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justagalwhowrites · 2 days

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Oral Fixation - A TLOU One Shot

It's your boyfriend Joel's birthday but what do you give the man who has given you so much? AKA You learn how to give Joel a blow job. A one-shot set in the Lavender universe.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender

CW: Oral sex, mild age gap (Joel is turning 33, reader is 21 almost 22), mild description of past sexual encounter involving oral sex that wasn't the best, Joel is almost disturbingly happy because he hasn't been traumatized yet RIP trauma-free Joel, unprotected P in V sex, no use of Y/N, 18+ only minors DNI

Length: 4.5k

A/N: The final part of the Joel Miller Birthday Celebration! Can be read as a stand alone fic with the understanding that reader is Sarah's nanny and has been seeing Joel for about six months.

Masterlist | Lavender Masterlist | AO3

September, 2000

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” you said, all but clinging to Cassie’s arm as the two of you made your way through the adult store. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting but it wasn’t this, neon colored silicone penises and intimidatingly tiny scraps of lace everywhere you looked.

“And I can’t believe you don’t own a vibrator,” Cassie said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be such a prude, with the way you and the DILF go at it I’m pretty sure you’ve had more sex than I have at this point.”

Your cheeks got hot but… she was probably right. You and Joel had sex a LOT. So much that it was hard to believe that, just six months earlier, you’d still been a virgin. Sure, you doubted that sex with anyone else was even half as good as it was with Joel but it felt like you’d been denying yourself a whole world of good things because you’d been reluctant to make that leap for so long. Now, you wanted to make up for lost time, something that Joel was happy to oblige.

But, because you were so new to it, you didn’t really know much and, what’s worse, you didn’t know what you didn’t know.

Which is why you’d turned to Cassie in the first place. Joel’s birthday was coming up and you’d drawn a complete blank on what to get the man. You’d never gotten anyone a birthday gift who wasn’t your grandmother or your friend. What the hell did you get a boyfriend? What the hell did you get a man?

“You, naked, ready to recreate the filthiest porn the guy’s got,” Cassie said, not even looking up from the latest issue of Cosmo as she did. “And, because it’s you, bake him a cake or something. He’ll be thrilled.”

“I don’t know that Joel watches porn,” you crinkled your nose. That made her look up.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She asked, incredulous. “Babes. He’s a man. Of course he watches porn.”

“I’m sure he would if things were different,” you said. “But he has a kid at home, we have to fight for privacy, I don’t think he’s exactly sitting down and putting on some…”

“He is,” she said, closing the magazine now. “I promise you, he is. Maybe less now that you’re in the picture but he definitely is. Stashed under his bed or in some shoebox at the back of his closet is a pile of all his dirtiest fantasies and all you have to do is gift wrap yourself, ready to fulfill them.”

So you might have done some snooping the next time you were at Joel’s before he got home from work.

Maybe.

Just a little.

And yeah, Cassie might have been right. There might have been a box - one a bit bigger than a shoebox but not much bigger - that had tapes and magazines inside. You took a quick inventory, looking at the covers of the videos and flipping through the pages of the more well-worn magazines.

It seemed both invasive and oddly impersonal, rifling through something that was mass produced and clearly not intended for you to see but was something that it seemed like you should know. The women in the magazines and on the covers of the tapes were so much more… everything than you were. More sexy, more confident, more knowledgable. It made your stomach twist.

Was this what Joel really wanted? He was older than you and you’d been a late bloomer in the romance department. Of course he had more experience but he’d never made it sound like anything was missing from your sex life. But maybe he was just being nice. Maybe what he really wanted was something more like whatever someone named Candy was doing on the back of this VHS sleeve.

It seemed like the least you could do for Joel was find a way to give him what he wanted.

So Cassie had convinced you to come to this store to figure out something to do for him for his birthday. Not that you had much idea what that would be.

“What’s his favorite color?” She asked, examining the tiny scraps of lace.

“Forest green?” You asked more than answered, examining something that you were pretty sure was a bra but seemed to be missing some key components. You were about to move on to something else when one of the movies playing on the opposite wall caught your eye. It was one of the actresses from the tapes at Joel’s, you recognized her. She was looking hungrily at a cock before taking it into her mouth, eyes closed in bliss with a satisfied groan.

Cassie noticed where you were staring and joined you, smirking a little.

“Like watching someone get their dick sucked, eh?” She teased, elbowing you lightly.

You glared at her.

“I just…” You looked back at the screen. “I think Joel has that video.”

“Really?” She said, brows raised, looking back at the screen as the woman started to slide up and down the thick cock. “Well, that’s simple enough. Just blow him, wham bam thank you ma’am, you’re set.”

“I don’t…”

“Oh don’t tell me you suck him off too much as it is,” she said. “Your sex life is already insufferably perfect.”

“No,” you said, defensive, your cheeks getting hot. “I just…”

“Just what?” She asked when you stayed quiet a bit too long.

“I’ve never… done that,” you said, looking back at the screen as the woman there hollowed out her cheeks and moaned.

“What!” Cassie yelped and you shushed her as the other people in the store turned to stare. “You’ve never…”

“Not with Joel,” you said quickly. “I did once with a guy but it didn’t go great and I really didn’t like it and honestly I think Joel might be too big to…”

“Too big?” She grabbed your arm, her eyes wide. “Babes, you said he was big but like… what do you mean too big? Gimme a ballpark, like…” she tugged you over to a wall of remarkably life-like dildos and pointed to one on the larger end. “That big?”

“No,” you said and she looked relieved for a moment before you pointed to one that was even bigger. “More like that one.”

Cassie’s jaw dropped, looking between you and the silicone dick in awe.

“That’s what the DILF is packing?”

“Can you please not call him that?”

“You big slut!” She was practically beaming. “Taking that for your first time? You deserve a medal!”

“Can we just…”

“That’s it, you’re sucking his dick for his birthday,” she said, grabbing flavored lube, throat numbing spray and a copy of the tape that was playing overhead. “As often as he apparently goes down on you? Seems like the least you can do is return the favor as he turns… what, 47?”

You glared at her and she smirked at you.

“33,” you said.

“And you don’t want me to call him a DILF,” she said, grabbing a surprisingly conservative set of lingerie and a small vibrator on her way to the counter. “Come on, we’ll turn you into an oral champ before you know it!”

You watched the video with Cassie that night after you had half a bottle of cheap wine in your system. The woman on screen seemed so… into it. The one time you’d gone down on someone was the summer before you left for college, going out with a boy you met at the movie theater when you took the kids you were babysitting there to see Hercules. He was cute, nice, didn’t carry the baggage a lot of the boys you’d gone to high school with did. On your fourth date, you were making out in his car and he’d nudged your head down lower and lower until it was in his lap. He pulled his cock out and you cautiously, hesitantly, took him in your mouth and you did try to do what you thought he wanted while taking it slow. But it didn’t take long before he was moaning and thrusting up into your mouth and you gagged as he pushed your head down further on his dick. You’d all but ripped yourself away, coughing and sputtering, and he half heartedly apologized before trying to push your head to his lap again. You didn’t go for it that time and he took you home. You didn’t go out with him again, deciding to write off men until you were away at college and hopefully meeting one who was fine with you doing things like not sucking their dick.

Which, Joel was. Or seemed to be, anyway. But if he enjoyed it - if it felt like it was something that was missing from your sex life - you wanted to give it to him. He’d given you so much, you wanted to give him everything. You just needed to figure out how to do it.

After you giggled your way through the video the first time, you started it again as Cassie gave you some tips: How to breathe through your nose, how to swallow around your gag reflex, how to use your tongue, how guys liked when you choked on it a little. It felt almost like you were in class, taking notes on a piece of scratch paper you mentally vowed to set on fire after you practiced a little with a cucumber so no one had to know that you needed someone to teach you this stuff, stuff that seemed like it should come naturally to you.

“Just use the throat spray, use the lube and breathe through your nose,” she said when she left to go home the next morning. “You’ll have him eating out of your hand.”

“Right,” you said, trying to ignore the tight knot of nerves that had settled in your stomach. “I can do it.”

You carefully selected a Joel-sized cucumber at the grocery store and tried to not feel like an idiot as you followed Cassie’s advice as you practiced leading into Joel’s birthday. It wasn’t as bad when there wasn’t someone shoving your head down on their lap though it still wasn’t your favorite thing. But for Joel? You’d deal.

The day you were going to celebrate his birthday, the reality of it set in. If there was one thing you were an expert in by now, it was your boyfriend’s cock and your boyfriend’s cock was… big. What if the throat spray didn’t work as well when you weren’t the one in control of what was going in your mouth? Worse, what if you were just bad at it? What if he had an ex who was as good at sucking him off as that porn star would be and you’d be struggling to measure up the whole time?

You were rarely nervous with Joel anymore but you were weirdly nervous as you made him dinner - chicken fried steak - and tried to not let it show as the two of you ate together and had drinks and cake while watching Alien in his living room after.

“You spoil me way too damn much, baby,” Joel said as your head was nestled against his chest, his lips in your hair. You could feel him smile against you as he kissed you there. “Best birthday I’ve had in years, thank you.”

“Well, I might have one more thing for you,” you said, sitting up from him and smiling a little, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Really?” He cocked a smile at you, his cheek dimpling. “Does it involve you naked?”

“It might,” you teased, relaxing a little as you looked at him. This was Joel, the safest man you knew, the person you loved more than any other. It would be OK. “Want to go to your room and find out?”

“Good luck stoppin’ me,” he winked, getting up and helping you off the couch. Once you were up stairs, the two of you kissed your way down the hall but he moaned as you pulled away from him and nudged him back toward the bed.

“Just stay put,” you said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Not goin’ anywhere,” he called as you disappeared into his bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror, forcing yourself to take a deep, calming breath before going to his linen cupboard and pulling out the throat spray, lube and lingerie you’d stashed away earlier. You used the spray first, wincing at the antiseptic-like taste of it, before you quickly stripped, balling up your sundress and bra and pulling on the deep green lacy babydoll set Cassie had picked for you. As you examined yourself in the mirror - fluffing your hair and adjusting your breasts in the sheer cups - you gave your best friend this much: she knew how to help make you comfortable. The set wasn’t too revealing or over the top but still highlighted your curves and put all the parts of you Joel seemed to like best on display.

“Thank you, Cassie,” you muttered before taking a deep breath and steeling yourself, the strawberry flavored lube clutched tight in your hand. You looked your reflection in the eye and tried to get lost in the almost-porn star version of yourself in the mirror.

“You got this,” you said almost silently, giving yourself a single, resolute nod before going for Joel’s room again.

He was sitting obediently where you’d left him, watching the bathroom door. You draped yourself against the frame, popping a hip out to accentuate your curves, one arm stretched high over your head against the wood. Joel’s mouth dropped open, his eyes going wide.

“Like what you see?” You asked more confidently then you felt.

“Goddamn, baby,” he said reverently. “Gonna gimme a heart attack, looking that damn good.”

“Well don’t go dropping dead on me now,” you teased, walking toward him in what you hoped was a sexy way and not something that made you look like an idiot. “You haven’t even gotten your present yet.”

He put his hands on your waist when you reached him but, instead of straddling him, you reached down and spread his legs so you could step between them. You knelt in front of him, holding his gaze as you did, reaching for his jeans to open them.

“What…” he frowned, looking down as you freed his cock, thick and long and hard.

“Told you,” you said, trying to make yourself sound sultry and not nervous. “I had something for you.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you licked his shaft from root to tip, his skin velvet smooth and salty on your tongue. He groaned as you did and you took a deep breath as you took his tip into your mouth, sucking him gently as you did.

Even just that was a lot and, as your tongue teased him, you squeezed some of the flavored lube into your hand before you spread it over his shaft, working him with your hand, your heart racing.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned as you started taking more of him into your mouth, licking and sucking and trying to focus on breathing through your nose as you did. It took more time than you really wanted to get all of him in your mouth, swallowing past your numbed gag reflex as best you could to take his length into your throat. You moaned as you did, sucking him hard, hollowing your cheeks like the girl in the video had done and he moaned, too, his fingers tightening on the edge of the bed. “Goddamn, your mouth…”

You would have smiled at that if your mouth wasn’t open so wide. Instead, you started trying to work his cock the same way you did the cucumber in practice, hopefully the same way the girl did in the video he had.

Joel’s breaths started coming quicker, needy little pants dripping from his lips as his cock dripped in your mouth and you took the encouragement, trying to move faster as you did, trying to take him as deep as you could every time.

But Joel was big and you were almost positive he was getting bigger as you worked him, his cock swelling even further, his precome salty at the back of your throat, and the faster you moved the harder he was to take. Eventually, even with the spray, it was too much and you choked, coughing and gagging enough that you had to pull back from him, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“Woah, you alright?” He asked, leaning forward and frowning at you, still a little breathless as he did.

“Mhmm,” you hummed as you nodded, trying to keep yourself from coughing, massaging your throat as you did. “Sorry, I just…”

“Don’t apologize, baby, goddamn,” he laughed once. “Not after doin’ all that for me…”

You smiled a little sheepishly, feeling like you could breathe again. But the numb feeling at the back of your throat was gone.

“I can do it again,” you said, sitting back on your heels. “I just… I got some throat spray and I just need to…”

Joel’s eyebrows knitted together, frowning deeper this time.

“Throat spray?”

You nodded.

“It’s numbing?” You said, almost like it was a question. “I hadn’t really done this much before and I really wanted to do it like…”

“Like what?” He asked and your eyes went wide. Shit. You hadn’t meant to say that part. “Like what, baby?”

“Like the woman in one of the videos in your closet?” You said sheepishly, your heart pounding, everything else coming out in a rush. “I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t figure out what to get you for your birthday and Cassie suggested finding out what porn you liked and trying to recreate it so I might have looked through some of your things, I promise it was just to surprise you and give you what you wanted and…”

“Baby,” he cut you off gently, tucking his cock back into his jeans. “Hey, it’s OK, c’mere.” He tugged you up on the bed beside him and you kept your eyes determinedly on your hands. “Think you can look at me?”

You took a deep breath but listened, gnawing on your lower lip as you did.

“There are those pretty eyes of yours,” he smiled a little, cupping your cheek. “Now, I ain’t sayin’ I don’t appreciate the thought - don’t think any woman’s ever done something like that for me - but honey, I don’t want to do something you don’t want to do. I really don’t want to do something that’s rough enough on your body that you gotta numb yourself to get through it.”

You frowned.

“But you go down on me…”

“Yeah, because I like to,” he said. “Like seein’ what I can do to you but that doesn’t mean you have to do it back to me, not unless you want to. And if you do want to, you don’t need to do it so hard that you hurt yourself. It’s not good for me if it’s not good for you, too.”

You took a deep, steadying breath, and nodded.

“Besides,” he smiled a little. “Haven’t needed those videos in a while. Honestly, I kinda forgot I even still had ‘em.”

You scoffed.

“Hey, I’m being serious,” he said. “Haven’t used ‘em since you and I got together, that’s for damn sure. And for a few months before that I may or may not have had better luck thinkin’ about this sexy nanny I had working for me…”

“Oh really?” You teased lightly, heat taking the place of the nerves in your stomach.

“Really,” he said, almost unsettlingly earnest. “I’ve been yours for a while, baby. And that’s because I love you, don’t have a damn thing to do with what you do in bed.”

You smiled softly and kissed him, his lips gentle on yours for a moment before it deepened, turning hot and needy.

Joel tugged you back on the bed with him, one hand splaying wide over your back, the other slipping into the soft lace of your lingerie to cup your breast. But, before you got too distracted, you pulled back from him, making him frown a little.

“But what if I want to,” you said, biting your lip again.

His frown deepened.

“Want to what?”

“Suck your cock,” you said, trying to ignore how hot your cheeks got.

“Fuck, baby,” he said, his eyes darkening.

“Because I do want to,” you said. “I want to make you feel the way you make me feel.”

“You sure?” He asked. “Because I know I can be… a lot to take.”

You smiled a little.

“Think I know how big your cock is, Joel. And I know what I want.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groaned, lying on his back, freeing his cock and stroking it as he did. “Gotta take it easy and let me help.”

You nodded eagerly before settling near his hips, taking his length in your hand and stroking him up and down, running your thumb over his leaking tip. When you looked at him now, you weren’t intimidated. Instead, you were hungry for him, wanting to feel him deep inside you in a different way, your mouth watering with it.

You lowered yourself over him, licking his head, your tongue wide and flat against him and Joel groaned, his fingers tightening in the blankets on the bed. You took a moment to really experience him, the taste of him, the heady concentration of the scent of him in the thatch of coarse hair at his base, the tender softness of his skin. It shouldn’t have been surprising but you wanted more, more of all of it.

So you took more, his tip disappearing into your mouth slow and easy.

“Fuck, there you go baby,” he was damn near panting with need and you smiled a little around his intrusion, at what you were doing to him. “Nice and slow.”

You moaned as you sank lower, easing more and more of him into your mouth before rising up and then taking a little more of him, your tongue pressed tight to his shaft as you did again and again.

And then he was at the back of your throat, no longer numbed, and you tried to do what Cassie had told you to do: Swallow him past your gag reflex to get all of him inside.

It worked, at first, your lips making it almost to the base of his shaft as he groaned. But it didn’t last, your body quickly trying to reject the thick heft of him in your throat, making you gag. This time, though you didn’t try and force it, pulling back quickly but leaving his head in your mouth.

“You OK?” He asked, his voice strained, one large hand coming to cradle the back of your head. You just nodded, his tip still in your mouth. “Here, gimme your hand.”

You obeyed and Joel guided your fingers to the base of his shaft.

“Just…” you could hear the desperation in his voice. “Hold on like that, don’t gotta take it all. Feel the most at the tip, anyway.”

You nodded and worked your way lower again, a little faster this time, adjusting your grip so you were still taking most of him into your mouth but not quite hitting your gag reflex. Joel’s breaths grew sharper, more desperate and you could feel him straining to hold back from fucking up into you and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of power at that, the way you could make him almost lose himself to pleasure.

You started to work him faster, your tongue pressing and curling around him, your mouth working in tandem with your hand. It wasn’t long before you found your rhythm over him, rising and falling, sucking and licking, savoring every inch of him you could take. And even though you were focused on making Joel feel good, it was making you tight and needy, too, the hand not around his cock finding your slit, fingers trailing through the wetness that had grown there.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Takin’ me so well, baby, doin’ so damn good.”

You moaned, working him harder, faster as your fingers grew firmer on your clit and you suddenly, desperately, needed all of him in your mouth, gag reflex be damned.

So you took all of him, moaning as his head slipped into your throat, sucking him hard and fast and you felt him twitch in your mouth before he all but ripped you away from him, leaving you stunned for a moment.

But then he damn near jumped between your thighs, shoving your panties to the side and pushing into you. You gasped at the stretch of him, your pussy already tightening around him. Joel’s hips snapped into yours just as fast as you’d been sucking him before.

“Ain’t gonna last,” he said, burying his face in your neck and kissing the delicate skin there. “Too fuckin’ good at that, Jesus…”

You could only moan in response, your own orgasm building quickly, your fingers tugging at his shirt as you tried to pull him impossibly closer, your pussy drawing tight around him for a second before you fell apart. Your orgasm was so powerful you couldn’t move, crying out with the force of it as Joel fucked into you twice more before he came, too, pressing himself deep inside as he spilled into you.

Joel collapsed, spent, on top of you after, still fully clothed and panting for breath as you held him close.

“Holy shit baby,” he said eventually, still a little breathless.

You laughed quietly.

“Did I measure up to the video?” You teased.

He pulled back from you, looking you over for a moment, like he was trying to tell if you were joking or not.

“Think you know the answer to that,” he said, kissing you gently as he slid himself from you and lay beside you. He tugged you against him as he settled, tucking your head against his chest. “But in case it wasn’t clear, yeah. You beat ever damn porno I ever watched, ain’t even close.”

You smiled, proud.

“Good,” you said. “Because… I liked doing that.”

You felt him lift his head to look at you before dropping back down to the bed.

“Really?”

“Yup,” you said, tracing your fingers over the outline of his pecs through his shirt. “Think I’ll want to do it again.”

“Sure as hell won’t get any arguments from me.”

“There is a downside, though,” you said, sitting up just enough to look at him.

“What’s that?” He frowned and you smiled.

“Now I’m going to have to figure out what the hell to get you for your birthday next year.”

He laughed and tucked you back against his chest.

“Just keep givin’ me you, baby,” he said. “Doesn’t get any better than that.”

A/N: I missed Joel and Doc so I wrote this. Thanks for reading them even more than a year after Lavender ended.

Happy birthday, Joel!

Love you all!

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #lavender #joel miller x oc #joel miller smut #joel miller birthday celebration

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aayakashii · 3 days

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indirect kiss

loosely related to this, but not necessarily a continuation

Warnings: angst with a bit of fluff, pining, pining, pining, PINING, did I say pining? I'm sorry I make you suffer so much in my fics, Rui...... oh, and some suggestive themes, but nothing explicit!

Rui was never one to walk around with his hands stuffed inside his pockets. No, he was always too confident for that, too self-assured. He was as poised as a lion – head held high, unafraid of occupying space.

He couldn't touch anyone anyway, so why should he refrain himself from being as loud with his personality as possible? He was just all bark, no bite after all.

Yet with you, he quickly figured out he had to shove his hands deep, deep inside his pants’ pockets, all to quell the urge of reaching out to you. He figured his brain would shut off at any time and only his instincts would prevail – the burning desire to touch you being the only thing left on his blank mind.

So he bound himself, or at least as much as he could in a way that wouldn't appear insane.

Still, as you walked beside him, his eyes flitted from your lips to your eyes and to your hands that swung back and forth, back and forth – he couldn't do anything but be painfully aware of your presence, right there beside him; just a few centimeters away, yet still untouchable.

You had given him the grace of your presence during a short, simple mission outside, and now he cursed himself for inviting you for a short walk before going back into the campus.

He had no idea it'd be so hard to walk with you without intertwining his fingers in yours.

Rui felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up as he suppressed a shiver. How long has it been since the last time he has touched someone with intent? How long has it been since he had been touched? His touch starvation was barely acknowledged at this point, because it had become who he was. He didn't exist without it. Just like breathing, it was his nature. It clogged his pores, ran in his veins and invaded his lungs. Much like a chronic disease one has to learn to live with, despite how agonizing it is.

His medicine was to be distant. To keep everyone at arm's length, so he'd never be affected by the torture of longing.

He kept Haru and Romeo at arm's length, restricting his role to just being their bartender.

He kept Lyca at arm's length, just caring for him like a dutiful but distant parent.

He kept Ed at arm's length, but it didn't matter – he kept himself isolated anyway.

He even kept his old best friend at arm's length – Haku, whom Rui avoided like the plague. He thanked what little mercy the Heavens had for him, for Haku knew when to mind his business. He knew not to pry.

And despite all his efforts, you appeared. Burrowing your way through his walls until you had found your place in his mind.

However, his name on your lips didn't sound damned and, for the first time in so long, he found himself wishing for a cure for his plight. Wishing he could find that wretched anomaly and then finally drop his peaceful act – he'd rip its head off and drink its blood if it meant he could touch you.

Rui laughed darkly to himself. What would even happen if he actually touched you? He would probably be so pathetically excited that he could feel your seemingly soft skin under his hands that he'd end up cumm–

“Rui!” you barked, snapping your fingers in front of his face. He interrupted that forbidden thought immediately.

“Yes, sweetie?”

You huffed, brows creasing on your forehead.

“Did you hear anything I said?”

Rui laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his luscious hair.

“Sorry cutie, I was a bit lost in my thoughts there. What did you say?”

“I said I wanna go to an arcade. I want to have a go at the claw machines.”

Rui frowned.

“Claw machines? You know those things are, like, scams right? They're rigged!”

“Oh my god, Rui” you snorted, and Rui swore he could drown at any given moment due to his suffocating affection for you. “You sound like a worried dad! And don't worry, I know all about claw machines and how to win.”

You smiled devilishly, rubbing your hands together like a little imp ready to cause problems.

“Um…” Rui grimaced, delighting himself with all your expressions, but mildly worried. “You're not gonna, like… Try to kick them or steal something, are you? I know I am your ride or die, darling, but we'd be in big trouble if we ACTUALLY broke the law, you know…”

You raised an eyebrow.

“What are you even talking about, Rui? I just meant I know the strategies to win.”

His lips formed an 'o'.

“Ohhh, I see! I thought for a second that you were up to no good!”

“Me?” you scoffed. “Never. I'm an angel.”

You said it sarcastically, but, to Rui, that's what you were. An angel, a saint, a deity. He was ready to kneel on nails if it meant he could worship you.

Rui watched you make your merry way towards a shiny and loud arcade, with rows upon rows of claw machines right next to the entrance.

It felt good to turn off his racing thoughts by thinking of harmless little fun things with you.

Even if you were the main reason for said racing thoughts.

If you wanted to play with claw machines, by all means, he would play them all until you got sick of it. Although he still thought they were rigged.

Rui leisurely walked behind you, watching while you scanned every machine for something of interest.

His heart warmed at the sight of you pressing your nose to the glass, tip-toeing to see the mess of plushies a bit better. You'd also click your tongue and pout, walking towards the next machine, disappointed with the selection of dolls.

You were just too cute. How would he ever survive you?

“Oh! Look at that! Rui, look!” You said, after perusing through that endless corridor a bit more. Apparently something pretty had finally caught your eye and Rui made his way towards you to take a peek as well.

“Did you find something cute?”

“Yeah, look at that!”

He followed your gaze, and was met with a black bunny plushie – its eyes were made of black buttons held tightly by white threads, with a long white ribbon wrapped around its neck. It wasn't anything too impressive (there were many other plushies in there that definitely looked a lot more striking), but he wouldn't say it wasn't cute.

“Are you going to try to get that little guy? Isn't he a lucky one, being chosen by you.” Rui winked, relishing in the way you rolled your eyes, already immune to his flirting.

“Yup. Gonna get that one.” you said, decisively, picking a few stray coins from your pocket.

“Allow me to help then.” Rui picked up his own wallet and you shook your head.

“You don't have to.”

“I want to. It will kinda officially turn this into a date AND I can call the plushie our son if I help you get it.” he smirked, fishing out a few coins and then placing them right next to the machine's slot.

You side-eyed Rui, before you allowed a smile to spread across your face.

“You're impossible.” you said, shaking your head while you placed the first coin into the slot and began playing, laughter warming your voice like tea with honey.

He'd love to drink only that for the rest of his life.

“Is that a ‘yes, Rui, this is now a date and I accept you as the father of my child’?” He gasped dramatically, placing his hand over his heart.

You hummed, as if you were in deep thought.

“Maybe.”

The first attempt at the claw machine failed, but you were quick to insert another coin.

“I promise to take good care of our kid.”

“I will ask for child support if you don't.”

Nice. He had successfully strung you along that little joke. He was going to unabashedly use that plushie as an excuse to see you far more frequently. Bonding time between parents and son, right?

You clicked your tongue. Second attempt failed as well.

It's okay, Rui thought. He had plenty more coins in his wallet to keep you trying. Now getting that rabbit was a matter of life or death to him.

The third time's the charm.

Rui watched the bunny precariously dangle from the weak claws of the machine, holding his breath as you slowly moved the claw towards the opening, where you finally dropped the plushie. It fell easily, barely making a sound.

You jumped and pumped a fist into the air, celebrating your victory. You quickly turned to Rui and he saw the way your arm went back, as if you were preparing to high five him – before you awkwardly dropped it, when you remembered that you simply couldn't.

Did he truly need so many reminders of how he couldn't touch your fucking hand?

Rui shifted on his feet, smiling awkwardly, and motioned for you to grab your prize. Despite the bitterness in his chest, he wasn't going to let his godforsaken curse ruin his date. Nor any single moment with you. Not if he could help it.

He wasn't sure if he could actually help it, though. Not when he observed the way your fingers touched the plushie, gently feeling the softness of its black, velvety coat.

He gulped, eyebrows scrunching upwards.

It was painful, to have this much longing for you lodged deep inside his guts. It clawed and ate everything around it, until there was nothing else left and all Rui could feel was pure desperation.

He wanted you. So fucking bad. Some nights – when he couldn’t sleep, and all chores had been done, and his own touch was more of a humiliation than a quick, unsatisfying reprieve – it felt like dying might be more of a mercy than having to live with you by his side everyday and not having you to himself.

He wouldn't die at all, though. And in the morning, he would still choose to have you close every single time.

Despite coming to terms with his own feelings, Rui suddenly felt a wave of disgusting jealousy wash over him when you brought the plushie's shiny nose to your lips.

Those lips he admired so obviously whenever you drank a pretty little concoction of his own in his bar's glasses.

His mind ran miles per hour, sharp tongue ready to spit some bitter quip about your kiss, even if he knew that being jealous of an inanimate object was absurd, when he was inmediately shut by your actions.

You had pushed the bunny's nose into his own lips.

Rui's eyes widened, and he stared down at you as you slowly retracted the plushie and cradled it into your arms. He blinked, stupidly, rendered speechless. All his mind could focus on was the indirect kiss you two had just shared.

Meanwhile, you seemed to find hilarious how dumbstruck he was by your actions.

“What? We do have to kiss our son's little nose, don't we? He needs to know he's loved by his parents.” You teased, a smug smile plastered onto your face as you brought back the little joke he had created.

The spell had turned against the sorcerer who cast it.

A beat passed, while you watched him blink and gather himself.

“Huh…” Rui managed to blurt out and you laughed.

While you grabbed one of the rabbit's paws, you held out the doll towards him, offering the other paw.

You nodded your head towards the plushie when Rui didn't move.

“Come on. It's only natural for parents to hold their kid's hands while they walk back home, isn't it?” you explained, still finding his reaction extremely amusing.

After a few long seconds, Rui rubbed his face with his hands, barking out a laugh into them. He slowly dragged his fingers down his face, pulling it into a scowl, until he let his arms fall to the side and shook his head, still chuckling.

“You're the one who's impossible.” Rui murmured, half amused and half pained, as he grabbed the plushie's other paw.

You shrugged, grinning, as you slowly began to make your way out of the arcade and back to Darkwick – the plushie between the two of you throughout the entire way.

A buffer between your hands.

In a different world, Rui thought bitterly while you two walked quietly, there would be no need for a silly little doll between you.

In a different world, he'd latch himself onto you in his every waking moment. Even if he had the most boring days, the most mundane chores to fulfill – he would bring you with him, chasing your presence constantly. A sunflower chasing the sun's rays.

In a different world, he would make sure he would never have to fold his laundry alone ever again.

And he would memorize the texture of your favorite shirt and the scent of the one fabric softener that made you linger a little bit longer in his hugs, only to breathe him in deeply.

And he would wash the dishes and give them to you, so you'd carefully place them in the cupboard. All while talking about whether you'd like to adopt one cat and one dog, or two cats and two dogs – and you'd probably think the more the merrier. Rui knew he'd end up cleaning most of their mess, but your happiness would be worth it.

And you'd make bitter coffee on rainy days, and he'd love to do nothing else but place his chin on your shoulder while you two watched the downpour; swaying gently to the sound of a silent music only you two knew of.

And he would love to travel with you to small villages and big cities, but his biggest happiness would be to lay his head down on his trusty pillow and look at you right beside him, snoozing softly in your shared old bed. His back would hurt, the mattress had to be changed, but he'd hide the pain because the memories of nights spent awake talking and kissing and touching your body were too precious.

And, oh, how would he touch your body, especially in those moments in which you were on your knees between his legs, like an angel, and sucking him dry, like a sinner.

Rui shook his head. He could not let his thoughts wander that path. Not if he wanted to keep walking with you and listening to you point out all the cafes you'd like to visit some other time.

Nothing like a raging hard on to ruin the walk back to Darkwick, he thought, chuckling darkly to himself.

Rui went to look at the small plushie that connected you two, only to be met with your eyes staring at him, his heart skipping a beat like all the times in which he looked at you before.

In that moment, he allowed himself to wonder if you dreamed of a mundane life with him as well. If you wanted him on his knees, shackled in devotion to you for the rest of your lives.

And in your smile and the endless pool of your eyes, he swore he could see a longing that mirrored his.

#tokyo debunker #rui mizuki #tokyo debunker rui mizuki #tokyo debunker x reader

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ariaste · 2 days

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A Discussion on Book Endings

Hey, friends. Thanks for coming today. I'm sorry to break it to you, but this is an intervention. Please, don't get defensive -- everyone here loves you and cares about you. But listen... I'm gonna need book readers and reviewers to reflect on the idea that finishing a book and going "Oh, I loved it so much, but I wish it was just a few pages longer!" is not really a valid point of negative critique in the assessment of a text.

Let me explain.

When I read people's otherwise wildly positive reviews of books and they say that line, I don't interpret it in context as, "This story needed to be a few pages longer for the plot to work, structurally, and for the ending to achieve a solid resolution." Rather, they basically seem to be saying simply, "I loved it and I didn't want it to end." That's always a GREAT feeling, but then they're.... taking points off from their total rating because of that??? They seem to be penalizing the author because they weren't left with a feeling of "Ugh, thank god it's over"? It's like, "This would have been five stars if it had had just one more chapter but it made me sad that it ended, so four stars" -- Guys, do we understand that's an insane take? It's insane. A book has to end. If you shriek "NO!!!" that it's over because you were having such a great time, that's... that's a symptom of a 5-star book, babes. I'm not sure why there's such a fashion these days for penalizing authors for this particular thing in this particular way, but it's really baffling to me.

But setting aside the puzzling trend of "I'm knocking points off because it ended when it should have gone on until I personally was fully bored and exhausted of it, like the 11th season of a TV show that was only supposed to go until season 4" -- listen, I guarantee you that nine times out of ten, when you're out here longing for just one more chapter or saying "this could have used an epilogue" you... are wishing for something that would have actively ruined your enjoyment and the quality of the book.

Are you a writer yourself? Have you ever finished writing a book before? Have you done it more than once? Have you deeply studied the endings of books? They are HARD, let me tell you what. Endings are so much harder than beginnings, because you're looking for that beautiful final note, like the ending of a symphony, and you're trying to ride it for a few glorious seconds before the FLOURISH and dum-dummmmmm....! and the conductor collapses as the audience bursts into applause! Right? Yes? Except that chances are that one more chapter or epilogue would ruin the pacing and resolution of the ending and muddle up the summary of the theme and thesis statement, and all of this WOULD ACTUALLY fuck up your experience of the story as a whole. For example, please consider the last Harry Potter book as an example. We all hate JKR now for being a TERF but oh, children, how quickly we forget that back in the olden times, we used to hate her for that fucking epilogue that made everything that came before feel rancid and pointless and hollow and cheap. Y'all remember how sickening and infuriating that was? Do you remember the Hunger Games epilogue? Nine times out of ten, that's what you're inexplicably wishing for.

To see this point illustrated, let's do a quick exercise together. Go pick out a piece of classical music -- some of my best suggestions for this are Beethoven's Ode to Joy, or "Der Holle Rache" from Mozart's Magic Flute, or Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. Listen to it all the way through. If you're struggling with scrolling addiction and your attention span has been severely damaged, fine, listen to the last two minutes ("Der Holle Rache" is the shortest, just 3 minutes). Then, after the song is done, click back to some random spot earlier in the piece, listen to another 30 seconds, and then stop. Consider: Did adding that last 30 seconds materially improve the piece, or did it undermine the overall emotional journey? Did it help the ending to stick the landing even more than it already did, or does it just feel weirdly stuck-on as an afterthought, like the "for more fun videos, check out the rest of our channel and don't forget to subscribe!!!" card at the end of youtube videos?

When you are wishing for an epilogue, my doves, you are wishing for something you do not actually want -- or which you probably would not want if you had the option to see it in practice and compare it side by side with the original. You are wishing for something that would more than likely make the story worse. You are holding the author at fault for something being wrong with the text only because you hit immersion and were having a lot of fun and didn't want to come back up for air. Like, I'm just not sure that's something that the author should be blamed for? It sounds like they were doing their job really well???

Please, just. Separate your feelings of "bittersweet disappointment that this wonderful book is over" from "frustration that the author didn't stick the landing, ugh what a flop" because they are two separate things. Before you say "I'm taking points off because I wish there was more", please take two seconds to ask yourself critical thinking questions like, "Why did the author choose to end the book here rather than in two more chapters?" because (other than a few wild outliers that should not be counted) the answer is never, "They got bored and just didn't feel like finishing the story." Chances are, they chose that specific ending for a reason. They ended it there because that's the point that underlines the thesis statement of the book, or because the emotions of that scene are the ones they want you to remember and walk away with, or because that marks the place where the story arc is genuinely over. When the author says, "And they all lived happily ever after," that means that what happily-ever-after looks like is in your hands now.

Nine times out of ten, you don't want one more chapter. Please. I promise you that you don't want one more chapter. The book is done; what you want now is either fanfiction or someone to talk about it with. Or maybe to start the book over from the beginning! Believe me, you would not want one more chapter if you had it. (Or, if you did have it and it magically didn't suck, you would just keep wanting more chapters because that's what "really enjoying the book" means. In which case, go read fanfic, that's what it is for.) I promise you, I promise you, the book would probably be worse with one more chapter and you would not like it as much. Please stop wishing for the author to be less good at their job. Please. A book has to end; so does this post. And we all live happily ever after*. The End.

----- * The post-canon coffeeshop AU sequel will be detailed exhaustively on AO3

#writing #books

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anotherbananasong · 2 days

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Promises You Made to Me (2/4)

It’s time for Air to face the clergy alone…

“Nervous” doesn’t begin to cover how Air feels. The pressure from his corset barely comforts him. He’s had Earth at his side almost every moment, day and night, since they mated. Earth is his comfort; he doesn’t know what he will do without him. Earth accompanies him right up to the doors.

Earth: (running a comforting hand over Air’s chest) It’ll be okay, skybird. I promise, I’ll be right out here until you come out. I won’t leave.

Air: (eyes already beginning to water) I don’t want to…

Earth: (reaches up and wipes his tear) Remember, Secondo said not to let them see. (takes Air’s hands in his own, placing a kiss on his fingers) Promise me you won’t say anything that will send you back to the Pits. Okay?

Air: I promise.

As usual, the clergy is seated at their raised podium. Even with their size, the Ancients still have to look up to see them. And to Air’s horror, Sister is right there in the middle. He’s never been able to look her in the face; she strikes such fear in him that he can’t maintain eye contact. Had it been just the clergy, like usual, he may have been able to hold himself together a little better. But not with Sister actually making an appearance.

Sister: (after a disarming silence) This whole “kit” business… Whose idea was it?

Air: (heart sinks from his chest; he knows he was the first to bring it up. but admitting it would send him back to the Pits. and he promised Earth) …

Sister: (narrowing her eyes, satisfied with the discomfort she can see in Air’s glowing eyes) Don’t make this difficult, ghoul.

Air: (even worse, if he says anything that may put Earth in trouble, Earth may be the one going back to the Pits) …

Sister: (flicking imaginary dust from her sleeve) I’m your friend. You wouldn’t want to make your friend mad, would you?

Air: (feeling his lungs tighten with anxiety; he couldn’t answer even if he wanted to) …

Sister: (gives Air a long silence to build the tension) You want to tell me, ghoul. You know I have ways to get my answer. You don’t want me to have to take drastic measures.

Air: (looks down at the floor) …

Sister drills him for forty minutes, alternating between demanding he answer and leaving him in frightened silence. It’s effective, despite Air’s continued mutism. As he sweats where he stands, Sister can see that he’s weak. He’s always been the weakest of Secondo’s ghouls. She may not interact with him often, but she knows what will break him.

Sister: (after the forty minutes of Air’s silence) Tell you what, ghoul; we have a lovely room for you. You can stay there until you’re ready to talk to your friend.

Air: (Secondo said “don’t let them see”, but he can’t help the tears at Sister’s new threat. what does that mean?)

Sister: I’ll have someone take you there, and you can think about your answer. Take your time; I’m a patient woman.

Outside the doors, Earth is pacing. He can feel Air’s torment through their mating bond, but Air is closed off from the comfort and encouragement Earth is attempting to send to him through it. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but it feels like it’s been years. He finally sits on a bench and focuses on trying to reach Air through the bond, trying to send him a wave of his love. He almost jumps when the meeting room door opens, but his stomach sinks when it’s not Air coming out the doors.

Sister: (businesslike and matter-of-fact) Return to your dorm. He won’t be joining you.

Earth: (didn’t know Sister herself was in that room; no wonder Air was so afraid) What do you mean? What does that mean?

Sister: You don’t need to ask questions; you just need to obey.

Earth: What does that mean, he’s not joining me?

Sister: (tilts her head, giving him a glance over) He has to think about some things. He’ll be staying up here for now. Return to the catacombs, ghoul.

Earth: (rises from the bench) Why is he staying up here? He has to come back with me… Why is he staying up here? What are you going to do to him?

Sister: I said no questions.

Earth: (Secondo said to protect his mate… this isn’t protecting him) No, tell me. Tell me why he’s staying up here. What’s going on? You let him out of there. He’s coming home with me.

Sister: (treating him to one of her terrifying smiles as he approaches her) Don’t ask questions, ghoul; you’ll make this more difficult for him. Choose your actions wisely.

Earth: (considers a million things all at once) … (hisses in warning, a promise that he will retaliate if they harm his mate, and turns to go back to the catacombs. alone)

#the band ghost #ghost #ghost fanart #the band ghost fanart #nameless ghouls #air ghoul #earth ghoul #sister imperator #era ii ghouls #era 2 ghouls #kit adoption

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warping-realities · 1 day

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A Night in the Devil's Den - Part I

“I still think we should hit up somewhere else, Jamie. There are tons of bars that would look the other way and let us grab a few drinks.” One of the three young men passing through New York during college break said as they made their way to the old building housing the Devil’s Den, apparently the most hyped club in the city, which had a strict policy of keeping anyone under 21 out.

“Stop being such a fag, Fred! We’re gonna get in, trust me, man of little faith.” Jamie, the group leader with light brown hair, same color as Mark, shot back. Fred, on the other hand, was blond, and more sensitive, which didn’t mean he couldn’t hold his own when it came to arguing; on the contrary, the debate skills of the former debate team captain were legendary.

“Chill, Fred. The worst that can happen is the bouncer looks at the IDs that Jamie’s buddy hooked us up with and realizes we don’t have the right age and kicks us out. But I doubt that’ll happen; in a few months, we’ll all be 21.” Mark commented, always the peacemaker.

“Another reason to wait until we’re actually of age. I don’t want any trouble, guys.” Fred tried to argue again.

“I can’t believe you came all the way here to chicken out, man. If you wanna bail, I’m cool, but think about all the work I put into getting these IDs. And I didn’t even charge you guys!” Jamie grumbled.

“That’s just because your buddy did it for free, asshole. Who the hell is he, anyway?” Mark jumped in before things got heated between the two.

“Some dude I met at the hostel; he’s the one who told me about this place. Apparently, this is the spot for anyone looking for a good time.”

“You mean you trusted someone you barely know? Doesn’t that seem kinda sketchy to you?” Fred asked, outraged, totally shooting down Mark’s efforts.

“I’m sick of your attitude, man! If you’re so unhappy, why don’t you just head back to the hostel?”

“Hey, hey, chill out, you two! We’re here to have a good time! Fred, let’s check out the place, and if we don’t like it or they kick us out, we’ll head back to the hostel, and I promise I’ll be your wingman with those hot Italian chicks who showed up yesterday, alright? And Jamie, you dumbass, he’s not entirely wrong; it was pretty stupid to trust a stranger, but it’s done now, so let’s just try to have fun, please?” Mark chimed in again.

“Fine, but you know that your parents would kill us if anything goes south, Mark.” Warne Fred, whose parents had already passed away, and, in Jamie’s opinion, was the last one who should be worried instead of acting like a little pussy. Not that he’d say that, at least not now that his buddy finally decided to man up.

“Finally acting like a man, Fred, and not like a little bitch!”

“Hey, man, that’s enough!”

“Chill out, Mark; you’re starting to sound like your dad. Sorry, Fredster, I just want an unforgettable night with my best buds.” Jamie said, hugging Fred on one side to encourage him while Mark did the same on the other.

As they approached the ridiculously long entrance line, Jamie commented.

“Since we’re talking about those hot Italian girls, it’s funny that if we were in most other countries, we wouldn’t even need to convince Fred here; we’d all be of age to drink until we drop without a care in the world.”

“I don’t think your dad would be too happy about hauling his kid from the gutter.” Mark remarked.

“He’s not as strict as your dad, man, but yeah… maybe it’s best not to push it. Damn, look at this line! No way I’m waiting all this crap! Oh, wait, I just remembered something; follow me!” Jamie said, signaling for his friends to follow him to the front of the line, where a huge black guy, looking like a muscle mountain, was running the door, checking IDs and occasionally greeting a buddy with a half-smile in his otherwise stern face. He saw the guys approaching and crossed his arms, giving them a menacing smirking look.

“Hey, fellas, what do you want here?”

“Good evening, sir! Jerome told us to go straight to the bouncer at the main door and, said… said that he hopes you have a… a hell of a night.” Jamie said, sounding unsure for the first time.

“Jerome, huh? IDs?”

“Here you go, sir.” Mark replied, handing over the fake IDs, which the guy scrutinized for a few seconds.

“Any problem, sir?”

“Nope, on the contrary, looks like you guys got VIP passes. Jerome must’ve liked you a lot.” He said while fiddling with a walkie-talkie before speaking again. “Jerome’s group is on the way.” He radioed someone before handing the IDs back to the guys and cracking a smile. “Boys, looks like we’re all in for a hell of a night!”

As they stepped into the spacious lobby, the guys were hit with the sounds of music and excited screams, along with flashing lights. And the most impressive thing of all was a guy with olive skin, well-groomed beard and black hair, and a distinctive aquiline nose that hinted at some mediterranean ir middle eastern heritage. But what really stood out about the guy was his stunning build, partially covered by a sharp suit and shiny black pants, with his muscular torso on display for anyone who wanted to see, staring at them with disconcerting eyes and a mischievous grin that made the three feel like they were really inside the Devil’s Den.

“Dude, they really know how to set a mood.” Jamie remarked, eyeing the imposing figure. “Alright, first drinks, then we hit the dance floor for the hot chicks!”

“Actually, I think I’m gonna hit the bathroom; my bladder’s about to explode!” Fred said.

“Then it’s a wonder you didn’t piss yourself from fear before we even got in.”

“Go fuck yourself, Jamie!” he shot back, irritated, as he blended into the crowd on the dance floor.

“You really can’t pass up a chance to be an idiot, can you?” Mark commented, following his other friend through the crowd. “Let me talk to him; you do something useful and grab the drinks. You know a few shots will loosen him up.”

“It’s not my fault he needs booze to stop being a little bitch.” Jamie yelled to be heard over the noise, turning heads with expressions of disbelief toward him, but he was too hyped about the night’s promises to notice, heading for the nearest bar, closely followed by the sinister figure from the entrance. It wasn’t until he reached the bar that he noticed the company.

“Hello, James.” The man said over the cacophony, though his voice didn’t need to rise for Jamie to hear him.

“How do you know my name?” Jamie shouted back.

“Jerome gave me a heads-up about your arrival; I’m Mr. Shay the manager of this place. And I know you shouldn’t be here tonight, kid.”

“Damn… then why didn’t you stop us at the door?”

“Because I understand the need for a young man to rebel. Especially when his dad is such a major buzzkill.” The man said with bright eyes.

“I… he just wants what’s best for me… a decent job for a real man and… and sometimes it’s a drag.” Jamie replied in a whisper, not realizing the man knew way more about him than he should.

“Oh, I get it, kid, and just when you finally have a chance to chill, your friends leave you hanging.”

“Pussies!” The kid grumbled, not seeing the man’s eyes flash dangerously.

“You seem to have a problem with gay people. What’s that about?”

“I don’t have a problem with gays; I have issues with little faggots, those sissy boys who take it up the ass like they’re chicks. My dad raised me to be a real man.”

“But it’s tough living under the weight of other people’s expectations, under the rigid standards taught by someone, isn’t it? Sometimes all you wanna do is chill out, let loose, and be happy, right? And have your friends be able to enjoy that with you.”

“Yeah…”

“Well, it’s settled! Poncho, a shot of tequila for my buddy here.” The man said as the spell seemed to break while he glided through the crowd with ease, almost floating, and for an instant if one looked closely one would catch a glimpse of his true form.

Still a bit dazed, Jamie turned to the bar and bumped into a Latino guy in his late thirties, with a chiseled, muscular chest completely exposed except for a bow tie around his neck, sipping a drink while the shot of tequila the other guy ordered was held in his hand.

“On the house.” The guy said with a smile. Without thinking twice, Jamie downed the shot.

“Nice one, hermano.” The man commented, grinning.

“Gracias, tio.” Jamie replied, smiling as he left the bar with a dreamy look.

There was definitely something extra in that tequila, Jamie’s rational side thought, a side that seemed to shrink more every minute. He wandered aimlessly through the crowd, seeing colors and smelling scents he’d never experienced before, while that rational side tried in vain to shout inside his head, drowned out by an overwhelming numbness.

“Mierda, que guapo…” he murmured in Spanish, watching a muscular guy dancing shirtless. Without even stopping to think how out of character that was for him.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, with an unspeakable desire taking hold of him, making him vibrate and tremble inside he made his way toward the guy, and just like that, in the blink of an eye, Javier, the latino 21 years old man, approached the older man.

“Hey, papi, want some company?” He asked with a vacant look and dreamy voice that the other guy didn’t seem to notice, and in a few seconds, they were both dancing to the rhythm of the music.

“So, kid, where you from?”

“Right here, raised in El Barrio.” Javier answered.

“But where did your family come from?”

“My grandparents came with my dad and my uncles from Colombia in the early 90s. Maybe you know my uncle. He works as a bartender here; they call him Poncho, even though he’s not Mexican, but he says he doesn’t care.”

“Oh, so that’s why a kid like you is in here.” The man commented.

“I’ll show you who’s the kid.” Javier replied, kissing the man, who returned the kiss with passion.

Neither of them seemed to notice that the kid’s shirt seemed to evaporate in the air or the inches he gained in height or the facial hair sprouting on his face. After a long moment of pleasure, the two pulled away.

“So, papi, am I man enough for you?” Javi asked with a grin, while the other guy stared at him, breathless.

“Now I gotta bounce; my shift’s about to start!” Javi said, walking with a smile toward the bar. His muscles growing and expanding into an athletic, well-proportioned physique, with just the bow tie of his uniform to cover up.

“Hey, you didn’t even tell me your name, boy!”

“If you want to find me, just head to the bar. And don’t call me boy; do I look like a kid to you?” He replied, flexing his muscles. Only a man could call him that, and that certainly wasn’t this one.

When he got to the bar, his uncle greeted him with a smile but also with a warning.

“If your dad finds out about this…”

“What my dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him, tio. Plus, next year I’ll be graduating, and the boss is gonna put me to work in accounting, although I think I’ll still take a few shifts with you just for fun.”

“Javi, you really don’t get it, do you? If not your dad, then because of that musclehead you’re seeing.”

“It’s his fault for not showing up yet. And right when the main attraction’s about to start.” He said, looking at the club’s stage lighting up. “Though to him no attraction compares to my ass.” He concluded with a grin.

#male tf #mind change #reality change #mental transformation #straight to gay #musclegrowth #race change

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0omillo0 · 2 days

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KIM SEUNGMIN X FEM! READER 𐙚₊˚⊹

a/n: pure fluff <33

syn: you and seungmin have been seeing eachother for some months. you were friends, yes, but you had feelings for him. ofc he didn’t like you back, did he..?

ᡣ𐭩

You had always wondered what it would feel like to be in love with someone who didn’t love you back. The kind of ache people wrote about in songs, or spilled into poems. You never thought it would feel quite like this, though—a slow burn in your chest that grew heavier every time Seungmin crossed your mind.

And Seungmin was always on your mind.

Your crush on him had been obvious for months, and although he was sweet, charming, and funny, he never made it clear if he felt the same way. You’d catch him staring at you sometimes, but he’d always look away, expression unreadable. You tried dropping hints, but Seungmin was impossible to figure out. After a while, you convinced yourself that he just didn’t like you the way you liked him. If he did, he would’ve said something by now, right?

Which is why you were sitting in a cafe right now with Jisoo. He was nice. Easy-going, and he’d made it clear early on that he liked you. So you thought, maybe if you gave someone else a chance, you could get over Seungmin. Maybe Jisoo could be the person to help you move on.

Your phone buzzed on the table, and you glanced down, unlocking it to see the message.

Seungmin:

Where are you?

read 18:40

You bit your lip, glancing up at Jisoo, who was rambling on about his plans for the weekend. He didn’t seem to notice that you were distracted.

You:

Out with a friend. Why?

read 18:42

There was a long pause. You could see the three dots blinking at the bottom of the screen, then disappearing, and then blinking again. Finally, his reply came.

Seungmin:

Never mind.

read 18:51

You frowned at the message. What was that about? For some reason, your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly shoved your phone back into your bag, determined to focus on Jisoo. This was good. It was a step in the right direction.

But that lingering feeling in your chest didn’t go away.

The next few days were strange.

Seungmin was everywhere, as usual—at mutual gatherings, in your group chat, sending memes to everyone except you. But there was something off. He wasn’t talking to you like he normally did, barely even acknowledging your existence. Every time you entered the room, he found an excuse to leave. When you tried to talk to him, he’d give one-word answers or act like he hadn’t heard you.

It stung.

By the third day, you were sure something was seriously wrong. Seungmin never ignored you like this before. Had you done something wrong? Said something that pissed him off?

Your phone buzzed again. It was a message from Jisoo, asking you to hang out tomorrow. You sighed, scrolling through your chat history with Seungmin, hoping to find a clue as to why he was acting this way.

But there was nothing.

Frustrated, you typed out a message to him, your fingers trembling slightly.

You:

Hey. Are you mad at me or something? You’ve been ignoring me for days. Did I do something?

seen 10:37

You stared at the screen, waiting for the three dots to appear. Nothing. Seungmin had seen your message, but there was no response.

Your heart sank. You tried to convince yourself that you didn’t care, but the truth was, you did. More than you wanted to admit.

That night, it rained. Hard.

You sat in your living room, the sound of raindrops pelting against the window almost soothing. The TV was on, but you weren’t paying attention, your mind too preoccupied with thoughts of Seungmin.

Your phone vibrated on the couch beside you, and for a moment, you thought it was Jisoo. But when you glanced at the screen, your heart stopped.

Seungmin:

We need to talk. Now.

seen 21:50

You blinked at the message, not sure how to respond.

You:

Okay? About what?

seen 21:51

This time, the response was immediate.

Seungmin:

About you. And Jisoo.

seen 21:51

Your chest tightened. Why would Seungmin care about that? Did he…? No. He couldn’t possibly—

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. Startled, you jumped up from the couch, heart racing. You weren’t expecting anyone.

But when you opened the door, there he was—Seungmin, soaked to the bone, his hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping from the edges of his jacket.

“Seungmin?” you gasped, eyes wide. “What are you doing here? You’re soaking wet!”

He ignored your concern, stepping inside without invitation. His dark eyes bore into yours, and for the first time in days, he wasn’t avoiding you. No, he was looking right at you, as if he’d been holding something in for too long and couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice tight with frustration.

You blinked, confused. “Tell you what?”

“About Jisoo,” he spat out, like the name itself was poison on his tongue.

You stared at him, speechless. “What… What does Jisoo have to do with anything?”

Seungmin’s jaw clenched, and he ran a hand through his wet hair, his chest heaving. “Everything! How long have you been seeing him?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. He knew? How did he even—?

“That’s none of your business, Seungmin!” you shot back, feeling a surge of anger. “Why do you care?”

“Why do I care?” Seungmin laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just bitterness. “Because you’re seeing someone else. Because I thought you were—fuck, I don’t even know what I thought. But I didn’t think you’d just go off and start dating someone else.”

“You never said anything!” you shouted, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “You never showed any sign that you liked me, Seungmin. I’ve been waiting for months, hoping you’d do something, but you didn’t! So I moved on.”

Seungmin stared at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The rain was still pouring outside, thunder rumbling in the distance, but the storm inside your apartment was far worse.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Seungmin whispered, taking a step closer to you. “I liked you, Y/N. I liked you so much that it scared the shit out of me. But I didn’t want to ruin anything between us, so I held back.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He… liked you? This whole time?

“I thought you didn’t like me,” you said, your voice breaking. “You never showed it.”

“I thought I had time,” Seungmin admitted, his voice low. “I thought if I waited long enough, I’d figure out how to tell you. But when I found out about Jisoo… I realized I didn’t have time. You’re slipping away from me.”

You stood frozen, your heart racing as the weight of his words settled in. You weren’t sure how to process any of this.

“I was trying to get over you,” you whispered, not trusting your voice to be any louder.

Seungmin took another step forward, so close now that you could see the raindrops clinging to his lashes. “And now?”

You swallowed hard, your gaze flickering down to his lips before meeting his eyes again. “Now… I don’t know.”

Seungmin’s expression softened, and his hand reached out, gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his palm against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and your heart pounded so loudly in your chest you were sure he could hear it.

“Tell me to leave, and I will,” Seungmin murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. “Tell me to walk away, and I won’t bother you again.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

That was all Seungmin needed.

He closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours with an urgency that took your breath away. His hands were in your hair, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, your fingers clutching the fabric of his wet jacket.

The kiss was desperate, like he was making up for all the time he’d lost. And in that moment, everything else faded away—the rain, Jisoo, the doubts that had plagued you for so long. It was just you and Seungmin, tangled up in each other, finally giving in to what had been building between you for months.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, Seungmin rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been an idiot, haven’t I?”

You let out a shaky laugh, still catching your breath. “Yeah. You have.”

Seungmin pulled back slightly, his gaze searching yours. “So… where do we go from here?”

You hesitated for a moment, then smiled, your heart swelling with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time. “We figure it out. Together.”

Seungmin grinned, his dimples making your heart do a somersault. “Together, huh?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #skz #stray kids #stray kids fluff #seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin x you #kim seungmin #kim seungmin x reader

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evanchantingpeters · 2 days

Text

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 7 - Final)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Summary ─ A couple of months after Jake’s (Evan’s friend) tragic accident left him fighting for his life in intensive care, Evan is spiralling, lost in despair, a shadow of his former self. Just as a sliver of good news about his condition offers a ray of hope, Y/N steps in, determined to bring some light into Evan’s shattered world. She starts with a seductive dance and builds to a night of passion. But Evan has a surprise—one that will change everything in a way Y/N never saw coming.

Warnings ─ Obscene language, lap dance, oral (both receiving), overstimulation, mild daddy kink, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cowgirl, missionary, extra smutty—like you like it.

Word count ─ 5.1K (I had a lot to say 🤫)

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

Previously on: How I met Evan Peters (Part 6)

“W-what’s up, Jeremy?” he stutters, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s Jake,” Jeremy blurts out, his expression twisting into one of anguish. “He’s fallen off the roof.” Jeremy’s words hit like a punch to the gut, the colour draining from Evan’s face. The room goes deathly quiet, the weight of his words sinking in. The room spins as everything comes to a screeching halt.

Two months after Jake’s accident

Thursday, 16:42 pm

You settle into the cosy corner of his New York apartment, the city’s hustle muffled by the soft hum of the radiator. A rustic wooden desk hosting your work setup and a quirky lamp, which has seen better days but adds to the character, stands against the wall. A plush bean bag chair invites you to sink in while a baroque rug sprawls beneath your feet, and a bookshelf stuffed with books and random knick-knacks lurks by your side. Sunlight streams through light, breezy curtains, making it a perfect workspace for your remote routine. With Evan busy with press and meetings for the next few weeks, this place feels almost like a retreat—if only you could shake off the looming frustration of the Excel table before you.

You’d think by now you’d have mastered the art of not losing your shit at work, being the corporate girlie you are, while dealing with this stupid spreadsheet, but nope. Here you are, puffing like the Big Bad Wolf trying to blow down formulas that refuse to behave.

As you’re fighting and suffering through, your hand drifts toward your phone. You know how it goes. Brain’s fried, and next thing you know, you’re aimlessly scrolling through the endless pit of Instagram reels without even realising it. Well, this time it’s Evan’s name glowing like a beacon of your favourite “distraction,” and your stomach flutters, your heart racing.

Oh, hello, messages!

You open the chat, expecting a quick “I’ll be back in 10’, baby. Can’t wait to kiss you” text or maybe a meme about cats judging people (you know, standard fare). Instead, what do you find? A picture. But not just any picture. Oh no, this man, YOUR man, is standing there in a white tee, his pose giving swagger “yo” next to Todd McFarlane, a comic book legend. The whole shebang.

And here comes the string of messages:

“Babyyyy, look - Todd McFarlane in da house for the press conference!!”

“he’s signed the Amazing Spider-Man hardcopy!!”

“ill bring it home and we frame it ;)”

“we’re going live.. tune in xx”

“changed into the blazer and stripy tee you picked for me. Love you so ♥️”

Let’s pause here. Not at Todd McFarlane – who, mind you, is hands-down a god in his domain, but no. Your eyes, traitors that they are, keep sliding back to that picture of Evan.

Because damn.

Todd’s cool and all, but Evan in that white tee and messy curls? Where do you even begin? The man looks like he rolled out of bed straight into a photoshoot and decided to smoulder for no apparent reason. You know the one—that half-cocked sly smile that screams, “Yeah, I know what I’m doing to do, and you’re welcome.”

You catch yourself zooming in and drooling over him like a total goofball. The scrunched-up grimace. The luscious Tarzan hair. The way his eyes carry a hint of sadness and fatigue but with residues of that familiar spark he always has. It’s weird how something as simple as a picture can make your heart do that silly backflip thing over and over again after more than a year with him.

Snap out of it, girl. Spreadsheet’s waiting. But no, instead of getting back to formulas, your brain takes a little detour down Memory Lane. Suddenly, you’re remembering the last time Evan was kneeling in front of you. Not in some adorable, “let me tie your shoes, princess” way, but more of an arousing “let me worship you, queen,” Roman Empire situation.

Oh, yeah. That night.

You’d seized your throne aka that big armchair in the middle of the dimly-lit living room. And there he was, on his knees, completely surrendered to you. His tongue was lapping on your wet folds like you were the sweetest cake frosting he’d ever tasted. His slender fingers were plumping in and out of you in all the right spots as he slurped up your syrups and juices, sucking on your clit like it’s cherry on dessert.

His tongue would thrash and french kiss your puffy sobbing walls up near the throbbing bulb of your sensitive clit. You tugged on his hair, his brown curls wrapped around your fingers like reins as he pulled you apart, inch by inch. Your jaw tightened as his tongue and fingers mercilessly rutted into you, giving you crazed whiplash as you squirt, all while licking you clean with eager choked moans.

Your body tremors and orgasmic vibrations were seismic… just like they are now as your cunt pulsates and aches for him, even though you’re sitting at the dining table, fully clothed and miles away from him.

Funny how memories can sneak up on you like that, isn’t it?

But here’s the kicker. As much as you’d love for a repeat performance, that’s not where you guys are at these days. Not since Jake fell off the roof at the party he hosted at his place. You get it–one of Evan’s best friends is in a hospital bed, clinging to life while in a coma, and Evan’s drowning in his own sea of emotions and sorrow. The man is dragging so much weight on his shoulders right now.

And you respect that. You really do. Your sex life has justifiably taken a backseat, but you’re not here to push or force him. What you have and share with him isn’t mere lust; you love him, and you acknowledge that he’s having it rough at the moment. You’ve been trying to be his rock, the one who keeps him grounded while he navigates the heavy blizzard of the tragedy.

But you can’t help it.

Sometimes, your mind slips back to those sizzling moments where your bodies speak in a language only you two comprehend. Because, let’s be real—he might be wearing the blazer you chose for him in the morning, but under all that fabric, you’re the one who gets to undress the real Evan. And if that’s not worth waiting for, you don’t know what is.

You sigh, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, but you’ve left the spreadsheets and work far behind with all those cheeky little fantasies that gnaw on your brain. Still knee-deep in wet daydreams of Evan and his—well, *coughing* talents, when the universe decides to slap you in the face with reality.

That “we’re going live, tune in xx” text blinks back at you from the chat, practically yelling to stop fantasising and actually be the supportive girlfriend you claim to be.

Gasp.

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. Gasp again.

The press conference! You need to watch it. Like, now.

You scramble up from the table so fast, you’d think the chair is lava, and launch into a desperate hunt for the TV remote. The remote is like a cryptid—always hiding in the most inconvenient places at the worst times. Last week? In the fridge. Don’t ask. Today? Who knows. You’re flipping couch cushions like you’re on an archaeological dig.

“WHERE IS IT?!” you yelp, your high-pitched voice bouncing off the walls like you’re a banshee in panic mode. Female rage core.

Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. It’s like the remote’s decided to pack its bags and set off to Narnia with no return ticket.

Curse you, technology masterminds.

Plan B.

You rush back to your laptop, slide your fingers along the trackpad to wake it up, and—oh no, what’s this? Your whole screen’s been hijacked by the most evil of phrases:

Software Update: 30% Complete.

Are. You. For. Real.

You stare at the loading bar like you can will it to go faster. Or pretend you’re not watching, so it speeds up. Smart but nah, that’s placebo—no such luck. This thing is moving slower than a Monday morning during rush hours, and if you wait for it, you’ll be watching Evan’s interview in the past tense or through his narration once he’s back home.

You let out a huff that could probably power a small wind turbine and whip out your phone, praying to every deity that your Wi-Fi doesn’t fail you amidst crisis.

“Come on, come on,” you mutter through gritted teeth, frantically tapping apps like your fingers are on caffeine overload. And just when you think someone is playing another cruel trick on you—boom, there it is. The live stream.

The screen lights up, and there comes baby Evan on stage, looking all sleek and profesh in his blazer (you knew the combo with the stripes underneath would work wonders *proud stylist smiling*). He’s sitting on a stool along with his co-stars, all of them gathered in this massive amphitheatre for their upcoming movie press tour.

He’s got the mic in his hand, finishing up a sentence with that smooth, husky tone. You know, that voice that sounds like a lullaby wrapped in velvet. But there’s also the twist of dorky humour and the cute brow furrows he taps into when he’s either totally in his element or way too awkward.

The interviewer gives him a nod, then sighs. Your stomach drops.

The next question is about Jake, as he’s guy well known for scripting some of the most beloved TV shows. If there were a Hall of Fame for TV writers, his star would be as big as a small planet. He’s adored by fandoms for his wit and creativity, and now you’re all grappling with the fallout from his misfortune.

You can see the shift in Evan’s face from media charm to something… darker, melancholic. He’s trying so hard to stay composed, but you know him. That tiny flicker of anguish behind his eyes filters through the cracks.

Evan takes a sharp breath and clears his throat. “Yeah, Jake was moved from LA and remains in ICU here in New York,” he admits, voice steady but edged with quiet vulnerability. “But there’s… a... there’s a glimmer of hope. He moved his hand today.”

For a second, the world stops spinning. Did he just say—? He moved?!

Your heart does a somersault, and you can’t help it—you cheer and clap right along with the audience, even though you’re alone in the living room in your mismatched socks, overstretched yoga shorts, and messy bun. Who cares, honestly? Jake moved his hand.

Evan lets the crowd’s enthusiasm bubble up for a second before he delicately taming it. “It’s good news,” he continues, his voice like a fuzzy blanket, soothing yet cautious. “But let’s not start planning the parade just yet—there’s a long road ahead for him. We’ll have to see how his health evolves from here. I just wanted to share this little nugget of hope. His family’s already spreading the word, and they gave me the green light to pass it on to all of you.”

There’s a tightness in his voice, and you can tell he’s got a fortress built around his emotions, probably fighting not to let it crumble in front of all those people and cameras. Your baby’s always been strong like steel this way, the type who carries everyone’s baggage on his shoulders without ever letting on how heavy it is.

You sit there, phone in hand, staring at his face on the screen. There’s so much going on behind those eyes, and you know he probably feels like crap underneath that calm exterior.

You wish you could reach through the screen and just be there with him in a “I’ve got you, you’re not alone” kind of way. You’ve been weathering this storm together, and it’s been tough as hell. It’s taken everything in him just to stay afloat, but he’s doing it. He’s really doing it...

There’s something about post-work Thursdays that sends you into this frantic, impulsive must-clean-everything-in-sight mode. Not that Evan cares if there’s a pile of laundry in the corner or if the dishes are threatening to stage a rebellion in the sink, but still. He doesn’t expect you to tackle it all just because you’re working fully from home; he can do it himself, but you want the place to look neat and tidy. You know, like “I have my life together and didn’t just spend the last two hours binge-watching cooking videos on YouTube” level of very demure, very mindful adulthood.

So here you are, in full-on cleaning tornado mode—scrubbing the counter with the kind of intensity that could probably burn calories—when your ears perk at the rustling sound.

That magical jingle of keys. The ignition. The click of the door unlocking.

Baby Evan’s home.

You drop the sponge like it’s on fire and just bolt. You don’t even think. It’s pure instinct, like you’re a puppy who heard the treat jar open. Your pulse leaps, your feet fly, and before you know it, you’re flinging the front door open just as he steps in. And there he is.

Your man. Your whole heart.

He’s got his arms full—takeout bags in one hand, his backpack slung over his shoulder, looking more mouth-watering than anything that could possibly be in those containers. His hair’s a little ruffled, his shirt rumpled from the day, but to you, he might as well be walking straight out of a rom-com.

“EVIEEEE!” you squeal, pouncing at him with the enthusiasm of a kid on a sugar high.

“Whoa!” he chuckles heartily, catching you mid-air. He spins you around even though you can sense the stiffness in his body as he battles not to drop the dinner. He’s out of breath, but he holds you tight, like he’s afraid to let go. His backpack slides down his arm, and for a second, you’re just tangled together—glued around him, his hands grasping on you firmly.

“Couldn’t wait to see me, huh?” he teases, his voice hoarse from the long day. But you can see it in his eyes—he’s just as hyped to be back in your little cocoon as you are.

“You have no idea,” you breathe, and before you can utter anything else, his lips are on yours, kissing you like he’s been starved for weeks. You’re pretty sure you hear the bags crinkle between you two, but whatever… they can wait.

It’s not just a kiss. Oh no, this is the you-just-got-kissed-senseless kind that says, “I’m never letting you out of my reach again.” It’s deep and sloppy, and you feel it all the way down your toes. Little lewd moans escape your bodies as your tongues greet each other, swirling around in a lustful dance. He tastes like toffee, baby powder, warmth, comfort, and home.

You melt into each other, completely forgetting about the bags or the fact that you’ve still got soap on your hands. You twirl faster together as his hands mischievously squeeze your ass, making you giggle into his mouth.

“I was counting the hours to get to you, Y/N, and time was a total bitch today,” he grumbles, and it’s a husky purr near the nape of your neck. Your plump lips curl into an “awh, my poor baby” pout, cupping his cheeks in your palms as you swarm his face with little pecks.

When he finally sets you down, you’re both grinning like idiots. Your heart’s doing cartwheels, and your stomach feels like you’ve swallowed a whole bunch of butterflies. You missed him. Not just having him around, but all the little things tied in—his laugh, his hands on you, the way he stares at you like you’re a precious gem.

Closing the door behind you, you pace together towards the kitchen, and get the itch to drop the question, “Did Jake really move?” Your voice is hopeful, but there’s a little tinge of fear there too. You know how much this means to Evan, so you need to tread about cautiously.

He pauses, chucking his backpack aside before turning to you. His eyes soften, and he nods, stepping closer. His hands find your waist again, his face buried in the crook of your neck. “Yeah. He really did.”

Before you can even process the relief, Evan’s lips are on yours again, soft whimpers rolling off him. This time, the kiss is slower, more tender like silky ribbons on your mouth. His lips trail from your mouth down to your neck, his breath tingly against your heated skin. “Gosh, how much I needed you today,” he whispers between kisses, his voice dense with emotion as he presses his mouth lower, toward the neckline of your sports bra. His fingers gently graze your sides and rest on your hip bones before massaging your ass, and your breath hitches.

You thread your fingers through his hair, feeling the tension melt out of him as his body leans into yours. “Me too,” you huff out, because honestly, you feel like you’ve been holding your breath all day, just waiting for him to come home.

But then you pull away slightly, the thought of Jake scratching the back of your mind. “Can we go see him now?”

Evan sighs, resting his forehead against yours for a moment, his breath warm and steady. “Not tonight,” he exhales, taking a couple of steps back. “It’s just family. They wanna keep it low with the visits.”

You shake your head in acknowledgment, nervously biting your fingernail. You get it—you really do—but there’s still that little sting of disappointment tugging at your chest. “How ‘bout tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, glancing over at you again as he tears the bags apart and unpacks the food. “We’ll try tomorrow afternoon. His family’s still adjusting, but I’ll talk to them.”

The relief that washes over you is like a pleasant, summer breeze, calming your frayed nerves. Tomorrow. You let out a breathy, “Okay, great,” your shoulders finally loosening. As you approach him to help dispose of the bags, Evan’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist in one quick, playful motion, pulling you flush against him.

You barely have time to gasp before his lips crash against yours, his tongue barging in your mouth without warning, assaulting yours in tantalising ways that are better left unsaid. You loop your arms around the back of his head and drag him closer, your tits cushioning his shredded chest.

“Don’t leave, please,” he hushes, his lips caressing yours. His voice is huskier now, a bit rougher around the edges, and you can feel the warmth from his body merging with yours. His free hand slips down to the supple flesh of your waist again, fingers curling just under the hem of your top to tuck underneath.

You smirk against his mouth, tilting your head slightly. “You know, we do live together, sir” you tease, playfully pinching the tip of his nose.

“That’s a reminder in case you forgot,” he quips, nuzzling into the slope of your neck. His broad shoulders are curved over you from behind like a shield, throwing every organ in your body on high alert, your heart drumming violently.

He pulls back, and before you can react, he gives your ass a quick, cheeky smack that makes you jump. Your mouth drops open in surprise, but he just grins smugly, like he’s fully aware of what he’s done, and he’s proud of it.

“Hey!” you whimper, swatting at him, but there’s no denying your pulse thumps fiercely.

“What?” he squeaks sheepishly, throwing his hands up in exasperation, but the glint in his eye gives him away. “You look too good to keep my hands off. Plus, guess who was stuck in my head the whole day. Hint—it’s not the burgers,” he fires back, waggling his eyebrows at you.

You roll your eyes comically, but your heartbeat is up now. There’s something about the way he’s staring down at you—like he’s hungry, and it’s not just for the takeout. You notice it when he leans in again, this time with a heat that wasn’t there a moment ago. His lips trace a line of open mouthed kisses from your jaw to your collarbone. Your fingers twist around his shirt, gripping it, as his hands roam a little lower, tugging you closer until you can feel every ounce of him pressed against you.

“Speaking of burgers, if food’s your love language, then you’re speaking mine fluently,” you chuckle, but the second you catch the look Evan gives you—whoa, buddy. Food’s officially second on his menu. His eyes are a pair of flamed balls, fixed onto you like you’re the main course, dessert, and everything in between—like you’re the most appetising thing in the room.

And, let’s just say, he’s a lot more “warmed up” than usual. His kisses grow deeper, rougher, and the way he’s touching you are the real giveaway… The man’s practically simmering.

And oh, honey, you’re more than pleased to help him get away tonight. So, in your most casual, not-at-all-planned-in-your-head-already way, you decide tonight’s the night to put up a show… Literally.

You let your hands glide down his chest, feeling every erratic beat of his heart beneath his shirt. “You’ve been through a lot lately,” you murmur softly, your fingers dipping lower until you’re just hovering over his belt buckle, toying with the metal. “How about I pamper you tonight?”

You let your tongue slide over his upper lip, and damn if he doesn’t shudder. His eyes flash with thrill and curiosity—mixed with something darker, more primal. “Oh?” His voice comes out in this sexy rasp like he’s intrigued but still playing along, letting you lead for now.

You bite back a smug grin. Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for.

With a playful wink, you step back, making sure to drag your hand across his chest one last time. “Sit tight, big boy,” you purr, backing away with just the right amount of sway in your hips. “This show’s just getting started.”

You saunter down the hallway, feeling his gaze burning a path down your back. You can feel your heart pounding as you head into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. The second it clicks shut, you lean against it for a second to catch your breath. The adrenaline makes your hands quiver a little as you rummage through the drawer.

There it is: that little black number you’ve been saving for a night just like this.

A lacy, black lingerie piece, sheer in all the right places, hugging curves like it was made for you. You shimmy it on, adjusting the straps, making sure everything’s sitting just so.

A quick glance in the mirror as you set your hair free from the bun—tousled, sexy-but-effortless vibe, check. The lace hints at more than it conceals, and your lips curl into a slow smile. Oh, yeah, he’s done for. You toss on a silky robe, leaving it untied, the lace peeking through just enough to give him a preview. A little fragrance spritz and a light touch of your lipstick, and you’re sorted.

When you open the door and walk back into the living room, you find him perched on the couch, his eyes snapping to you like magnets, intense and feral, as you come into view. His posture is stiff, knuckles blanched as they grip the cushions like he’s holding on for dear life. His pupils, wide and black with want, devouring the sight of you as if you are something forbidden, yet irresistible.

His gaze lingers, darkening when it catches on the soft peek of skin where your robe parts. He swallows hard, audibly, and when you let the silky fabric slip from your shoulders and pool at your feet, his jaw clenches—hard (hint: and not just his jaw).

The low light of the room encases you as it casts a sensual glow over the room, deepening the shadows and sharpening the tension between you two like a blade.

“F-fuck,” he wheezes, like the breath’s been knocked clean and shallow out of him. He tries to maintain some semblance of self-control, but the sharp despair in his voice betrays him. He sinks deeper into the couch, spreading his legs slightly, shooting you this look that’s pure, unfiltered desire as he drinks you in.

You want to torture him, enjoying how his gaze rakes over every inch of you, so you slowly strut over to him. Each step is deliberate, your hips swinging in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that’s nothing short of tempting. His composure slips just a little more—a twitch in his jaw, a harsh swallow, the way his chest rises and falls, faster with every second. His eyes flick down to the curves, then back up to your scandalous tits before snapping back to your face.

The heat from his body radiates into yours as you come to a stop, your thighs rubbing against his knees, and his hands instinctively move to grab your waist. But you’re not giving in that easily. “Uh-uh,” you purr, wagging a teasing finger at him, your lips forming a sly smile.

His fingers freeze, but his eyes burn with frustration as you stretch, purposely slow, letting your ass hover just above his lap. The unmistakable press of his hardness through his jeans sends a jolt of arousal through you, and you can’t help but smirk. “I’m in charge tonight, remember?”

Evan lets out a furious groan, his head falling back defeated against the cushions, hands flexing in silent restraint. The power you hold over him tonight? Oh, it’s delicious, addictive. You throw him one last, seductive glance before turning around, giving him the full view of your barely-there lingerie—delicate straps criss-crossing down your back and framing your ass like a gift he’s dying to unwrap.

You hear as a muttered curse slips past his lips, low and guttural. He’s so close to breaking, and you haven’t even actually started yet. You scroll through your phone’s playlist, cueing up the perfect song for the occasion. The room is soon filled with the slow, sultry beats of Beyoncé’s ‘Dance For You,’ wrapping around both of you like a spell. You start slow, letting the music guide your hips, rolling in hypnotic circles.

You saunter towards a nearby chair, aka your prop, bending over it as your body flows like liquid heat to the beat. His eyes religiously follow every motion, waiting, his breathing growing heavier like he’s holding on a thread with every flick of your hips, every arch of your spine.

You roam your fingers up my body, teasingly stopping at your hips before dragging them higher, skimming over your breasts. With agonising slowness, you untie your bra, holding his attention and eye contact hostage. The second the lace slips off your body, you toss it in his direction with a devilish grin. He catches it with a hungry grunt, burying his face in the fabric like a man possessed, his smirk turning malicious as he inhales deeply.

“God, you’re killing me,” he groans, eyes exploding with thirst for you. The sight of him, chest heaving, lips slightly parted—oh, it’s so sadistically satisfying.

You’re gonna make him beg for it.

Leaning forward, just enough for your bare breasts to graze his chest, you bring your lips up to his ear, hot breath fanning the side of his face, “Good,” voice dripping with a promise for more. You pull back just a fraction, your lips curving into a wicked smile. “I’m just getting started.”

You circle behind him, and he twists his head, tracking your every move, but you’re not finished (no pun intended).

“Please, Y/N. Come sit on my lap, or my face…just—” His voice breaks, raw and pleading, his body squirming as he shifts, desperate for release. The power thrumming through your veins is out of this world, and you bite your bottom lip knowing you’ve got him right on the edge.

You start with the lightest touch, dragging your fingers over the hard lines of his shoulders, tracing down the sculpted muscles of his chest, feeling the shudder that runs through him as you slide lower. Your fingers brush over the taut muscles of his thighs.

His stiff length twitches beneath your touch, his growl of desire low and animalistic. His hands stretch again, desperate to reach for you, but you chuckle softly, knowing he’s at your mercy tonight. His usual command is gone, flipped on its head, and that hunger in his eyes tells you he’s loving every second of it.

The music pulses through the room as you circle back around to him. You bend low, your curves on full display, just close enough for him to grab a handful of your ass with an eager groan that rumbles through his chest. He finally pulls you into him, lips attacking your skin, trailing down your spine with feverish kisses as he peels your thong off. His breath brushes against your slit and clit as he descends, his lips so dangerously close it sends your body humming with desire.

He can smell your fertility; the pheromones emitting from your body intensify his animal instinct to breed. His breathing is erratic now, his body practically vibrating with need to take you, but you still “hold the leash.”

He breaths come out in heavy bursts as he watches you straddle him, knees planted on either side of his hips. You grind down slowly, feeling the friction as you move in slow, sensual circles. His hands latch onto your thighs, his grip harsh and desperate, leaving marks that make your skin tingle. But still, you don’t let him seize control. Not yet.

Leaning in, you pepper steamy kisses along his neck, feeling his rapid pulse beneath your lips, your teeth tracing the sharp edge of his jawline. You tenderly bite at his earlobe, and he growls lowly, his hands spasming with despair to grab you, but even then, you won’t allow him to touch you the way he wants.

“The more you resist, the harder I’ll fuck you,” he warns with a hiss, his voice dark. It’s a threat and a vow all rolled into one that sends a heat pooling between your thighs.

“Perfect,” you retort in a hushed whisper against the shell of his ear, lips barely brushing the corner of his mouth—teasing but not quite giving in. “That’s the idea, baby.”

You’re serving cunt, and he knows it well.

With a slow, calculated slide, you lower yourself down his body, your hands stripping him of his blazer as you go. You let your hands trace over his thighs and the hardened, erected mound in between. Kneeling between his legs, you lock eyes with him, watching the way his breath stutters, anticipation swirling in the air. Slowly, you unbuckle his belt, your fingers stroking his length just enough to drive him nuts as he lets out a shaky gasp.

You pop the button on his jeans and pull down the zipper with your teeth. The second you free him from the tight confines of denim, his aching cock springs out, pulsing with raw desire for you, the fabric of his boxers barely able to contain him.

You glance up at him again with a smug smile before leaning down, your lips brushing along his head. His hips buck instinctively, a ragged groan tearing from his throat. But you take your time, taunting him with light flicks of your tongue.

Finally, you wrap your lips around him, licking his sensitive red tip with the end of your tongue. You swirl it around and lap up the shiny little pearls of precum that keep seeping out in his pent-up arousal. “F-fuuuck, Y/N. You’re gonna make me blow in a sec,” he grunts out with a hitched voice as you take his whole size in your mouth.

Your eyes flash up at him, filled with mischief as you take him deeper, your lips stretching to fit his full size. “Isn’t that the point?” you murmur, your voice on a seductive octave. “I want you to cum hard... fucking hard all over me.”

Your fingers trace the thick vein along the underside of his shaft before squeezing his hardness and pumping with a fast and firm tempo. Your hand works in sync with your mouth as you suck the upper half of his delicious cock, pulling him in and out, each movement making him gasp and buckle uncontrollably.

His head falls back, eyes screwed shut, muscles tensing. Some inaudible drabble slips off him as he thrusts into your mouth. Pools of saliva are pouring out of the edges of your lips, your eyebrows knitted together as you keep gagging at his cock hitting the back of your throat. You push further, your lips tight around him as you meet his gaze once more, your eyes wild with intensity. His fingers weave into your hair, but he doesn’t force you—he doesn’t have to. You’re in the saddle tonight, guiding him closer to his magical release.

Your hand reaches for his, fingers intertwining as your head bobs up and down on him, earning little moans of delight from his chest. He’s a hot mess; trembling under the weight of the pleasure you’re generously giving him as you slide your mouth down his dick, your cheeks hollowed in a blend of sensual sucks and frantic pumps.

The sound of you gagging, the wet slurp of your lips, and the way you glance up at him so innocently, brow furrowed with effort, has him reeling. “Ahh, yeah, keep going,” he breathes out, biting his bottom lip.

He gets a good yet gentle grasp of your hair, thrusting into your mouth in shallow, desperate strokes, but you maintain control, building him up slowly, methodically. He adores your lips, especially the way they loop around his dick and release these mewling sounds against it.

But now, his whole body is shuddering, his cock jerking inside, and you can feel the tell-tale sign he’s about to bust his load in your mouth. The blood rushes to his dick, draining any sane thought and cell in his brain, leaving him driven only by his primal instinct and craving for climax.

You slide onto his throbbing cock once more, gobbling on it like the insatiable whore you are. He presses your head down and keeps you there for a few seconds. As you detach from his member to draw a breath, his body immediately locks up, his abs contracting, and then—he’s there.

His head snaps back as he erupts shivering whimpers of your name, painting your face with copious amounts of his thick, white, and deliciously salty cum, his release spilling over your lips.

You open your mouth, tongue stretched out, catching the last drops as you pump him, milking every ounce of his release. His cum drips down your chin, and you let your fingers swipe off the remnants from your face, licking them off slowly, savouring the taste. Nothing goes to waste as you look up at him, lips wet, cheeks flushed with the aftermath of his orgasm.

“You’re one hungry bitch, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice strained, still shaky from the intensity of his high. He laughs weakly, dragging his thumb across your cheek with a tender caress, though his hard-on still convulses, not quite ready to soften. He winces as he tries to adjust himself, zipping up his jeans with difficulty, but the look of satisfaction on his face is unmistakable.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, licking your lips as you flash him a sly, knowing smirk. His chest rises and falls heavily, his face reddish, eyes droopy, still lost in the haze of afterglow.

Without wavering your eyes from him, you crawl up and climb to his lap, feeling your pussy drip with every inch of his skin that presses against you. He ogles your naked torso like a dog drooling over the bone. You position yourself just right, his semi-clothed swollen tip nudging against your slippery entrance.

“I am hungry for you, baby,” you purr with a pout as your fingertips draw lazy circles over the ridges of his abs. His eyes darken, filled with a renewed lust as he watches you, licking his lips like a predator eyeing its prey.

Letting out a dark, throaty chuckle, he wastes no time—he hammers his lips against yours, shoving his tongue deep into your mouth and kissing you with reckless abandon. His hands greedily paw at your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers, tugging them just hard enough to make you moan against his lips.

The arousal between you is electric as your body grinds against his, the friction sending sparks flying through you both; it’s like static rubbing off against each other, and you are about to feel yourself short circuit any minute.

His hands hook around your ass cheeks before delivering a sharp, stinging slap that makes you yelp in pleasure, the sound echoing through the room. You press your lips harder against his with a mewl, tongues tangling.

“Evan,” you hush out between sloppy kisses, barely coherent amidst loud teeth smacking and clashing together. All thanks to his fingers dipping between your legs, teasing your clit with maddening eights as he grins victoriously, knowing he’s got you right where he wants you.

“My slut’s ready for me?” he hums, giving your ass another smack, the sound of flesh against flesh making you quiver with delight. Your hips swerve on his raging boner, the body-against-body friction igniting an ever-powerful spark within you both. To say you’re a ‘mere’ tease for him is an understatement.

“You’re doing so good, my baby girl,” he gruffs, and his rough, veiny hands glide possessively toward your rocking waist as you begin to rub yourself against his thigh, slowly... teasingly. Every roll of your hips has him biting his lip, his eyes glued to the way your body moves against him.

“You’re in night care, baby boy, remember?” you hush, your voice laced with dominance as you lift your hips, fingers deftly undoing his trousers again. Your hand wraps around his cock, positioning him at your slick slit. Slowly, achingly slow, you sink down onto him, inch by inch. The stretch forces a moaning gasp out of you as your body adjusts to accommodate his size. Fiery electricity surges through you both, and he hisses watching as your pulsating pussy desperately tries to swallow his cock.

His hands tighten on your hips as you take him deeper, your nails digging into his biceps when he bottoms out, filling you completely. The fullness makes you shudder, your breath leaving you in a jagged burst as his tip presses snugly against your cervix. The deep groan that escapes his throat vibrates through your body, making you clench around him involuntarily, his hips stilling cautiously.

You start to move, rolling your hips in slow, languid circles, setting a rhythm that’s equal parts torture and bliss for both. His hands grip you harder, leaving faint red imprints on your flushed flesh, but he doesn’t push or pull—he’s letting you have the upper hand in riding him, his eyes dark and hungry as he admires you, mouth parted. The way he’s looking at you though? Like you’re a goddess descending from the heavens just for him. Oh, that does something to you.

“Look at you, baby. So fucking gorgeous, taking me like that,” he murmurs, pride and desire dripping from every word. A crooked smile is etched on his face hearing the sloshing whines squawk out of your poor needy folds as they cling to his cock. Every thrust, every grind, every little whimper from your lips makes his large member throb inside you, stretching you deliciously as you plop up and down on him.

You lean down, sealing your lips in a hungry, desperate kiss, your tongues twirling in a messy dance. It’s all teeth and moans again as he hits that sweet spot deep inside. It’s the type of kiss that makes time stop, like nothing else exists except for the raw, primitive connection between you two.

His hands trail up your bare back, fingers tangling in your hair, keeping you close as you grind down harder. Your bodies move in sync, perfectly attuned to each other, and you can feel his cock twitching inside you with every movement. His eyes dart down to your bouncing breasts and toned stomach, but you quickly grab his jaw, tilting his head up to meet your gaze. “Nu-uh,” you whisper against his lips, your voice tinged with authority. “Eyes on mine, boy.”

He lets off a hearty chuckle, even going so far as to wriggle your ass back against him. “You feel so damn amazing, baby,” he huffs, voice rough with desire, talking over your whiny babbles. He cranes his neck to kiss the edge of your jaw before tenderly nipping at the skin.

Panting heavily, you exhale, “I could do this all night.” Your hips move faster, sliding up and down his thick length, the friction sending bolts of euphoria through you. His breathing grows ragged, and you can feel the tension rising, winding tighter and tighter. You’re so soft—sweet gummy flesh compressing around him with such ease, wringing him tight like a vice. He chokes when your pussy flutters—the way you clamp down on his dick makes his body go slack and his eyes roll back.

He lets out a low groan, barely holding himself together as your walls squeeze around him. “Thaaat’s it, hngh. This pussy knows it’s place,” he grouses, and your eyes widen, realising the shift in dynamic—he’s reclaimed control, already winning ground, sis. Before you know it, his plumpish tip drills further between each corner of your dripping cunt. Your small sobs amplify as he starts to move beneath you, his hips thrusting up harder, making your entire body quake with each deep pound.

“I love fucking you so much,” he grunts, nearly whining, his head tilting back as his cock jerks inside you.

Before you can fully catch your breath, Evan’s grip tightens on your hips. With one fluid motion, he lifts you off him, his arms hook beneath your thighs. You gasp, caught off guard, your body hanging in his grasp as he stands up, practically growling with primal need.

“You’re mine now,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, sending a bolt of excitement straight down your spine.

Without hesitation, he spins you around, carrying you across the room, your legs instinctively bundling around his waist. You’re in such a sweet, sexual brain fog that it takes you a second to get what’s going on. With one swift movement, he sweeps his arm across the dining table, sending glasses, cutlery, and whatever else is there crashing to the floor in a chaotic symphony of clatters.

“Evan!” You giggle dazedly, hands clasping on his shoulders as he sets you down on the table, the cold wood against your back making you shiver—but not nearly as much as the fire blazing in his eyes.

He leans over you and shushes you with a kiss, his lips brushing against yours as he pushes your legs apart. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You don’t have time to argue—not that you want to. He grabs your hips, yanking you to the very edge of the table, his body wedged firmly between your legs. There’s no remorse in his eyes—just pure, animalistic desire. One hand snakes under your ass, the other glides down your left thigh, lifting it effortlessly over his broad shoulder. The way he leans down and looks at you now, almost in slow motion... gosh. It’s like you’re the only thing he’s ever needed… like nothing else matters but taking you right here, right now, and it sets your entire body on fire.

He wants to smash, and he’ll get it.

The scent of your cunt is intoxicating, stirring every primal instinct inside Evan that he knows he must keep in check. He draws his hips back slowly, only his tip nestling inside you, then jams just once inside you. Your whole body jumps at the impact, your pleading eyes boring deep into his, a breathy hum punched out of you. He pulls back and slams forward again, growling through his teeth. Your pillowy walls are cuddling him, his heavy balls aching to be drained, eager to breed the fertile womb his tip is wedged against.

His hands roam up your thighs, grasping you like he can’t get enough. With each slow, deliberate stroke, he sinks deeper into you, your body arching off the table in response. The sensation of him rutting in and out of your sobbing sex is overwhelming—every movement has your breath hitching, your fingers clutching the edge of the table, desperate for some kind of anchor.

Your orgasm is building again, fast and intense. As the pressure inside you give way to climax, tears cascade down your burning cheeks, your features contorted in ecstasy.

“E-Evan, I can’t take it! T-too much!”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Say please, baby,” he grits out, his voice low and commanding. His hips thrust into yours harder, making you lose all sense of logic. Your mind is blank, mouth hanging open, unable to form words as the pleasure consumes you.

“P-please,” a pained mewl tumbles out of you, and that single word tips him off the edge. His hips stutter, and with a series of deep thrusts along with a carnal chant of “ah, ah, ah, ah” pouring from his lips, he gushes inside you—creamy gooey ropes of cum dribble into you, not missing at all.

He’s panting heavily, hips jerking involuntarily as he empties himself, filling you to the brim with thick, sticky cum.

His groans of satisfaction blend with your breathy moans as you cling to him, feeling his weight stick against your skin like it’s adhesive. You bite into the soft skin of his neck, muffling your whimpers as he continues to thrust lazily, drawing out every last bit of his orgasm.

“Come for me,” he demands, his voice low and raspy, each word filled with the same raw desire that’s coursing through your veins. “I wanna feel you.”

That’s it—the words, the intensity, the feeling of him completely owning your body, claiming you in a way that makes your head spin—have you on a chokehold. You suck in lungfuls of air as the incoming pangs of orgasmic waves smash over you with impossible force. You can’t hold back the loud moans spilling from your lips, your body arching up and writhing beneath him as you come hard, your walls spasming around his cock.

He presses his forehead to yours, his hand gently stroking your cheek, his breath hot against your lips. Your body convulses uncontrollably in his arms as he rides out your climax with you, his cock still throbbing inside your over-sensitive core.

As you come down, your breaths laboured and uneven, he buries his head to your chest, his mouth warm against your skin as his kisses travel down to your boobs, his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipples. Each subtle touch sends aftershocks of pleasure through you, your body still buzzing from the intensity of it all.

You huff, a breathless laugh escaping your lips. “You’re a menace, you know that?” you whisper, still trying to catch your breath. But he’s not done yet. You giggle softly as he moves lower, planting tingly smoochies to your skin, his breath like a warm breeze against your thighs.

“You smell like honey… I wanna taste you,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the soft curve of your inner thigh. His fingers part your sloping folds, spreading you open for him as he watches the glistening cum leak from your swollen pussy. His primitive need to eat you up tests his sense of control.

His tongue plunges between your labia, stretching them up with a slow and deliberate lick. Your thighs quiver around his head in the aftershocks of your climax, straining moans and semi-shrieks falling from your lips as his tongue dives deeper between your folds. The wet sound of him slurping up the mix of your juices and his cum is obscene, but it only drives you wilder, especially as he mumbles the moto, “Y/N... Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Your fingers lace in his drenched thick, curly brown locks, holding him in place. The untamed animal inside him is finally sated, fed well at the meal between your thighs. His teeth sink ever-so-lightly into the plump pout of your lips, and you can’t stop the desperate little wails flipping from your throat.

Your eager pussy can’t help but drool. Streams of your slick cascade down between the crevices of your thighs and coat the entirety of his fingers. With a rosy flat tongue, he pads and licks you clean, taking every few seconds to pull his fingers in—only to push them right back out. As he re-enters, he pokes against your g-spot again, and again, and again…

That’s all it takes for the sharp twisting coil to snap within you for the second time, and your thighs turbulently shake within his feeble grasp. “Fuck, fuck,” you choke out, your breath coming in hollow bursts as you feel his hushed praises and loving words ghost against your clit. You can’t stay still for the life of you—it’s as if every muscle in your body rips apart once you come into his mouth, your jaw slackened and your eyes widened.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” you ramble, and Evan’s still flicking his tongue against your sobbing slit.

You’re making a mess out of him, and he’s still eating it up—the dedication. His chin got such a pretty glimmer of shine all thanks to your slick running down. With an echoing pop, he slides his fingers off your pussy, stretching his digits further apart just to see how your sap glues against them. The shaking from your multiple orgasmic release keeps on, the ringing in your ears never subsiding.

“Mmph, Y/N. So beautiful,” he cries out, his voice cracking with emotion as he presses a kiss to your swollen, sensitive lips. Your sweet slickness smears against his stubble even more, but he couldn’t care less. All that matters is you, lying there beneath him, glowing with the outcome of your pleasure.

Evan’s gaze lingers on you for a long moment, his chest still heaving as he melts in the sight of you—flushed, trembling, thoroughly wrecked from the intensity of what just happened. His hand gently strokes your thigh, trailing up and down in soothing circles as the both of you come down from the high together.

Propping your weight on your elbows, you stare down on him, a lazy grin playing at the corners of your lips. You pull him up for a sloppy, rough kiss. Your fingers pinch on his well-defined jaw as he rests on top of her. You can feel his stiff length press against her stomach, and it feels great.

You reach up to brush his damp hair from his forehead. “You really know how to leave a girl breathless,” you mumble teasingly, though your voice is barely above a whisper, still catching.

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, and he leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheek against your palm. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, and you giggle softly, the sound light and airy.

You lay there for a while, the after-sex haze still buzzing through your veins. Evan’s sprawled out on the sofa, shirtless. His hair is all tousled, looking like some kind of model from a cologne ad—except sexier, and definitely more accessible. You watch him, feeling a dopey grin spread across your face. This man… God, this man.

You pull yourself up, snuggling into that familiar blue blanket from the edge of the couch—the one you always steal when it’s movie night, or when you’re feeling cosy after a particularly intense workout (aka “fuck time”).

“You look like a smurf burrito,” Evan quips, his hand lazily draped across his abs as he watches you pace around the room.

You snort, cuddling deeper into the blanket. “Better than looking like a sweaty, shirtless disaster.” You throw him a wink and a brow waggle, but honestly, the view is prime real estate right now. That man should charge admission.

He smirks smugly, running a hand through his messy curls. “Sweaty, shirtless disaster, huh? I was under the impression you were enjoying said disaster inside you just a few minutes ago.”

“Touché,” you giggle as you flop down the sofa, letting your head fall back against the armrest. “But the jury’s still out on whether I enjoyed it or tolerated it.”

“Oh, is that so?” His eyebrow quirks, and that playful gleam you love so much flickers back in his eyes. He leans forward, crawling towards you on the sofa with that predator-like grace, his hands landing on either side of your bundled-up self.

“Maybe.” You bite your lip, trying to keep a straight face, but your heart's already doing flips at the way he’s looking at you. Damn, those eyes.

“Hmm. Well, maybe I should just—” Evan dips down, his lips grazing your ribcage, making you gasp. You wriggle away playfully, pulling the blanket up higher as if it’s some kind of armour.

“Okay, okay! I loved it. Five stars on Yelp, glowing review and a side of fries.” You’re laughing now, barely able to keep up the act.

Evan chuckles triumphantly, that warm, rumbling sound that makes your pulse leap in your throat. “Five stars? Well, that must make me the Michelin Man of love.”

“Please,” you laugh, “the only thing you’re qualifying for is most likely to be found with a pizza slice in hand.”

His grin widens, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head. “Well, speaking of pizza, how about we start planning our wedding menu? I’m thinking pepperoni and extra cheese for the wedding cake. You know, something to make the guests feel like they’re in a pizzeria.”

You roll your eyes, giggling at his ridiculousness. “So, pizza-themed wedding, huh? What are we going to serve? Breadsticks as the bouquet?”

“Absolutely! And the best part? I’ll have a pepperoni ring!” He starts mimicking a ring toss, and you can’t help but crack up.

“Oh wow, my future husband is a real romantic,” you say, shaking your head in mock disbelief.

But then Evan leans in closer, his expression turning serious, and you feel the air shift. “But really, I want to make sure I don’t just slice into this whole ‘life together’ thing. I want to do it right. So, how about we order that wedding cake now because…” He reaches into his pocket, and your heart skips a beat as he pulls out a small velvet box.

You narrow your eyes in suspicion as you sit up. “What are you doing? Is this some kind of prank”

“Well, not exactly a prank. Unless you think proposing is some kind of joke.”

Your heart stops.

“What?” The word barely squeaks out, and you’re pretty sure your brain just exploded. Did he—did he just say proposing?

Evan’s mouth pulls into this soft smile, and before you know it, he’s dropping to one knee on the sofa. “I mean, I’ve got the ring and all that the protocol requires,” he mutters and your eyes bulge, mouth agape. “...and I don’t want to waste another minute from making you my wife!”

Your heart stops.

You leap up from the sofa, shaky hands flying to your mouth, shock flooding your system. The blanket almost slips off, eyes wide and heart pounding like you’re on the world’s most chaotic and steepest rollercoaster. Did he—did he also just say wife? “Are you serious?”

“Y/N,” he starts, his voice a little shaky but full of that Evan confidence that always makes you feel like the only person in the room, “I’ve been through a lot lately. We both have. But the one constant through it all—through the tough days and the good ones, the sleepless nights and the mornings I wake up next to you—is that I want every single day to be with you.”

Your eyes are already welling up, and you try to blink back the tears because oh my God, he’s really doing this.

“From the moment I saw you in that club, I never looked away. We started off with a bang, quite literally, but I’ve felt like I’ve known you my whole life and won the love lottery. You’re my jackpot. The reason I smile—even when I feel like I’ve hit every bump on the road. You make even the ordinary feel extraordinary, and I want to make this last forever.”

Your eyes are already welling up, and you try to blink back the tears because oh my God, he’s really doing this. Your pulse hammers so loud you swear he can hear it. And then it hits you. Yes.

“So here I am, making it official, ready to take a gamble on the biggest bet of my life. Will you marry me and make me the luckiest man on the planet?” He opens the little box, revealing the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen—a subtle and stunning band with a sparkling diamond that seems to catch the soft light of the room just right.

You can’t even form words. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, and your heart throbs so hard, you’re sure it’ll burst out of your chest.

“You drive me crazy in the best way possible. You’re my best friend, my partner in crime, my favourite person to order burgers with. I want to spend the rest of my life making you laugh, making you mad, and maybe every now and then... sweeping plates off the table to get to you faster.” He smirks, his eyes twinkling.

“Evan!” you gasp, half-laughing through your tears, remembering the chaos from a few minutes ago.

He chuckles heartily, but there’s something so tender in his expression now. “So, will you do me the honour of marrying me?” He opens the little box, revealing the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen—a simple yet stunning band with a sparkling diamond that seems to catch the soft light of the room just right.

You can’t even form words. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, and your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it. And then it hits you. Yes.

“Yes!” you shout, your voice breaking with joy as you toss the blanket aside and fling yourself into his arms, knocking him backward onto the sofa. He laughs as you straddle his waist, hugging him tight, tears of joy streaming down your face.

“I love you,” you whisper breathlessly, kissing him hard, your heart swelling with so much love it feels like it might burst.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, smiling up at you as you kiss him again, both of you tangled in this beautiful, overwhelming moment.

He slips the ring onto your finger, and you hold your hand up, marvelling at how perfectly it fits—how perfectly it all fits.

And as you both lie there, wrapped up in each other and the ridiculousness of the moment, Evan chuckles. “So, Smurf burrito, looks like you’re stuck with me for life.”

You laugh, smothering his face with smoochies of aggressive cuteness magnitude. “Lucky me. Now... about those burgers? I’m still hungry.”

Evan grins, pulling you closer. “First, how about I show you just how well I can speak your love language?”

“Burgers first, then more disaster sex,” you tease, giggling as he tries to tickle you.

“Deal,” he whispers, stealing another kiss, because honestly, in this moment, you’re the best thing on the menu.

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

Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling, @babymazz

Announcement

This might not be a forever goodbye, and who knows, a spinoff of this series might pop up someday, but this is going to be the final part, y’all. I’ll admit, I sometimes feel like I’m navigating through a tiny room with towering walls in this digital space; like my creative expression is being restricted and policed, and I cannot fully communicate or channel my “writing persona,” if you will, in here. Still, every bit of your love and support has made it worth it. I’ve poured so much into this world, and Evan, well… he’s been an incredible muse through it all. So, thanks a bunch, truly. xx

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ssspideysense · 1 day

Text

summary: peter knows a thing or two about yearning.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: coworkers, pining, alcohol, i’ve had this in my drafts forever

wc: 2.7k

He listened to the jingle of your keys clutched in your unsteady hand. A graceless windchime, a temporary distraction from the heat of your skin through your clothes on his palm. And maybe even worse– from the smell of your perfume, sweet and fresh, mixed dangerously with the alcohol on your breath.

You were drunk. Past buzzed, past tipsy, you’d downed probably two or three too many drinks from the open bar at the company party, but that’s okay. You deserved to have fun.

Peter had his eye on you all night anyways, turned just the right angle in every conversation he half-assed his way through to keep you in his peripheral vision.

Normally Peter didn’t attend work events like this one. He was busy enough, tired enough to generally not care about his day job’s extracurriculars, but this evening was different— mostly because he overheard you chattering to a coworker about it last Tuesday.

You hemmed and hawed about whether you’d be attending or not: your first Bugle event, someone’s retirement party, some higher up whom you’d never met. “But there’s always free booze and fancy finger food,” your coworker had promised, which made you pause and hum to yourself.

“Eh… I might go. We’ll see.”

And despite himself, he hoped you would. It’d be the perfect loophole to this dilemma he’d put himself in a handful of months ago when you first started at the Bugle, when he first met you.

So, he went. And, thank the stars, so did you.

He didn’t know where you lived before that night, but he found it a little funny, standing in the hallway while you finally pushed your front door open. He’d swung over your building often during his nights out in his suit, and now, you were clumsily pulling him into the cool air of your dark, quiet living room. Peter tried not to trip over his own feet (or yours, for that matter), and reminded himself that you were the intoxicated one, and he needed to get it together, for both of your sakes.

He couldn’t help the grin on his face. “Careful,” his hand caught your arm in the darkness, steadying you. “I think your new limit of vodka cranberries has dropped to… hm, three? I think that’s pretty reasonable.”

You gave him a little scoff, attempting to peel off your shoes while hanging onto the wall. “Shut up— it’s just dark,” you replied. And it was, but you knew that wasn’t the only reason, nor was the alcohol in your system.

It wasn’t hard to notice Peter’s eyes on you earlier in the evening. Plenty of your coworkers had shown up to the rented venue, but the place wasn’t packed. You spotted Peter leaning by a pillar, chatting with someone that worked on a different floor than the both of you. There was a moment of eye-contact, a soft smile from you, then him, but then your attention was drawn away by your friend at your side.

As far as you knew, Peter Parker was a bit elusive around the office and often made himself scarce, but the few times you’d been caught in the elevator together or had to collaborate on some project or another were always pleasant. He was polite, with a nice smile and warm brown eyes.

… and really, really nice hands, you realized once you flipped the hallway light on. His fingers were long and slender and your eyes followed the prominent veins raised up under his skin.

He was just about to pull away when your hold slipped on the wall, jostling you forward a bit. “Woah— alright, maybe two vodka cranberries,” he chuckled, and it did more to you than you’d ever admit while sober.

“Stop making fun of me,” you lamented, laughing despite yourself, “you’re supposed to be helping me.”

“I am helping you.”

“Does your help always come with sassy commentary?”

Peter made a sound halfway between surprise and amusement. “Sassy? I prefer witty, or maybe charming.”

You plopped yourself down on the bench in the entryway. A groan slipped out from your lips and you threw your head back, managing to not knock your head despite the dramatics. “I’d prefer if you got these damn shoes off of me before I lose it.”

He shook his head, but he was already kneeling down to the hardwood. The itty bitty buckled strap around your ankle gave him a hard time for a second, and a little huff of humor puffed out from his chest, “did you need me to make your bed, too? Check under your mattress for a pea?” Peter mused. With one shoe now slipped off, you lifted your other foot up. Automatically, his head lifted a bit, his gaze traveled up your shin, over the long stretch of smooth skin, all the way to the hem of your dress shifted above your knee.

Shit.

“I think I can tuck myself in,” you rolled your eyes, “unless you’re feeling extra generous.”

There was a clock ticking somewhere in your apartment— it was what Peter chose to focus his reeling brain on after he quickly looked away and back to the task at hand. He cleared his throat lightly and worked on freeing your other foot. You more than likely weren’t really aware of what you were saying, or how hard it made his heart thump in his chest. It was fine. He’d get your shoes off and bid you goodnight and leave.

A soft sigh from you broke the thick blanket of quiet once the other shoe was off. Your feet hurt and you swore to yourself you wouldn’t wear them again for a while… even if they were cute. Reaching, your hand smoothed down your calf to your ankle, to the irritation mark from a couple hours of wear. You sucked a little hiss in through your teeth.

“You okay?” Peter’s voice was soft, softer than before, when he was teasing you.

“Yeah— I hate those things, they’re so uncomfortable. I wish they didn’t look so good.”

He found himself agreeing begrudgingly in his head.

You always looked good at the office. A pretty blouse usually tucked into some slacks, your hair effortlessly laid, your smile bright. Beautiful.

But sometimes you’d wear one of those skirts that made your legs look a mile long. You always looked good. At your desk, in the elevator, in the break room, at some old man’s retirement party, and now, sitting in your entryway, gazing down at him with a hazy sort of warmth in your expression.

His eyes settled on your fingers, the way they nursed over the little pinch point left by the tiny silver buckle. Peter gently held your ankle in his hand and a soft, feather light touch smoothed across your skin— you were so soft, like silk, he realized, with his gaze locked onto where his fingertips grazed.

Beautiful.

At some point earlier in the night, your friend skittered off in the pursuit of avoiding some guy from IT that she’d had a messy sort of fling with— you’d already heard all the drama, and didn’t blame her for leaving early, though you couldn’t resist ribbing her a bit before she left. “Maybe this is why we don’t sleep with our coworkers?” You mused, watching her down the last of her drink and stand up.

She shot you a glare with a toss of her hair over her shoulder. “Slut shaming now?”

“No, never,” you replied honestly, but still grinned at her. “Just curious about your selection. There’s not exactly a limited market of available, less complicated men to sleep with, y’know.”

Purse strap hooked over her shoulder, she let out a breath, a familiar and somewhat devious smile growing on her lips. “Oh, come on, like you’ve never thought about it before. Makes it more interesting, more exciting,” she said, and nudged your shoulder, “don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” And with that, she scampered off, leaving you with your drink and your thoughts.

Peter had noticed when your friend left— mostly because of the distinct lack of your laughter now from across the room. The shift was intriguing, to say the least. Not ten minutes prior were you giggling up a storm and bantering and sharing little stories, but when he looked over at you again, you were quiet, idly sipping from your glass while scrolling through your phone. Peter couldn’t help but chuckle a little, hiding it under a strategic nose scratch. The conversation he was barely a part of continued around him without missing a beat.

He didn’t come to stare at you from a distance all night, but he couldn’t exactly see himself actually approaching you with anything interesting enough to say. Every scenario that passed through his head while he watched your lips nurse the black plastic straw felt so cheesy, so cringe-worthy.

Hey, I noticed you when I walked in, not because I specifically looked for you, or anything. Now that you’re sitting here alone, I’m sure you appreciate some guy coming up and trying to talk to you out of nowhere. I’m Peter, by the way, because I honestly don’t expect you to remember my name, even though you’ve worked a few desks away from mine for three months now. And, yes, I’ve been keeping track.

Yeah, right. He had an hour so far to think of some sort of game plan, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus. It was probably a lost cause anyways. You were way out of his league.

He was just about to shift back to the group of men he stood with, but then, you looked up. Right to him, like you knew he was already there, already looking at you.

And you smiled again, a radiant sort of smile that twisted his insides.

“I’m gonna grab a refill,” he muttered out loud, as if anyone around him would notice if he slipped away, before his legs started working on their own.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him now, knelt down before you, his calloused hands ghosting almost reverently on your leg. Your sweet, polite, somewhat aloof coworker Peter Parker, making goosebumps raise so easily with just a few simple touches. The swirl of tingly heat that tickled your insides almost sent a shiver down your spine.

Slowly, you pulled your own hand back to rest on your knee, and Peter’s fingers traced up to the sore spot you were just worrying over.

It was suddenly so quiet— you figured he could hear your heartbeat, after accepting the fact that he probably heard the way your breath caught in your throat, too.

Peter gently pressed his thumb into the little indented line that encircled you from the ankle strap. He lightly began to knead around the area, massaging, all in the faith of aiding blood flow, of course. Just because he was helpful, of course. He swallowed quietly.

“Does, ah… how’s that?” Peter asked, his voice low, and you sucked in a breath through your nose when he looked up at you. “Feel… better, at all?”

He had those big brown eyes and those stupid long eyelashes that some guys were needlessly blessed with. Casually, helplessly good looking.

Your legs shifted just slightly as you held his gaze, thighs pressed together. “Mhm,” you breathed out, “yeah, that feels nice.” There was probably more to be said, but you couldn’t bring yourself to find the words with a brain like mush and your tongue so suddenly heavy in your mouth.

It was his turn to suck in a breath. “Yeah?”

Warmth radiated from your face. Booze, hormones, whatever— your pulse was giddy, an ache quickly creeping up between your thighs. His voice was so soft, just a little rasp to it. Slowly, you nodded, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

Alcohol rarely had any sort of desired effect on Peter, and that night was no different, but he ordered another anyway, because he couldn’t just turn around and high-tail it out of there now. Not when he watched you watch him walk over and lean his forearms onto the bartop so casually, as if he knew what he was doing.

Your gaze flickered over him without trying much to hide it— he looked good, though he usually did day to day in the office, too. But tonight his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his hair was a little bit messy and you caught the subtle shift of his eyes over to you once he was given his drink.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you mused without thinking, the little plastic straw sitting between your lips.

Peter turned to you as if he hadn’t been acutely aware of your presence the entire night. “Likewise,” a light grin grew on his face, “are you having fun yet?”

The way your eyes settled on him, hedged by such long, curled lashes— something kicked around in his chest. “Are you kidding? I entered the raffle and everything. Here’s hoping I go home with that bluetooth toaster,” you hummed.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “What, so you can preheat from your garage?”

“A win’s a win, isn’t it, Parker?”

Despite your friendly demeanor, a sense of slight surprise washed over him when you said his name. Surprise and, embarrassingly enough, a sense of warmth. “Yeah, s’pose so. Can’t say I wouldn’t be at least a little jealous,” he sipped his drink just to busy his awkward mouth.

Your amusement sparkled in your eyes. “Yeah? Jealous of me and my thousand dollar toaster?” The giggle that slipped from your lips was enough to make his heart thump against his ribcage. Hearing it up close was infinitely better than picking it out from a crowd. “Maybe I’ll let you borrow it some time,” you said.

“How humble and gracious of you,” his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“I’m nothing if not humble and gracious.”

You kept your eyes on him as you sipped from your straw, and he couldn’t look away if he tried. “I dunno, I think there’s at least a few more words to describe you. Like, ah… funny, charismatic,” Peter paused, watching you swallow, “and, um, pretty— ah, beautiful. Just to… just to name a few.”

He looked down to where his fingers gently rubbed slow little circles into your skin, just above your ankle. There wasn’t enough air in your entryway anymore. Not in a claustrophobic sort of way— more like he was suddenly aware of how close you were, how heavy your gaze was on him from your perch on the bench, how hot his breath fanned over your bare skin.

It’d be so easy. So, so easy to just… lean down, press his lips to your shin, pepper a trail up to your knee, gently ease your legs apart… he could smell you, in the moment, not just in his imagination. The light musk of arousal mixed so dangerously with your sweet aroma.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be doing this.

Up, up, his hand smoothed up the back of your calf just slightly, before he gave a gentle squeeze and pulled his hands away. “Right,” Peter stood and straightened, clearing his throat again. He had to avoid eye contact. He wasn’t sure he could handle whatever expression you were giving him at the moment. “You’re home safe, heels are off… it’s getting pretty late, so… you should probably head to bed and prepare for the worst hangover ever tomorrow,” he said, trying to keep his voice light, punctuated with an airy chuckle.

Your eyes followed him as he stood. One hand shoved into his pocket, the other ran through his messy hair. A twinge of something like disappointment clenched at your stomach. “Right,” you mirrored him, both of your bare feet on the ground now.

And you both just looked at each other like that for what felt like forever. You, gazing up at him, and Peter, with his head tilted down at you.

There was so much he wanted to say, but none of it would leave his throat, so he settled for a smile and a little nod. “Yeah… um, goodnight. I’ll… see you at work, yeah?”

God. Way to go. Completely fumbled everything.

But, after a beat or two of quiet, you smiled back. Soft, warm. Your eyes flitted over his face, the stubble along his jaw and the little secret worry line between his brows.

“Yeah.” Your heart pattered in your chest. “Goodnight, Peter.”

#tasm #peter parker x reader #spiderman #good lordt #sighs

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smolandweirdwriter · 2 days

Note

The bad kids are all best friends, but some of them don't have many canonical scenes together, and I think Adaine and Gorgug are the least seen with each other among the rare duos. But those two are pretty emotionally smart, so I think they'd realize that and decided to hang out

Got any ideas about shenanigans they might perform together?

adaine canonically loves gorgug's parents for their kindness to everyone, which especially shines through in how much they care for their son. throughout her freshman year, adaine would most often crash at gorgug's place. it was marginally closer to get to, and safer, at least compared to strongtower. the little folk are peaceful.

the first time Adaine was at Gorgug's house with all the others, Wilma and Digby noticed how formal, and then perplexed, and then saddened she was in the span of meeting them. when they overheard her say things like "wow your parents are so sweet!" and "I love your parents!" they weren't just proud or happy. at least, not only that. soon after they were a little concerned, especially with how eager she seemed about it. as though they were unconventional in their kindness. they asked gorgug about it afterwards, and he frowned a little. "I dunno," he said finally. "I think elf parents are kinda... mean to their kids? Like it's a cultural thing or something?"

Well, that definitely didn't sit well with Wilma and Digby. And it definitely didn't sit well with Gorgug, now that he realized it. He asked Adaine about it the next day, and she admitted it with a mixture of loathing and sharp self-awareness. She didn't cry, but she didn't exactly brush the issue off either. Gorgug didn't know what to do, he'd never had a friend, let alone one with abusive parents. He'd always thought his anger was a bad thing, but now it consumed him with unbridled outrage. He wanted to storm into the Abernant house and rip it apart with his bare hands. He wanted to take his friend behind him and keep her safe. He wanted to hug her so she was there with him and not alone and cold and scared and mad. She didn't need to be mad. She didn't deserve it.

But Gorgug knew he couldn't do any of that. So instead, he offered what he knew he could: "If you ever need some place to stay, you know where I live."

Adaine smiled. "Thanks, Gorgug. But I'll be alright."

A few days later, the bad kids had been out late on their quest to find out more about what would later be known as the Kalvaxus Caper. actually, they weren't even "out late". it was about 6pm, but school had let out around 3, so their parents were nonetheless reasonably worried about where the hell their children were.

as everyone was peeling off to head home, only adaine and gorgug were left. gorgug noticed adaine just standing there, not going home yet. "hey, what's wrong?" he asked.

"My parents are gonna kill me. I'm so late. The bus won't take me home now, it'll take forever to walk, we're halfway across town, I'll miss curfew because I was out adventuring --" she said "adventuring" like it was something to be mocked, something foolish that only a child would partake in "--I'm going to be grounded forever... I can't go home, Gorgug, I can't."

Gorgug cocked his head. Two choices, then. Take her home. Or... Take her home.

"You wanna, uh, stay over at my place?"

So Adaine followed Gorgug home. The Thistlesprings had cooked a thick, stewy soup with chunks of meat and vegetables that smelled amazing. They saw Adaine come in and quickly fixed her up a bowl alongside Gorgug's. Wilma and Digby ask her all sorts of questions -- What sort of magic does she do? Are her family wizards too? Where do they work? When do they leave home? How susceptible are they to gnomish-made ballista being fired right at them? What does she like to eat? She looks like she doesn't eat enough, she should come over more and they'll make her nice, home-cooked meals. hey, she used to go to Hudol, what was it like? What's Aguefort been like for her, is she liking it? how about the classmates, anyone nice outside her party? anyone very nice? has she had "the talk" yet--

at that point, gorgug's face goes bright red and he tugs adaine away before they can pull out The Binder. adaine giggles as she's led into gorgug's room. he offers her a pair of his pajamas, which are far too big on her, but she likes that. it's kind of like being wrapped up in gorgug's hugs--enveloped completely. she has to roll the sleeves all the way up so she can even get her fingers out, and the pants still trail on the ground a little.

they spend the rest of the night talking and chatting sprawled across gorgug's bed.

situations like this become far more common throughout freshman year. the thistlesprings want to adopt her, but she's not even technically a Solecian citizen, and it would make the whole "diplomatic immunity" thing so messy. she goes home on the weekends, because she has no choice, and when her parents get force her to stay home because "we're your family and we never see you. i swear, you're so ungrateful sometimes, adaine. what, is it so awful to have dinner with us?"

on her own, adaine begins learning orcish and gnomish so she and gorgug can talk, and so she can better thank and communicate with the thistlesprings. she teaches gorgug some elvish too, and they begin communicating by blending the three languages together in a way that makes no sense to anyone other than themselves.

for his part, it's gorgug who helps adaine become more physically strong, because he's worried about how angry his friend gets, and how that anger sometimes spirals into panic, or vice versa, so he teaches her how to throw a punch, how to block a hit, how to fight with a sword. he is never prouder than the moment he sees adaine's fist collide with her sister's face at ostentatia's party.

for her part, adaine and gorgug do homework together often when she's there, and it's by watching her do magic that gorgug becomes so enraptured by it. he's constantly asking her how spells work, how she knows what level she's casting them at, how she remembers them all. adaine attempts to explain it, and she does so by comparing it to his parents' tinkering. she's just putting pieces together and binding them--her "pieces" are less tangible, but they're still a part of the greater universe around them. gorgug really wants to learn wizardry, but he's not too fond of the abstract. he likes adaine's explanation, though. he begins thinking about tinkering. he begins thinking about machines and the tangible and the world and breaking things and putting them together and making something new. he thinks about family.

fig is an excellent lyricist, but she's not a very skilled composer. gorgug, meanwhile, it fantastic at putting lyrics to music. he loves it. he has just the right ear for it, for knowing where something needs a little aid, where he can boost something so it reaches its full potential. he's also a great backup vocalist. but he's sorta afraid to mention any of this to fig, because she invited him to be in her band, and she was so nice about helping him, and he doesn't wanna overstep. when shes over at his house one day, adaine sees a piece he's composed lying on the desk. she doesn't read it, to respect his privacy, but she notes that it's clearly composition, and asks about it. gorgug awkwardly admits that he's been working on something to go with a piece fig wrote, because, and not to imply he doesn't think fig's great, he loves fig so so so much and he's so grateful to be in her band, but, well, she composed about half the instrumental bits but they're just a little wonky and so he dabbled a little bit in pairing the lyrics with music, but please don't tell fig, adaine, it's not like I've done any better than she has or could.

adaine blinks. "you're awfully anxious, aren't you?" she smiles, sits down on the bed next to him, and says, "Gorgug, if you don't try, you're never going to know if it's any good at all."

so he shows his composition to fig. who immediately tackles him into a hug and screams "THIS IS PERFECT!"

Gorgug blushes and says, "Adaine helped me with it."

Fig recruits Adaine to help them write and compose. Adaine declines. "But if you ever need a tech person once you start really performing," Adaine says, "I'd love to do stage effects for you."

Actually, Adaine, as it turns out, does rather like helping Gorgug compose music. This stems from the fact that she grew up listening to exclusively pretentious high elven music, which she does rather like, but she also becomes pretty fond of heavy metal the likes of which gorgug blasts. she has a playlist called "studying evocation magic" that one would expect to be full of classical music. it's entirely head-slammer metal and rock that gorgug helped her compile.

Adaine goes to Gorgug a lot when she can't figure out spells. She gets lost in the little intricacies and complications of things, and he's very good at looking at the thing as a whole and seeing what's missing. he sees it very technically, which she finds relieving. so much of magic is abstract, but with gorgug everything is right with you, a physical thing.

when adaine kills her dad, gorgug isn't so sure she's okay. everyone else is cheering and hugging her, but gorgug has spent the most time around adaine's violence. her fear. he knows theres something deeper here. so when he gets a chance, he pulls her aside and asks how she's doing. adaine crumples into his side, sobbing, gripping his sweatshirt because it's soft and smells like grass and the woods and something else too, like going home after a long day, like people who want you to have clean clothes because they care about you and not your appearance. "Why did I have to kill him?" she asks, and he knows what she's really saying. Why did killing him have to be the only option?

"I don't know," he whispers. "Is it better that he's dead?"

Adaine swallows. Chokes on a lump of tears. Says: "I hope so."

gorgug and adaine who understand each other. gorgug and adaine who have sleepovers and climb the thistlespring tree and learn together. gorgug and adaine who have a secret language. gorgug and adaine who, of all the bad kids, know the least about their respective sexualities come junior year. riz and fig have been learning about aromaticism/asexuality and pansexuality since sophomore year, and kristen has been out since freshman year, and fabian has gotten over aelwyn and has confessed that he might have had the most massive crush on riz, and is still not over him, but that he really really doesn't want that to get in the way of their friendship, and that he supports riz's sexuality whole-heartedly, and he's realizing how lame his desperation for girls who treat people like shit is because he's realized he doesn't need to feel special just because someone who likes no one likes him, and he's falling for mazey, and that's okay.

but adaine and gorgug?

zelda breaks up with gorgug the summer of their junior year. and honestly? gorgug tells adaine in the workshop of the thistlespring tree late at night as they work together on the solar lasso. i sort of always saw it coming.

there is a dull hum of arcane electricity around them. save that, all is silent. silent, when adaine thinks about how people should care and don't and fall apart and break and how you can want to love someone and still run away. she does not understand it.

did you love her? she whispers, not looking over at him as her fingers turn a a piece of scrap metal over and over, not working on anything, not trying to fix anything. just hoping. just wishing. just wanting to know what love is.

i think i liked that she liked me, gorgug said. and i think i liked being around her. and i liked the... he glances over, blushing. Sorry. Riz is not vocal about his asexuality, and most of the time he is quietly uncaring when they talk about sex. it doesn't bother him to hear about--it's a part of life. still, gorgug tries to keep the others from talking about it around him. adaine, gorgug does not know if she's ace or not, and doesn't care if she is or isn't, but she gets uncomfortable, even a little disgusted, around talks of such things, so he tries to keep them to a minimum for her, too.

but this night, adaine shakes her head, her glasses glinting in the darkness. it's okay. you liked her. you liked sex. but did... what did... she clenches the scrap of metal in her fist, frustrated at her inability to form the proper words. the metal bends and crumples in her palm, and she blinks, unfurling her fingers to see broken shards of metal in her hand. she is still not used to her own strength. she has still not realized she's not really the girl she was years ago. but she is learning who she is, and maybe that's okay too. what was it like? liking someone that way? wanting someone... that way?

it was nice, gorgug says back. it was really nice. he shakes his head. but i think it was more than just... physical. i think she fell in love with me because i was nice to her. and she... sometimes she acted like that niceness was something i only did for her. and if i cared about other people, it was like i didn't care about zelda enough? or something? and i didn't really like that. and she didn't really like that i... that we...

that you were something other than zelda donovan's boyfriend? adaine offers.

he nods. yeah. a pause. i really liked her, though.

adaine taps his hand with hers. a question. he slips his fingers into hers. an answer. she squeezes. he squeezes back. I'm sorry.

gorgug comes out to adaine first of all their friends. he's bi, he tells her. adaine, not sure what to say, goes: "Congratulations". They both laugh. she still doesn't know what she is. she's still not sure she wants a label. he tells her that's okay. she asks if he came out because he has a crush on someone in his fancy new artificer class. gorgug blushes and shoves her playfully. (when he kisses unit later that year, adaine is unsurprised. he seems like gorgug's type.)

when oisin's ruse is revealed much later that year, adaine is not sad. she isn't hurt. she's violently, horrifically angry. so is gorgug.

they are on a boat. they might die. Oisin's voice rings out, Oisin's call. Adaine's face blanches, and Gorgug understands that whatever he messaged her, it means someone is about to die. and it won't be adaine.

it will be a white dragon, to his axe. it will be another, hit by the boat. it will be oisin, it will be oisin, it will be oisin. it will be oisin, for his friend who did not know what love felt like. it will be oisin, for his friend who did not know if she wanted to kiss someone. it will be oisin, for his friend who is easy to love. it will be oisin who dies, and he will enjoy it. and rage is not bad, because rage protected adaine, who should not have needed to protect herself.

and after everything has calmed down, they will eat ants on a log in his bedroom and write music and practice magic and spar and laugh.

oh, also: adaine and gorgug both get overstimulated easily, and gorgug always has a plethora of headphones and fidgets, and adaine goes to him for them constantly. they also both conducted an experiment together once where they attempted to communicate with people inside her jacket. it didn't go super well, but it was certainly fun!

and of course, adaine/ayda/gorgug friendship is a top-tier one. fig's magic is innate, but the trio's magic comes from studying and observing, and they all like to talk about it. sometimes they gossip. sometimes it's about fig. it's never mean--actually, usually it's just about how much they like fig. but they all get together pretty often to just jam out some spell stuff together.

#wowwwww this one was so long im sorry #also I feel like a lot of it was pretty angsty?#I tried to tone it down at the end #oh and let me be very clear: this is ENTIRELY platonic #gorgug thistlespring #fantasy high #adaine abernant #fantasy high sophomore year #fantasy high junior year #fantasy high freshman year #smolwrites

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captainsophiestark · 1 day

Text

Naval Wedding

Natasha "Phoenix" Trace x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Top Gun

Summary: Phoenix needs a fake date to a Naval wedding to avoid sailors hitting on her all night, so who better to ask than her best friend?

Word Count: 2,925

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"I have a favor to ask you."

I sighed dramatically, making a show of pulling my attention from my laptop to my best friend, Natasha "Phoenix" Trace, who sat across the table from me. She held her coffee mug with both hands and stared intently at me. Clearly, whatever she was about to say next had been on her mind for a bit now.

"It's something I need you to help me out with, if you don't mind. And if you're not busy."

I raised an eyebrow, closing my laptop and leaning across the table to match Natasha's posture.

"Okay, spit it out, Nat. You've never danced around something the way you're doing right now the entire time I've known you. What's wrong?"

Nat took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, then met my eyes with a new determination.

"I need you to be my fake date for a Navy wedding next weekend."

Honestly, I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting her to say, but it definitely wasn't that. The corner of my mouth quirked up in a smile, and I had to work to hold back a laugh.

"Nat... first of all, I'm in." Her shoulders immediately relaxed, the dire look on her face morphing into one of relief as she eaased back in her chair. I shook my head, still smiling. "Second, you seriously need to work on your delivery. I thougth you were about to ask me to help you hide a body."

Her eyebrow shot up.

"You thought I prefaced asking you to hide a body with 'if you don't mind' and 'if you're free'?"

I just shrugged and waved her off. "You were crazy grim and looked more stressed than I've ever seen you. I didn't think the favor was gonig to involve a party. Which brings me to third: why? I'm happy to go with you, but I'm a little surprised you're asking."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "You know I work with a lot of men. Most of them are fine. Some of them are great. Some of them I want to punch in the nose sometimes. But at big Navy weddings, there's always tons of pilots I'm not familiar with, and at least a few of them always try to hit on me. This time, I don't want to deal with it. So... fake date."

I grinned. "Natasha Trace. Are you telling me that I get to scare off Naval Aviators all night if they try to hit on my girlfriend?"

Natasha grinned and shook her head with a laugh. I waited until she faced me again, then raised an eyebrow since she still hadn't answered my question.

"Alright, sure. You get to scare off anybody who flirts with me, any way you want to."

"Amazing."

****************

The next weekend, I stood in front of the mirror adjusting my outfit nervously while I waited for Natasha to arrive. We were meeting at my house, then driving over together.

When I'd told her I'd be happy to go as her fake date to this wedding, it had been a partial lie. I'd been wrestling with some feelings for my best friend since a few months ago, and I wasn't completely thrilled about the "fake" part of "fake date". When my doorbell finally rang and I opened the door to find Natasha looking like an absolute knockout, my heart did a few backflips before breaking in half as I remembered that she wasn't actually here for a real date.

"Wow," she said, sounding a little breathier than normal as she looked me up and down. "You look great."

"Me? Nat, you look stunning. Like, wow."

Nat looked up and met my eyes with a smile.

"Well, then I guess we make a good pair."

My heart did another flip, so I took a deep breath and stepped through the door to join Nat on the porch before she could give me a heart attack.

"Those Navy boys won't know what hit 'em," I declared, holding my arm out for Nat. She took it with a grin, and we headed for the car arm in arm. My heart skipped a couple beats at the proximity, and I did my best to tell it to shut up.

It mostly listened throughout the wedding ceremony. When we got to the venue, we got some looks and some raised eyebrows, especially from Natasha's closest Navy friends, who she apparently hadn't told about her plan. I got to ditch Hangman to cross the room and chase off a more tangentally-invited pilot who'd been hitting on Nat, which had been a highlight of the night so far, especially as she leaned into my side and I wrapped an arm around her. Unfortunately, we didn't get to linger, since we had to take our seats for the wedding itself.

It was beautiful, and thankfully, didn't stretch on too long. Before I knew it, we were heading to the reception, throwing a few of Nat's aviator friends in the back of the car to get to the venue hosting the reception. We blasted music, laughed, and I even got up the courage to reach out and take Nat's hand while she drove. She turned to me with a grin and squeezed my hand back, and I tried not to let my imagination run away from me about whether that might mean something.

We pulled into the venue, and Natasha immediately took my hand in hers. I bumped my shoulder into hers, and we shared a grin as we flowed through the doors with the rest of the wedding guests. The music was already blasting, and people were floating around and snacking while we waited for the bride and groom to arrive with the rest of the wedding party. Nat's friends went ahead of us as she stopped, turning to me with a smile.

"Alright, what's first? Food or drinks?"

"Hmm... I know the guests of honor aren't here yet, but what about dance floor?"

She laughed. "Okay, drinks it is. If you actually want to pull me out there, I'm going to need more than just water in my veins."

"I don't think the alcohol actually goes into your veins-"

"You know what I mean! Come on, I'll get you your favorite. On me."

"Isn't it an open bar?"

"And isn't it the thought that counts?"

I laughed, letting Natasha pull me along and through the crowd, trailing after her with a happy smile. When she came to a stop at the bar, tugging me up to stand next to her, I had to fight very hard against the urge to lean in and kiss her, then and there. I swallowed, but managed to get a hold of myself and respond to her instead.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's the thought that counts."

Nat and I ate the snacks and chatted with her close friends while we waited for the couple to arrive, and then for the party to really start. Dinner was delicious, the toasts were sweet, and not long after the last one finished, the dance floor officially opened for business.

I turned to Nat, intending to make good on my answer of what I first wanted to do when we got here, but I found her facing in the other direction as some guy in a suit smiled down at her, one of his hands resting on the back of her chair. I narrowed my eyes.

He didn't notice me, he was too focused on Nat. I knew she was more than capable of telling him to get lost on her own, but I also knew that the main reason she'd asked me to be her date at all tonight was to avoid dealing with clowns like these. I stood and walked around to stand next to him, pushing my way into the spot between him and the table and holding a hand out to Nat.

"Hey, babe," I said, smiling at Nat without sparing a glance for the guy. "You ready to hit the dancefloor?"

She grinned back at me in sync with the guy beside me saying "Babe?" as a clear question directed at me. I turned to face him like I had all the time in the world, keeping a straight face as I met his eyes.

"Yeah. That's generally what I call my girlfriend. You got a comment about that?"

The guy blanched, taking a half step back and removing his arm from the back of Natasha's chair.

"Uh... no. Sorry."

"Don't apologize to me, she's the one who had to put up with some random guy trying to put moves on her."

The guy scowled, but he muttered a quick apology to Natasha all the same before heading off into the crowd again. I watched him go, then turned to Nat with the massive grin I'd been holding back the whole time.

She shook her head, mirroring my grin all the same.

"You have way too much fun doing that."

I shrugged. "Maybe. But you don't have any fun doing it for yourself, so this seems like by far the best option."

"I guess I can't argue with you there."

"You're right, you can't. Now come on, I want to dance with my girlfriend. Let's get out there."

My heart hammered in my chest at my own words, worried that I'd overstepped, even in the context of a group in public for our fake-date situation. But Natasha just smiled at me again, softer this time, and took my hand.

"Fine. I guess I'm tipsy enough for this. Barely."

I laughed, pulling her out onto the dancefloor behind me. Tipsy or not, I usually enjoyed making a fool of myself on the dancefloor, and it turned out to be even better with Nat's hand in mine, the two of us spinning in and out of each other's arms.

The rest of the wedding party disappeared as we lost ourselves in the music, just the two of us, breathing hard between laughs and holding each other tightly. Eventually, the music wound down from the high-energy stuff we'd been listening to, shifting to something made for slow dancing. We stuttered to a stop on the floor as couples flocked in all around us, and I looked at Nat.

She shrugged, stepping closer to me and putting her hands on my waist.

"We're supposed to be a couple too, right?"

I grinned back at her. "Damn right."

I laid my arms across Nat's shoulders and the two of us swayed back and forth on the dancefloor, the low lights sweeping over us as we moved. I couldn't take my eyes off of her, and the corner of her mouth lifted up like she'd noticed. Slowly, she leaned in, and my heart just about stopped in my chest. She rested her forehead against mine, and I sighed, half content to stay here like this with her as long as she wanted, half disappointed she hadn't been going in for a kiss.

When the music of the slow dance faded, we just stayed where we were for a long moment before finally pulling away from each other. I opened my mouth to say something, although I wasn't totally sure what yet, but before either of us got the chance to speak the music picked up again, and her closer aviator friends swarmed us on the dancefloor.

"I can't believe you got Phoenix out to dance!" called Fanboy, grinning as he threw one arm over her shoulder, jumping up and down to the beat. Natasha tried to duck his arm, presumably to ditch the dancefloor, but Fanboy knew her well enough that he managed to stop her. I gave them a half-hearted smile, then took the opportunity myself to slip away from the crowd.

I knew Nat probably would've wanted me making up a girlfriend excuse to get her out of there. Normally I would've helped her, but that moment on the dancefloor before her friends showed up had felt so real, and I needed to take a moment to remind myself that it wasn't.

I ducked and weaved through the crowd with relative ease, since only Nat's close friends would've recognized me and they were all out on the dancefloor. I made my way to the bar, not even ordering, just leaning against it for a second. Enough other people hovered around that it'd be hard to spot me amongst the crowd, but I could still see Nat out on the dancefloor, laughing and smiling even as she shook her head and tried to tell her friends to get lost.

I was in love with her. Her attitude, confidence, strength, wit. The way she smiled at me when I said something funny or called Hangman "Bagman" even though I barely knew him and had no reason (other than loyalty to Nat) to use the nickname. I was in love with her, and I had been for a long time, but after tonight, I wasn't going to be able to ignore it anymore. This night had been a mistake.

"Hey! You want a drink?"

I reluctantly turned to face the person shouting in my ear only to find Rooster, one of Natasha's best friends, leaning over to talk to me, his shirt unbuttoned and his tie around his head.

"Uh... that's okay," I said. "I think I'm good."

"You sure? You made me a lot of money tonight!"

I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow at him, but he was drunk enough that he didn't get the hint. He turned and quickly snagged two bottles of beer from the bartender, who had to explain to Rooster that it was an open bar and he didn't need to pay, before Rooster finally turned back to me with a grin.

"Want one of these?"

"No," I said, gently pushing aside the bottle he offered me as I took a step forward. "Rooster, what do you mean I made you a lot of money tonight?"

"Technically you and Phoenix! Everybody kept betting that you guys weren't going to figure out your shit for another month at least, but I had faith-"

"Bradley, what the hell are you talking about?"

"You guys!" he said, motioning emphatically with the beers in his hands between me and the dancefloor, where Nat had been cajoled into enjoying at least one song. "Finally getting together! After hearing her wax poetic about how great you are since the day you guys met, we started taking bets on when she'd finally do something about it. And I won! So, thanks!"

"Hold on..." I reached out, taking Rooster's arm to steady myself. The room had started spinning around me, and it had nothing to do with alcohol. "Roos, what are you saying? What do you mean, Nat's been talking about me since the day we met?"

"Ah, I probably shouldn't have told you," he said, shaking his head and at last lowering his voice to normal volume, although it was still far from a whisper. "But it's probably fine now, since you're dating. God, she used to drive us all crazy talking about how great you were and how much of a thing she had for you. It's probably gonna get worse now though, since you guys finally admitted you were pining after each other- Hey, where are you going?"

I ignored Rooster as I headed back to the dance floor, a buzzing in my brain as his words echoed. He was clearly drunk, but if anything, that made me more confident that what he'd told me was the truth. The whole time I'd been driving myself crazy trying not to admit feelings for one of my best friends, she'd been doing the same thing.

Before I knew it, I stood in front of Natasha again. The music still thumped, people laughing and jumping and twirling all around us, but I barely noticed. Nat stood to one side of Fanboy, with Bob on his other side, the two of them holding him up as he attempted to drag them both into a dance, so it took Nat a minute to notice me. But once she did, she straightened up.

"Hey, are you okay?"

I nodded, taking a step closer to her.

"Rooster spilled his guts. You like me. For real."

Shock registered on her face, then straight rage as she whipped her head around to look for Rooster. I just grinned, pushing Fanboy's arm off her as I closed the rest of the distance between us.

"Nat. I like you, too. For real."

She whipped her head back around so quickly that she almost broke my nose. Her wide eyes searched mine, one eyebrow raised.

"Are you kidding?"

"Hell no I'm not kidding. Nat... can I kiss you?"

She grinned, any trace of trepidation or irritation melting away all at once.

"Hell yeah you can."

I grinned back, letting my hand come up to the back of her neck as I leaned in and finally, finally kissed Natasha. She wrapped an arm tightly around my waist, pulling me closer to her as we deepened the kiss. Some cheers and whoops from her friends snapped us both out of it enough to finally pull away, both of us smiling delirious-looking smiles.

"I'm so glad you asked me to be your date to this, Nat," I breathed, letting my arms fall to rest on her shoulders. Her hands came onto my waist, her smile turning into more of a grin.

"Me too. Although, I am looking forward to an opportunity for a real date, without my idiot friends in range or any other people trying to hit on me."

"Sounds great. How about... tomorrow night?"

Nat threw her head back and laughed, but when she met my eyes again and saw me looking as serious as ever, she grinned again.

"Alright. Tomorrow night it is."

"I can't wait."

****************

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Top Gun Taglist: @elenavampire21

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