid his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue over him. You could taste yourself on his skin—salty, tangy, unspeakably erotic. His hips flexed beneath you, and you heard his breath grow ragged.

He caressed your head gently, stroking his hand over your hair and jaw before coming to rest on your shoulders.

“Not gonna last if you keep that up,” he said quietly. “Come up here.”

You gave him one last defiant, flirtatious little suck before you released him, then you began to crawl up to him, kissing a trail up his abdomen and chest. You straddled his hips, kissing and licking your way up his throat, and as you reached his lips, you whispered, “You taste like pussy.”

“Then I must be delicious,” he murmured, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and pulling you into a passionate kiss.

His tongue slid into your mouth as his cock thrust into your cunt, and for a moment you were overwhelmed with the sensations of him filling you. A fresh wave of arousal had flooded you as you’d pleasured him with your mouth, and he slipped into you easily, rocking into you with his powerful thighs. You braced your fists against the mattress on either side of his head, pressing down to meet his thrusts as you rode him hard and fast, chasing your pleasure with a desperation that started to border on frantic as release continued to elude you.

“Gonna make you come so hard,” he whispered. “And then I’m gonna fill you up. You feel so goddamn good. Can’t wait to feel you come around my cock.”

I’m trying, damn it!

“You feel incredible,” you replied breathlessly, and it was true, so why was this so kriffing difficult?

Your hips were starting to get sore from how long you’d been at it, so you shifted positions, bringing your knees higher and setting a slower pace to try to buy yourself enough time that you’d have the energy to make it to the finish line. Wolffe adjusted instantly, not even needing a verbal cue to understand the message your body sent. You found the angle that pressed his cock against the perfect place inside you, and you focused on trying to get as much stimulation there as you possibly could, cutting out all extraneous movement.

The longer it took, the more anxious and desperate you became. You tried to shut down the voice in your head that whispered, “He’s getting bored,” because you knew it was a lie. All you had to do was look into his beautiful, mismatched eyes to see how much he wanted you. And you were so close. So fucking close, if you could just get out of your own head long enough to let go.

You traced your fingertips across his cheekbone and along his jaw, grazing your thumb across his lips. You pressed gently, parting his lips to brush your thumb against his tongue, and then you leaned down and kissed him deeply, trying to lose yourself in the sensation of his lips and tongue against your own.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as you broke from the kiss and returned your hand to brace against the mattress. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

Please stop talking. You couldn’t say it out loud; what kind of an asshole says something like that in response to a compliment?

“You’re so sexy,” you whispered instead. “You’re amazing at this.”

It was true; he was amazing. Unquestionably the best you’d ever had. In the time you’d been together, he’d learned your body completely, identifying every spot that made you shiver, testing different approaches until he knew exactly how and where you liked to be touched, kissed, caressed. He knew where to use his teeth, and where to use his breath; he knew when you wanted him to be tender, and when you craved roughness. 

He knew you.

He knew you better than anyone ever had, and that made your current predicament even more maddening. Because sometimes it was easy. Sometimes you came so fast that your orgasm surprised both of you. But most of the time, it took more work. A lot more. And sometimes, like this one, you would get so close to the edge that you were only seconds away, only to feel the wave of pleasure ebb and be replaced with frustration and exhaustion.

Please, please, please. Just a little bit more.

Your wrists ached. Your knuckles were raw from grinding them into the sheets. You shifted your weight and lifted one hand off the mattress, stretching your fingers and trying to get the blood flowing to them. He glanced at your hand, then back up into your eyes.

“What can I do?” he asked softly.

“Just… keep going,” you said desperately. “I’m so close—I’m so fucking close, and I just can’t—I can’t—”

Abrupt tears stung your eyes, and you buried your face against his neck to hide them, kissing his chest to try to distract him from your distress.

He wrapped his arms around your body, still rocking into you at the pace you’d set. “Do you want to take a break?”

“No, I want you to come,” you snapped, disappointment sharpening your tone more than you intended.

He stilled immediately. You felt his hand slide up your back to stroke your hair softly.

“Hey,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “Look at me.”

You shook your head and burrowed your face obstinately into the nook where his neck met his shoulder.

“Talk to me, little one,” he urged. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

The dam cracked and then burst. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” you sobbed. “And I can tell you’re getting tired, and I just want it to be good for you, and every time I think I’m getting there, I lose it!”

Mortification swept through you that you were making a scene during such an intimate moment, and you tried to stifle your sobs, but it was too late. You felt him go soft inside you, and then he slipped from your body.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to ruin it for you.”

His arms tightened around you, and he rolled the both of you onto your sides, pulling you close against his body. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Holding you tightly with one arm, he began to run his hand lightly over your back, comforting you with his touch as he kissed your forehead.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he repeated. “You just got tired. It’s all right, love. It happens.”

“It’s so frustrating,” you confessed. “So many times, I thought I was there, and then something would distract me, and it was just gone.”

“Was it something I did?” he asked.

“No, of course not. It was just… I don’t know. A noise? Or a weird thought that popped into my head at a bad time?” You paused, feeling a little guilty as you remembered that, in fact, you had gotten annoyed at an ill-timed remark from him. “And then the longer it took, the more it stressed me out about how long it was taking, until I was stressing so much about it that that’s all I could think about.”

He moved his hand to your shoulder and began to glide it up and down your arm in long, languid strokes. “Why were you worried about taking too long?”

You paused, unaccountably hesitant to admit the truth. He waited patiently, still caressing your arm, until at last you replied, “I was worried you were getting tired. Or bored. Or—I don’t know…”

His hand stilled in its progress, then slid around your back as he pulled you even closer to him. “I would never get bored with you.”

“But—”

“I love you,” he cut you off firmly. “I love being with you. I love fuckin’ you. You’re gorgeous, and sexy, and kriffin’ amazing in the sack. Do you have any idea how lucky I am? Most men only dream of finding a girl like you, but I got you for real. How the hell would I ever be stupid enough to get bored with someone as goddamn perfect as you?”

You didn’t know what to say. You lay in his arms, clinging tightly to him as the tears finally stopped trickling from your eyes. You shuddered quietly.

“Yeah?” you asked in a tiny whisper.

He rolled you onto your back and moved to lie on top of you so he could look into your eyes.

“Yeah,” he replied.

You swallowed. “I love you, too, you know.”

“I know,” he said with a charming smirk.

He pressed his lips to your sternum as his hand slid lazily up your body to play with your breast. The weight of his body pressed you down into the soft mattress as you cradled his chest between your thighs. You took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, releasing the guilt and stress and self-recrimination you’d built up in your body.

He kissed you again, and again, then he began to work his way across your chest until he drew your nipple into his mouth, brushing his tongue over your skin as he sucked gently, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. You felt a spark of renewed arousal, but with it came a surge of anxiety that rose insistently in your mind.

“Wolffe,” you whispered. “I don’t know if I can. I really am exhausted.”

He looked up at you as he continued to tease your breast. At last, he released your nipple from his lips, giving you a devilish smile.

“What if we tried something else?”

You couldn’t help the way your lips curved into an answering smile when he looked at you like that. “What did you have in mind?”

He pushed himself up off of you and leaned over to rummage through your nightstand until he retrieved a vibrator—the one you’d once jokingly called “Old Faithful” for its uncanny ability to get you off like clockwork.

“I want you to fuck yourself with this,” he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly pitch. “I want to watch you make yourself come.”

Your breath stuttered to a halt, your eyes widening and your heart beginning to pound at the idea. Your gaze flicked from the toy to his eyes and back again.

“Wh—what about you?” you stammered.

“Don’t you worry about me,” he replied. He switched on the vibrator and traced it down your abdomen, making you twitch as its buzz tickled your skin. “Will you?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, taking the toy from him. “How do you want me?”

“Whatever way works best for you.”

You thought about trying to pose for him, to put on a show, but you knew instinctively that wasn’t what he was after. If he’d wanted to watch a counterfeit, staged orgasm, he would have just found a holoporn. No. He wanted the real thing. He wanted to see your genuine pleasure.

“All right,” you whispered.

You took the toy from him, and he moved off of your body to lie next to you, observing you closely. You adjusted the settings to your preferred speed and pattern, then took a deep breath and began.

The instant you touched the vibrator to your clit, your entire body tensed, and you gasped quietly. You glanced at Wolffe and found his gaze riveted to your pussy, his one good pupil dilated so wide you could barely see the amber ring of his iris around its inky depths. You felt a little self-conscious until you saw the way his lips parted slightly as his breath became heavy. 

You pushed yourself back into the pillow and closed your eyes as you adjusted the angle of the toy, pressing it exactly as you needed it. With your free hand, you began to play with your breast, caressing and squeezing and rolling your nipple between your fingertips. You felt the warmth of his hand as it settled onto your leg and then slid up your thigh. Your opposite leg curled up to brace your foot against the bed, opening your stance wider as you moved the vibrator exactly the way you needed it.

“Fuck,” he rasped hoarsely, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin. His fingers grazed lightly over your pussy, but quickly withdrew.

“You can touch me,” you gasped.

He didn’t move immediately, and you continued to work yourself closer and closer to your orgasm, feeling the tension gather in your body and begin to tighten in on your center. Then his fingertips brushed over your cunt again, and you felt his lips and tongue descend on your hip. He didn’t try to take control, just touched you softly, kissing and licking and watching as you played with yourself. 

You adjusted your position again, bringing your leg against his body, and you felt his slick, rigid cock press hard against you. You whimpered, so turned on you couldn’t even form words, and in response, he ground his erection against you. He kissed across your pelvis until he reached your belly, pressing his face into you.

“I’m so close,” you panted.

“Kriff, me too,” he growled.

His fingertip grazed into you, and your body jerked as you gasped sharply. He froze, and without thinking, you moved your hand away from your breast to grab his wrist and push him deeper. With an urgent grunt, he began to move his finger, stroking exactly where he knew you needed him.

Abruptly, your hips arched off the bed, and you let out an inhuman wail. If your brain had been functioning, you might have also heard Wolffe’s rough groan, but at the moment, you were aware of nothing but blinding, shattering pleasure as your body finally found the release it had been denied for so many hours. You jerked the vibrator away as the intensity suddenly became too much, and your body convulsed again and again until at last you collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent.

Wolffe covered you with frantic kisses, crawling up your body until he reached your face. His body hovered over you as his tongue brushed between your lips and flooded your mouth with his taste. Your arms wrapped around his torso as your legs tightened around his hips, and you pulled him into you. His cock slid easily, and he thrust hard and fast, fucking you through the last tremors of your orgasm.

He came within seconds, flooding you with heat as he thrust hard, one last time, burying his cock as deep as he could inside your body. He stayed there, his entire body taut, until at last he exhaled a hard breath and relaxed onto you. His lips broke away from yours, and he rested his forehead against the pillow next to your head.

“Fuck,” he panted, the word hot against your ear. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

You stroked your hands up and down his back, digging your nails lightly into his skin. He groaned and slumped heavily against your body. You loved the weight of him on top of you, but before long, you began to wheeze quietly as you struggled to draw breath. He heard the shift and immediately rolled off of you, pulling you against himself as he came to rest on the bed.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you pressed your lips to his chest.

He laughed quietly. “Thank you. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” 

“Worth the wait?” you asked.

“Worth everything,” he murmured, drawing you even closer. “Everything, and more. You always have been.”

 ---

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[sunny44]

She’s mine

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!reader

Warnings: just a sexy blurb.

Summary: Where Y/n makes a plan to get Max to finally admit that he likes her.

The night was young, and the vibrant atmosphere of the club pulsed with electrifying energy. I walked across the dance floor, my scandalous red dress capturing the attention of everyone around me. I knew I was being excessive, but sometimes, being subtle simply wasn't an option.

My eyes met Charles's across the dance floor, and a mischievous smile played on his lips as I approached him. I knew Charles was Max's friend, and we had exchanged messages earlier for me to explain my plan to make Max act once and for all.

"Charles.” I said, my sweet voice laden with a suggestive tone. "Having fun?"

Charles winked, a wicked smile playing on his lips. He knew exactly what I as up to, and he was more than willing to help.

"Loads, but eager to see Max's reaction to your plan.” Y/n laughed, a melodious sound that echoed over the thumping music.

"Thanks for helping me, by the way. Your friend is a slowpoke."

"Yeah, I thought he would have made a move by now with the way you two act."

"Me too." He laughed, and I noticed Max finding me in the middle of the crowd, his smile evident as soon as he saw who was with me. So, I leaned close to Charles's ear and spoke. “Max is not liking what he's seeing right now. Do you think we should dance and make him even more jealous?"

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

And so, the two of us began to dance, moving to the rhythm of the music as my plan unfolded. I could feel Max's eyes on me, and it was exactly what I wanted.

I was determined to make him finally take action.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the dance floor, Max watched with jealous eyes ablaze. He knew I was flirting with Charles, and he couldn't contain the whirlwind of emotions consuming him.

He navigated through the crowd to the DJ booth, where Martin commanded the beats.

"Martin, turn off the music.” he ordered, his voice heavy with urgency.

"What? Why?"

"Just turn off the music for a minute, please.” he said, somewhat irritated.

Martin raised an eyebrow but nodded, understanding that something important was happening.

With the music dimmed, all eyes turned to Max as he pointed to Y/n, who was now illuminated by the spotlight, her red dress shining like a blazing flame in the club's darkness.

"Are you all seeing that girl?" Max's voice echoed through the club, and besides the light, he also pointed his finger at me. "Talk to her, look at her, or breathe near her, and you'll have a problem with me. She's mine."

I felt a shiver run down my spine as Max's eyes locked onto me, a wild intensity that made me tremble slightly.

But then I saw Charles's mischievous smile, and I knew it had all been worth it.

My heart raced as I saw Max coming towards me, maneuvering through the people who had started dancing again when Martin had turned the music back on.

"Max..."

He took my hands, pulling me close to him, and kissed me, and it was one of those breath-taking kisses.

"I know I've been an idiot all this time, procrastinating instead of asking you to be my girlfriend, but I can't deny anymore what I feel for you."

"Finally.” I say, and he looks at me surprised. "You really are an idiot, I had to plan with Charles to make you jealous so that you finally admitted out loud that you want me as your girlfriend."

"You two planned this?"

"Obviously, don't get me wrong, Charles is hot but not really my type."

"And what's your type?"

"Dutch, world champion, and completely clueless when a hot girl is after him." He laughs and pulls me closer.

"There are plenty of hot girls after me."

"Yeah, but I'm the only one who will get something else out of you." I whispered back and saw the hairs on his neck stand up.

"Wanna get out of here?"

"Definitely."

Bonus scene!

Maxverstappen instagram stories

“She’s definitely mine”

[mercurycft]

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 & 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 — 𝐋𝐁

## lucy bronze x reader !!

Hi all! Enjoy this very very smutty imagine with jealous and top!lucy.. there's also a possibility a part 2 if people want it!? Love always.. RG x

contains: jealous!lucy , top!lucy bottom!reader, fingering, strap-on, mentions of leah williamson, teasing, dirty talk b

1,413 words.

CONTAINS MATURE LANGUAGE & CONTENT 18+

"Strip."

Oh dear this is bad, you thought. It had been months since you had last seen Lucy in this state. Her hair was loosely thrown over her shoulders and cascading down her back, still dressed in her outfit from the party - her white shirt now unbuttoned and exposing her bra as she stood before you.

She was fuming. Not only could you feel it rattling around the room, you could see it. A fire of rage sat heavy behind her deep eyes, jaw clenching periodically as she studied you - her chest heaving as she inhaled and exhaled. You stood like a dear caught in headlights before her, eyes wide and mouth hung slightly agape at the sight of her. You had made it through the door only having it closed for maybe 30 seconds when you heard her voice ring through the room, your shoes were barely off when you turned to follow her voice.

She had gotten home before you, leaving the after-party early and ready to call it a night. The night was still young when she had decided to leave so, you stayed. Draped across your teammates as you collectively laughed, danced and sang horribly through the DJ's playlist of old-school hits.

That was two hours ago now, and after stumbling through the door of your shared apartment as quietly as possible - you were caught.

She wasn't upset you had stayed out, it happened often between you both. She wasn't upset you were dancing on tables in a dress that fit like a glove - clinging to your curves and leaving little to the average imagination. You internally ran through the possible causes of her current situation but were stumped. Then you remembered, the way she had her eyes locked on you from her seat. Your back pressed against Leah's front, bodies swaying to the beat of the song that echoed through the place. Fuck you thought, remembering how she clenched her glass and jaw in unison at the sight of you grinding against your captain.

"Did I stutter? I said, strip." Her voice ripped you from your thoughts, eyes now meeting hers. Noticing how she admired you from across the room, eyes sweeping from your head to your toes - lingering on your chest for almost a second too long.

You remained still for a moment after she spoke, thighs pressed tightly together. Don't push her, you thought. Slowly and carefully lifting your hands to clasp the fabric of your dress, pulling it up and over your head without argument - now exposed to her.

"Bedroom." She whispered, but it wasn't weak, it was strong. A command. An order. You followed it willingly, moving towards your bedroom with her following behind slowly. She couldn't help but watch how your hips moved when you walked, eyes fixated on the way they swayed with each step.

Once you had made it, you stood next to the bed back towards her. Before you had the chance to turn around and speak she had closed the gap between you, her front was pressed against you, her hand up and twisted your hair - pulling you closer against her chest.

She seemed to tower over you, five inches feeling like a foot when the back of your head met with the hot skin of her chest. Her mouth was instantly on your neck, peppering rough and needy kisses below your ear and down the length of your shoulder. Her breath was warm, goosebumps following in her path.

Your eyes were closed tightly, licking your lips as you felt her tongue travel up towards your jaw and stop when her lips pressed against your ear. "Bend over."

You and Lucy had established a long time ago that she liked to be dominant in the bedroom, giving orders and overall giving but it was rare to see her like this. You would be lying if you said it didn't set your body on fire, hairs all standing on end and heart thumping behind its bony cage at the thought of her having her way with you.

You were bent in seconds, weight resting on your hands and head facing down between them - gathering your thoughts and shuddering a deep breath in anticipation. You were left like this for a minute or two. First, there was a shuffling behind you as she searched through the drawers beside her and then silence when she had found what she was looking for. Deep down you knew what it was and the burning in the pit of your stomach increased, sending shockwaves through your lower abdomen and down your legs at the mere thought. Lucy, however, was busy admiring you from behind - on full display for her, clearly enjoying you trying to squeeze your legs together for some form of release.

When she finally caved it was her fingers, tracing through your slick folds methodically. Collecting the wetness on her fingers and circling your sensitive clit. She always knew how to please you, using the perfect amount of pressure with the pads of her fingers. You craved her, whimpering at the feeling of her fingers on you - pushing your hips back to meet her hand, begging for more friction where you needed it most.

You could practically hear her smirk from behind you, moving her fingers to circle your entrance now. Hesitating for a moment before she pulled away completely.

"Lucy, fuck, please.." You pleaded, head lifting in a contest to her actions.

"Get on the bed, on your knees." and you did, scrambling on top of the covers and planting yourself on your knees and elbows, head down facing away from her. You could hear her shuffle again, the sound of her clothes hitting the bedroom floor and her feet navigating their way into something new making your stomach somersault.

She made you wait longer, adjusting herself on the bed behind you. Amused at the way you whined for her, tossing your weight between your knees and squirming for her. Then, you felt it. The tip of her strap caressing you gently. She was gentle, but firm with her actions. Sliding the head between your folds, coating the silicone in your slick before sitting at your entrance once more.

"What's your safeword, baby.." She whispered, breaking character momentarily. It made your heart swell in your chest, perking up to reply.

"Red."

"Good girl.." She praised lowly, pressing into you. Stretching perfectly until it sat snug between your walls. She waited a minute until she was confident you were ready, bracing her hands on your hips as she began to move.

Her thrusts were calculated. Slow and hard. You whimpered into the sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head as she filled you perfectly. Pulling out slowly just to force herself back into you, pulling your hips back to meet her halfway. Her pace increased with your volume, moaning out as the harsh slaps resonated through the room.

You could hear her breathing, it was erratic. Low curses under her breath matched her thrusts, watching as she stretched you around her.

"You take me so well, don't you baby?" She queried, voice hoarse.

You nodded below her, scared if you tried to speak you would scream out. Though the sheets did a poor job at muffling your moans when you felt her let out a breathy laugh from behind you. Your sultry noises ignited a wildfire in her veins, her hand moving to grip your hair roughly.

"God don't stop, Luce.." You begged, mouth left agape when she grumbled.

"Could she fuck you like this?" It caught you off guard, and you shivered beneath her. "Could she? Would you let her fuck you like this? Stretching you out? hm?" You knew it was rhetorical, but shook your head furiously. Unable to speak. As if she had snipped your vocal chords and stolen them straight out of your throat.

"That's what you want huh? Do you want her to fuck you? Maybe I'll send her a message... I know you love being used." You blushed at the thought, a deep pink cascading over your face and chest. You had never thought about it before, but the images she was feeding you were filthy and they contorted your stomach as her other hand snaked down to toy with your clit. "You want us both? Want us to take turns hm?"

That was all it took for you, overwhelmed by her thrusts and the images now prominent in your mind, your first orgasm ripped through you harshly. Clenching around her strap-on and crying through the room. she didn't stop though, instead pushing your head down further into the sheets and continuing.

—————————

This continued until you were spacey, head filled with the images she was compiling. The filthiest thoughts you can imagine, now after 3 orgasms you lay with her head between your legs. Her tongue grazed your swollen clit, lapping your juices up as you squirmed.

When she pulled away, her lips were red and her chin glistened with you. Smirking as she raised to kiss you passionately, passing your taste on.

She stroked your hair gently as she readjusted you and moved you to lay on the pillows, praising you for taking it so well when your eyes met hers and her shit-eating grin. She made sure you were comfy, kissing you softly in direct contrast to her previous actions.

She went to leave the room, off to grab water for you both and a towel. Though she only made it two steps out the door, poking her head back inside and you couldn't help but laugh when she uttered a low. "Maybe I'll give Leah a text.." fuck.

[formulaforza]

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. winter, the first time. the start of the year, the start of it all. minors dni, nsfw warnings under the cut. 7k words part two part three part four part five

18+ because: brat taming, fingering, oral (f receiving), name calling, spit, unprotected sex, overstimulation, booty call!, masturbation (f receiving), voyeurism, mad sass, fucking porn without plot basically.

There’s nothing special about the club scene in Monte Carlo. If you’ve been to a club in any major city, anywhere in the world, you’ve been to a club in Monaco. It’s all neon lights and kaleidoscope colors and poorly lit dance floors and mid-tier DJs who think they’re the next coming of Jesus. 

Tonight is no exception. The air is thick and heavy with the scent of floral perfume and alcohol, the entire room shaking with the pulsating beat of the bass, reverberating off every single corner and shaking the liquor in your glass. Bodies move—yours included—half in sync with the music, half in step with their drunken stupor. Perched in the safety of Charles’s section, away from the swaying forms of laughter and shouting and screaming, your entire body thumps alone to the beat from the DJ booth a couple meters away. 

Across the section, Charles sits stoic on a couch, taking up a seat and a half and frozen like some magnetic force. His eyes are stuck on you in a way that pulls goosebumps from your skin, makes you irrational angry at him. You’re feeling particularly bratty today, egged on by the tequila and his visible annoyance. 

You’re on your way to interject into his pity party when your sister catches your arm, pulls you by your bicep to dance with her. Her palms are sweaty and cold and you hope that it’s the condensation from her cold glass that’s got her all clammy. The two of you have always been quite a sight after a few drinks. You get your tolerance from your mother, are both disastrous lightweights, feel the need to give any and everyone around you a show. 

The two of you twirl to the music with little effort, laughing like you’re seven and the hazard littered floor under your feet is the old brown carpet from the family room you grew up hosting dance parties in. It’s all hair and giggles and hands in the air like you just don’t care. Everytime your glance catches his, he’s staring back, nursing his drink and half participating in a conversation with your brother-in-law and Jo. 

“What’s his fucking problem?” you ask, leaning over to shout into your sister’s ear.

“He can’t dance,” she slurs. You snort. He can dance.

You whistle, loud and commanding and cat-call-ish even though he’s already watching you. “Charles! Get out here and dance, you fucking buzzkill!”

Your sister joins in on the fun, playfully swaying her hips to the music, tossing out an imaginary fishing line to her husband and reeling him over, calling along teasingly to Charles. “Yeah, show us what you’ve got, Il Predestinato!”

Charles rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “I don’t dance,” he calls back with a soft chuckle. He tries to play it cool, like always, but everyone in the room knows you’re pushing his buttons. You always are. The reason he keeps you around is the same reason you stay around; your families’ relationship predates any animosity between the two of you. That, and the friend group was founded before you loathed each other and it would be too much work to try and split it up now. You’d probably never see Joris again. 

You dance closer to him, putting on a dramatic show and a poor fight against the urge to continue challenging him. “Come on,” you tug on his arm, just out your bottom lip into a pretty little pout. “Live a little.”

He’s never been able to turn down one of your challenges, however thinly veiled they might be. It’s his own personal sore spot, the one that you poke and prod as often as you can. Competition has always been the foundation of your mutual annoyance, it’s not going to suddenly change after some eighteen years of consistency. Finally, he relents, lets you think you’re pulling him to his feet, dragging him to dance with you and your sister. 

His moves are stiff and awkward, almost hard to watch. You laugh, because he’s wound up so fucking tight in two weeks you’d have a diamond. “See!?” your sister laughs, the contagion of it spreading to even the brunt of the joke. “I told you!” she continues, slinking her arm around her husband’s neck sloppily. His arm grips her side to hold her steady. It makes you feel sick. 

A smirk tugs on his lips, and for a brief moment, there’s a hint of something more in his eyes. Not annoyance or frustration. Something seven, something innocent and childish. It’s fleeting, and you take a deep breath because the music feels quieter now. You down what’s left of  your cocktail to clear your head, to calm the sudden flutter of nerves. 

The more he drinks and the longer he’s forced to dance, the lighter and more magnetic he becomes. “You know, Charles, I never thought I’d see the day,” you tease. He’s been in a near constant state of pity-party for weeks now, ever since his dumb ass got dumped by another girl wildly out of his league. 

He rolls his eyes, but his tone is as amused as it is drunk. “Don’t get too excited. It’s the liquor,” he retorts, a piss poor attempt at downplaying how much fun he’s having. He wouldn’t dare to give you the satisfaction. You lean in closer, brush your body against his, fueled by the noise and the alcohol. 

“The liquor doing the touching, too?” you ask. 

He’s always been a touchy drunk. Since before you and your friends were allowed to drink, he’s been hands-on. And maybe it’s because this is the first time he’s grabbing your hips, the first time his broad hand is flat over your stomach, but you’d never noticed him as this touchy with his girlfriends or his girls that appear when he’s around. Whatever it is, the more he drinks, the more comfortable he is with his hands on you, and the less you find the nerve to care. 

It doesn’t matter how many times he does it, though. Every touch burns your skin. It’s a sick little game you two play. Sick and twisted and so, so unlike the two of you. 

Watch yourself—he warns, hand on the small of your back. You play with fire. Well established and well documented, though; you never back down either. No, the thrill of annoying him is enough to dive head-first, to push his buttons until they stick. “Am I?” you ask, as innocently as the tequila can muster, taking hold of his wrist and moving it so his arm is wrapped around your midsection, fighting to settle in the space between your waistband and shirt hem. 

You respond to every one of his careful touches, ever lingering finger on your arm and your waist and your back. When you close your eyes, you imagine the nonsense patterns he draws on your skin like it’s on canvas in a museum, hung front and center just for you. Your inhibitions are slipping too, and you let yourself trail wandering fingertips over his body, too.

This isn’t the Charles you’re used to, the one you go head-to-head with every fifteen minutes. This is something entirely new, so far into uncharted territory you’re not even sure which way is north. There’s something particularly intriguing about the nerves bouncing around your gut. 

Everything fades away into the dark and crowded club. You don’t know if your sister and brother-in-law are still standing there, if any of your friends are. All you know if the electric charge of this, of every teasing remark and touch that draws you closer, forces you to test the waters of the newfound layer of tension. 

Everything is building, it feels like, to some grand crescendo of emotion and desire. Before there’s room to explore it, though, to dive deeper into the unspoken shift, the moment is interrupted by the return of the friends you didn’t notice leaving. 

The night drags on, the lines between annoyance and attraction blurring into some chaotic muddle of intoxication. Nothing is clear, nothing except the sobering and unignorable pull. It lingers in the air above you, in the space between like a secret just begging to be unraveled. 

You’ve got another drink now, because you can only think of one decision that would be worse than more tequila. In due time, you’re worried you’re a lost cause when it comes to that choice as well. His eyes stay on you, even from a distance, and you revel in the glory of his attention. Embolden by it all, you continue fucking with him. “Having fun yet, Charles?” you ask, knowing smile, voice dripping in subtle suggestion. 

He raises a brow, the corners of his lips quirking up. You don’t think you’ve ever spent much time looking at them, the soft shade of pink and the softer skin. “I suppose I can tolerate it,” he replies with teasing eyes. He’s irritated by your laugh, by your proximity, by your lips brushing against his ear when you whisper; you’re not the only one here trying to have fun. His jaw tightens but he doesn’t take your bait. Instead, he pulls you closer, sways in rhythm with you and replies, “I’m here to enjoy myself, not entertain you.”

He sends your brattiness running full-tilt. Forces you to carefully consider every movement, every ounce of playfulness that you allow to seep into your demeanor and the proactive sway of your hips. You grin at him every chance you get, sly and calculated, daring him to resist.  

You lean in close, brush against his ear and can blame it on practicality, on the bass and the music and the DJ if anyone were to question your actions. You rest a hand on his chest. “I know you love my attention.”

His breath hitches at your audacity, heart racing so quick you can feel it in your palm. He pulls you closer, dangerously close to your lips and says, “you talk too much. Maybe it’s time someone shuts you up.”

You scoff, low and teasing. “I’d like to see you try.”

[18 minutes later]

You step into the well-lit lobby less than a pace behind him. Your hands are interlocked, have been for every block of the darkened streets—since he grabbed yours and pulled you out of the club. “Admit it,” you giggle. “You love having me push your buttons.”

He remains stoic, jaw set as he pushes the button on the elevator. The tension is at a boiling point. You’re either about to kill each other, to be on the news for some grand double murder, or something so, so much worse is going to unfold. 

He leads you to the apartment without a word, but as soon as the door closes behind him, all is lost. Your head is bumping into the drywall before you even realize what’s happening, his lips harsh against yours, the pent up frustration and desire snapping like a dried twig. 

It’s fierce and passionate and while you never, not for a single moment in your life, imagined what he would taste like, you somehow knew it would be like this, cool and fresh and drunk. He licks into your mouth, messy and intense, teeth clacking and both of you fighting for some nonexistent upper hand. 

Fireworks are going off outside. They shake the windows with explosive gravitas as you’re blindly led by his backwards steps down the hallway. You realize that in an entire lifetime of knowing each other, this is the first time you’ve been in his place. It’s not what you expected, from what you can gather—all clutter and red cars and a boy who never had to drop his dream. “They’re going to look for us,” you say between sloppy, open mouthed kisses. 

He mumbles against your skin, strong hands on either side of your jaw. “Let them look.”

You walk through a doorway, into a bedroom clad with clutter and blue sheets. He would have blue sheets. There’s another firework, loud and booming, it makes you jump. You check your watch over his shoulder, pretend your hand doesn’t shake. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Okay.” Your knees bump into his and he sits on the edge of the bed.

You laugh, climb onto his lap, your arms strewn around his shoulders, broad and strong and you laugh again–this time into his mouth. What the fuck is going on. Seriously, what the fuck is this? “Happy New Year.”

He sighs, pulls his mouth from yours long enough to roll his eyes, to speak annoyedly into the hot air between your lips. “Yeah, whatever. Happy New Year.”

“Charles,” you mutter, hand on his chest. You think he’s going to regret this more than you will. People have always told you he’s the best kind of person. You’re not held in the same regard, and you know it. Some people are made to regret and others are made to be the regret. 

“Jesus Christ,” he laughs, but it’s curt and passive. Annoyed, as always, even when he palms at your ass, traces his hands along the bottom of your hiked up dress and pulls you down against him with a bruising grip. “Shut the fuck up.” You tug at the hem of his shirt, pull it off over his head in a swift movement. 

“You’re doing a piss-poor job at making me.”

He moves you like you’re a fucking doll, like it’s lightwork, tossing you down against the mattress and swapping your positions in a swift movement. The strength and agility of it makes your head spin. He’s not supposed to make your head spin, he’s supposed to make it ache. 

But no, no. You do ache for him. All of you aches for him, for his calloused hands and the roughness of his jeans against your thighs and the soft contrast of his lips against everything else. It’s embarrassing. You can’t believe he’s got you like this, hands pinned above your head while he buries his tongue in your mouth, grinds his hips against yours. The coarse denim is almost painful on your sensitive skin, but the growing bulge pulling the fabric tight is more intoxicating than any cocktail. 

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he says, bites a bruise against the skin just above your clavicle. “Spoiled little shit.”

He sinks to his knees, big blue or green or whatever fucking color his eyes are today watching you intently, boring into you with blown, hungry pupils.  His fingers trail along your underwear, pulling the thin, lacey fabric to the side, and then removes them all together. He gloats when he runs his thumb through your folds. “So fucking wet.”

“It’s not for you,” you goad. 

“Oh?” He nods slowly, spreading your slick with the steady digit, watching you carefully for reaction. “For who then?”

Your eyes flutter shut when the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, circles it slowly, teases you. He’s unfocused, his mind lapsing and giving you a much needed in, a clear shot to piss him off. “Your teammate.”

“Fuck off.” You first. 

“You’re right, Charles,” you speak slowly, careful to control your breathing, to hide every tell you might have. “Someone should shut me up. Do you know anyone?” Without warning, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curls them like someone had given him a diagram of your body. You gasp at the suddenness of it all. Yeah, he mutters, utterly delighted with himself. Yeah, I think I know someone.

You roll your eyes, push his head down, down, mouth onto your core. There, in the midst of licking a long stripe through your cunt, he fucking laughs, shakes his head with a subtlety you’d never perceive if it wasn’t for the tip of his nose bumping your clit when he does it. At least he can follow basic fucking instructions. 

His dick must hurt pretty damn bad, all hard and swollen in his pants, because he’s unbuttoning his jeans and freeing himself from the constraints of the fabric while lapping at you, the other hand still fucking into you with steady pace and hazy curl. You can’t see it, view obstructed by the mattress and limbs and hair, but you can tell by the way his shoulders move that he’s trying to get himself off at the same time he works on you. 

You’re not going to make his job that easy. You require all of his attention, pure and undivided and hopefully just as infuriated as you are. You reach down to the apex of your legs, pull his head up by his chin. “Just fuck me, already, you prick.”

He rises to his feet, shakes his head, “you’re a needy little thing,” he remarks. Needy? You haven’t fucking seen needy. 

He guides the head of his cock through your folds, spreading slick and spit and smacking himself against your cunt. 

Your lips purse into a sharp line. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not?” He taunts, “you’ve been teasing for hours.”

“It’s different,” you grumble. 

“How?” You could strangle him, him and all his questions. What’s a person have to do to get fucked properly around here? You already sacrified your morals by pulling tight against the navy blue sheets.  A woman can only make so many sacrifices. 

You groan, heavy and exasperated. He’s such a pest. “It just–oh, fuck you–” without warning, he plunges into you, buries himself in your cunt until he bottoms out, skin on skin and the sore sting of him stretching you. Your fingers bruise into his arms, nails scraping over his shoulder blades with a gasp. He gives you no time to adjust to him, rutting into you with deep, measured thrusts. What was that, he prodes. Somehow, you find the poise to stabilize yourself, to reply smugly. “it just is.”

His objective isn’t your pleasure, no. That would be his prerogative, a side privilege, a requirement in his quest to get you to close your mouth and stop pestering for once. Making you come is just another box to check. 

You don’t fuck someone if you’re not going to finish, though. Sleeping with Charles might be a lapse in judgment, but being someone’s play toy, letting him reap without sowing, that’s a complete disregard of your dignity

Your fingers find your clit, circle it in just the right sequence, combining with the curve of his cock to push you closer, closer, closer to the edge of the fucking world. Your entire body burns, everywhere, all over, all at once you sweat. Tell me–he insists, voice short and breathy. Tell me when you’re going to come. “I thought you were trying to shut me up?”

“Just, fuck, just tell me.” He palms over your breasts, still covered by your bra and the fabric of your dress, however thin. “So many fucking clothes,” he grumbled, stalling inside you, hands slipping under your back, between you at the mattress to pull you off the bed. You hastily pull the dress over your head, toss it somewhere onto the clothing cluttered floor. Better? You ask. “Better,” he nods, bites your bottom lip roughly, licking against your teeth. One of the hands that explore the skin of your back make quick work of the clasp on your bra, dropping the straps from your shoulders and your back is against the sheets again, his hands groping at you, pinching your nipple between his middle and ring finger, working over it until you’re humming profanities and huffing into his mouth. 

Hate and desire is such a fine, blurry line. Anyone who tells you differently is a liar. 

“M’gonna,” you choke on your words. “I’m–shit–I’m coming.”

“Yeah,” He picks up his pace, maintains a steady, toe-curling rhythm. “Come for me,” his voice heavy and growled. “Come on my dick.”

You do. You come for him, hard and long, wrapping a leg around his hip in a failed attempt to still him, to just be full of him and nothing more. He’s stronger, though, and fucks you through the whole thing, faster, harder, big hands braced on your hips for leverage. You explore the idea that a person really could be fucked in half, forced right open. 

“Good try,” you sputter, shaky and broken words leaving your lips before you’ve found a gravity that isn’t him. You lean up to kiss him, wrap your hand around the back of his neck and pull him to meet you halfway. Your fingers tickle the short hair at the nape of his neck, raise goosebumps to his skin. “Maybe next time,” you hum into his open mouth. 

He spits a long string of saliva into your mouth when you move to close the gap. You laugh around it, down it in a single gulp and lick your lips, sticking out your tongue to showcase your empty mouth, big innocent doe-eyes watching his reaction, his eye roll and devilish smirk.

“Like I said–” you start, but he’s flipping you over, tossing you around like a ragdoll.  You giggle, high on the teasing and the taunting and then he’s fucking your face into the mattress. He’s got your hair gathered up into a ratty ponytail, uses it like a handle, forcing your back into an arch, your ass to perk up into the air. 

God, he’s so fucking deep, turning you into a mess of bruises and sweat stricken skin. Your hips bounce back against him, angle in any imaginable way in an attempt to feel him deeper, to feel him in your stomach and your chest and your head. To feel him everywhere that counts. 

“Putain, taking me so good, baby” he groans, lets the praise and the pet name slipping past his lips in a moment that goes unnoticed by neither of you. He smacks your ass with a firm hand, trying to mask his words after they’ve already been spoken. Your eyes roll back into your head and you come again, without warning. You decide before you get to think about it that it was the stinging imprint of his hand that pushed you tumbling over the edge. Whatever the real reason, you’re up two-nothing, or, depending how you look at it, he’s the one winning. 

That’s all any of this is, one big game. A power struggle. You’re always fighting to win, and this is not different. If there’s a way to lose at a game where everyone is supposed to win, one of you is going to fucking find it and force it on the other. 

You’re the one doing the flipping, now. The pushing and the shoving so he’s on his back. You straddle him and he gives you this look like he’s fully pussy-drunk, sick and euphoric and floating somewhere far from here. You’re so winning at this. “Jesus Christ,” you poke, “wipe your fucking drool.”

His entire face contorts when you sink down onto him. Everytime you think you’ve reached a limit, he finds a way to hit a spot impossibly deeper than the last. His hips lift up off the bed to meet you halfway, rutting into pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had, hand moving to your cunt, thumbing lazily at your clit, leaving you fuzzy and drunk in a mess of mumbled moans above him. 

When you come for the third time, messy and sweaty, nothing that leaves your lips is distinguishable, a mess of French and English and curses and nonsensical mewls. “Fuck you,” he moans, breath shaky when he pulls himself out of you. Your body clenches around air, aches for him to return. 

He does, after he moves you back into the position it all started in. “So close,” he tells you, sinking slowly into you, his sigh hot and alcoholic on your shoulder. His pace is slow, then fast, then slow again. He’s as rapid as his breath is irregular. You better pull out–you groan, every muscle in your body strung out and exhausted and you’re coming again. It’s blinding white behind your closed lids, ears ringing and muscles flexing involuntarily. He’s wrecked you, finally, left you a mumbling mess. 

He pulls out almost in sync with your orgasm, jerks himself no more than twice between your legs before he’s coating your stomach in hot stripes of cum, loud, guttural moans leaving his lips in a way that looks and sounds practically pained. “Christ,” he heaves, watches on as your fingers dance through his orgasm, spreading it over your skin and coating your fingers. You don’t break eye contact when you stick two of them into your mouth, swirl your tongue around them tauntingly, sucking them clean and pulling them from your mouth with a pop. You hold the clean hand up for him to see, palm facing him. When you turn it, you pull down all but your middle finger, flip him off cockily. 

He swats you hand away, “Never fucking again,” he tells you. 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” you scoff. “I never want to see the inside of this apartment again.”

“Why are you here, then?” He remarks, turning the corner into what you assume is the bathroom, tossing a towel to you from across the room. You clean yourself up before anything dries, before coming up with a quick rebuttal. 

You don’t come up with one, mind as tired as the rest of you. This game has been exhausting. “We’re never talking about this,” you say, pulling your dress over your head, stuffing your bra into your handbag because you aren’t sure you have the strength to clasp it closed. “Ever.”

“No shit,” he says, tosses your underwear in the general direction of you. 

You bend over to pick them up, step into them with the snap of the elastic. “Promise me.” You have no idea where your shoes are, but he’s already ushering you out of the room, herding you down the long hall with wide, swooping waves of his arms. 

“I promise.”

“Pinky,” you say, spot your shoes haphazardly stepped out of in the entryway. You don’t have any memory of them ever being on.

“Absolutely not.”

“Charles,” you lean against the wall to slip your heels on, hook up at him with a sober glare. He closes his eyes like you won’t be able to see them roll behind his lids, pinches the bridge of his nose and squints before dropping a heavy breath, holding out a pinky to you. You interlock it with yours. “Thank you.”

He pulls his hand from yours, turns the lock on his front door and swings it open, fingers wrapped around the edge, other hand gesturing out into the hallway. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“With pleasure,” you say, stepping past him and into the well-lit hallway of sprawling marble floors. You stop in front of the elevator, press the button and wait for his inevitable comment. 

“The whole brat-schtick you’ve got going on isn’t as believable when your leg shakes underneath you,” he calls down the hall. You don’t turn your head to face him, just extend your arm in his direction and flip him off. You hear his chuckle as he latches the door shut behind you. 

Everything about today has been dreary–from the near constant mist that falls over the city, to the chilly temperatures, to the poor excuses for men that grace the screen of your dating app. This is not how Fridays in your twenties are meant to be spent, sulking in the dark of your bedroom after a miserable day at work. 

You’re supposed to be out, partying with friends and making drunken decisions that have you waking up in a stranger’s bed after a good night you hardly remember. 

God, you need to get fucked. It’s been months. Two months and ten days–not that you’re counting. Because you’re not. Counting. You aren’t. 

You’re just restless, basking in the loneliness of the night, unable to shake the weight of your thoughts, of two months and ten days ago. Of Charles and how infuriatingly good he’d made you feel. The complexities of your relationship, the shift in the very DNA of what you know, it makes your heart race–a messy muddle of annoyance and desire that yearns to be untangled. 

You give up on the dating apps, know that even if you do match with someone, there’s nothing that can be done to solve your problem tonight. You opt instead to scroll through social media aimlessly, searching for any distraction from the ache in your gut. Your hand unconsciously slips under the hem of your shirt, cups your breast while you scroll and scroll and scroll. It does little to quell your struggles. In fact, the game is over the moment you become conscious of your hand’s placement, the moment you start to massage your breast, to run your fingers over your nipple until it’s hard and perky. 

You switch to the other breast, fingers gently tracing over the skin, sending chills up your arms, pinpointing the ache in your core. Your hand slides down your stomach, dips below the waistband of your shorts, into your underwear. You’re so worked up–pent up, reaching a boiling point. 

Your middle finger glides through your folds, grazes over your clit, teases the slick at your entrance before dipping in, collecting enough to spread it around. Your clit is swollen, needy like the rest of you, and the pad of your fingers do little to relieve the pressure. Your fingers move clockwise, then counter. Vertical and horizontal and every combination of every direction and even though you can’t remember the last time you were this horny, this desperate to come, you can’t. 

You slip in a finger, and then another, try to find the right curl and the right spot–to no avail. Now, you’re thinking about his fingers, about how much bigger his hands are, how his nimble fingers pumped in and out of you with sheet-gripping, whimper-inducing pace. 

Your phone taunts you, his contact behind the locked screen just waiting to be messaged. 

You try to resist. You hate him. He hates you. God, he knows how to fuck you, though; veiny hands and thick cock leaving you a writhing mess. Fuck. Fuck, why can’t your fingers move the way his did?

You cave, reaching over to grab your phone and text him. Hey. What are you up to tonight? It’s a mistake, you know that it is. He’s so damn annoying, there’s nothing about him that doesn’t drive you up a wall. Frustration makes the heart go fonder, you suppose, or maybe the cunt ache harder. 

Within moments, your phone is buzzing against your palm with his reply. Chilling at home. You coming over?

You roll your eyes. No.

Ok.

You bite your bottom lip so hard you think you might accidentally draw blood. It’s phantom, almost, the way you can so perfectly imagine the sting of him stretching you out, the soreness of his bruising kisses, the swollen, wet head of his dick slapping against your clit. Come over.

You couldn’t pay me.

Door’s unlocked.

Give me 20.

You’re in the bedroom when he knocks. Three times, you wonder why he isn’t just walking in. You ignore the banging, let the universe decide for you if he’s meant to turn back and walk his happy ass out of your building. The universe decides he won’t be doing that, though, because he knocks again. Louder this time. 

You pull yourself out of bed, feet creaking on the hardwood floors as you move to pull the door open. “I told you it was unlocked,” you grumble. 

“Eh,” he shrugs, dumb fucking grin on his face. “Wasn’t up for your games.”

You internally debate just how bad you need him here, if it’s worth all the trouble that is him. It’s not, almost certainly it isn’t. You invite him in anyway. 

“So, what’s the deal? Can’t get yourself off, so you call me?” He teases. Your frustrated blush gives you away before a witty comeback can slap the smirk off his face. “Oh my god,” he chuckles. “I was fucking around, but really?”

There’s no point in trying to lie now, not when your face has already betrayed your trust and revealed the truth. “Calm down,” you groused. “The last thing this world needs if your head to get any fucking bigger.”

He continues laughing like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him. You want to smack the smile off his face, dimples and all. “The last thing this world needs is for this–” he gestures between the two of you, “–to become a thing.”

You mock his movements, the dumb look on his face. “This is not a thing. It’s just two friends–”

“–We aren’t friends.”

You sigh through gritted teeth. “Two not friends helping each other out.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, chews on the inside of his cheek while his eyes trace your finger, head to toe and back to head again. “You do know how ridiculous you sound, right?”

You breathe out in resignation, heading down the hall towards your room. “Can we just get on with it?”

“No.”

You stop in your tracks, turn on your heels. What the fuck is he here for, then? “No?” You close the gap between the two of you, plant your hands firmly on either side of his jaw and kiss him, all tongue and spit and rough lips. You knock him off balance, falling out of step when he kisses you back with a matching intensity, hands hovering over your hips. He doesn’t rest them there, you can feel the warmth in the space between your skin and his, the force that pulls you together. 

When he does settle his hands, it’s not to deepen the kiss, to swallow any more frustration. It’s to put distance between your mouths. “I want you to–”

You nibble on his earlobe, cut him off with your hushed words. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, I want–”

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he commands, voice failing to waiver to your hushed level, an air of snugness to him.

“Charles,” your voice cracks with his name, a hint of your under the surface insecurity peeking through, putting themselves on display for him. Here! Here! Look at me! 

“Show me, or I’m leaving,” he says, and it’s all throaty and husky. 

(Eleven minutes later)

Legs spread for him, two fingers moving busily against your core, circling your clit, teasing your hole. 

He stares at you like he can see your fucking soul, watches from his spot across the room, leant against the old wooden dresser, arms folded and ankles crossed. You stare back–harder, maybe–like if you win the little contest your cheeks won’t burn so bright, you won’t feel so exposed, so vulnerable, so embarrassed. 

Those feelings fade, they do, with each flick of your wrist. With every glance of his hungry eyes to your fingers, to your cunt, tracing their way up and down your body, you feel calmer and calmer. And when he runs his hand over his mouth, along the stubble of his jaw and off his chin, you’re closer and closer. 

It pulls whimpers, soft and slow and sweet, from your lips. There’s a sick thrill to it, to him seeing her like this, all needy and open and sensitive. It’s empowering, almost. 

He breaks no more than twice, watches every brow quirk, lid flutter, and lip twitch with raw, intimate eyes. He’s less interested in what you do to yourself, the curve of your fingers or the noises they create, than he is in the way you react to the movements. 

“You’re not even fucking watching,” you say, the letter sounds falling to your breath, hitching as your fingers angle just right. 

“Watching what matters.”

“Oh? And, uh–” you huff. “What’s that?”

He laughs, dimples digging deep into his cheeks. You’ve always thought they made his smile so childish, like you can’t take anything seriously when it comes from someone with primary-school dimples and giddy eyes. You don’t struggle to take it seriously, now. “You’re thinking about me.”

Your eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh parting your lips. “Says who?”

He pushes himself off the dresser, saunters over with heavy feet, stopping at the foot of the bed. “What are you thinking about?” He humors. 

Your eyes roll. You’re thinking about a lot of things. Half a dozen, atleast. About your fingers, the way they move against your swollen cunt, sticky with creamy slick, and how his fingers are that much longer than yours. About how loud he walks, how his heavy feet stand at the end of your bed, crossed arms that pull his t-shirt tight across his chest. About the fact that you’re not sure you locked the door behind him because you were so distracted by the way his sweatpants hung from his waist. About how he doesn’t bother to adjust or hide the protruding bulge under the fabric right now. About the curve of his cock, about how pathetic and full it makes you, utterly unable to spend time thinking about anything but how well he stretches you out. About his hair, flat and straight and wholly unstyled, how your hands would mess it up so nicely, tug and twist until he has something smart to say. Beyond frustratingly, he’s right. As you quickly approach a high, breath quickened and movements desperate, all you’re thinking about is him. “Things.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, ever the rake, unsatisfied with your response. 

You add a third finger, steady pace and a held stare. The muscles in your leg twitch. You’re so fucking close. “What are you thinking about?”

He sways, rocks his weight from his left foot to the right, runs his tongue over his teeth. “Things.”

A coy smile upturns the corner of your lips. “Mmhmm,” you mock. 

He moves around the bed, trails his fingers over your skin; from your ankle, along the bone of your shin, a bruise on your knee. They stall on your thigh, trace small, soft circles on the inside of your leg. “You really want to know?” 

He’s such a tease, keeps moving up, up, up, over your stomach and through the valley of your breast. “I–ah– I,” you stutter through your words, fingers working tirelessly to push you over the edge. Restless, further irritated by his delicate touch, his fingers up to your jaw now, slotting themselves there, you nod. “Yes.” 

He leans over you, your lips inches apart, open and hot breathed. “Too bad,” he whispers into the space between, closing the gap and kissing you with an insatiable kind of fervor. Your fingers still, your other hand reaching to grip the back of his neck, to pull him deeper into the kiss. It’s a kiss that’s half as good as the sex, the breaking of the unbearable tension that’s filled the room while he’s watched, the promise of what’s to come. A lustful implication. His hand leaves your jaw when you pull apart for air, moving over your stilled hand. “Let me?” He asks, and it doesn’t feel like much of a question, the way he’s already slipping his fingers under yours before you can even squeak out an answer. 

There’s something entirely different about his fingers, like the way that you can’t tickle yourself. You can’t predict his moves, every movement of every ridge of his fingerprints is something entirely surprising. “Yeah, fuck, you make, ah, make yourself…” You give up on the sentence, your body failing your mind in its ability to spit out a comeback. Yeah, you wish you could tell him. Yeah, make yourself fucking useful.  

He laughs, slides his long middle finger inside you, pumps it twice and slips in another. You gasp at his sudden movement. “You’re embarrassing yourself, baby.”

Your back arches off the sheets. “Don’t call me that,” you seethe. 

“But,” he curls his fingers against the spot you’ve been trying to reach all night. A moan tumbles from your mouth and he smirks. “It makes my job so easy.”

“Fuck you.”

“I was going to let you come first, but,” he chuckles. He’s so proud of himself it makes you ill. “If you insist.” 

His hand stills, threatens to pull out of you entirely, but you’re covering it with your own, holding him there when you look up, hips instinctively grinding against him. “I’ll kill you. I will.” 

You’re pushing him out of your apartment by the end of night, locking the door behind him. Your leg shakes when you slide down the door onto the floor. This is the last time, it has to be. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence. Thrice. Thrice would be a pattern. You won’t let it become a pattern. 

You wake up at seven-thirty and your hair is still in knots, your body still aching from him. You find a new bruise every time you look in the mirror. You can’t shake the image of his messy hair, of the feeling of the brown locks between your fingers and the sound he’d make when you’d tug on them. 

It won’t be happening again.

[reminiscingtonight]

And The Things You'd Do

Lia Wälti x Russo!Reader (Alessia Russo & Russo!Reader + Kyra Cooney-Cross & Russo!Reader)

Word Count: 1.4k

The Thing About Families (Part One) // That's How You Know It's Home (Part Three)

[WOSO Masterlist]

It’s the shuffling of feet that draws your attention. 

You’re off stretching on the side of the field. Having just come back from injury, you’ve been approved for some light training and warm-ups while the other girls do their own drills. You’ve been doing alright all by your lonesome, so you’re surprised to see the Australian girl approaching. 

You’re quick to narrow your eyes at the sheepish look on her face.

“What is it?”

Kyra turns and you instantly see the problem. She tries to wiggle her arm, one sleeve somehow caught underneath her pinnie. “I’m stuck.”

Sighing, you jerk your head at her. “C’mere.”

The young girl brightens up at your command, dutifully rushing to your side before allowing you to free her from her self-made prison. 

“Go on,” you chuckle when she finally pops free. 

Kyra lets out a whoop before sprinting back towards the other girls.

You’re smiling fondly at her departing figure when you hear a familiar drawl.

“Thought you were getting sick of her.”

You roll your eyes. “Please. I had to grow up with you, Gio, and Luca. Kyra’s a breeze compared to you lot.”

Alessia lets out an offended squawk. “You take that back!”

You raise an eyebrow at her raised arm and Alessia freezes. She gives you a grin, quickly recycling her plans to give you a noogie. “Sorry. Point taken.”

“What can I say? She grew on me.”

Alessia huffs, dragging a toe in the grass as the two of you slowly make your way back to the others. “The taste of coffee can grow on you. Being relegated to passenger-side-car-DJ can grow on you. Annoying Australians cannot grow on you!”

“Relax, rat. I’m not replacing you with her. Think of Kyra as your unofficial niece.”

Alessia pulls a face at your words.

You shake your head. “Take it up with Lia. I’m pretty sure she’s ready to duel Mini for guardianship.”

---

So maybe you should’ve thought things through. 

When the ref whips out her red card, pointing for you to get off the field, you realize you might have gone a little too far. 

In your defense, it really wasn’t your fault.

The first yellow you get on purpose. 

No one messes with your baby sister. 

When Alessia is blatantly fouled and the referee lets play go on without a single care that the blonde is clutching her ankle in pain, it only seems right that you bulldoze through the player at fault. 

She milks the muck out of it and you’re rolling your eyes at the yellow card pointed your way, confidently swaggering your way back across the field to where Alessia’s still on the ground. 

Alessia winces when the trainer presses a little too hard on the joint, fingers nearly crushing yours that you’ve graciously lent her for support. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Didn’t have to do what?”

Alessia tries to look stern but all you can see is the little girl who would follow you everywhere just because she could. You know she’s trying to be strong but you’d recognize the tearful look on her face from a mile away.

Lia doesn’t find the humor in your act of retribution, rightfully chastising you into the locker room at halftime.

“It’s not my fault! Look what she did to Less! She’ll lucky if she only needs to be in the boot for two weeks!”

It isn’t until Kim gives you one of her disapproving glares that you wilt. 

“Sorry Kim,” you mumble, scuffing your shoes on the ground. “Won’t happen again.”

It happens again.

There’s only ten minutes left in the match when you feed the ball into your midfield and time seems to come to a standstill. 

You watch on with a twisted horror as Kyra leaps up to receive your ball. She barely gets a touch on it before she’s caught on the wrong side of a flying elbow, crumpling to the ground.

The whistle blows and you can practically hear the blood pumping in your ears. One second you’re rushing across the field to be by Kyra’s side. The next you’re pivoting midstride, catching sight of the smirk on the offending player’s face. 

No one’s close enough to stop you from shoving her over. 

“You think that’s funny? Throwing your elbow into her face? Let’s see if you think it’s funny when I do it to you!” 

Steph catches you by the waist and hauls you back before anyone can test how serious you are. 

You’re still yelling and spitting when the ref stalks over, hand already digging into her pocket. 

There are boos and jeers when the inevitable comes and you throw a hand up in disgust. 

“Go on then, you gonna card her for drawing blood too?”

It’s clear your teammates don’t know what to do. 

Getting a yellow card is rare enough for you. But getting two and then being thrown out of a game? Practically unheard of in the years you’ve been at the club.

You ignore the look on their faces as you stomp all the way off the pitch and straight for the med room. You see Leah quirk her eyebrow, ready to give you an earful but you just push past, knowing full well that you’re going to get your ass handed to you later.

Alessia blinks up in surprise at the sound of the door opening.

She’s sat on top of an examining table, ankle propped on a pillow and wrapped in ice.

It only takes a second for her to realize what’s wrong with the picture. Alessia glances at the clock on the wall before her eyes flicker back to your fuming face. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” you mutter. You poke at the ice, ignoring the way Alessia hisses and slaps your shoulder. “How’s the foot? Are we going to need to amputate?”

Alessia rolls her eyes. “My foot is fine. Now what is this I hear of you getting a red card?” 

You glare at her phone, the sound of another message coming in, no doubt your mother telling Alessia about what you’ve done.

“Tell ma to stop snitching. That girl got exactly what she deserved for elbowing Kyra In the face.”

“Kyra got what?” Alessia gasps, eyes going wide.

Before you can repeat, the door opens behind you.

The two of you turn to see a sullen looking Kyra.

“Hi.” 

You don’t think you’ve ever heard Kyra so quiet before.

“Oh wow, you look miserable.” You’re not sure if Alessia thinks this is hilarious or sad, but you’d definitely say the latter.

Kyra did look miserable. Her nose is already becoming discolored, swelling and bruises become more prominent.

“C’mere,” you huff, pressing an icepack against her nose when she gets close enough to you.

Kyra hisses and tries to jerk back but you just follow with the ice.

“The sooner you stop moving the sooner your 15 minutes of icing will be done.”

You don’t even make it to the 15 before the door slams open again for the third time. 

“What did I say about getting unnecessary cards?!”

“Unnecessary?” you gwak. “Look at the kid! What part of me defending her was unnecessary?”

You backtrack. “Look at both of the kids.” You gesture wildly between Alessia and Kyra. 

Lia rolls her eyes but follows your fingers nonetheless. 

“Ma’s never going to let Less leave our house ever again, and Mini will probably drop by to kidnap Kyra and revoke our Australian baby access!”

“I’m not a baby--”

“Ma can’t stop me from moving out--”

You and Lia whip around to glare at Alessia. “You’re not moving out.”

Alessia frowns. “Whatever.” She crosses her arms. “Kyra’s a baby.”

The younger girl gasps in defiance before whimpering at the pain that radiates through her nose.

Lia looks a little exasperated when she turns back to you.

“Please. No more red cards.”

“No more red cards,” you echo. 

When Lia grabs hold of your hand, leading you back to be chewed out by your captains, you turn to get one last glance at the two troublemakers.

Alessia and Kyra are already looking your way, shooting you two thumbs up.

You shake your head.

Oh the things you do for family.

[tonyspank]

YOU RIGHT

Warnings: none i think Summary: You meet Olivia Rodrigo at a party. A/N: part 2?

Olivia Rodrigo x Reader

Fame. It was a blessing and a curse, bringing both adoration and scrutiny. The allure of the spotlight drew people in, but the constant invasion of privacy weighed heavily on those who experienced it.

You never wanted to be famous, with everyone watching your every move and judging your every decision. The pressure to maintain a perfect image becomes suffocating, leaving no room for mistakes or personal growth. It seemed like too much.

Your friends, on the other hand, envied the idea of fame. They saw it as a gateway to success, wealth, and recognition, and hell, it was.

The difference between Jack's and your bank accounts was big.

Jack Harlow, a rising rap artist, seemed to have it all. Jack Harlow, the same guy you used to hang out with and freestyle with in your basement, was now selling out arenas and topping the charts.

Jack Harlow, the same guy who would visit New York just to hang out with you, his best friend.

You'd know Jack since he was just starting out in the music industry. You had witnessed his journey from recording songs in his bedroom to signing a major record deal.

You were proud of him, he was truly like a brother to you, and seeing his success brought you immense joy. Despite his fame, Jack remained humble and always made time for the people who had supported him from the beginning.

Which is why he decided to drag you to a party in downtown Brooklyn, a place he hoped you would enjoy. The party was filled with talented musicians and industry professionals, nearly everyone there had some connection to the music industry.

You follow Jack as he maneuvers through the crowd, making his way to the DJ booth. You watch him dap up the DJ before he introduces you to him. "This is Zack Bia, his shit is fire. I swear to you." Jack says, leaning closer to you so you can hear him over the music.

Zack daps you up, giving you a warm smile before turning back to his DJ set. Zack leans into Jack's ear, whispering something that makes Jack quickly nod his head, you can slightly mouth the words "Oh yeah."

Zack presses a button on his DJ controller, and the music transitions seamlessly into Jack's song, Dua Lipa. He then hands him a mic, and Jack grabs it eagerly, ready to perform.

As the beat drops, Jack's voice fills the room, captivating everyone with his smooth delivery and undeniable stage presence. The crowd goes wild, their energy fueling Jack's performance as he effortlessly commands the small stage.

You find yourself nodding your head to the beat, unable to resist the infectious rhythm. The music pulsates through your body, making it impossible to stand still. Jack puts an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him as you take a sip from your glass.

"Do the next part," Jack whispers in your ear, moving the microphone away from his lips. You laugh a bit, shaking your head. "Nah, man." Jack smiles, "C'mon."

He doesn't give you time to process your response before he moves the microphone to your mouth and starts singing the next verse. Caught off guard, you stumble over the lyrics for a moment before finding your voice and joining in.

Jack starts jumping up and down, his energy contagious as he encourages the crowd to sing along. "So, what's up?" Jack shouts into the microphone, moving it away from you.

You leave the stage, needing a drink and fresh air after being put on the spot like that. When you arrive at the bar, you see a brunette girl sitting by herself, her head down, as she types away on her phone.

You twist your lips, would she mind if you took a seat next to her?

The bartender looks up from cleaning a glass and nods at you, indicating that you can take a seat. When you settle down, you catch a glimpse of the girl's screen, noticing that she's scrolling through social media.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asks, breaking your focus. You quickly glance at the menu and order a shot of tequila.

You can feel it. Her eyes stare at your side profile, but you pretend not to notice and play with the rings on your fingers. What would you say to her if you mustered up the courage to strike up a conversation?

Moments later, the bartender returns with your shot of tequila, accidentally knocking over the girl's drink and proceeding to drop your shot on the table. "Shit! I am so sorry."

You chuckle and reassure the bartender that it's alright, searching for a napkin. "Do you have a napkin?" You ask the bartender, glancing at the wet stain on your jeans.

The bartender searches underneath the counter, unable to find a napkin. "I'm really sorry, but I don't have any napkins at the moment. There might be some in the bathroom upstairs."

You glance at the brunette, who is now wiping her drink off her dress with her hands. "I could also grab you a napkin too, if you'd like."

For the first time, she looks at you, and your stomach does backflips.

"I could come with." She smiles, her brown doe eyes staring into yours. Her smile is warm and inviting, making your heart race even faster. "That would be great," you say, trying to hide your excitement.

You both make your way up the stairs, squeezing past other people who are heading downstairs. As you reach the top, you notice a sign pointing towards the bathroom. The brunette leads the way, gracefully navigating through the crowd.

Huh. This place used to be a studio, you think to yourself, admiring the high ceilings and large windows. You walk into the bathroom with her, turning on the light to reveal a clean and modern design.

The marble countertops and sleek fixtures give the space an elegant touch. You can't help but feel a sense of relief knowing that you won't have to endure a grimy restroom experience tonight.

The brown-eyed girl lets out a huff, searching the bottom compartment for napkins. "Well, I didn't find any napkins, but..." she says, pulling out a blowdryer. "We can use this."

You laugh, impressed by her resourcefulness. "That's definitely a creative solution," you say, admiring her ability to think outside the box. "Who needs napkins when we have a blowdryer?" you joke, helping her plug in the blowdryer.

You sit on the countertop, waiting for the blow dryer to warm up. "I'm Y/N, by the way." The brown-eyed girl smiles and extends her free hand. "Nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm Olivia," she introduces herself, grateful for the unexpected company in this situation.

You shake hands, and you can't help but feel that this encounter might turn into an interesting and memorable experience.

Olivia raises the blowdryer on the wet spot on your jeans, causing you to jump a bit in surprise. "Sorry about that," she apologizes, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

"You're good, it's just a bit hot."

You smile as you watch her swing the blow dryer back and forth, blowing warm air onto your damp jeans. Olivia looks back at you with a small smile on her lips.

"Did you get dragged here too? Or did you come willingly?" You ask, trying to make conversation.

"A bit of both, you?"

You chuckle softly, your eyes glancing around the room. "Well, I guess you could say I was persuaded to come," you admit with a playful tone. "But I'm actually glad I did. It's been a while since I've hung around Jack...I missed him."

Olivia nods understandingly, her smile widening. "Jack, like Jack Harlow?" You nod in response, confirming her guess. "Yeah, that's the one. We used to be attached at the hip back in high school, but life got busy and we drifted apart. It's nice to reconnect and catch up."

"Do you make music too?" Olivia asks, curious. You shake your head, chuckling softly. "No, not like Jack. I'm more of a listener than a creator when it comes to music. But I've always admired his talent and passion for it."

"You make music, though, right?" You ask and Olivia nods, smiling. "Yes, I do. It's been a big part of my life for as long as I can remember. I like being able to express myself through music and connect with others who kind of relate. It's a form of therapy for me, a way to escape and let my emotions flow freely."

You hum, "I completely understand what you mean. Music has a way of speaking rather than using words." Olivia's smile widens, and she nods in agreement. "Exactly! I honestly can't imagine my life without music."

A comfortable silence settles between the two of you. Another one of Jack's songs begins to play, so loudly that you can faintly hear it all the way up here.

"Want me to dry your dress?" You break the silence, softly taking the blow dryer from her hands. "Oh! Uh, sure, thank you." You smile, hopping off the counter. "You wanna sit? I can help you up."

"Thank you, yeah..." You place the blowdryer down, gently placing your hands on her waist, before lifting her onto the counter. She settles down, her eyes never leaving yours.

"I've always wanted to play an instrument." You confess, doing the same motions with the blowdryer on her dress. "Really? Which one?" she asks, biting down on her lips, her eyes still on you.

You pause for a moment, contemplating your answer. "I think I've always been drawn to the guitar," you finally reply, meeting her eyes.

"Acoustic or electric?" she asks, a small smile forming on her lips. "Acoustic for sure. But I can't sing for shit, so no one-man band for me," you chuckle, causing her smile to widen.

"Well, who needs vocals when you can make the guitar sing?" she teases playfully, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?" Olivia inquires, her curiosity evident in her tone. "I'm a real estate agent, believe it or not."

"It's not as glamorous as being a musician, but it pays the bills," you say with a shrug. Olivia nods understandingly, her smile still present. "Do you wear a suit to work?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Sometimes," you reply with a smirk. "But most days, I prefer a more casual and comfortable look. I can't distract my clients with how good I look in a suit, you know?"

Olivia laughs and leans in, placing a hand on your forearm. "So, what's the most interesting property you've ever sold?" she asks.

"Well," you begin, "I once sold a mansion to Central Cee, you know, the UK rapper? He had some specific requests for the interior design, including a home studio and a custom-built gaming room. It was definitely a unique and exciting project to work on," you explain, reminiscing about the experience.

Olivia's eyes widen with intrigue as she listens attentively. "Is he the most famous client you've ever had?"

"Actually, no. I didn't directly sell a house to Drake, but I did have the opportunity to assist in finding him a property. And this was a while ago, maybe when he dropped that one Keke song."

Olivia's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Wow, why is that actually kind of cool?' You chuckle, turning off the blowdryer and setting it down on the counter. "Well, it was definitely a unique experience. It's not every day you get to work with someone as well-known as Drake."

Olivia nods. "I can only imagine what it must have been like. Did you get to meet him in person?"  

You smile and reply, "Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance to meet him face-to-face. However, I did communicate with his team throughout the process and ensure that his preferences and requirements were met."

You let out a sigh, saying, "If you ever need to find property in the future, let me know." Olivia smiles, nodding her head. "Of course, I wouldn't want anyone else. I don't think all real estate agents help their future clients dry off their dresses when the bartender spills a drink on them." She chuckles, patting her dress to see if it was dry.

"I guess that's just one of the many perks of having a dedicated real estate agent like me," you reply with a wink. Olivia opens her mouth to speak, but knocking on the door interrupts her.

"You guys done in there? We've been waiting for ages!" a voice calls from outside. Olivia and you exchange amused glances before you reply, "Just a moment! We'll be right out."

"Here, I'll help you down." You stand in between Olivia's legs, placing your hands on her waist to support her as she steps down from the countertop.

Olivia's face flushes slightly as she looks up at you, grateful for your assistance. "Thank you," she says softly, moving a hair strand out of her face.

You smile at Olivia and give her a reassuring nod. "No problem at all," you respond, feeling a warm connection between the two of you. You can't help but notice how her hand lingers on your arm for a brief moment before she lets go.

You begin walking towards the door, opening it for Olivia to exit first. A messy-haired boy quickly rushes past the two of you, "Sorry, I have to shit!" he exclaims, nearly knocking Olivia over.

She stumbles slightly but regains her balance with your support. You exchange a knowing glance with Olivia, bursting into laughter at the unexpected interruption.

As the laughter subsides, Olivia thanks you for catching her and playfully nudges your arm. "It was nice meeting you, Olivia." You say, returning the playful nudge.

You give her one last glance before walking towards the flight of stairs. "Wait!" Olivia calls out, causing you to turn around. "Can I have your number? I'd love to keep in touch," Olivia asks, a hint of nervousness in her voice. You smile and reach for your phone, exchanging numbers with her.

Olivia pulls you into a hug, surprising you. You hesitate before returning the hug, wrapping your arm tightly around her waist. You pull away, your hands slightly lingering on her waist. "Don't be a stranger," you say, giving her a warm smile. Olivia returns the smile, nodding.

With a final wave, you turn and continue down the stairs, already looking forward to the next time you'll see each other.

[sunsetagain]

Guide of an ongoing BG3 comic: HANG THE DJ (Black Mirror AU)

BG3 x Black Mirror (season 4 episode 4) modern AU comic series.

Outline: Astarion and Karlach on their first date under the Absolute's command.

Main ship is Astarion + Karlach. But it's a multi-ship story as the original TV show is. I will tag ship name in every update. Please read with caution.

Check this Linktree if you prefer reading on other platforms.

You can also check Work in Progress tag to see single panels I was working on.

中文版

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Comic Index:

Chapter 1

Part 1 (8 pages) Astarion + Karlach Part 2 (8 pages) Astarion + Karlach Part 3 (8 pages) Astarion + Karlach Part 4 (3 pages) Astarion + Karlach

Chapter 2 in progress Chapter 3 in progress Chapter 4 in progress Chapter 5 in progress

To be updated.

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before something new pops up in here perhaps you wanna read my old BG3 comics to kill the time :)

► I Need Protection (4p)

BG3 x DBH. Astarion Kamski and his android KC100 Karlach. 

► Tabula Rasa (blank slate/empty sheet) (22p)

Before Withers invites them to the party, Ascendant Astarion tries his best to regain Karlach's love in the Nine Hells.

► My Heart’s an Empty Vase Looking for Roses (20p)

Spawn Astarion and Karlach talking about their plan in Avernus after the game.

► Sunburn (3p)

Spawn Astarion with Volo’s eye.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Object of Desire (1/3)

Price x female!reader

Self-indulgent hurt/comfort three-part story soaked in angst leading to one of the longest smut scenes I've written in my long-ass life.

Fic warnings: Smut, Alcohol use, major depression, anxiety, self-harm, potential body dysmorphia, non-consentual drug use, attempted kidnapping/assault, brief violence, mention of hospital

Chapter warnings: Alcohol use, major depression, anxiety, self-harm, potential body dysmorphia, non-consentual drug use, attempted kidnapping/assault, brief violence, mention of hospital

This isn’t your speed.

The bar rides the line between dive and club, lacking a DJ, good lights, or a decent sound system. But it’s loud in a way that drowns out conversation and inhibitions. The cheap speakers hooked up to the foggy-glassed juke box crackle on the high notes and buzz on the low. The floor is so sticky you just want to go outside and jump in some dingy puddles to get your shoes clean.

The little half booth you’ve commandeered isn’t much better, but this is as close as you’ll get to hiding behind a door tonight, so you balance your notebook against the edge of the table and pray the cover isn’t smeared with last week’s margaritas.  

On a better night, this could be an adventure. A chance to crack through more of the to-do’s on your therapy list. But it isn’t a good night. You’re tired, possibly hormonal, and Elaine is too drunk and happy to notice as you tumble around the opening wheel of a spiral.

You’re miserable, and acknowledging that just makes it worse, because you objectively shouldn’t be. Nothing bad has happened. Nothing good, either, but it’s fine.

Everything’s fine.

Your eyes go misty, and you clench your jaw. You’re wearing too much makeup to cry without everyone knowing how fucking pathetic you are. Literally crying in the club.

A patch of chipped paint on the wall gives you an outlet, and you press your knuckle to the rough surface, rubbing the thin skin back and forth like you’re trying to start a fire. When it starts to hurt, you press harder. It’s a mission, a punishment, and something you can control all in one fell swoop.

You’ll pay for being a shitty waste of space and then you can move on because you’ve paid your pound of flesh.

When your knuckle’s gone numb and a dark crescent shows your effort on the wall, you take a deep breath and chase the endorphins of your contrived penance. It doesn’t make everything better. There are too many reminders of reality tonight, but it helps level you out, and you pluck your wandering thoughts like flowers in a field, tying them up and dropping them on the page.

Every writer should carry a notebook. Thoughts are fleeting, and impressions fade fast. You swallow your angst and slowly explore the physical scene through words. You notice how little bass the music has. It’s the one part of loud music that makes you smile, and you miss it. You like when something as intangible as music physically rattles in your body, dances in ripples over your drink.

Well. Even if there were a bass, it wouldn’t go all t-rex on you, because the cup is empty. As the night’s designated adult, you had one cocktail before switching to Diet Coke. The caffeine might be making your anxiety worse, but it’s also helping you stay awake while Elaine dances like a woman determined to watch the sunrise.

You’re overdue a refill, but the bar has a massive mirror behind the bottles, and you just don’t have the spoons. One fucked up knuckle will make typing tomorrow hard enough, and you don’t need to grease the wheels on your rollercoaster of ennui.

Notes grow like vines, awkward in the dim lighting but legible, following your ideas and questions as you study the space. One couple keeps grinding in the dimmest corner of the room – more and more aggressively – like no one will notice. You wonder how far they’ll go before the bar’s one bouncer sends them away to find a room. A few people sit at the bar, chatting with the bartender as he pours drinks, and you’d be willing to bet they’re the regulars.

One of them already tried to make friends after dancing with Elaine. He failed to make it sound like he wasn’t trying to buy your silence with a drink so he could “give her a ride home.” The first creep of the night. You should keep a running tally and demand emotional compensation when Elaine’s sobers up, but that’s not what friends do.

She bounces back from the patch of bare concrete – sorry, dance floor – and plucks up the shot of Jameson you’ve been guarding for her. Neither of you really like to shoot your drinks, and she enjoys a breather, sipping as you lean back and watch the heaving mass of dancers flash purple and green under cheap party lights.

“You should dance with me,” she says.

It’s so genuine it hurts, and you shake your head, burying your shit deep so the rot doesn’t infect her mood. She deserves to be happy, and she doesn’t always get to be.

Next time you go out, you get to choose, and you’ll pick some obnoxiously kitsch “Irish” tavern and continue your long tradition of judging every Irish coffee in town while sharing irreverent takes on your favorite shows.

“My knee’s bothering me.” It isn’t a lie, so you don’t feel bad.

Elaine pouts on your behalf. “Stupid knee.”

You nod. “Stupid knee.”

She leans over to give you a drunken squeeze, stuffing her face in your shoulder and squeezing you almost to the point of pain. When she pulls back, she’s smiling again, and she gestures to your notebook. “You working on the story?”

“Just taking notes.”

“Well, if you change your mind about dancing, you know where to find me, okay?”

“Okay. Have fun, and be careful, alright?”

“Yup!”

And she’s off again.

It’s only when she’s back among the throng you realize you could’ve asked her to refill your drink.

Too late. Oh well. Back to the notebook.

About fifteen minutes later, four men walk into the bar. They hesitate just past the door, leaning in to grumble-shout at each other, waving at the “dance floor” and general chaos. But it must be slim pickings this time of night, because they eventually surrender and clear the welcome mat. Two split off to claim a recently emptied corner table while the others beeline for drinks.

They’re very interesting to look at. Clearly not part of the party crowd, they wear heavy jackets and henleys. Work boots stomp over the sticky floors. Only one looks normal by any stretch of the imagination, and he’s one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. His buddy, who accompanies him to the bar, has a buzzcut mohawk. The two across the room claim the shadows far better than the grinding couple managed. One wears a skull print balaclava, and the last has mutton chops, like he’s an off-duty constable stopping for a pint before returning to his hunt for Jack the Ripper.

His eyes flick your way, and you drop your gaze where it belongs. On the page.

You hate when people stare at you. Time to remember your manners and return the favor. The men clearly want privacy, and you have your hands full with Drunk Elaine, anyway. She’s her own beast, and you have the trip home and an extended rehydration session to look forward to.

As if summoned, Elaine comes back, panting and out of breath. She collapses next to you, giggling and fanning herself, and opportunity knocks.

“Stay here,” you shout in her ear over the ambitiously club-like screech of music. “I’ll get us some water.”

She instantly agrees and thanks you as you stretch your legs for the first time in an hour. You’re feeling a little more charitable about everyone and everything as you approach the bar, but you’re careful not to glance up from the black laminate as you ask for two waters and another Diet Coke. The bartender judges you with his eyes through every step of grabbing three glasses, filling two with tap water, and filling the third with his little soda hose.

He hasn’t put ice in any.

You’ll leave a good tip when you close out the tab, anyway. Just to make him feel like the dick he is.

Carefully holding all three drinks, you work your way back to the table, dodging a forest of elbows and unbalanced heels. You aren’t graceful, but you’re better at getting out of the way than Elaine is, and you get all three glasses back to the half booth without spilling a drop.

Elaine takes two sips and starts swaying to the beat of the newest song. She’ll dance her way right out of her seat in a minute, and you tap her arm, indicating her water.

“Drink the whole thing.”

“But it’s warm!”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

Drunk Elaine is bombastic and far too excitable, but she also knows when to listen to you. Even though she rolls her eyes like a teenager, she obediently chugs down the whole glass.

You pat her shoulder. “Good job.”

“Back soon!” And the pit stop is over. She speeds back to being the life of the party.

People drift into her sphere like moths following a light as you watch, letting a sip of soda slowly go bubble itself flat on your tongue. She’s one of those magical, annoying assholes who has no idea how attractive she is. From interpersonal skills to looks, she’s just astonishingly great to talk to, look at, dance with.

It’s exhausting.

But you love her.

And when she isn’t accidentally becoming a dozen strangers’ muse, she screams over horror movies while you cackle and talks about life on her apartment balcony until the sky warms.

This is all a you problem.

But you have your coping mechanisms, and you’ve already spilled blood for the night’s failures.

Inside the notebook, you find your balance. The paper grows around your mind like a garden wall. A healthy(ish) boundary between you and the rest of the world. Besides glancing up once or twice per song to check on your friend, you let the notes spin out into questions. Into ideas. Some have twisted edges that fit your developing narrative, and you brainstorm how they may fit into the plot, hunting for a character who might grow such angled barbs.

The men are barely more than an item on a bullet list of people you’ve seen – shapes that may never grow into stories – and you’ve filled several more pages before you look up and see mohawk dancing close with Elaine.

The bright edge around your thoughts snuffs out, and your belly turns hard as you watch. They’re chatting. Enjoying each other’s company. Mohawk is athletic and conventionally attractive in a way that doesn’t scream Ken doll. He’s confident.

He’s going to be your next problem.

You pretend not to notice as Elaine points you out, as he smiles and she laughs at something he says. You straight-up ignore him as he approaches the table blockading your squeaky vinyl haven from this kind of drama.

But then he sits in a free chair across from you, clears his throat, and shoves an open hand waiting for a shake into your line of sight.

“Hey!” And he’s Scottish. That makes it worse. It’s a fucking charming accent. You’d listen to endless YouTube videos of that voice, and it’s annoying how your brain tries to stuff him into a friend-shaped mold despite the reality of your situation. “Met your friend over there. Name’s Johnny.”

You don’t want to do this again. You’re tired of playing Cerberus. But duty calls, and maybe you can nip this bud.

Heaving a very obvious sigh, you set aside your notebook – still leery of sticky spots – and limply shake the waiting hand by its fingertips.

“She’s engaged.”

He blinks. “What?”

Jerking your head towards Elaine, you clarify, “She’s gorgeous, she’s fun, and she giggles a lot. That doesn’t mean shit. She’s engaged. And drunk. She’s not going home with you.”

He blinks some more, dark eyelashes all a-flutter. Then he sits back and laughs.

“Ah, no, bonnie. ‘M sorry, but I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.”

You don’t relax. If anything, you get stiffer as you wait for the other shoe to drop. At least when someone’s trying to be a creep you know how to deal. This is something else. This is worse.

His attention’s fixed on you, and you know what people see, no matter how much you coach yourself to ignore it. Where Elaine is one of Tolkien’s elves come to life, you’re a background extra in Bree who’s always a little out of focus because no one paid a ticket to see them.

Because you’ll never be naturally elegant, you’ve worked hard on your aesthetic. Every brush of makeup, fold of cloth, and glinting accessory is an attempt to turn yourself inside out. If friends like Elaine can love who you are inside, maybe you just have to give people enough hints to see past… well, everything else. The actual effect can be off-putting. Demure is in your vocabulary but not your wardrobe. But that’s something you genuinely don’t care about. If they don’t like the parts you celebrate, they weren’t worth it in the first place.

Confident, handsome, charming men do not notice you unless they want something.

He must read how cold you’re turning, clock the precious inch you lean away. You’re stuffing your notebook in your bag and preparing to break the bad news that the night is over to Elaine when Johnny waves his hands and tries again.

“Honestly, I’m a shite wingman, but one of my mates –”

“Bet you couldn’t get my number?” You say it in the flattest voice you can, because you’re slipping down the spiral again and you don’t want your voice to shake. “Dared you to get the wallflower to dance? Have a phone prepped to film and everything?”

“No, no! Listen, I might’ve come on-”

You pull the strap of your oversized saddlebag of a purse over your head. It rattles with mechanical pencils and bottles of Aleve.

“Dude, this isn’t my first time out. Do I look like a kid? I know what I am, what I’m not, and what pretty guys like you do.”

He’s stuck, like a computer rebooting to infinity. Several thoughts seem to catch him at once, but the one that wins the race out of his mouth is, “Pretty?”

It comes out amused and a little flustered. You’d enjoy it, take pride in catching him flat-footed if you weren’t rolling at full speed towards a breakdown.

“No harm, no foul. See ya.”

Then you stop to look for Elaine. And you don’t see her.

She stands out by sheer force of personality, and while the bodies on the dance floor are packed close, there aren’t more than a dozen.

“Shit.”

Your uninvited guest follows your line of sight, reaching towards his waist, but he obviously doesn’t understand what’s flipped you from escape artist to hunter. He doesn’t know you aren’t hunting. You’re in Great Pyrenees mode. You smell a predator, and you march away as the Scotsman asks what’s wrong.

You couldn’t give less of a fuck about him and his friends’ games anymore. Ice chills your blood and fear pricks up the hair along your arms.

 Be calm. Be rational. Don’t panic, because you’re the only one who knows she’s here, who’s looking out for her.

You head to the women’s bathroom first, reasoning she could be dealing with the water you made her chug.

“Ellie?”

Five girls crowd around the bathroom mirrors, and both stalls are closed. When you do the creeper squat to peek at the occupant’s shoes, you don’t spy your Cinderella’s glass slipper. You may be the ugly stepsister, but you know who her prince charming is, and it’s none of the cocksure dicks outside.

Another woman pushes through the door just as you turn to the Greek Chorus of drunk girls who’ve turned from their preening to note your search.

“I’m looking for my friend,” you say. “Long hair, bubbly as fuck…”

“She just went out back.” The one in the doorway steps back, points towards the backdoor. “She was leaning on some guy.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Thanks.” You practically sprint across the bar, ducking around the other patrons, and beeline out the door.

It crashes open against the alley’s brick wall as you burst through.

Your breath puffs white in the cool air, and you spot your friend. She looks much drunker than she should, especially after the water you just forced on her. And you recognize the guy. He’s the fucker who tried to get you to smile and nod along with his plan earlier. The dick from the bar. He’s clearly in a hurry, trying to move faster than Elaine can, all but dragging her forward one step at a time.

“Hey!”

Swooping in like an avenging fury, you catch Elaine’s scattered attention, and the creep is forced to halt as she wriggles around to smile at you. She calls your name. oblivious to what’s going on.

“We just stepped out for some fresh air,” the asshole laughs as you approach. “Stop being such a clingy bitch. I mean damn.”

You prioritize Elaine. Supporting her elbow, encouraging her to lean into you and away from the stranger, you feel how wobbly she’s become. This is not Drunk Elaine.

The stranger only lets go of his target to shove you, and you barely help Elaine sit on the filthy alley floor instead of fall before you lose your balance and stumble back. She’s helpless, and this guy isn’t cutting and running when he should.

“Back off,” he says, crowding into your space.

He’s breathing as heavily as you are, and the clouds look like smoke. Well, where’s there’s smoke there’s fire. If he isn’t willing to pretend he’s not the predator you know he is, then you won’t either.

He seizes your collar and pulls you in. You use the momentum to throw your elbow into his diaphragm. The flash of surprise over his face gives you a frigid sense of satisfaction.

Girls are supposed to shy away when big guys grab them. Pull back and protect themselves. Assholes never expect you to charge into the fight, but once they put hands on you, they essentially grapple themselves for the first round.

But the element of surprise is fleeting, and the first few hits matter.

As he wheezes, your foot slides between his, planting just behind his heel. You crack your palm up into his nose, and he instinctively tries to step back from the pain. He trips back, landing flat on his as with blood on his face.

You turn to grab Elaine, confident the bastard won’t follow you back inside if you move fast enough. She’s heavy, and her eyes won’t focus. By the time you’ve gotten her upright, the dick has climbed to his feet, too.

“You fucking bitch!” he screams. “I’m gonna -!”

“You aren’t gonna do shit, mate.”

A newcomer stands at the mouth of the alley, feet spread and arms crossed. It’s the pretty one from the Scotsman’s group. He’s glowering dangerously at the attempted kidnapper, and he isn’t alone. Like a shadow grown solid, skull-face steps into the yellow pool of light from the dim streetlamp.

“How about you fuck off,” the attacker sneers.

Behind you, the bar’s backdoor bangs open again, and you glance back to see the Scot and his remaining friend join the standoff.

The one with the muttonchops you made awkward eye contact with earlier calls, “You alright, love?”

His voice is like brown sugar and maple in autumn, rich and warm, and your belly bursts into flutters.

Absolutely mortifying.

You can’t meet his eyes as you answer. “Pretty sure he drugged my friend. I’m gonna get her to a hospital. If you wouldn’t mind waiting for the police, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

Finally, the asshole realizes just how deep into the shit he’s fallen, and he makes a break for the road. Skull-face catches him by the neck and pins him to the wall like it’s nothing.

“I wouldn’t,” he rumbles. “Might have an accident.”

A squeeze turns the man to stone in the titan’s grip, and the Scotsman – Johnny – sweeps up to help you maneuver Elaine along the alley, out to the street, and into a cab the (still visibly pissed) pretty one has hailed in the interim. It’s all very efficient. Very professional. You realize these men must work together regularly, and they aren’t afraid of a little violence.

Mr. Muttonchops lingers by the open cab door as you settle Elaine, and you look at his shoes. These men aren’t the twats you’d assumed. Your embarrassment mixes with guilt, and the draining adrenaline leaves you defenseless against the building well of tears.

“Thank you.”

“’M just sorry we didn’t notice something was wrong until your friend was already in trouble.”

You finally look up to his face, surprised out of your self-pity, and fuck all if he doesn’t smile at you. He nods into the cab, at Elaine, and says, “Take care of your friend.”

Then he closes the door as Johnny finishes murmuring something to the cabby, and you’re off to do just that.

--------------------------------------------------------

It’s a full thirty-six hours before you realize you never closed out your tab.

To be fair, it has been a very full thirty-six hours. Summoned by the doctor, the police arrived at the hospital to ask questions and get a formal statement. You expected them to request you come into the station at a later time, but the officer lets slip the perpetrator has already confessed, and between the drugs in Elaine’s bloodwork and the matching samples taken from his hip flask, they had plenty to go on for the moment.

Elaine had a rough night, and a rough day after that. When she was released, you shuttled her home and played nurse until she decided she’d had enough of your face and insisted you take care of yourself for a while. A wave of emails pushed back any impending deadlines, and you’d just decided your trauma called for a pizza when you realized your card wasn’t in your wallet.

That leads you back to the bar. Through the front door. Up to the surly barkeep who definitely recognizes you as you weave through empty tables during the mid-afternoon lull. He has the game on an outdated flatscreen that’s too small to entertain more than three people at a time, and he steps up to meet you as your hands come up to rest on the black laminate.

The mirror is still your enemy.

“I didn’t close out my tab the other night. Would you mind…?”

He plonks your card in front of you with a receipt slip. Once you’ve signed and returned it (including tip), he slides another scrap your way.

It has a phone number written on it.

“Uh…” You blank. Have you misread every atom of this man? Doesn’t he hate you? The tip you just left was good but it wasn’t THAT good. Are you missing something? Maybe it was left by a detective or…

“From the guy with the,” the bartender pantomimes a beard. “Left it after he and his pals cleared things up with the police. Said it was for you.”

You take it. The number looks back at you, like something alive, and you aren’t sure whether it’s going to bite you as you study it. The message is scrawled on a ripped bit of napkin, informal and linking a face to an event.

The floor is wide and clear around the bar. There’s no reason to feel like you’re suddenly stranded on a tightrope strung between skyscrapers.

“Oh.” Your head feels fuzzy. Some foundational thing just got yanked out from under your feet, and you’re spinning with the feeling. “Thanks.”

It goes into your wallet with your card.

[bichiisannii]

SFW: 🐰Bunny Suit Commander👯‍♀️👯‍♂️

I remember the time during the quarantine era when the TDS Art Community would draw THE COMMANDER in a bunny suit 😭

I also remember when I actually participated in that art trend, so I thought it would be fun to draw him in it again 😊

[concreteangel92]

Noah at a fetish event Headcanon

Noah Sebastian x female reader

Warnings: sub Noah, talks of fetish events, dom/sub relationship, talks of oral (male receiving)

So this idea has been in my head for a while now, I am semi on the fetish scene in London due to my best friend being a big name on the scene as a dom and she runs her own events (where woman hold the power) and everytime I’m there, I always wonder what Noah would think of it haha

This is just a little headcanon for me really haha but sub Noah does hit different 🥵🫠

•Noah would be curious to what fetish nights are really like when you tell him you are apart of the scene and even run your own event in the city

•Although day to day, he clearly gives off dom energy, he’d switch for you in a heartbeat because he loves you that much, he trusts you completely

•Loves being your good boy

•Being one of the house doms, he either calls you by your stage name or simply mistress, never your real name

•Would probably be cautious to wear a collar at first but you reassure him that no other person would touch him, he’s all yours

•Would secretly get off by you pulling him round on a lead

•Seeing the club for the first time, he’d be walking around wide eyed, it’s dark, sultry and sexy, music being played by a dj, everyone dressed in latex, leather or barely anything at all, people playing on display in the dungeons

•Everyone is very friendly and with you being one of the house doms, they are fully respectful and Noah would be so impressed with what you have achieved

•Noah probably wouldn’t play on his first couple of visits but in time, he’d be begging you to punish him and lead him around like the obedient boy he is

•Things may be reversed at home but for these nights, he loves handing over control to you

•Seeing you dressed in your latex dress and heels is also a bonus

•He’d be kissing your boots on command

•And sometimes at home, when he’s having a bad day or is mentally drained, he’d let you take charge

•Would become such a good sub for you

•Allowing you to tie him up, teasing him mercilessly by sucking his cock but not letting him cum

•”Please mistress, I’ve been such a good boy for you”

•He’d be putty in your hands, begging you for release, tears in his eyes while his head is thrown back

•As I said, as much as Noah is the ultimate dom and loves having control, sometimes he’s more then happy to just let go with you

[y2klostandfound]

How to win - Jet Set Radio Future on Game Players New magazine Vol.29 (Video game magazine)(Hong Kong)(2002)(06/03/2002)(Part 1)

Translation in English:

XBOX

2002

On sale

ACT - SEGA

6,800 Yen - 1-4 players

Corresponding to 5-1ch audio equipment

Attention!

This game is only suitable for and anyone who may imitate or reference the in-game characters should also avoid touching this game as much as possible. If anyone engages in similar behavior after reading this article, I or the publication will not be held responsible, please pay attention!

JET SET RADIO FUTURE

Hello everyone! I am a DJ PROFESSOR K, the embodiment of beauty and wisdom, and a heroic companion!! Do you feel that life is boring? Looking for something fun to do? Come on! Listen to my Tokyo underground radio station! ! Don't forget the name, yes! ! It's "JET SET RADIO"! ! YEEEEEEEE~~~~HAAAAAA! ! !

Let's start with an introduction to the current situation! Tokyo is now dominated by Gouji Rokkaku , whose "Rokkaku Group" is more powerful than the local government, and no matter what level it is, such as real estate, society, culture or entertainment, it is also controlled by them, and the people have no freedom of choice at all, day after day, month after month, they live according to the meaning of the Rokkaku, without a soul and without their own selves. Recently, Rokkaku succeeded in becoming the mayor, which completely fell to the hands of Rokkaku in Tokyo, even the law can be changed by him at will, of course, the police are not spared, and they have become Rokkaku's Corps and they are fighting against those who are against him, OH MY GOD!

However, where there is darkness, there is light, and a group of young people who are passionate about life are determined to vent their inner grievances with graffiti and to awaken the sleeping people with crazy actions. But there was one thing that surprised them, When it happened, it turned out that "Rokkaku Expo Stadium" was in full swing, and the surrounding vigilance was also strengthened a lot, which made the struggle between these young people and the Rokkaku Group heated up. Although the enemy is a group with great power, fortunately, many capable people have joined in the process of protest, which has ignited new hope for this group of young people. And this class of ideal Stormy Teenagers, they call themselves "GG"! !

Members of GG

CORN

The person who already existed when GG was founded is now GG's leader, very competitive, and often considers himself a genius.

GUM

She is another main member of GG, is responsible for the operation of the organization together with CONE (CORN), she is so calm that the men who have a crush on her automatically give up after ten minutes.

YOYO

The new member of the GG, the typical storm boy, is arrogant and often calls himself a cannon king.

BEAT

The mysterious boy who appeared on the streets of Tokyo, since his appearance, things have changed rapidly.

ROBOY

The robot that CONE(CORN) retrieves, everything else is unknown, only known to be as arrogant as CONE(CORN).

ROKKAKU GROUP

Rokkaku Police

The front-line personnel of the Rokkaku Group, everything that will hinder the people and things of the Rokkaku Group is also their goal.

HASHED (HAYASHI)

The police commander of the Rokkaku Police Force, Division 0 is a very troublesome policeman. If he is targeted by him, he will never have a good life.

Gouji Rokkaku

The chairman of the Rokkaku Group, who dominates Tokyo's economy and culture, is a very authoritarian careerist.

Getting Started

Controller

Buttons MENU In-game

Left Stick Select Walk/Run

Right Stick -- Look around (while standing)/Map

rotation (in PAUSE)

Arrow keys Select --

A button Decide Jump/Decide

B button Cancel Accelerate/Use props during battle

X button -- Continuous TRICK/HANDPLANT

Y button -- Continuous TRICK/TURN

START button Decide PAUSE on

BACK button Cancel Cancel

Left button -- The camera direction is corrected

to the front

Right button -- Spray GRAFFITI/ Dialogue unfolds

Various Actions Basics

Walk/Run

Left STICK is to control the character's movement. After inputting a few directions, the character will make a sprint start and then move forward at an even speed.

Jump

The A button is for jumping, The distance and height depend on the time of pressing the button, if you press it for a long time, you will jump higher, different characters will have more or less jumping power.

Turn

On the way to several directions, press the Y button to make the character turn his back foward and make a backward movement.

Dialogue

Some characters can have a dialogue with the player, as long as you approach the player, the dialogue icon will appear, and you can press the right button

Accelerate

Each time you use it, you need to consume 10 cans of spray paint, press the B button to use it, and you don't need to use it while jumping.

Camera Correction

During the game, the camera will turn with the character's movement, press the left button to correct it to look straight ahead.

TIC Tips

When fighting against the enemy or Rival, the left button can be used to lock the target. When the opponent is in front and the CURSOR is yellow, press the left button, and the CURSOR will turn red. At this time, press the B button to accelerate, and there is a chance to make a straight line to recover the gap, but it still needs 10 cans of spray paint.

TRICK

GRIND

Basically all handrails or fences can also do this action, just walk close to the above facilities, press the A button to jump, the character will automatically slide on the handrail or fence, and is not limited by the slope, even if it's vertical.

AIR

Using speed or an inclined platform, you can jump higher than normal, and the movements you make while flying are classified as AIR.

WALLRIDE

Specific walls (such as advertising boards) allow players to slide on them, and they are not limited by the slope, as long as the character touches the wall, and the speed is faster than that on the ground.

HANDPLANT

In some "U" shaped terrain, it is possible for the character to make this action, and when the character is about to reach the edge of the item, press the X button to make an upside down posture, which has the effect of accelerating.

COMBINATION

GRIND COMBINATION

On the railing-shaped terrain, it is possible to make GRIND movements, but in fact, combined actions can also be added to GRIND movements. And the method is simple, just press the X and Y buttons, and press continuously to make a series of actions to increase the score, as for what the use of the extra score is, I will introduce it to you later.

AIR COMBINATION

AIR COMBINATION is almost the same as GRIND, as long as you enter X and Y in the air state, the character will make fancy.

Spray Painting Tips

In the game map, there will be a rotating round plan (GRAFFITI POINT) on the wall, which represents a place that needs to be painted, the player has to make the character approach and then press the right button to spray the pattern. Each GRAFFITI POINT needs to consume a can of spray paint, but one thing to note is that pressing the right button anywhere will also consume a can of spray paint.

Continuous spraying

If there are more than one GRAFFITI POINT side by side on the wall, it means that the spray painting is of a larger size. Players can start from the first pattern and press the right button until the last one.

The type of spray painting

There are five sizes of spray painting in the game, namely SS, S, M, L, and XL.

NEW GAME

After selecting NEW GAME, you will start the main game mode for one person only and in order to spray GG's spray paint all over Tokyo, the player must travel through all the different areas and solve the obstacles in front of you. The game consists of two main parts, "STREET" and "GARAGE PARK", which will be introduced in detail below.

STREET

Based on Tokyo, each "STREET" can be regarded as a level, and certain conditions must be completed before moving on to the next one. As for the conditions, it is different each time, the player can ask other team members at Garage Park or listen to JSR'S DJ PROFESSOR K for information. But there is one thing common to all STREETs, that is, all spray painting must be completed. Another thing that we must mention is that each STREET will have certain hidden things that will not be provided with intelligence, how to find out, you have to look at your skills.

GARAGE PARK

The base camp of GG, all team members will also gather here, players can freely practice here, and listen to the ADVICE of teammates. In addition, if you talk to ROBOY, you can enter the GARAGE MENU screen, which has functions such as game setting change, SAVE, custom spraying, basic skill training, and character rotation in use. And every time you finish a street, you have to come back here once, so GARAGE PARK is definiteky an important place.

GG Handbook

In the GG Handbook, you can clearly understand the "STREET MISSION" of each version, so what is STREET MISSION?

In fact, these are the conditions for the appearance of the hidden "GRAFFITI SOUL" and every time you complete a STREET MISSION, a GRAFFITI SOUL will appear. GRAFFITI SOUL is an optional spray pattern that can be viewed and selected in the GARAGE MENU after obtaining it. However, in order to make STREET MISSION appear, you must first find and get the "MYSTERY TAPE" in this section, then the STREET MISSION can be found in the GG Handbook.

PAUSE Screen Diagram

1.Instruction - Indicates the condition or goal that is currently a priority.

2.The street where you are - Displays the name of the street where the player is currently located.

3.GRAFFITI SOUL/ GRAFFIT in the map -

Top:The number of GRAFFITI SOULS acquired in the same layout.

Bottom: The number of GRAFFITI completed in the same layout, calculated in GRAFFITI POINT.

4.Number of GRAFFITI SOUL - Number of GRAFFITI SOUL acquired.

5.The Direction of the PLAYER - The arrow represents the front of the player.

6.ICON-

CHARACTER CHANGE: Available only at GRAFFITI STOP.

SAVE:Available only at GRAFFITI STOP.

GG Handbook: The conditions in each map and the content of "Mystery TAPE".

Back to the game

Game Screen Explanation

MAIN GAME Screen

The usual game screen, STREET is the same as GARAGE PARK.

1.STAMINA GAUGE - After receiving damage, it will be reduced, and when it is reduced to zero, it will be game over.

2. Number of spray paint cans - It can be collected on the street, and you must have spray paint before you can spray paint.

3.Number of GRAFFITI - The number of paintings on the same layout, the number completed is on the left, and the total number is on the right.

4.GRAFFITI POINT - You must have this logo to spray paint on the wall.

5.SPEED METER - Indicates the current speed of the character.

Use continuous TRICK!

When using continuous TRICK, additional points will appear on the upper left of the screen. The more consecutive TRICKs you perform, the higher your score will be. When you reach a certain level of score, there will be "prizes". Let's work hard! !

BATTLE screen

There is a slight difference between BATTLE and MAIN GAME game modes, so the screen representations are different.

1.TIME - An item that will appear in RACE MODE, which will give the player a better understanding of the current situation when racing with RIVAL.

2.CURSOR - Whether it is BATTLE with the enemy or a RIVAL, CURSOR will also appear. When you approach the opponent, CURSOR will appear on the opponent.Press the left button at this time, and the CURSOR will turn red, indicating that the person has locked the target.

PAUSE screen

Press the START button during the game to enter the PAUSE screen, which is a decisive help for playing the game. You can also enter this screen when you are in BATTLE. Press the left and right buttons to switch map mode and view the entire map. In addition, the "GG Handbook" can also be viewed on this screen.

Continue to Part 2

[taste-your-silhouette]

Pairings: Damiano David x fem!reader Contents: Fluff Summary: You’re at a party and you’re squabbling over a sofa with Damiano when he unintentionally reveals something while unaware that you’re eavesdropping  Words: ~1129 A/N: A touch of enemies to lovers for you all, because I love it!I should warm you that it contains some explicit language.Please, forgive me again if you come across any errors while reading. I hope you enjoy it 💙

I just wanna hold you close tonight

You're at your bestie's party, at her crib. Parties aren't really your thing, but there's no way to dodge one when your friend is the mastermind behind it.

The house is jam-packed, the music is blasting, and Vic, one of your pals, is rocking the DJ booth. Vic and Thomas, your childhood buddies, are also here, along with Ethan. You became friends with Ethan after he joined the band. As for Damiano... well, let's just say you and him are like acquaintances. You wouldn't exactly call him a friend because you both don't exactly hit it off. He tends to make you feel uneasy, so you try to avoid being in the same place as him whenever possible. Whenever his gaze meets yours, it's like all your defenses crumble, and you can't stand that feeling.

You've had a few sips, but not enough to get wasted, just enough to feel a little extra lively and adventurous. Everyone is having a blast, but all you crave is the comfort of your bed. As you navigate through the crowd, trying to escape small talk, you stumble upon a vacant couch in the living room. It's like a dream come true — all you want is to plop down and catch some Z's!

As you were about to reach the sofa, Damiano flings himself onto it, stretching his legs out and occupying the entire space.

"You've got to be kidding me!" you exclaim, giving him a stern look.

He gazes back at you, confused.

"What did I do?"

"I was going to sit there, you goofball."

"Oh, my bad, Y/N. Didn't realize you had plans."

You grumble angrily and retort:

"Move or I'll plop down and squish your head!"

"You know, that wouldn't be a half-bad idea. You sitting on my head, right over my mouth, to be precise," he smirks.

"You're repulsive. Get off the couch, Damiano."

"I've already told you no. Looks like you'll have to sit here by force."

You roll your eyes and throw yourself on top of him, engaging in a playful struggle to push each other off the couch. Suddenly, both of you freeze as you end up on his lap.

Damiano continues to stare at you, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, well."

You roll your eyes and simply say:

"Shut up, and you know what? You can stay right there, no need to move. You're surprisingly comfortable."

You push him, pressing his back against the couch, and then rest your head on his chest.

"Keep quiet, I'm tired," you practically command, closing your eyes.

Incredibly, he simply obeys your request.

//

You don't know exactly how long you've dozed off, but the party is still in full swing, and you're still sprawled on top of Damiano. Amidst all the noise, you can't hear his heart pounding, but you can feel the rhythmic beats.

"Is it the end of the world? You two getting along without exchanging insults," you hear Ethan remark.

"You say that because you didn't witness the battle it took to reach this point," Damiano retorts.

"Damiano, leave her be. Let's enjoy the party," a female voice you don't recognize calls out to Damiano.

You don't pay attention to what Damiano says, or perhaps he simply ignores the girl. With one hand resting on your head, you can faintly feel a gentle stroke through your hair.

He doesn't want to disturb your peaceful slumber. Seeing you so calm and serene lying on his lap is a sight he's never witnessed before. It's a far cry from the usual furrowed and stressed Y/N when you're together.

"Are you planning on staying there until the party is over?" the girl asks once more.

Damiano takes a deep breath and responds:

"Whether or not I stay here all night is none of your business."

Ethan lets out a faint chuckle and waits a few minutes before speaking up:

"Hey, Damiano. Deep down, you have feelings for her, don't you?"

You sense Damiano's heartbeat quicken. Could he be nervous about the question?

Damiano hesitates for a moment before finally admitting: 

"Yeah, I like her, all right? It's just that... she's complicated."

Ethan bursts into laughter.

"I knew it! It's as clear as day if you ask me. And I do not doubt that she likes you too."

Damiano's face lights up with a smile at the thought of his feelings being reciprocated by you. He has liked you since the day you first met, but he never quite knew how to express it. The playful banter and dynamic between you two became his way of catching your attention.

"I really hope so..." he murmurs as he rests his cheek against your head, inhaling the sweet fragrance of your hair. "Please, let her like me," Damiano whispers, almost inaudibly.

You let out a sleepy sigh, lazily opening and closing your eyes, but stay still, relishing the sensation of Damiano's heartbeat.

He likes you, and you heard him confess it. If you hadn't heard it directly from him, if Ethan or anyone else had told you, you would never have believed it.

One of your hands rests on Damiano's shoulder, and you glide it gently across his skin until you reach his neck, where you begin a tender caress.

With his other hand, free to move, Damiano strokes your arm and whispers in your ear,

"How long have you been awake?"

"I'm taking off," Ethan announces.

With your eyes still shut, you respond:

"It's not a big deal, but I heard you confess that you like me and want me to feel the same way."

"Look at me," Damiano requests.

You disregard his plea, not wanting to lose the sensation of his racing heartbeat.

"No, I want to keep feeling your heartbeat."

Damiano chuckles and gently holds your chin, directing your gaze toward him.

"You'll be able to feel it pounding over and over," he says.

You raise an eyebrow and inquire:

"Really?"

"Yes, ever since the day you entered my life, it's been racing at the mere thought of you. It's been yours all along, and you can hear or feel its rhythm whenever you want."

You smile widely and guide one of Damiano's hands to your chest, allowing him to feel your heartbeat as well.

It's just as fast as his.

"My heart dances the same tune. I suppose that's why I'm always on guard whenever I'm around you because my heart belongs to you too."

"Y/N..." Damiano begins, but you cut him off.

"Shh, if I recall correctly, I told you to hush, but it seems that proved challenging for you..."

Before you can finish your sentence, Damiano pulls you into a kiss.

It's a kiss filled with unbridled passion. A kiss that should have taken place ages ago.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Hi DJ! If you’re still taking first kiss prompts, I was thinking something with “an accidental first kiss” with Mayday could be fun? I could see him freaking out at first and then totally going back for a second one once he realizes there’s feelings involved.

And if you don’t have time to get to this no worries! I hope you’re doing well 🤗 🙏🏻

A/N: Thanks for the ask @lightwise! This inspired me immediately, and I’ve been chomping at the bit to get to it!

Pairing: Commander Mayday x Reader (GN) 

Rating: T but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 629

Warnings and tags: fluff; sympathetic embarrassment

Summary: You accidentally kiss Mayday. Things go better than expected. Also, if you love the idea of accidentally kissing Mayday, be sure to check out @moonlightwarriorqueen’s response to a similar ask!

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You rubbed your eyes, trying to clear your vision—blurred from exhaustion and overwork—as you stared at your datapad. You were up to your ass in paperwork and preparations for the 77th Heavy Brigade’s deployment to the Outer Rim sieges, and you were barely halfway through. All around you, troopers, droids, and GAR personnel hustled through the cargo bay, stacking crates, calling out orders and occasional curses, and generally making an unholy ruckus.

You had just ticked three more crates off the cargo manifest on your datapad when you felt a light tap on your shoulder. Startled, you turned to see the brigade’s commander himself, carrying a ration bar and looking far more handsome than he had any right to when you knew he’d been working just as hard or harder than you had. His beard was freshly trimmed, and his long hair was just as tempting as ever, making your fingers itch to thread through it.

“Mayday,” you gasped. “I didn’t even hear you.”

He smiled. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Thought you might need this.”

He handed you the ration bar, and you accepted it gratefully, realizing you hadn’t eaten all day.

“Ugh, you’re the best,” you said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Commander!” a trooper called, drawing his attention, and he turned his head just in time for your lips to collide directly with his.

You both froze, eyes wide as you stared at each other, lips still pressed together.

“Uh, never mind, it can wait,” the trooper said, scurrying away.

You stayed like that for a breath longer, paralyzed by mortification, until at last you pulled away, shielding your eyes with one hand to try to hide.

“Jeez, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled. “That was—I didn’t mean—”

Mayday let out an awkward, strained chuckle. “That’s all right. It was just an accident.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, still refusing to meet his eyes.

He paused. “Hey… It was an accident… Right?”

“Yeah!” you said, your voice coming out in an unconvincing squeak. “I definitely didn’t want it to happen like that…”

You turned back to your datapad, desperately hoping that he would take the hint and just go away, leaving you to die of embarrassment in peace.

He paused. “But you did want it to happen?”

You dropped your head to peer more closely at the cargo manifest, muttering something indistinctly under your breath. Mayday glanced around the cargo bay, then took you gently by the wrist and tugged you behind a stack of crates, shielding you from view of the bustling crowd. His fingertips ghosted along your jaw, softly tilting your face toward his.

“Did you want it?” he murmured.

Unable to hide behind your datapad any longer, you forced yourself to meet his eyes, knowing that he’d see the truth in your expression. 

“M—Mayday… I…” You swallowed, then whispered, “Yes.”

He trailed his fingers down your throat, then slid his strong, warm hand to the back of your neck and slowly pulled you closer. His lips were so soft as he kissed you—soft enough to surprise you, even though you’d already felt them beneath your own. You drew in a soft, shuddering breath as your eyes drifted closed. Distantly, you heard the clatter of your ration bar and datapad as you dropped them to the durasteel floor, leaving your hands free to slide around his body as his tongue brushed over your lips.

The kiss ended far sooner than you would have preferred, but Mayday still held you in his arms, gazing down at you with an awestruck expression.

“Kriff,” he breathed. “We should do that again.”

You nodded enthusiastically, tangling your fingers in his hair the way you’d wanted to for so many months and pulling his face back to yours. “Absolutely.”