#for not drawing ANY of these guys in ages they looks kinda good | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aceyalonso · 6 days

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we're both winners, sweetheart - LEWIS HAMILTON

pairing : lewis hamilton x fem!reader | READ PART 1 HERE

summary : Y/n and Lewis going through the typical struggles of marriage (or in other words, the struggle of keeping up the charade of being married)

warnings : THE ANNOUNCEMENT IN THE STORY IS FAKE!!! swearing, kinda angsty, drinking, nail-biting, talking about sex (nothing too detailed), discussions of raising a family, 11-year age gap (reader is 28 years old), smut, hair pulling, unintentional overstimulation, choking, unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!)

face claim - gracie abrams

word count : 18.6k

song : agora hills - doja cat

a/n : this isn't proofread and SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, I WAS DEALING WITH SO MUCH PERSONAL STUFF OMG (this was supposed to be fore my 300 followers celebration thing | i might make a separate series for lyka and lando…………………………

July 8, Monday, 7:09 AM

Toto Wolff sits behind his desk, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern. Y/n and Lewis sit on the other side, both looking a bit sheepish and on edge. Toto looks at them, a moment of awkward silence hanging in the air before he finally speaks. "So," he begins, his voice cautious. "I have to say, this is... quite a situation you've gotten yourselves into."

Lewis clears his throat, his gaze meeting Toto's. "Yeah, we kind of... didn't see this coming," he admits, a hint of humor in his tone. "It was a very unexpected development, to say the least."

Y/n fidgets in her seat, her fingers massaging her forehead. She glances at Toto, his expression still unreadable. She tries to sound calm and rational, but her voice betrays her nervousness. "We weren't... fully sober when it happened," she offers lamely, as if it's an excuse.

Toto's eyebrow quirks at this revelation, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "Not fully sober," he repeats, his tone heavy with incredulity. "You got married... not fully sober?"

Lewis grimaces slightly at the bluntness of his words but doesn't deny it. "That... that's correct," he affirms, his voice a bit strained. "We were both a bit... impaired when we tied the knot, let's put it that way."

Toto rubs his forehead, seeming to struggle with how to respond to this information. He gathers himself and looks at them again, his expression more somber now. "And what exactly were you doing that led to this... marriage?" he asks, his tone slightly stern.

Lewis and Y/n exchange a glance, both knowing the answer will likely not help their case. Lewis speaks up first, his voice a bit sheepish. "We, ah... we were at a club. A very lively club, if you understand."

Toto leans forward in his chair, expression now a mix of thoughtfulness and strategy. "Okay," he says, "this is clearly a situation that will need some serious damage control if it gets out. We'll need the PR team to make something, anything to spin this in a way that... minimizes the impact on your image, Lewis, and the teams' reputation."

Y/n coughs, breaking the silence in the room and drawing everyone's attention. She clears her throat, feeling a bit awkward under the weight of Toto and Lewis' gazes. "Um, forgive me," she apologizes, her voice a bit hoarse. "But what... what are you suggesting?"

Toto's eyes shift to her, his expression still calculating. "Well, we need to control the narrative," he explains. "We need to get ahead of any potential media storm and craft a story that… makes this look less like a drunken mistake and more like a… a romantic love story, perhaps."

Lewis can't help but scoff slightly at this, his mouth tugging into a wry smile. "A romantic love story, huh?" he muses, skepticism in his tone. "Do you really think anyone's going to believe that?"

Toto's gaze hardens at Lewis' flippant comment. "At this point, any narrative is better than the truth," he says, his voice firm. "We need to protect your image, Lewis, and the team's reputation. We need to control the damage, and that means spinning this in a way that… makes you both look as good as possible."

Y/n mutters under her breath as Toto and Lewis continue their discussion, unable to hide her growing concern. "My dad is going to kill me," she whispers, her voice a mixture of dread and resignation. She imagines her father's reaction to this news, the fury and disappointment in his eyes.

She finally speaks up, her mind turning to her own interests in this situation. "Wait," she interjects, cutting into Lewis and Toto's discussion. They both turn to her, surprised. "If we're going to go along with this… PR plan, I want something out of it too."

Toto and Lewis look at her, a bit taken aback by her unexpected request. Toto quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "And what is it you want, exactly?" he asks, his tone a mix of curiosity and caution.

Y/n takes a deep breath, her mind racing as she formulates her request. "I want this to benefit me too," she says, her tone firm but tentative. "I don't just want to be a pawn in this charade. I want my own image to be protected, and… I want it to have a positive impact on my future, on my family's company."

Toto and Lewis exchange glances, both surprised but also understanding the logic in her request. Lewis turns to her with slight admiration, a small smile playing on his lips. "That's… very practical of you," he says, his voice carrying a hint of respect.

Y/n's response is matter-of-fact, and her expression is a mix of determination and practicality. "Business is business," she repeats, her tone resolute. "If we're going to play this game, we might as well use it to our advantage, right?"

Toto nods slightly, appreciating her mercenary approach. "You're not wrong," he concedes, a grudging respect in his voice. "If we can use this situation to our mutual benefit, then perhaps it won't be a total disaster."

Lewis looks at Y/n, a gleam of admiration in his eyes at her business-mindedness. "You've got guts," he remarks, a smirk playing on his lips. "I can respect that."

Y/n chuckles a bit at his comment, the humor beginning to shine through despite the seriousness of their situation. "Well," she says with a small laugh, "if you want to get technical, that is one reason we got married, isn't it?"

Toto glares at Y/n, his gaze is stern and reprimanding. Y/n's eyes widen in response, and she immediately feels a pang of regret, realizing she has spoken out of turn. She mutters a quick "Sorry, too soon," her voice a whisper as she shrinks down in her seat.

Toto sighs, his expression softening slightly. "Let's remain professional, please," he reminds her, his tone a bit weary. "We need you to be present at the next Grand Prix, okay? Because by then we'll have the PR statement announced. Lewis can send you the details."

Y/n nods, a bit chastened but also understanding. "Okay," she apologizes again, her voice sincere. "I'll check my schedule if I'm free on... whatever day that is."

Toto nods in acknowledgment, his expression is still weary but slightly less stern. He turns his attention back to Lewis and continues the discussion, the mood in the room now more serious and focused.

With the focus of the conversation now shifted to Lewis and Toto, Y/n pulls out her phone, sensing that she isn't needed in the immediate discussion. She scrolls through her phone, trying to distract herself from the ongoing conversation. Occasionally, she glances up, listening to bits and pieces of the talk, but mostly just biding her time.

Y/n scrolls through her Twitter feed, her eyes scanning over the various news and Tweets. Suddenly, something catches her eye, causing her to stand up from her seat and exclaim a surprised curse word.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Y/n exclaims, her voice laced with disbelief and shock. She stares down at her phone, the blood draining from her face as she processes whatever she has just seen.

Toto and Lewis' heads snap in her direction at the outburst. They look at her, startled and alarmed by her reaction. Toto's brow furrows in concern, and he asks, "What is it? What's wrong?"

Y/n holds out her phone to Toto, her face still etched with shock and disbelief. Toto takes the phone from her, his eyes widening as he looks at the screen. Lewis leans over to look as well, his expression turning serious as he reads whatever is on the screen.

Toto's jaw clenches as he looks at the image, his expression hard and guarded. He glances at Y/n, then back at the phone screen, seeming to be processing the implications of this photo.

Lewis shakes his head, his jaw clenching in annoyance. "That's just perfect," he mutters sarcastically. "As if we didn't have enough to deal with already."

Toto continues scrolling through the tweet and reading comments from fans and media alike. He pauses, seeing several comments speculating that the woman in the photo is actually Y/n. His expression darkens with concern as he reads these comments.

He glances at Y/n, then at Lewis, and sighs deeply. "This is really bad," he says, his voice a low grumble. "If people start connecting the dots… we're going to have a PR nightmare on our hands."

Y/n is silently freaking out, her mind racing with thoughts and worries. She gnaws anxiously on her nails, a nervous habit she has when feeling overwhelmed.

Toto notes her distress but focuses on the practicalities of the situation for the moment, exchanging a few more words with Lewis.

Toto and Lewis quietly discuss the next steps, trying to come up with a damage control plan. Toto occasionally glances at Y/n, noticing her anxious behavior, but doesn't interrupt his conversation with Lewis for the moment.

Y/n suddenly pipes up, interrupting Toto and Lewis' conversation. "Wait," she interjects, her tone a bit frenzied. "What if we lied? What if… what if we said we've been married for almost a year? Like, we got married during the winter break?"

Toto's expression softens slightly as he contemplates Y/n's idea. "It's a possibility," he muses, his voice measured. "Getting married during the off-season would make sense, given the hectic schedule of the drivers. It would be more logical that Lewis would take time off for a wedding rather than a drunken elopement."

Lewis nods, seeing the logic in Y/n's suggestion. "It could work," he agrees, his tone less skeptical than before. "It would at least make the whole situation seem less impulsive and foolish, and more like… a planned commitment."

Y/n continues to gnaw anxiously on her nails, her eyes flitting between Toto and Lewis as she waits for them to make a decision. The weight of the situation, the impending lie they are about to concoct, hangs heavily on her mind.

Toto notices her distress but is still wrapped up in the discussion with Lewis, he decides to address it once they have a plan. "Let's work out the details," he says, his tone business-like. "We need to make sure our story is ironclad, and our timelines line up."

He turns to Y/n, his expression stern but not unsympathetic. "And I suggest you stop chewing on your nails," he remarks matter-of-factly. "We'll need to present a united, calm front, and that doesn't include nervous fidgeting."

Though Y/n stops biting her nails as Toto advises, her anxiety doesn't diminish. She transfers her nervous energy to her palms, starting to scratch and pick nervously at the skin, leaving slight crescent-shaped marks.

Toto notices her new anxious habit but doesn't address it directly at the moment. He and Lewis continue their discussion, fine-tuning the details of the lie they are going to spin. The atmosphere in the room remains tense, but there seems to be a rough plan coming together.

As the meeting draws to a close, Toto excuses himself to take a call from the head of PR. He motions for Y/n and Lewis to wait, and they remain silent in Toto's office as he steps out to take the call.

When Toto returns, he appears even more tense than before. He bids both Y/n and Lewis a rushed farewell, as he needs to deal with the situation with the head of PR. The two of them are left standing in the office, the atmosphere heavy with the weight of the day's events.

Lewis glances at Y/n, her face slightly pale and tired from the stress of the situation. He can tell that she's still anxious and tense, and he reaches out to gently squeeze her hand, offering a small gesture of comfort. "Hey," he says in a soft voice, "it's going to be okay. We're… we're going to get through this."

Y/n looks up at him, her eyes weary and full of worry. She tries to force a small smile, appreciating his attempt at reassurance. "I hope so," she replies, her voice a bit shaky. "I just… I hope we can pull this off. The lie…"

Lewis nods in understanding. "I know," he says, his tone sympathetic. "It's a lot to take on. But we don't have many options at this point. If we don't control the narrative, someone else will, and…" he trails off, the implication clear.

Y/n nods, knowing that he's right. "I get it," she mutters, her voice laced with resignation. "I just… I didn't sign up for all this, you know? All this… lying, and spinning stories, and… pretending."

Y/n lets out a humorless chuckle, her voice resigned. "You're telling me," she says sarcastically. "I didn't even sign up for this marriage, not while I was sober at least... and now I have to lie about it, pretend it was pre-planned, and… play the part of the dutiful wife."

She shakes her head, the absurdity of the situation weighing heavily on her shoulders. "It's just… surreal," she continues her tone a mix of disbelief and frustration. "A few days ago, I was a private person, living my life, and now I'm suddenly… a married woman, the center of a media shitstorm, and I'm expected to lie about it all like it's no big deal."

As they walk down the halls, Y/n is still somewhat zoned out, her mind preoccupied with the stresses and worries of the day. Lewis is right beside her, his hand occasionally on her lower back, providing silent moral support. They pass by other team members and staff, and more than a few curious glances and whispers follow them, aware of the situation unfolding but unwilling to speak openly.

They reach the parking lot, and Lewis turns to Y/n, his expression concerned. "Do you want me to drive you home?" he asks gently, his tone sincere. "You look exhausted."

Y/n nods, her fatigue clearly visible in her eyes and demeanor. "Yeah," she replies, her voice a weary whisper. "That would be great, thanks. I'm… I'm feeling pretty wiped out."

Lewis nods in understanding and leads her towards his car. The trip to her home is mostly silent, both of them too emotionally drained to talk much. Lewis occasionally glances at her, checking if she is okay. Y/n just gazes out the window, her thoughts far away.

He follows the directions given by Y/n to her apartment. The car ride is quiet, neither of them speaking much due to the weight of the situation on their minds. Once they arrive at her apartment, Lewis parks the car but doesn't immediately get out. Instead, he turns to her, his expression a mixture of worry and concern.

Lewis watches as Y/n unbuckles her seatbelt and reaches for the door handle. Before she can open the door, he turns to her and asks, "You're going to be okay, right? You'll be okay alone? I can stay with you if you want."

Y/n offers a weary smile, touched by Lewis's concern. "I… I'll be fine," she assures him, her voice soft but strained. "You don't need to stay. I just… need some time to process all this. Alone."

Lewis accepts her decision to be alone, though his expression remains worried. "Okay," he says softly, "Take care of yourself, alright? And… call me if you need anything. Anytime, okay?"

She nods slightly, appreciating his offer. "Thanks, I will," she replies. "I'll… I'll be fine. I just need a bit of space to clear my head."

Y/n exits the car, her movements slow and weary. The weight of the situation seems to hang heavily on her shoulders as she stands outside her apartment, looking up at the building.

Lewis watches her from the driver's seat, a mixture of concern and sadness on his face. He waits a moment to make sure she gets inside safely before driving off.

July 8, Monday, 10:37 AM

As Y/n begins to unlock her apartment door, she hears the familiar sound of her cat meowing on the other side. The sound is both a comfort and a further reminder of her responsibilities, and she feels a pang of fondness mixed with exhaustion.

After unlocking the door, she pushes it open and is immediately met with the soft sound of her cat rubbing against her legs, meowing for attention. Y/n bends down and scoops up the cat in her arms, holding it close to her chest, seeking comfort in its presence.

She holds her cat “Extra Virgin Olive Oil” (“Evoo” for short) close, the familiar warmth and weight of her furry companion a soothing presence. The ridiculousness of the name, a result of yet another drunken decision, momentarily brings a bittersweet smile to her lips.

Y/n walks into the apartment, closing the door behind her and making her way to the living room. She sits down on the couch, setting her bag on the floor before setting Evoo down on her lap and gently stroking his white fur. The soothing motion and rhythmic purring of the cat help to calm her tumultuous thoughts.

As Y/n sits on the couch, gently stroking her cat, she begins to speak to him in a soft, quiet voice. Although it’s not unusual for people to talk to their pets, there’s an undertone of vulnerability in her words, unloading her worries to a receptive but silent companion.

“Hi, baby,” she begins, her voice laced with exhaustion. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had.” She continues to idly pet the cat in her lap, the gentle motion seeming to soothe her as much as her cat. “I… I’ve gotten myself into a real mess, you know? Things are… complicated, to say the least.”

She leans her head back against the couch, her fingers continuing to absently run through the white cat’s fur. “I know you’re just a cat, and you probably don’t understand what I’m saying. But it helps, talking to you like this. It helps to get it all out, even if you can’t talk back.”

As Y/n continues to talk, the words flow out of her in a rushed confession. “And… that’s not even the craziest, Evoo,” she murmurs, shaking her head slightly. “I got married. Can you believe that?”

Her cat, as if responding to her words, looks up at her with its large eyes, seemingly bewildered by the revelation. It tilts its head as if asking “What?!”

Y/n lets out a soft, humorless chuckle at her cat’s reaction, continuing to stroke its fur. “Yeah, I know. It’s crazy, right?” she continues, her voice still heavy with exhaustion but holding a hint of irony. “I… I got married, and I don’t even remember most of it. Isn’t that just wild?”

She pushes aside her exhaustion and moves from the couch, placing Evoo gently on the nearby rug. She then remembers to change her cat’s water bowl, her actions automatic and routine. As she fills the bowl from the kitchen sink, she glances back at her cat, still resting on the rug.

“Don’t worry, bud,” she calls out, her voice slightly less weary, “He’s… he’s a good guy. I think.”

After refilling the water bowl, Y/n returns to the living room, her mind still swirling with the day’s events. She glances at Evoo, who is now lapping up the fresh water. For a moment, she wishes her life was as simple as a cat’s, where the most pressing concern was the next meal, not an unexpected marriage and a web of lies.

Y/n rubs his head one last time before straightening up. “Alright, buddy,” she says, her tone softer now that she’s attending to her cat’s needs. “I’m going to take a bath. Be a good boy while I’m gone, alright?”

She sits in the bathtub, the water warm and comforting, surrounding her tired body in a soothing embrace. An iPad is placed on a wooden bath tray near the edge of the tub, playing a movie that she’s only partially paying attention to.

In her hand, she holds a glass of lemon water, taking small sips every now and then as she there, letting the hot water work its relaxing magic.

The scent of lavender from a bath bomb fills the room, adding to the atmosphere of calm and tranquility. However, despite the peaceful setting, Y/n’s mind remains restless, the events of the day still weighing heavily on her thoughts. Despite trying to focus on the movie, she finds her mind wandering back to the marriage, the lie, the future.

As the stream from the bath billows around her, Y/n takes another small sip from her lemon water, her mind still spinning. The bath was intended to relax her, to wash away the tension of the day, but her thoughts stubbornly refused to let her rest. She tries to force herself to watch the movie, to focus on something other than her worries, but the events of the day keep flooding back.

The heat of the bath, combined with the subtle fragrance of the lavender, should be lulling her into a tranquil state, but her mind is too chaotic, too filled with worries and regrets. She takes another sip of her lemon water, the tangy taste reminding her of the sourness she feels inside, the unease that hasn't let her go since this whole mess began.

Y/n is wrapped in a towel, her wet hair sticking to her shoulders as she steps out of her bedroom and into the living/dining space. She's surprised to see Lyka walking in with a bright smile, a stark contrast to her own weary state.

Y/n, still wrapping the towel around herself, glances up at Lyka through wet strands of hair. "You seem unusually cheerful," she remarks, her tone slightly teasing as she reaches the kitchen and sets her glass down in the sink. Evoo brushes against her leg, seeking attention, and she gives the cat a gentle pat before turning back to Lyka. "What's up?"

Lyka's eyes sparkle with excitement and a hint of pride. "The best night ever," she echoes, her smile widening. "You won't believe it, Y/n. I hooked up with the DJ."

Y/n raises her brows in surprise and recognition. "Oh, Lando?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her tone. "I saw you dancing with him at the booth last night."

Lyka blinks in surprise when Y/n says Lando's name, her excitement now mixed with a touch of curiosity. "Yeah!- Wait, how do you know his name?" she asks, her expression a mix of surprise and intrigue.

Y/n settles onto a bar stool, opening the wrapper to a small piece of chocolate. She takes a small bite of the chocolate and continues talking to Lyka as she munches on the sweet treat. "I became friends with one of Lando's friends last night," she explains, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Her playful smile fades as the memory of her marriage hits her like a ton of bricks. She chokes mid-sentence, the taste of chocolate turning bitter in her mouth. "I... um..." she stutters, her mind racing to find a way to explain.

"I... I have something to tell you," she manages to continue, her voice a bit strained. She sets the chocolate bar down, her appetite suddenly gone. "And... it's kind of a big deal. Like, a really big deal."

Lyka's expression changes as she senses the seriousness in Y/n's tone. Her eyes widened slightly, and she leaned in, her face replaced by a look of concern. "What is it?" she asks, her voice low and worried.

Y/n takes a deep breath, bracing herself for the reaction that's about to follow. "I..." she starts, her voice faltering as she struggles to find the right words. "I... I got married."

There's a moment of stunned silence as Lyka processes Y/n's confession. Her eyes widen even further, and her hand grips the countertop, her knuckles turning white. "You... you what?" she manages to stutter out, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief.

"And... it may or may not have been a friend of Lando's...." Lyka's eyes widen even further when Y/n clarifies that the person she married is a friend of Lando. "Wait..." she starts, her mind spinning with the implications. "You married one of Lando's friends? Who..."

Y/n hesitates for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She swallows hard, preparing herself for the fallout. "Lewis," she finally manages to say. "I... I married Lewis."

As Lyka tries to remember if Lando mentioned anything Lewis, a flicker of recognition appears in her eyes. "Wait..." she says, her soft soft as she recalls the conversation with Lando. "Lando mentioned something about a party of celebrate one of his friends' win. Was that Lewis?"

Y/n doesn't trust herself to speak, so she just nods in affirmation. She can see the pieces falling into place in Lyka's mind, her friend digesting the information with a mix of surprise and confusion.

Lyka lifts her hands in a gesture of disbelief, her voice filled with a mixture of amusement and incredulity. "I swear, the universe has a weird sense of humor when it comes to you and alcohol," she says, shaking her head. "Seriously, the weirdest things happen to you when you're drunk. It's like you're attracting weirdness or something."

As Y/n gets up to change, she can't help but notice that Lyka is wearing a hoodie she doesn't recognize. She decides to bring it up later, as they have plenty to discuss when they regroup in the kitchen.

"Alright, let's change and meet here in five," Y/n suggests, her tone a bit lighter now. "We'll compare our crazy nights, and you can tell me about your new hoodie too," she adds with a smile.

Lyka flushes furiously as Y/n hints at the hoodie she's wearing, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. "Oh my god, shut up," she giggles, trying to hide her embarrassment. "It's just a hoodie, okay?"

Y/n grins knowingly as she responds, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah, it's Lando's hoodie," she teases, emphasizing the name for effect. "And you're blushing like crazy."

Lyka buries her face in her hands, still blushing profusely. "Ugh, I swear, you're the worst," she groans, half-heartedly swatting at Y/n "Why do you have to point it out like that?"

Y/n laughs, enjoying the sight of her flustered friend. "Alright, alright, I'll stop teasing," she says, her voice filled with amusement. She moves towards her room, still smiling at Lyka's reaction. "You get changed, and I'll do the same. Meet you in the kitchen in five."

Y/n sits next to Lyka, a soft smile on her face. As they settle into their seats by the counter, Lyka begins recounting her night with Lando. Her cheeks are still a little flushed, betraying her excitement.

"So, about last night..." she says, her voice slightly giddy, "I had the best night ever with Lando."

Y/n takes a chip from the bowl on the counter, chewing on it as she listens to her friend's story. "Yeah?" she prompts. encouraging Lyka to continue. "Tell me more. What made it the best night ever?"

Lyka emphasizes her point, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "His hands were skilled," she repeats, her voice lowered to a whisper. "Seriously, Y/n, you have no idea. He was so fucking good."

"His touches, his moves, everything just... wow," Lyka continues, the memory clearly relived in her mind. She takes a sip of her water, her gaze distant for a moment before she focuses on Y/n. "I swear, it was like he knew exactly what to do, and how to do it."

Lyka's excitement reaches a whole new level as she starting bouncing in her seat. "Oh my god," she exclaims, her voice a mix of shock and excitement. "When he was-" She suddenly breaks off, her words catching in her throat.

She cuts off her own sentence, biting her lip as if holding back a secret. There's a mixture of delight and surprise on her face. "He... he was just-" she stammers, struggling to put the experience into words. "It was incredible," she finally manages, her voice full of awe.

Y/n listens intently, smiling at her friend's enthusiasm. She can tell that whatever Lando did, it clearly surpassed Lyka's expectations. "Incredible, huh?" she teases, raising a brow. "Sounds like Lando's got some serious skills there."

Lyka takes a moment to fan herself, the memory of her night with Lando still fresh in her mind. "Yeah... yeah I was," she says, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I was shaking like a leaf by the time it was done."

She looks down at her hands as if reliving the sensation. "It was tense," she adds, shaking her head in disbelief. "Like, seriously intense. I don't think I could have handled much more."

Lyka lets out a shaky breath, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief in her voice. "Yeah," she replies, her face still flushed. "He just... he just kept going, even when I thought I couldn't take anymore. It was... it was too much, but in the best way possible, you know?"

She takes another sip of her water, her body still feeling the after-effects of Lando's touches. "He knew exactly what he was doing," she adds, a hint of admiration in her voice. "I've never experienced anything like it before."

Y/n can't resist teasing a little more, a sly smile on her face. "Well," she says, raising a brow, "Maybe Lando was just making up for the disappointing performance your ex put on."

Lyka, still flushed and giggling, enthusiastically agrees with Y/n's assessment. "ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY!" she exclaims, her voice loud and clear. "Lando was the complete opposite of my ex. He made up for that shitshow tenfold."

She takes a moment to catch her breath, her face still glowing. She can't help but gush about Lando's attributes, her voice filled with awed excitement. "I swear, he was HUGE," she says, her voice filled with excitement.

Y/n laughs, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. "Shh, shh, keep it down," she shushes her friend, laughing as she glances toward the wall shared with their neighbors. "The whole building doesn't need to know about Lando's... size."

Lyka, still caught up in the memory of her night with Lando, continues to rave about his skills and his 'size' ''I don't even know how to describe it," she gushes, her voice filled with admiration. "There's just... no comparison. Lando's in a league of his own."

She's so caught up in her praise that she practically glows. "I never knew it could be like that," she admits, her flushed cheeks a clear indication of her satisfaction. "He knows how to handle everything."

Lyka's voice softens as she reflects on the night, her face now taking on a more tender expression. "He was so gentle and caring afterward," she says, a hint of fondness in her tone. "It was like he knew exactly what I needed."

Y/n, curious about the tender side of Lando, asks how exactly he was caring after their night together. Lyka's expression softens even more as she continues. "He was really sweet," she explains. "He held me close, and told me how amazing I was. Kept asking if I was okay, and if I needed anything. Just really took care of me, you know?"

"Oh, and he left me a shit ton of hickeys too," Lyka mentions, causing Y/n to involuntarily spit out her drink in surprise. Y/n's eyes widen as Lyka casually mentions that detail. She was taking a sip of her drink at the same moment, causing her to almost choke on the liquid, spurting it out in surprise. "Hickeys?" she exclaims, her voice slightly strained. "Lando gave you hickeys?"

Lyka grins widely, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She shifts the collar of her shirt to reveal several small, purplish marks on her collarbone and neck. "Yeah," she says, her voice a bit smug. "He marked me up, good."

Lyka lets out a cheeky giggle, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, yeah," she confirms, her voice slightly lower. "He left some on my thighs too, but Lando said those were for his eyes only."

Y/n can't help but stare at her friend in disbelief. Her mouth is still slightly agape, her eyes wide as she processes the information. "For his eyes only, huh?" she manages to say, her voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.

She shakes her head, a little bemused by Lando's possessiveness. "Sounds like Lando wants to keep you all to himself," she teases, grinning. "No sharing allowed."

Lyka grins, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, absolutely," she confirms, giggling. "We made a deal. He wants to be my friend with benefits," she says, using air quotes, "And I just have to look pretty and make him feel good." She adds with a coy smile, paraphrasing Lando's words.

Lyka brightens up even more, her voice eager and excited. "Oh, and I'm going to his next race too!" she exclaims, bouncing a little in her seat. "I'll be in the McLaren garage, of course. Lando said he wants me there."

Y/n nods, a smile on her face. "I'll be there too, slightly against my will," she confirms, "But I'll be in the Mercedes garage." She glances at her friend, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. "This is gonna be fun, watching the race from opposite ends of the garage."

"So... what about your night?" Lyka asks curiously, looking at Y/n with amusement through her eyelashes.

Y/n takes a moment, her mind flashing back to the events of her night. "My night…" she muses, her voice a little dreamy. "Well, it was… eventful, to say the least."

She lets out a soft chuckle, the memory of the night still fresh in her mind. "So, I was on the dance floor, just dancing, and Lewis came up behind me," she recalls, her voice laced with a hint of excitement.

Y/n glances at Lyka before continuing, her voice taking on a wry tone. "Yeah, it was around the time you went to dance with Lando," she says, clearly amused by the coincidence. "Lewis just appeared out of nowhere, tapped me on the shoulder, and we started dancing."

She smiles, her cheeks slightly flushed as she describes the night. "We were talking, flirting a bit," she says, her voice holding a hint of excitement. "He bought me drinks at the bar, and we just… connected, I guess."

Y/n lets out a light laugh, her cheeks flushing a little at the memory. "Yeah, so… eventually… we may have found a secluded spot and, you know, things got a bit heated," she explains, a coy smile playing on her lips. "And I may or may not have told him I'd marry him as a joke."

She shakes her head, still amused by the audacity of her own words. "I don't even know where it came from," she says. "Just a spur-of-the-moment thing, you know? A little drunken banter."

Y/n continues, her voice filled with amusement. "Well, Lewis just chuckled when I said it," she recounts. "I mean, he knew I was just joking, right? But then he just… playfully agreed, you know? Like, he said something like, 'Sure, why not? Let's get hitched.' It was all just goofing around, really."

Y/n sees the look on Lyka's face and knows her friend is judging her, but it's in a friendly way. She laughs, shaking her head. "Hey, don't give me that look," she says, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. "It was just a joke, you know that, right?"

Lyka gives Y/n a sly smile, her voice filled with mock disbelief. "A joke that turned into an actual marriage," she repeats, her tone dripping with cheeky sarcasm. "Wow, I hope Lewis doesn't mind waking up to your morning breath every day."

Y/n playfully smacks Lyka's arm, laughing. "Hey, my morning breath isn't that bad," she protests, her voice light with feigned offense.

She then swats at Lyka again, her smile broadening. "And for the record, I would make an amazing wife," she boasts, her voice half-joking, half-serious.

Y/n straightens her shoulders, posing theatrically. "I'd be, like, the perfect trophy wife. I'd look good standing next to Lewis during his press conferences and podium interviews."

Lyka laughs out loud at Y/n's confident declaration. "Oh my god," she snickers, her voice filled with mirth. "You're actually picturing yourself as a trophy wife? Standing there, looking pretty while Lewis talks about racing strategy and tire compounds?"

Y/n grins, raising a brow at Lyka. "And what about you?" she asks a hint of challenge in her voice. "Can you see yourself doing the same for Lando? Standing there, looking gorgeous, while he talks about car setup and track conditions?"

Lyka nods with conviction, a sparkle in her eyes. "Absolutely, yes," she affirms. "I can totally picture myself looking all cute and pretty, with a whole wardrobe of amazing outfits courtesy of Lando's earnings. It's all about the perks, you know?"

She grins mischievously. "Besides, watching Lando on the track, all focused and intense, and then coming home to spoil me rotten? Sounds pretty damn good to me."

Y/n nods, her lips curving into a smile. "You know what, you have a point there," she admits, her voice laced with a touch of envy. "Getting to watch Lewis race, all focused and competitive, and then having him come home and… well, show me just how much he appreciates me… yeah, I could get used to that."

She quirks an eyebrow, glancing at the calendar. "Alright, when's the next race again?" she asks, her voice slightly impatient. "I need to check if I'm free that day, cause Toto- his team principal, I believe? said that I have to be there. Some PR bullshit."

Y/n pulls out her phone, quickly searching for the race schedule. "Lemme see," she murmurs, scrolling through her screen. "There we go. The next race is two weeks from now... Let's see… yep, I'm free that day."

She puts her phone away, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "All clear," she affirms. "I'll be there, cheering on Lewis every lap of the way."

Lyka smirks, her voice dripping with playfully sarcastic praise. "Oh, you're such a good wife," she teases. "Making sure you're always available to support your husband's racing career. That's true devotion right there."

Y/n laughs, returning the teasing with a sly grin. "And what about you?" she asks, raising a brow. "Ready to be Lando's arm candy, showing off all those designer outfits he'll buy you?"

Lyka nods vigorously, her face already picturing the fancy outfits she'd wear. "Oh, absolutely," she declares, her voice oozing with enthusiasm. "I'm so ready to be Lando's arm candy, strutting around in all the gorgeous designer outfits he'll spoil me with."

Lyka takes a moment to swallow her chip and then adds, "And hey, speaking of Lando's stuff, I actually need to return that hoodie he lent me. Gotta make sure he gets it back."

She grins mischievously. "Although, maybe I'll 'accidentally' keep it a day or two longer just to remind him of me."

Y/n tsks, shaking her head in mock disapproval. "Oh, wow," she chuckles, her tone laced with feigned surprise. "That's such harlot behavior, keeping a guy's hoodie just to remind him of yourself."

Lyka looks at Y/n in exaggerated shock, her mouth dropping open in mock offense. "Harlot? Really?" she exclaims, her voice filled with laughter. "Out of all the words you could've chosen, you went with harlot! That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

Y/n shrugs, unable to keep a straight face. "What? It fits!" she replies, her voice laced with mirth. "You're deliberately keeping his hoodie longer just to keep his attention on you. If that isn’t harlot behavior, then I don't know what is."

Lyka rolls her eyes dramatically, a playful grin on her face. "Oh, please," she exclaims, batting her eyelashes dramatically. "It's not harlot behavior, it's strategic flirting. There's a difference."

Y/n chuckles, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay," she concedes, her voice still tinged with laughter. "You can call it whatever you want. Strategic flirting, friendly teasing, whatever floats your boat."

July 8, Monday, 4:51 PM

Y/n is in the middle of preparing dinner, peeling potatoes and chopping veggies, when her phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number. She glances down at it curiously, setting down her knife for a moment.

After a few moments, Y/n finishes replying to Lewis' message, a small smile on her face. She sets down her phone, the conversation with Lewis momentarily distracting her from her cooking preparations.

Y/n continues chopping vegetables, her hands moving deftly as she's suddenly interrupted by the sound of Lyka's phone ringing. She stops for a moment, looking up as Lyka grabs her phone.

Lyka's face lights up with surprise as she answers the phone, hearing Lando's voice on the line. "Oh! Hey, Lando," she replies, her voice already cheerful.

Y/n can't help but smile at Lyka's reaction, hearing the change in her tone. She continues chopping vegetables as she listens to Lyka's side of the conversation.

Lyka's voice is filled with excitement as she responds to Lando's question. "Yes, I'll get the tickets for the flight myself," she confirms, her voice slightly giddy. "I'll be there by Friday, no problem."

Her face flushes with a rosy hue as Lando brings up the subject of his hoodie. She lets out a soft, nervous chuckle and replies, a hint of playful charm in her voice, "Ah, about the hoodie… Well, I was actually thinking I might hang onto it a little longer."

Y/n, unable to contain her amusement, lets out a soft giggle, drawing Lyka's attention. She glances at her friend, a sly smile on her face.

Lyka continues the conversation with Lando, her voice taking on a flirtatious tone as she playfully teases him. "You know, if you miss the hoodie that much, you'll just have to come and get it from me yourself…"

Y/n stops mid-preparation, her eyes widening as she eavesdrops on Lyka's conversation. She gapes at her friend for a brief moment, surprised by the boldness of her response.

She can't help but chuckle to herself, thinking, "Lyka's really turning on the charm. Lando's going to be all over her when he gets that hoodie back…"

Lyka continues the conversation, her voice dropping to a sultry tone. "It seems like you miss this hoodie more than you miss me, if you're that desperate to get your hoodie back, maybe we should meet up tomorrow…"

Lyka smiles widely as Lando agrees to meet up the next day. "Great, I'll send you my address in a moment," she replies, her voice a mix of anticipation. "I need to go now, though. But I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

Y/n watches the exchange with a mixture of amusement and surprise. She can't help but shake her head in disbelief as Lyka ends the call, a cheeky smile on her face.

"Wow," Y/n says, her voice filled with admiration. "You really have Lando wrapped around your finger, don't you?"

Lyka grins, her cheeks still flushed with a hint of a blush. "What can I say? I have my ways of persuasion," she replies, a coy smirk on her face.

Y/n laughs at Lyka's response, amused by her friend's confidence. She continues preparing dinner, adding the ingredients to the pot and stirring it together in the pot, her mind temporarily preoccupied as she focuses on her cooking task. The kitchen emits a warm, savory aroma, the spices blending together to create a mouthwatering scent.

Y/n is suddenly interrupted by the sound of Lyka spitting out her tea, accompanied by an annoyed meow from Evoo. She looks up, slightly startled, setting down her spoon to look over at her friend.

"Whoa, what happened?" Y/n asks, looking at Lyka, who's wiping her mouth with a napkin. Her eyes move to the cat, who's also looking slightly grumpy from the unexpected spray.

Lyka, still catching her breath, quickly points at Y/n's phone, which is on the kitchen counter. "Check your Instagram," she says urgently, a hint of excitement in her voice.

Y/n grabs her phone from the kitchen counter, a look of curiosity on her face. She swipes through her notifications and opens Instagram, as per Lyka's instruction.

Y/n scans through her Instagram timeline and her heart skips a beat as she catches the first article. The statement from Mercedes about her marriage to Lewis is plastered right on her screen. She reads through it, disbelief and surprise etched across her face.

mercedesf1

liked by lewishamilton, george_russell, lyka.val and 563,447 others mercedesamgf1 Following the recent victory at Silverstone, unauthorized images of one of our drivers and his private life have been leaked. We respect our driver’s privacy and are addressing the situation with the seriousness it deserves. Here’s Toto’s reaction to the matter.

user44 HE'S WHAT? FOR HOW LONG?

lewishamiltonfan446427 who the fuck is y/n.... ↳ george.jpg i just searched her up, she used to be a model! she's still active on social media so it isn't that hard to find her account

mercluvr I'M SORRY???

nepobbylver ms rabbit has fainted.

y/nfan1 I'M GOING INSANE??????????????????????????

lewis.hamiltons.gf does this mean i have to change my username...?

y/nfan2 WHEN DID THEY MEET WHAT

y/nfan3 WHEN WHERE WHAT HOW WHEN HUH

rockstarlewis this is some 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 shit dude

wtfmerc so it WAS y/n

A mix of emotions floods through her as she continues reading. She feels a wave of shock, followed by a pang of confusion. Y/n grips her phone tighter, her eyes glued to the words on the screen.

Y/n looks up from her phone, her voice quivering with surprise and a hint of concern. "I didn't know they were releasing this statement today," she replies, her words tinged with a mixture of confusion and anxiety.

Her voice becomes more frantic, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. "It was just an idea I pitched! The whole 'married for 6 months' thing- it wasn't supposed to be taken seriously, not this soon at least!"

She paces around the kitchen, her heart pounding with worry and uncertainty. "I never thought they'd actually make a statement about it without speaking to me first," she mutters, her voice betraying her growing anxiety.

As Y/n continues to pace anxiously, biting on her nails, Lyka takes action. She stands up from the counter and gently grasps Y/n's shoulders, trying to anchor her in the moment.

"Hey, hey," Lyka says in a soothing tone. "Take a deep breath, okay? Panicking isn't going to help the situation."

Y/n nods, trying to steady her racing thoughts. She takes a few deep breaths, letting the air fill her lungs and gradually slowing down her frenzied heartbeat.

Y/n is snapped out of her anxious thoughts as her phone rings loudly in her hand, jolting her back to reality. She glances down at the screen, wondering who could be calling her at this moment.

Her eyes widen as she sees her father's name on the caller ID. She stares at the screen for a moment, her mind swirling with thoughts. Taking another deep breath, she swipes to answer the call.

"Hello?" she says, her voice slightly shaky as she brings the phone to her ear.

She listens intently as her father's voice comes through the other end of the line, waiting anxiously for whatever he has to say. Y/n's father's voice is stern but concerned. "Y/n," he begins, "Have you seen the statement released by Mercedes?"

Y/n holds the phone a little tightly, her heart rate increasing again. "Dad," she begins, "Yes, I just saw it on Instagram. But listen, it's not what it seems-"

Her father's voice cuts her off, filled with disbelief and disappointment. "Not what it seems? It says you've been married to Lewis for 6 months. Explain that."

Y/n hesitates for a moment, her mind racing to come up with a viable explanation. Feeling cornered, she decides to go along with the lie, knowing that the truth will lead to even more disappointment and shame from her father.

"Okay, okay," she says, her voice quivering slightly. "Yes, it's true we got married. But Dad, please understand, it wasn't a spur-of-the-moment thing. We wanted to keep it quiet, that's why we didn't tell anyone right away…"

Y/n listens to her father's scolding, her heart sinking further with each question. "I know, I know," she responds, her voice filled with guilt and remorse. "I should have told you sooner. But Dad, you have to understand, Lewis and I wanted to keep things private at first. The public attention can be overwhelming, and we wanted to enjoy our newlywed bliss in peace…"

Y/n feels a lump form in her throat as she hears the disappointment in her father's voice. This is a first for her—she's never had to lie to her father before, and the guilt starts to weigh heavily on her heart. Fresh tears well up in her eyes, but she tries to maintain her composure on the phone.

Lyka sees the tears in Y/n's eyes and immediately takes notice, her face filled with concern. She walks over to her friend and starts rubbing her back soothingly, a silent show of support and solidarity.

Y/n's father continues to press, his tone slightly more subdued now, "And when can we meet Lewis? Your mother deserves to meet him as soon as possible. We can't just be finding out about your husband on social media, for goodness sake!"

Y/n swallows hard, the weight of the lie becoming more palpable. She racks her brain for an answer, trying to come up with a believable timeframe. "Uh, well, we're actually not together right now... he's still... with his family...," she says, her voice still shaky. "Maybe… Maybe this week? Or when their summer break begins?"

Her father remains silent for a moment, mulling over the proposed timeline. "Very well," he finally responds, his voice still edged with disappointment. "We'll plan something for next week then. I expect a proper introduction and explanation. No more secrets, understood?"

Y/n nods, even though her father can't see her. "Yes, Dad, understood. No more secrets," she mutters, her voice tinged with a mix of guilt and resignation.

After the call ends, Y/n closes her phone, a deep sigh escaping her lips. The weight of the lie and the disappointment from her father hang heavily on her shoulders. She feels like a guilty teenager all over again.

Lyka sees the distress etched on Y/n's face and quickly strides over to her, wrapping her arms around her in a comforting hug. "It's going to be okay," she whispers softly, trying to soothe her friend's troubled heart.

Y/n takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts and trying to rein in her emotions. She then looks over at Lyka, a newfound determination etched on her face. "I need to let Lewis know about the situation with my father," she says, her voice steadying slightly.

She swiftly opens her phone and navigates to Lewis' contact. She knows she needs to inform him about the recent turn of events. Her fingers grip the phone tighter as she starts typing a message to him.

Y/n closes her phone and sighs, her body still feeling the emotional toll from the conversation with her father. Seeing that Lyka has taken over the cooking, Y/n moves to a nearby chair and plops down, still mulling over the recent developments.

While sitting on the chair, she takes a moment to mentally process everything that has happened. Her mind is filled with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions - the lie, the need to maintain the facade, the guilt of deceiving her father, and the impending meeting with Lewis and her parents.

July 14th, 5:34 PM

The two sit in the car, the engine idling in the driveway of Y/n's childhood home. The atmosphere in the car is tense, and both of them are dreading the upcoming meeting with Y/n's parents.

She takes a deep breath, stealing a glance at Lewis before speaking up. "Okay, here's the plan," she begins, her voice a mixture of conviction and anxiety.

Y/n goes over the 'story' again, recapping the timeline of their 'relationship.' "We met during my vacation- your Christmas break of 2022, and became friends for about two months before you started courting me for three more months," she reminds Lewis. "We started dating after that, dated for five months, got engaged for around two months, and then got married in mid-January. Got it?"

Lewis nods, taking in the timeline and details of their fictional relationship. He's clearly trying to commit everything to memory, fully aware of the importance of maintaining a consistent story in front of Y/n's parents.

Y/n takes another deep breath, her hand fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "Just remember, the key is to stay consistent and make it believable," she adds, her voice a tad shakier than before.

Lewis reaches out and takes Y/n's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We can do this," he says, his voice filled with determination and reassurance. "We just have to stick to the story and not let our nerves get the better of us."

Y/n nods, reassured by Lewis' words and the gentle squeeze of his hand. "You're right," she says, her voice steadier now. "Stick to the story, stay cool, and we'll get through this."

Lewis turns off the ignition, and the engine falls silent. Both of them unbuckle their seatbelts and get out of the car. Standing in the driveway, they take a moment to glance at each other, preparing themselves for the upcoming interaction.

Y/n's heart pounds in her chest as she and Lewis approach the front door. The familiar surroundings of her childhood home bring back a mixture of emotions—nostalgia, nervousness, and the weight of the lie they're about to perpetuate.

She reaches out and rings the doorbell, the sound echoing through the peaceful neighborhood. They wait for a few moments, the anticipation growing with each passing second.

The maid opens the door and greets Y/n and Lewis warmly. "Hello, welcome," she says with a friendly smile. "Your father is still in his study doing some paperwork and your mother is helping the chefs with the dishes. They should be finished soon."

Y/n thanks the maid and glances at Lewis, a hint of anxiety in her eyes. She leads him into the house, the familiar scent of her childhood home filling her nostrils.

She takes Lewis' hand and leads him into the living room. The spacious room is tastefully decorated with a mix of antique and modern furniture, a reflection of her family's taste and style. She guides him to a cozy sofa and motions for him to take a seat.

As they settle onto the sofa, the maid follows behind them and asks, "Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, water, perhaps?"

Y/n turns to the maid and responds, her voice a bit tense. "I'll have cold water, please. Thank you."

She then turns to Lewis, trying to keep a semblance of normalcy despite her inner turmoil. "Would you like anything, Lewis? Water, coffee, tea…?"

Lewis looks at Y/n and then at the maid and replies, "I'll have tea, please. Thank you."

As the maid exits the living room Lewis sidles closer to Y/n on the sofa, draping an arm around her in a comforting gesture. He leans in and whispers something in her ear, his voice low and barely audible to anyone else.

In a quiet voice, Lewis whispers to Y/n, "Are there any cameras in the living room?" He asks the question, his gaze subtly glancing around for any visible signs of surveillance equipment.

Y/n is slightly taken aback by Lewis' arm around her, but she collects herself quickly. In a hushed tone, she whispers back, "Yes, there are cameras. They're hidden in various spots around the room, my father has access to the cameras from his study."

Lewis places a soft kiss on Y/n's temple and then pulls her closer, his voice a low murmur. "I know, I probably should have asked for your permission before doing that, but I thought it might help our act. For all we know, your father could be watching us on those cameras at this very moment."

Y/n can feel her heart rate increase a bit at Lewis' proximity and his reasoning behind the kiss. She glances at the hidden cameras, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. She nods subtly, understanding the necessity of keeping up the act.

The two of them maintain their close position on the couch, trying to appear as a married couple who are comfortable in each other's company. Y/n glances around discreetly, wondering how her father is handling the surveillance footage.

Just as they are about to continue their conversation, the maid re-enters the living room, carrying a tray with their drinks. She sets the tray down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, placing a glass of cold water next to Y/n and a steaming cup of tea next to Lewis.

The maid arranges the drinks on the coffee table, the sound of the glass clinking against the tray cutting through the silence in the room. She then smiles politely at them before discretely exiting the living room again, leaving Y/n and Lewis alone with their beverages.

Y/n watches the maid exit, her heart rate slightly elevated. She picks up her glass and takes a small sip of water, her mind racing with a million thoughts. The sound of Lewis' tea cup being placed back on the coffee table breaks the silence, drawing her attention back to him.

As Y/n starts to bite her nail, Lewis reaches out and gently moves her hand away from her mouth, his gaze meeting hers with reassurance. "Hey," he whispers "It's going to be okay. I'm here with you, every step of the way. We'll get through this together, alright?"

The simple act of Lewis gently stopping her from biting her nail serves as a small anchor, bringing Y/n back from the edge of her nervousness. She glances at him, his steady presence offering a small sense of comfort. She nods subtly, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and anxiety.

Y/n's breathing remains somewhat labored, the anxiety still coursing through her. Lewis takes her hand in his and begins rubbing his thumb against hers, a soothing motion that seems to ease her nerves, if only a little.

As she gazes at their intertwined hands, her eyes move up to the rings and tattoos adorning Lewis' fingers. The sight of them adds another layer to their carefully crafted pretense, the evidence of her supposed marriage right there on display for anyone who looks closely enough.

Their moment is interrupted as Y/n's mother walks into the living room. Her mother's presence brings Y/n back to reality, and the nerves come rushing back. She straightens up immediately, letting go of Lewis' hand to brush off any dust on her shirt and pants.

Y/n's mother enters the living room, her eyes lighting up as she sees her daughter and Lewis sitting together on the sofa. A warm smile graces her lips as she approaches them. "Hello, you two," she greets them, her voice filled with genuine affection.

As Y/m/n approaches, Y/n rises from the sofa, her movement slightly jerky due to her nerves. She tries to force a smile, hoping to appear normal, but the tension in her body is palpable.

Lewis follows Y/n as she nods, his hand gently moving to rest on her back, a small comfort in the face of the inevitable confrontation with her father.

He extends his hand towards Y/n's mother, his demeanor is polite and friendly. "Hello, it's lovely to meet you in person," he says with a warm smile. Y/n watches the interaction, her heart thumping loudly in her chest.

The introduction occurs, Lewis offering his hand in greeting and Y/n's mother shaking it warmly. Y/n stands nearby, the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears drowning out almost everything else.

As Lewis shakes her mother's hand and exchanges greetings, Y/n's heart pounds louder in her ears. Her eyes flicker between the two, the casual interaction between her mother and Lewis standing in stark contrast to the turmoil of emotions churning within her.

Y/n watches as Lewis engages in pleasantries with her mother, and the polite exchange is a far cry from the anxiety that grips Y/n's insides. The sound of their voices and the sight of their interaction blur into the background as Y/n struggles to keep herself together.

Y/m/n gestures towards the dining room, saying, "Follow me to the dining room, please. Your father will join us in about five minutes." With a nod, Y/n and Lewis follow silently behind her, the nerves tightening in Y/n's stomach.

Lewis takes Y/n's hand again, his touch providing a source of comfort in the midst of the mounting tension. With a subtle gesture, he begins rubbing his thumb against hers, offering a silent reassurance.

The gentle, soothing motion of Lewis rubbing her thumb helps to ground Y/n, and the simple action is a small balm against the anxiety that threatens to consume her. She glances at him, silently expressing her gratitude through her eyes.

They enter the dining room, and Lewis takes a seat next to Y/n, his presence a silent comfort. Y/n sits down across from her mother, leaving her father's chair vacant. The sight of the empty chair sends a jolt of anxiety through Y/n, her palms beginning to sweat.

Y/n sits across from her mother, her eyes darting to the empty chair that her father is bound to occupy shortly. The sight of the vacant seat is a ghost of the man who is about to confront the facade they've created. Y/n's palms begin to sweat, and the nervous energy builds rapidly within her.

The silence in the dining room is nearly deafening. Y/n's mother makes small talk, but Y/n's mind is elsewhere, consumed by the impending arrival of her father. She glances again at the empty chair, the seconds ticking by like hours as they wait for him to join them.

The wait seems endless, Y/n's mother's attempts at small talk falling on deaf ears as Y/n's mind races with thoughts. Every sound seems magnified, and every breath echoes. The empty chair looms over the table like a storm cloud, its absence speaking louder than any words could.

It seems almost too well-timed. Just as the silence is about to become unbearably awkward, the butlers enter the room, gracefully serving the meals that have been prepared. The aroma of the food fills the air, but Y/n's stomach is in knots, the thought of eating almost impossible.

As they express gratitude to the butlers, Y/n's father proceeds to place food on his plate, his hands moving deftly. Still in the midst of his task, he begins to ask questions, his voice laced with authority and curiosity.

Y/n's father continues to plate his food as he asks questions, his words almost nonchalant, but his tone hinting at hidden scrutiny. "So, Lewis, how did you and Y/n meet?"

Lewis responds calmly to Y/n's father's question, his tone matter-of-fact. "We met back in 2022, during Y/n's Christmas vacation," he says. "It was a coincidence, really. We just sorta bumped into each other and started talking."

Her father nods, seemingly taking in the information, still focused on loading food onto his plate. His next question comes with a hint of intensity, "And when did you decide to get married?"

Y/n's father's question about their marriage takes her slightly off-guard. As her mind races, she accidentally drops her spoon, the metallic clatter bouncing off the walls of the quiet dining room. Her heart sinks, the unexpected question leaving her feeling even more exposed.

Y/n apologizes for the dropped spoon, her voice a bit shaky. Lewis takes over, answering her father's question calmly. "We decided to get married after being engaged for two months," he explains. "We actually got married right before the off-season started. It was quite a whirlwind, to be honest."

Y/n's mother interjects, curious about the term 'off-season.' "What do you mean by off-season?" she asks, her tone casually curious.

Lewis responds to Y/n's mother's question, his tone casually informative. "The off-season is sort of like Christmas break," he says. "It's the time of year when school is out, and everything kind of slows down for a while."

Y/n's mother nods, absorbing the explanation, and then proceeds to take a bite of her food. She seems reasonably content with the answer, her focus shifting back to her meal.

Y/n's father, seemingly unsatisfied with the previous answers, resumes asking his questions. His gaze remains fixed on a spoonful of soup, but his voice drips with a sense of authoritative interrogation.

He continues to question Lewis, his eyes focused on his bowl of soup as his voice pierces the air. "So, you're an athlete, correct?" he asks, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer.

Lewis nods in confirmation, his demeanor still poised. "Yes, I am," he answers, his response firm.

Y/n's father persists with his questions, delving into practicalities. "How are you going to provide for Y/n when you're constantly traveling and training?" he probes, his tone skeptical.

Y/n's mother chimes in, gently nudging her husband and scolding him playfully. "Darling, you're acting as if Lewis is going to be your personal assistant," she admonishes, adding a little humor to the conversation.

Lewis chuckles lightly, finding a bit of humor in the situation. Y/n, on the other hand, lets out a somewhat awkward laugh, the tension still palpable beneath the facade of casual banter.

He responds to her father's question, his tone confident. "I have a well-established career, sir," he says. "I'm well-paid, and I can certainly provide for Y/n and any future family we might have."

As Lewis mentions potentially having a family, Y/n is caught off-guard and inadvertently causes herself to cough, the water going down the wrong pipe. She quickly composes herself while both their parents look at her in concern.

While Y/n recovers from her coughing fit, Lewis gently pats her back, a look of concern etched on his face. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine worry.

Y/n responds nervously, her voice a bit shaky. "Yeah, I'm fine," she reassures, trying to brush off the incident, her eyes darting between Lewis, her parents, and the water in her glass.

Y/n's mother chimes in with a question, her tone light yet curious. "So, have you two thought about how big of a family you'd like to have?" she inquires, her eyes flitting between Lewis and Y/n.

Lewis expresses his thoughts on starting a family, his voice filled with warmth and optimism. "I'd really like a big family," he admits, "maybe 2-3 kids or more, and a few pets too. But ultimately, it'll be Y/n's call since she'll be the one carrying and giving birth to the children." He smiles affectionately at her, adding, "It's her decision, and I'll support whatever she chooses."

Y/n's gaze softens, her heart warmed by Lewis's words. Despite the awkward family setting, the way he looks at her, coupled with his last statement, touches her deeply. It's a small but significant gesture, emphasizing his support and understanding, something she didn't fully anticipate.

Y/n's father nods in approval, clearly satisfied with Lewis's response. "Good man," he remarks, appreciating the thoughtfulness behind Lewis's words. "Always considerate of your wife's feelings, as you should be."

As Y/n's father praises Lewis, a sigh of relief escapes her lips. The approval from her father seems to ease some of the tension, and she shoots Lewis a grateful glance, silently expressing her relief.

Y/n's mother chimes in with a question, her tone casual but slightly concerned. "Have you two thought about moving in together soon?" she asks. "I recall Y/n mentioning she's still staying with Lyka."

Y/n responds, her voice laced with a hint of anxiety, explaining the reasons behind their decision. "We haven't moved in together yet," she begins, "due to Lewis's job. With him traveling all over the world for most of the year, it would be quite lonely for me. I have some of my stuff at his place, but we agreed that I'll stay with him when he's home and stay at my apartment with Lyka when he's away."

The explanation seems to make sense to both Y/n's parents and her father nods in understanding. He seems to comprehend the challenges that come with Lewis's job, and the reasoning behind their living arrangement makes sense in their circumstances.

The dinner gradually comes to an end, and Y/n and Lewis bid farewell to her parents. There's a sense of relief in the air, mixed with a hint of lingering tension. As they part ways, Y/n's mother gives them both a warm smile, while her father offers a firm nod.

"Thanks," she says, smiling at his gesture, appreciating the small act of chivalry. She pulls out her phone from her bag before taking a seat in the car, the soft leather of the seats molding to her body.

As Lewis closes the car door, Y/n notices Lyka's name popping up on her phone's screen. She taps on the answer button, the phone pressed to her ear. "Hello?" she says, her voice slightly weary.

Lyka's voice comes through the line, sounding a mix of anxious and excited. "H-hi," she greets, her tone bordering on the guilty, like a child trying to conceal their mischief.

Y/n listens to Lyka's nervous greeting and responds, curiosity in her voice. "What's up?" she asks, setting the phone on speaker and placing it on the dash. Just as she does so, Lewis gets into the car, and they both focus on the now-speaker conversation.

Lyka's voice, sounding a bit unsure, asks, "Are you heading home now?" The question lingers in the air, suggesting that there may be something on Lyka's mind.

Y/n shoots Lewis a glance, their eyes meeting briefly as he maneuvers the car out of the gates. She's silent for a moment, contemplating Lyka's request and the implications of staying over at Lewis's place tonight.

Y/n turns her attention to Lewis, asking the question aloud, even though he had already overheard the conversation. She takes the phone off the dashboard, holding it in her hand as she speaks, her voice quieter than before. "Lyka's asking if I can stay over at your place tonight because Lando is a bit too drunk to go home."

Lewis responds, keeping his focus on the road, his voice calm and unwavering. "Sure," he says, seeming amenable to the idea. "You can stay over at my place tonight."

She relays the response to Lyka, conveying the okay from Lewis. "Okay," she says, her voice a bit lighter now. "I can stay at Lewis's place tonight."

Lyka's voice comes through the phone, brimming with gratitude and a hint of apology. "Thank you so much," she expresses, her tone sincere. "I'm really sorry for the sudden request. We just, uh…" Her voice trails off, leaving the rest unspoken.

Y/n chuckles, still on the phone with Lyka, and teases her gently. "Yeah, yeah, just make sure you take care of your 'boyfriend,'" she says, a hint of playfulness in her voice. "I'll be with Lewis."

Lyka's embarrassed screech comes through the phone, her voice full of flustered denial. "DUDE, SHUT UP!" she practically yells, her annoyance tinged with a hint of humor. "HE'S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!"

Y/n responds, a playful tone in her voice. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Lyka," she teases. "You can tell that to the flowers he's been sending you every day." Her tone takes on a mock serious note. "Anyways, I've gotta go now."

Lyka's frustrated scream comes through the line, her voice muffled as she probably covers her face with her hands. Y/n laughs, having heard this reaction countless times over the years, knowing it's a clear sign of Lyka's embarrassment. "Bye," Lyka manages to say, her voice still tinged with flusteredness before ending the call.

Y/n looks at her phone, opening the text messages app to find the flurry of texts Lyka sent just moments ago before the call. Her eyes scan over the screen, curious to see what kind of messages her flustered best friend sent, no doubt venting about what was happening.

Lewis breaks the brief silence that had settled in the car, starting with a casual, "So…" His tone is conversational, suggesting he has something to talk about. He keeps his focus on the road, but his voice is filled with curiosity and a hint of anticipation.

Y/n sighs, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and uncertainty. She closes her phone screen, resting it on her lap before responding. "Honestly, I'm not even sure," she admits, her tone reflecting a hint of frustration at her friends' complex relationship.

Y/n tries to explain the complicated nature of Lyka and Lando's relationship, her voice trying to convey the complexity of it all. "They're more than friends, but less than lovers," she clarifies, her tone thoughtful. "It's a bit confusing, really. They're stuck somewhere in between."

Lewis chuckles, reflecting on the implications of the "stuck in between" situation. He offers a playful observation. "Well, that could go one of two ways, right?" he muses. "Either it's really good, or really bad."

Y/n smirks, agreeing with Lewis's assessment. "Yeah, you're right," she concedes, her voice hinting at the complexities of Lyka and Lando's dynamics. "It's either going to work out amazingly or explode in their faces."

The car falls back into a moment of silence, the low hum of the engine filling the space. Lewis keeps driving, his focus on the road, his mind likely contemplating the complexities of relationships and the uncertainty of the future.

Y/n breaks the silence again, her voice carrying a hint of hesitation. "Uh…" she begins, her tone a bit uncertain, but there's a question lingering behind it.

Y/n's voice softens with gratitude as she addresses Lewis, her tone sincere. "Thanks," she says, her appreciation evident. "For, you know, not making a big deal about me staying over."

Y/n's voice takes on a more grateful tone, her appreciation clear. "And thank you for saving my ass at the dinner," she says, a hint of relief in her voice. "I really appreciate you having my back."

Lewis responds with a warm smile, his tone easy and hospitable. "It's no problem, sweetheart," he says. "You're always welcome at my place, even when I'm not around. I'll give you a key soon so you can come and go as you please."

Y/n turns her head swiftly, her gaze now locked on him. She repeats his term of endearment, "Sweetheart?" Her voice is tinged with a hint of surprise, her head slightly tilted to the side as she processes the familiarity of the word coming from his lips.

Lewis's eyes widen momentarily upon hearing her question, clearly surprised by the inquiry. He quickly recovers and responds, his tone questioning yet gentle, "Oh, is it okay if I call you that?" His voice carries a note of concern, clearly wanting to ensure he hasn't crossed any boundaries.

She lets out a soft laugh, the tension easing away. "Yeah, it's fine," she assures him, her tone tinged with a hint of amusement. "It's actually better that way. I won't be caught off guard when you call me that in public. It'll make our act more believable for the press."

Lewis nods, the concern in his eyes replaced by a hint of relief and a touch of playfulness. "That's true," he agrees, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It'll make it more convincing when we're around people. Plus, it's kind of nice…" His voice trails off, a slight implication behind his words.

A smile dances on Y/n’s lips, and she decides to tease him a bit. “Oh really? I feel like you have a big crush on me Sir Lewis,” she asks, feigning surprise, her tone lighthearted. Her eyes glimmer with playfulness, expecting him to respond with a playful banter.

His voice takes on a playfully challenging tone as he responds to Y/n’s teasing question. “And what if I do?” he says, his eyes briefly meeting hers before turning back to the road. “What would you do about it?” There’s a hint of a challenge in his tone but also a flicker of genuine curiosity, as if he’s eager to see how she would react if her teasing was based on truth.

Y/n responds with confidence, her eyes locked into his. “Oh, I have a few ideas,” she says, her tone dripping with a hint of mystery. Her voice drops lower, filled with playful tease, as if she’s already planning something.

Lewis raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued by Y/n’s response. He can’t help but wonder what kind of ideas she has in mind. “Oh yeah? And what ideas do you have in that pretty mind of yours, sweetheart?” he asks, a smile playing on his lips.

Her smile widens, her eyes glimmering mischievously. She remains coy, not revealing too much. “Oh, I can’t give away all my secrets,” she teases, her voice playful. “You’ll have to wait and find out.”

Lewis chuckles, enjoying the banter between them. "Fair enough," he responds, his tone playful. "I guess I'll just have to wait and see what you have up your sleeve, sweetheart."

Y/n smirks at the term of endearment, the name rolling off his tongue with a familiar ease. "Oh, you'll see," she teases back, her voice filled with confidence. "I promise it'll be worth the wait."

Lewis brings the car into the parking lot of the condominium building, the wheels smoothly coming to a stop. He turns off the engine, the sound of the vehicle falling silent as he shifts his gaze over to Y/n sitting next to him.

"We're here," he announces, his tone casual. He unbuckles his seatbelt and glances over at Y/n. "Ready to head inside?"

Y/n nods, the teasing banter settling into a comfortable quiet. She unbuckles her own seatbelt and prepares to get out of the car. "Yeah, let's go."

Lewis opens the car door and steps out, stretching briefly before closing the door behind him. He then walks over to Y/n's side and opens the passenger door for her, offering his hand to help her out of the car.

She smiles appreciatively, taking his hand and stepping out of the car. "Thank you," she says, her voice tinged with gratefulness. She then follows him as they head towards the entrance of the condominium building.

As they walk into Lewis's penthouse, the faint sound of a low thumping becomes perceptible. Y/n glances around, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. She looks over at Lewis, a quizzical expression on her face, silently asking if he hears it too.

Lewis catches Y/n's curious look and can't help but smile to himself, fully aware of what's about to occur. He says nothing for a moment, amused by the fact that she hasn't figured it out yet.

Out of nowhere, a chubby bulldog appears, sprinting toward Lewis with excitement. Its short, muscular legs carry it swiftly across the floor, its paws creating a thumping sound as they hit the ground. The bulldog clearly recognizes its owner and makes a beeline straight for him, tail wagging joyfully.

Lewis crouches down to meet Roscoe, his face breaking into a wide smile as the dog happily rolls onto his belly, begging for some attention. Lewis laughs and begins to scratch the dog's belly, his fingers rubbing the animal's belly fur affectionately.

"Hey, buddy," Lewis coos affectionately, his voice filled with warmth as he speaks to Roscoe. "Did you miss me?" The bulldog responds with a slobbery grin and continues to wiggle his short, stub tail on the floor in bliss.

Roscoe looks up at Lewis with big, soulful eyes, his tongue hanging out, clearly thrilled to be in the presence of his owner. He playfully licks Lewis's hand, expressing his happiness in the only way he knows how.

Roscoe, in the middle of his display of excitement towards Lewis, suddenly halts, his furry head tilting to the side as he notices Y/n's presence. His wide eyes focus on her, his gaze inquisitive and a little cautious, as if wondering who this new person in his home is.

Y/n stands there, a mix of surprise and uncertainty on her face, not quite knowing how to greet the curious bulldog. She looks over at Lewis, silently seeking some guidance on how to approach his pet.

He notices the change in Roscoe's behavior and the puzzled look on Y/n's face. He stands up and gestures for her to come closer, a reassuring smile on his face. "It's okay," he says, his tone comforting. "He's just curious. Come closer."

Y/n steps closer, her nerves palpable as she admits to Lewis that she isn't particularly fond of dogs. "Um, is this a good time to say I'm not really a dog person?" she mumbles, her voice tinged with slight unease.

Lewis chuckles, a mix of amusement and understanding in his eyes. He glances down at Roscoe, who is still sitting and watching Y/n intently. "Oh, really? Well, that might be a problem," he teases jokingly.

She cautiously moves closer and gives Roscoe a tentative pat on the head, her touch light and tentative. The bulldog responds by closing his eyes in the pleasure of the unexpected attention, his stumpy tail wagging once again as he basks in the affection.

Lewis watches the interaction and smiles, finding the scene amusing yet endearing. "See?" he says, his voice encouraging. "He likes you already."

He stands up, motioning for Y/n to follow him into the kitchen. "C'mon," he says, gesturing towards the kitchen. "I'll grab us some drinks."

Y/n follows Lewis into the kitchen, her face transforming into a surprised smile as she asks a question. "Why do we need drinks?" There's a hint of curiosity in her voice, as if she's secretly hoping for a particular reason.

Lewis uncorks the bottle, taking out two wine glasses from the overhead cabinet. As he pours the wine into the glasses, he glances over at Y/n, his eyes holding a playful twinkle. "Besides," he says, a sly smile on his lips, "we need to celebrate our marriage properly, don't we?"

He passes a wine glass to her, his fingertips lightly brushing against hers for a moment as he does so. The atmosphere in the kitchen suddenly feels a tad heated as the implications of his words hang in the air between them.

Y/n takes the offered glass, her heart skipping a beat as their fingers touch briefly. The look in his eyes and the undercurrent of flirtation in his tone are hard to ignore. The words "we need to celebrate our marriage properly" echo in her head, causing a flutter of anticipation in her stomach.

Lewis pours himself a glass of wine, then pours another for Y/n as she settles into her seat. He moves around the counter, the wine glass in his hand, and takes a seat next to her. The silence is comfortable, but the air is charged with a simmering tension, the earlier flirtation not yet faded.

Y/n holds up her wine glass, lifting it slightly in his direction. "Cheers," she says, her voice carrying a note of excitement. The clinking sound of their glasses meeting fills the air, the act oddly intimate and charged with unspoken desires.

Their eyes meet over the rims of their glasses, the moment charged with a mix of tension and anticipation. Y/n takes a sip of her wine, the liquid smooth and cool as it touches her lips, but it's the man sitting next to her that leaves her feeling flushed and warm.

Time has passed, and the wine has taken its toll. Both Y/n and Lewis are visibly tipsy, their cheeks flushed and their inhibitions lowered. She finds herself in a slightly drunken state, her speech more slurry than Lewis's. They're exchanging stories, the wine loosening their tongues and making them more susceptible to sharing their secrets and embarrassing anecdotes.

Y/n continues her story, her voice a bit slurry from the wine but filled with amusement. "So, there I was, planning to go grocery shopping, right? But then Lyka calls and invites me out for drinks. And well, as you can imagine, one drink turns into several, and the next thing I know, it's been three hours. I completely forgot about the grocery shopping. Then, instead of coming home with actual groceries, I end up bringing home this stray white cat I found. And thus, my cat Extra Virgin Olive Oil was born."

Lewis can't help but chuckle lightly as he listens to Y/n's story, finding it both absurd and endearing. He leans his face against his palm, his elbow propped up on the counter, his eyes sparkling with tipsy amusement. He glances at her, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "You named your cat what?" he asks, his voice tinged with playful disbelief.

His laughter continues, the image of Y/n coming home with a cat instead of groceries amusing him more than it probably should in his current state of drunkenness. "You named your cat Extra Virgin Olive Oil because you forgot about grocery shopping and got drunk instead?" he asks, grinning widely, clearly finding the situation hilarious.

Y/n grins widely, nodding enthusiastically in affirmation. "Yep, that's right," she says, her voice filled with tipsy mirth. "Extra Virgin Olive Oil. And let me tell you, he's the most spoiled cat ever. All because I couldn't stick to my grocery shopping plans."

She feels a sudden brush of fur against her leg, her gaze dropping down. But before she can even react, Roscoe takes off like a shot, darting away with one of her high heels clenched in his mouth. Y/n's eyes widen, and a tipsy laugh escapes her lips.

Y/n jumps out of her seat, a tipsy grin on her face. "Roscoe!" she yells, giggling as she tries to catch the dog who's now prancing away with her high heel. Lewis watches the scene unfold, his laughter joining hers, finding the whole situation hilariously adorable.

Y/n's pursuit of Roscoe continues, her steps a bit unsteady from the alcohol. She tries to catch him, but her foot catches on the edge of the rug, her already tipsy balance getting the better of her. She trips over, her body stumbling forward, a yelp of surprise escaping her.

Lewis sees Y/n's fall, her carefree chase after the dog abruptly interrupted by her slip on the rug. He gets up from his seat, a slight worry crossing his face. But before he can make a move, Y/n raises an arm up from the floor, and yells out, "I'm okay!" Her voice is slightly slurred but there's a sense of pride in her tone, as if she's proud of her resilient demeanor despite her tipsy state.

As she stands up with a wide smile on her face, she doesn't realize the small cut on her elbow until Lewis points it out. Y/n glances down, noticing the slight trickle of blood on her arm. She touches the spot, a little surprised, but the alcohol has numbed the pain, giving her a false sense of invincibility. She giggles, looking at the cut with amused detachment.

Despite her stumble and the small cut on her elbow, Y/n's demeanor remains carefree, her eyes blinking in a slightly confused manner. The alcohol has dulled her senses, so pain feels distant and the reality of the fall hasn't quite registered in her mind yet. She looks up at Lewis, a slightly bewildered expression on her face as if she's not quite sure how she ended up on the floor in the first place.

Lewis lets out a small, playful exhale and saunters over to Y/n, gesturing for her to sit on the couch. "Alright, come on, sit down," he instructs, his voice laced with a hint of amused frustration. He guides her over to the couch, steadying her a bit as she clumsily flops down onto the cushions.

He turns away, giving her a warm smile, and says, "Okay, sit tight. I'll be right back. I'll get a bandage for that cut on your elbow." He strides out of the room, leaving Y/n slumped on the couch, a little drunk and a bit bewildered.

Y/n lounges on the couch in a slightly disheveled manner, her body stretched out like a starfish. She looks like a ragdoll, her limbs flung about in a completely comfortable yet chaotic way. The alcohol has made her feel relaxed and carefree, completely unbothered by the fact that she's lying haphazardly on the couch, waiting for Lewis to return with a bandage for her now-forgotten cut.

After 5 minutes, Lewis enters the room carrying a small first-aid kit. He looks over at Y/n, noticing that she's a bit more composed compared to a few moments ago. The alcohol's effect seems to have subsided a bit, perhaps due to the short break in time. He walks over to her, sitting down on the couch next to her, the first-aid Kit in his hand.

"Seems like you're getting a bit more sober now," he observes, his tone gentle as he opens the first-aid kit. He takes out an antiseptic wipe and a small adhesive bandage, preparing to clean and cover the cut on her elbow.

"Hold still for a moment," he says, his voice soft. He gently takes her arm and begins cleaning the wound with the antiseptic wipe. The cool touch of the solution stings a little, but he's careful not to cause her any unnecessary pain.

Y/n winces a bit as the antiseptic wipe touches the cut, a small "ow" escaping her lips. The alcohol has numbed her a bit, but the sting of the antiseptic still registers. She looks at her arm, watching as Lewis carefully cleans the cut, his touch light yet deliberate.

"It's alright," he soothes, his tone gentle. "I'm almost done." He continues to clean the cut, making sure it's free of any dirt or debris before gently placing the bandaid over the cut. His touch is light and careful, his fingers grazing the soft skin of her arm.

Once the bandaid is placed, he gently pats the area around the cut, securing it in place. He then releases her arm, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. He looks up at her, a small, reassuring smile on his lips.

Y/n gazes at Lewis, her eyes studying his face intently. She takes in every detail - the curve of his lips, the flecks of gold in his eyes, the slight stubble on his chin. The alcohol still in her system has lowered her inhibitions, making her bolder and more observant. She continues to stare at him, not saying a word.

Lewis notices Y/n's unwavering gaze, her eyes taking in every feature of his face. He raises an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in his expression. Seeing her silent observation, he jokingly asks, "Got something on my face?" His voice is light, and his words are filled with humor.

Y/n shakes her head, continuing her silent observation, her gaze still fixated on his features. And then, in a surprising move, she leans forward, her lips brushing against his in a soft, slow kiss. The alcohol in her system lowers her inhibitions, making her actions more impulsive and carefree. The kiss is unexpected but filled with an undercurrent of desire and affection.

Lewis is taken aback for a moment, caught off guard by her unexpected kiss. But then, he relaxes into it, his eyes closing as he responds to her contact. His hand comes up to cup the back of her head, his fingers lightly brushing through her hair. The kiss deepens, the alcohol in their systems making it heady and impulsive.

Y/n, emboldened by the alcohol and the heat of the moment, makes another bold move. Without breaking the kiss, she shifts her position, straddling his lap, a leg on either side of him. Her body presses against his, her hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer as she continues kissing him, her actions driven by a combination of intoxication and desire.

She suddenly pulls away from the kiss, the reality of her actions sinking in. Her blush spreads across her face, a mixture of embarrassment and desire filling her. She looks at him, her eyes wide, her breathing slightly ragged from the intensity of the kiss. The alcohol in her system has lowered her inhibitions, making her bolder and more impetuous, but she still feels a mix of shyness and confusion at her own behavior.

Lewis looks at Y/n, a hint of confusion and surprise in his eyes. He gently cups her face with his hand, his thumb tracing the contour of her cheek. He asks her softly, "Why did you stop?" His voice is a mix of curiosity and tenderness, his gaze holding hers as he waits for her response.

Despite the buzz of alcohol in her system, Y/n hesitates, her actions and her desires at war within her. The kiss had been spontaneous, driven by a heady mixture of alcohol and desire, but now she feels a sense of self-consciousness and insecurity. Her blush deepens under his touch, and she looks into his eyes, trying to find the words to explain her sudden break in their intimate moment.

"I…I don't know," she stutters out, her voice small and unsure. "It's just…I don't know…" Her gaze flickers away from his, unable to hold his intense, questioning stare. The alcohol and the heat of the moment have made her impulsive, but now she feels exposed, vulnerable in her straddling position, her guard faltering under his soft but insistent touch.

Lewis gives her a reassuring smile, his hand still cupping her face. Seeing her hesitant, he gently draws her back towards him, his other hand coming up to rest on her hip. He pulls her down, bringing her face closer to his, and kisses her again, his lips pressing against hers with a soft but determined pressure. The kiss is slow, tender, and deliberate, his tongue slipping out to caress her lower lip, seeking more.

With a swift movement, Lewis stands up, still not breaking the kiss, his hands holding onto Y/n's thighs to keep her stable. The shift in positioning causes her to tighten her arms around his neck, and their bodies press even closer together. Lewis's grip is firm but gentle, his strength evident as he holds her up with ease, the kiss continuing unhindered.

He walks with purpose towards the bedroom door, his strength and balance holding Y/n securely in his arms. In a move that seems completely effortless, he keeps one hand on her thigh, supporting her weight, while his other free hand reaches out, unlocks the door, and swings it open. He strides across the threshold, carrying her into the room, the kiss never once breaking.

Inside the bedroom, he kicks the door closed behind them, shutting out the rest of the world. The only sounds filling the room are the soft gasps and sighs exchanged between them as the kiss deepens, fueled by a heady mixture of desire and alcohol. Lewis shifts his grip slightly, his hand sliding from her thigh to her waist, holding her steadily as he guides her towards the bed.

Lewis gently sets Y/n down on her feet, helping her regain her balance. Then, with a soft yet firm pressure on her shoulders, he eases her backward until she sits on the edge of the bed. He stands in front of her, his body looming over hers in a way that is both dominant and protective. He looks down at her, his gaze darkened with desire, his breathing slightly heavy.

With a subtle but deliberate action, Lewis's hand moves up to Y/n's neck, his fingers wrapping around the delicate skin in a light but firm grip. He squeezes gently, not enough to cut off her air, but enough to assert a sense of control and possessiveness. The kiss that follows is quick, fierce, and possessive, his tongue invading her mouth in a dominant, needy manner.

Y/n whimpers into the kiss, the sound caught between a protest and a moan of pleasure. Lewis's dominant grip on her neck, the way he claims her mouth in a possessive kiss, fuels the fire within her. Her hands come up to cling to his shoulders, the mixture of pleasure and submission washing over her in waves.

Too caught up in the intensity of the moment, she grips the loops of Lewis's pants, her fingers hooking onto them as if anchoring herself. The action is both needy and desperate, a silent plea for more as she looks up at him, her eyes burning with desire and anticipation.

Lewis glances down at Y/n, noticing her fingers gripping his pant loops, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. Teasingly, he leans down, his face close to hers, and whispers, "So needy, aren't you?" His voice is a low, gravelly murmur, his words carrying a hint of possessive satisfaction.

She looks up at Lewis with wide, innocent, doe-like eyes, her expression a mixture of need and submission. She doesn't respond, her voice caught in her throat, but her grip on his pant loops tightens just a fraction, her body silently begging for more. The contrast between her innocent gaze and her needy actions is striking, and the heat in her eyes speaks volumes.

Lewis continues to look down at her, his eyes taking in her beautiful, vulnerable expression. He reaches out a hand, tracing the line of her neck with his fingers, but the touch light is barely there. He can hear her soft, ragged breaths, can feel her pulse quickening under his touch, and his own need, his own desire, increases exponentially.

He leans in, his lips moving to her ear, his breath against her skin as he whispers, "You're so gorgeous like this, so needy for me." He kisses her ear, his lips moving down to her jaw, leaving a trail of soft, hot kisses down the delicate curve of her neck.

Lewis continues to kiss along her neck, his mouth nipping and sucking gently at her skin, his tongue darting out to taste her sweetness. His hands slide down her body, caressing her sides, his touch both tender and possessive, his own need growing with every soft sound that escapes her lips.

He bites gently at her pulse point, a small, possessive act that makes her gasp and whine softly. His hands move to the hem of her shirt, his fingers tracing the line of exposed skin, his touch both gentle and firm. "I want you," he whispers against her skin, his voice rough and full of desire, "so badly."

His hands slide underneath her shirt, his palms pressing against her skin, feeling her warmth and softness against his touch. He feels her shiver at the contact, her body responding to his touch like a perfectly tuned instrument. He kisses her collarbone, his mouth moving down to the hollow of her throat, his lips trailing along her skin with increasing need.

His hands move higher, his fingers tracing the contour of her stomach, her ribcage, her breasts. He feels her arch into his touch, her body craving more contact, more of his touch, his caress, his attention. He can feel her need, her desire, the way her breath hitches at his touch, and it only fuels his own fire, his own burning need for her.

Lewis pushes her gently back onto the bed, his body hovering over her, his weight propped up on his forearms. He looks down at her, his eyes roaming over her face, her body, taking in the sight of her beneath him, soft and yielding, yet filled with an undeniable fire and desire.

His fingers move to the buttons of her shirt, his touch slow and deliberate as he unfastens them one by one, revealing her bare skin inch by inch, his lips following the path of his fingers, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin.

Y/n's breathing becomes ragged as Lewis' hands reach the last button, freeing her breasts from the confines of her shirt. She pushes the fabric off her shoulders, tossing it aside, her nipples hard and aching for his touch.

Lewis' hands cup her breasts, his thumbs teasing her sensitive nipples. Y/n moans, her head falling back as she arches into his touch. Her hands roam over his body, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.

She slides her hand inside, gripping his erection through his boxers. Lewis groans, his hips bucking into her hand. Y/n pulls him closer, their lips meeting in a rushed kiss as she fumbles with his boxers, freeing his hard cock.

She strokes him slowly, her thumb rubbing over the head, making him moan into her mouth. Lewi's hands leave her breasts, training down her sides to her waistband. He hooks his thumbs into her pants, pulling them down her legs, leaving her completely naked.

Y/n steps out of her pants, her body trembling with desire. Lewis' eyes roam over her, drinking in the sight of her before he pulls her back against him. He reaches around, unfastening his braided belt, letting it fall to the floor.

He pushes her onto the bed, following her down, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, his hand guiding his cock to her entrance. Y/n's breath hitches, her legs parting, welcoming him.

Lewis positions himself at her entrance, his eyes locked on hers, filled with lust and desire. He pushes inside her, slowly at first, allowing her body to adjust to his size. Y/n gasps, her nails digging into the sheets as he fills her completely.

Y/n bites her lip, her eyes widening as she feels the full extent of Lewis' size. "Fuck, you're huge," she hisses, a mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through her.

Lewis smirks, his hands gripping her hips as he begins to thrust, his rhythm slow and deliberate. "Like it sweetheart?" he growls, his voice deep and seductive.

Y/n nods, her eyes fluttering shut as she adjusts to his size. "Yeah, I... I love it," she admits, her voice breathy and needy.

Lewis grins, his hand sliding around Y/n's neck, applying gentle pressure. "Good," he murmurs, his thrusts growing faster and more forceful.

Y/n's eyes widen at the added sensation, her body arching off the bed as her arousal intensifies. "Lewis," she whispers, her nails digging into his back, "don't stop."

He doesn't, his thrusts becoming more aggressive, his hand tightening around her neck just enough to heighten her arousal. Y/n's moans grow louder, her body trembling in anticipation of her impending orgasm.

Y/n's voice is barely a whisper as she gasps, "I'm... I'm close, Lewis."

Lewis, however, is lost in the sensations, his focus solely on the feel of Y/n's tight, wet pussy wrapped around his cock. He continues to thrust, his hand still tightly around her neck, his body moving in perfect unison with hers.

Y/n's orgasm hits her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as she cries out, her nails digging into Lewis' bicep. Her walls clench around his cock, milking him as he continues to thrust.

Lewis' thrusts grow more erratic, his grip on Y/n's neck tightening as he feels her orgasm grip his cock. Her shaking only serves to fuel his desire, his release drawing near.

He pulls out of her, Y/n's protest cut off by the loss of his cock. He positions himself at her entrance once more, his cock glistening with her juices. "On your knees, sweetheart," he commands, his voice thick with lust.

Y/n obeys, her body still trembling as she gets onto her hands and knees. Lewis lines up his cock with her wet pussy, thrusting back inside her, this time from behind.

His hand leaves her neck, instead gripping her hair, pulling her head back as he begins fuck her with renewed vigor. Y/n's moans fill the room, her body responding to her every thrust,

Lewis' thrusts become more rushed, his breathing heavy. "You're such a good girl, taking my big cock like that," he praises, his voice thick with desire.

Y/n's body shudders, her arousal building once more as she feels him fill her from behind. "Mmm, Lewis," she moans, her voice thick with lust.

Lewis' hand tightens in her hair, his thrusts growing more urgent. "Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum for me one more time," he says, voice a mixture of command and desire.

Y/n's body responds to his words, her orgasm building once more. "I... I'm close," she gasps, her nails digging into the bedsheets.

Lewis feels his own release building, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Come for me," he demands, his cock pulsing inside her.

Y/n's body convulses, her orgasm washing over her like a tidal wave. Lewis can no longer hold back, his cock pulsing as he releases his hot seed deep inside her. He collapses onto her back, his breathing heavy as he tries to regain his composure.

Her body shudders, her mind swimming in the aftermath of her orgasm. Lewis slowly pulls out of her, his cock leaving a trail of cum between her legs. He rolls off her, pulling her into his arms, their bodies entwined.

They lie there, their bodies intertwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. Both are out of breath, their hearts still racing from the intensity of the experience. Lewis is holding Y/n close, her head resting on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. The room is quiet, the only sound being their ragged breathing, the sound gradually slowing and evening out as they regain their composure.

Y/n breaks the silence, her voice a bit hoarse but weary. She looks up at Lewis, her head still pillowed on his chest, and says, "That sobered me up real fast." Her words are a mixture of exhaustion and satiation, the aftermath of their passionate encounter leaving her both depleted and fulfilled.

Lewis gives a soft laugh, his fingers still tracing patterns on her back. He nods, agreeing with her words. "I guess that's one way to sober up," he replies, his voice still a little breathless. He gently brushes a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch soft and affectionate.

Y/n jokes, a weary but playful smile on her face. "Well," she says, "that was like our very own little honeymoon night, wasn't it?" Her comment, although lighthearted, carries a hint of seriousness, a nod to the intense and passionate connection they had just shared.

Lewis chuckles softly, a smile on his lips. He gently pulls her closer, his arms tightening around her. "I guess you could say that," he responds, his voice warm and gentle. "We definitely made some memories tonight." He looks down at her, his gaze filled with tenderness and affection.

Y/n hisses as she adjusts her position, a slight wince on her face. Her body is likely still sensitive from their passionate encounter, and she moves gingerly, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Lewis notices her hiss and the wince on her face, his expression immediately becoming one of concern. He asks her gently, "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" His voice is laced with worry and concern, his fingers lightly coming up to caress her cheek.

Y/n shakes her head, her eyes meeting his. "No, I'm alright," she reassures him. "Just a little sore, I guess. But it was worth it," she adds with a sleepy smile.

Lewis continues to look at her, his eyes searching her face for any signs of discomfort. He asks again, his voice filled with concern, "Are you sure you're alright? Soreness is normal, but I don't want to hurt you." He gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch tender and caring.

Y/n nods, a small smile on her face, and jokingly says, "Well, I guess there's an easy fix for that. Just take me out on a shopping spree, and I'll feel like a million bucks again." Her tone is light and humorous, indicating that she's not entirely serious but also hinting at her desire for some pampering and shopping therapy.

Without hesitation, Lewis reaches for the nightstand near the bed and grabs his wallet. He opens it and pulls out a credit card, then hands it to Y/n with a smile. "There," he says, his voice lighthearted, "your ticket to feeling a million bucks. Go wild."

Y/n's eyes widened as she took his credit card. She playfully gasps, a mischievous smile on her face. "Are you serious? You're giving me carte blanche with this?" she says, holding the card up and examining it like it's a precious gem.

Lewis nods, a smirk on his face. "Dead serious," he confirms, leaning back against the headboard. "Go nuts. Buy whatever you want, and don't hold back. It's on me."

Y/n places the credit card on the nightstand, her smile playful. "Oh, it can definitely wait till tomorrow," she says. "I think we should both rest and recover from tonight's… activities." Her tone is teasing, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.

Lewis chuckles, a knowing smile on his face. "I agree," he replies, his voice deep and gravelly. "We definitely need some rest after tonight. But tomorrow…tomorrow is all yours. Shopping sprees, pampering, the works. I can't have you sore for too long, can I?"

Y/n smirks at his words, her eyes narrowing mischievously. "You know, you might be starting to regret giving me that credit card already," she teases. "You're creating a little monster here."

Lewis laughs heartily. "Oh, I'm fully aware of the monster I'm creating," he replies, still sporting a smile. "But honestly, I find it kind of hot. The thought of you going on a shopping spree, spending my money without a care in the world… it's strangely alluring."

Y/n teases, a mischievous grin on her face. "Oh, don't worry, I plan on getting something for you too," she says. "After all, a good shopping spree isn't complete without a little gift for the guy who's footing the bill."

Lewis pulls her back towards him, drawing her close against his chest. He settles back against the pillows, his arm wrapping around her in a protective, comforting embrace. Y/n's head rests against his chest, her body tucked snugly against his, and he gently kisses the top of her head. "Sweet dreams," he whispers, his voice soft and affectionate.

yn.ln

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polaroidpascal · 6 months

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paradise city || joel miller

AO3 || MASTERLIST || FREE PALESTINE

pairing : guitarist!joel x f!reader

summary : when you and your friends go out to a bar to see a local band gig, you can’t help but notice how the guitarist’s eyes somehow keep finding you in the crowd.

tags : M-18+, no use of y/n, no outbreak AU, i imagine joel is in his early 40s, no age gap mentioned, mention of reader’s breakup, mentions of alcohol consumption, joel starts off a little shy but truly there ain’t nothing shy about this man, size kink (kinda?? a little bit??) oral (f! and m! receiving), unprotected p in v sex, dom!joel, joel gets a little possessive (you’ll see what i mean…), praise kink, squirting, multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare ofc

fic playlist : https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0afpHjoOFylI01OTbV5jol

(picture joel playing during the guitar solos in every single one of these songs 😁)

WC : 7.9k… (no one look at me. not a single soul.)

a/n : 100 FOLLOWER SPECIAL !! i apologize in advance for all the song lyrics i’ve scattered in this fic… i opted to make a playlist of the songs i think joel’s band would play but there were just too many good ones to pass up and i was losing it a little bit 🫠 also, shoutout to @joelsdagger for constantly yapping with me about this idea and letting me tease her about this absolute menace of a man and also @haileymorelikestupid for beta reading for me 🥹😭 it feels extremely fitting to post a joel fic on international women’s day where he fucks you so good, so i hope y’all enjoy !! <3

You and your friends have had a week.

Deciding you all needed a night to let loose and have fun together, your friend Erica found out about this place hosting a local rock cover band called Fetters Whiskey and thought it might be nice to come see them.

Earlier, you had all piled into the Uber and were headed out, a low girly chatter filling the car. The three in the back harped on about their spouses and all the little things that annoyed them.

“He left the dishes in the drying rack!” “She helped me clean a little too well and used all the cleaner, now we’re all out!”

The complaining did help them destress a bit.

You and Erica were in the second row captain’s chairs of the car, the three in the back doing their pregame de-stressing. “Makes you rethink the whole marriage fantasy, huh?” she jokes, looking over at you playing with the rings on your fingers.

You look up and breathe a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so,” you say with a weak smile.

“Well… have you had any luck finding anyone?” she asks sweetly, sincerely. Genuinely hoping someone has caught your eye.

You had a pretty nasty breakup a while ago, probably about eight months by now. You two had been dating for a while and the breakup honestly seemed to come out of nowhere, like some switch flipped one day and nothing was really the same. Your friends stuck by you through every up and down you had. You felt really lucky to have them.

“No. not yet,” you tell her.

“Well, maybe tonight’s your night,” she says with a friendly smile. “You deserve to unwind and let loose a little, y’know what I mean?” You breathe another laugh. “You do!” she exclaims, hitting your shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I guess we’ll see,” you say, the rest of the car ride seeming to fly by, a part of you kinda hoping she’s right.

The bar is crowded.

You walk in, snaking the group between the crowd and making your way near the stage towards the back of the bar, men and women alike all brushing bodies the closer you get to the stage, drinks in hand, friends chattering away, everyone waiting for the show.

Two of your coworkers disappear to fetch everyone a drink while you and the others stake claim on a little area near the stage. A couple of guys are on the stage setting up the instruments and making sure everything is plugged in right, the lights dimmed enough to not really draw much attention to them. It’s not long before the others join them on stage and start playing. The girls return just in time, handing out the drinks as the music starts.

The band is pretty good (you’re not sure what you were expecting, but you’re more than pleased with how good they sound). They play some fan favorites like Wanted Dead or Alive and I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll, and they mix in some random fun songs like Play That Funky Music.

The drummer is clearly in his own world, head moving at a velocity you would think could give him whiplash. And he’s absolutely killing it, hitting every beat with fervor. You can feel the strikes of the sticks on his drums in the center of your chest.

Another guy seems to be the swiss army knife musician: pretty good at almost everything, filling in wherever he’s needed depending on the song. One minute, he’s playing his keyboard and the next, he’s busting out a trumpet, and the next, he’s busting out a guitar. And no matter what he’s playing, he’s playing it with passion.

The lead singer clearly loves all of the attention he gets. He’s feeding off the crowd’s energy like a cat lounging in the sunlight, basking in every cheer and whistle and fist pumping in the air from the crowd. He practically lives at the edge of the stage, crouching down to sing with the girls but backing up to sing and dance with his bandmates too, bringing them in on some of the harmonies and tying the whole show together.

But by far the unsung hero of this group is the lead guitarist. He hides off to the corner, leg posted up on his amp with the body of his guitar resting slightly on his thigh. He looks down at the instrument carefully watching his fingers strum each cord perfectly, furrowing his brow in concentration during his solos and lifting his head up to the sky. He looks like he feels every note in his blood, expressing it through the expert strum of his fingertips on the strings. He doesn’t have a mic and the singer doesn’t make him sing alongside him very much, but you catch him mouthing all the words and getting into the singing as well.

He’s a particularly pretty man and your eyes linger on him more than the others, always finding their way back to him, and always during the more raunchy lines of the different songs…

Well, I am imagining // A dark lit place // Or your place on my place

I’ma paint his town red // Then paint his wife white

But I got both hands on the wheel while you got both hands on my gears // By now, no doubt we’re heading south // I guess nobody ever taught her not to speak with a full mouth

…but who can blame you when he has such a reserved, cool vibe. Plus, did you mention that he’s really pretty too?

And maybe it’s the couple of drinks getting to you more than you thought, or maybe you’re just crazy, but it seems like every time you look at him, he’s looking away from you. Like he’d been staring and you caught him. You swear he starts to look ever so slightly more flushed, but it’s practically impossible to see with the colored lights flooding the scene. No, you think, that’s crazy. You’re standing in a crowd of people, there’s no way he—

“Hey, I think the guy on lead guitar keeps checking you out!” Erica exclaims over the loud music and singing crowd.

You turn and look at her, eyebrows raised before you turn back to the stage. He does it again, averting his gaze the second he sees you look and you feel a flutter in your chest. He really is checking me out, huh?

You keep staring at him, waiting for him to look back in hopes that you’re looking away. When he lets his eyes wander back to you, you’re still staring. This time, though, he doesn’t look away. His eyes won’t let him now that you’ve caught his attention — like a fly in a spider web.

He turns his body ever so slightly, facing your direction more than anyone else as he plays the rest of the song. The lights focus on him, colorful spotlights of red and blue illuminating his face as he positively shreds his guitar solo. His fingers expertly tap dance across the neck of his guitar, his other hand working double time to strum on beat and hit every single note. You watch in a complete daze as he finishes, sealing off his musical escapade with the smuggest wink right to you.

He put on a show. All just for you.

Something stirs in your belly, a low heat kindling as the band continues to play. Their next song — god, their next song… — really puts the icing on the cake.

The jack of all trades band member busts out a sound board, the sampled sound of a snare drum filling the space, a warped, funky-sounding instrumental following.

You let me violate you // You let me desecrate you // You let me penetrate you // You let me complicate you

The guitarist shares a mic with the guy on the sound board, offering back-up vocals for the song. He’s getting a little bold now, you think.

I broke apart my insides // (Help me) I’ve got no soul to sell // (Help me) the only thing that works for me // Help me get away from myself

He’s locked eyes with you the whole time, changing the tides of who is winning this staring battle for dominance. Each second his gaze stays on you, you feel smaller and smaller, completely at his mercy. He backs away from the mic, preparing to play and licking his lips in a manner obviously made to make you even dizzier than you already are.

I wanna fuck you like an animal // I wanna feel you from the inside // I wanna fuck you like an animal // My whole existence is flawed // You get me closer to God

He glances back at you from his guitar, a smirk decorating his face before he turns to keep playing the song. You’re in a complete daze. He’s clearly won this battle, and you don’t even know what to do with yourself anymore.

You have to have this man.

Erica caught a some of his little show for you, watching him wink at you and the way your features fell to a focused stare at him. “Girl, get a room next time!” she teases and all you can do is smile back.

When the set is over, you and your friends walk back towards the bar, not wanting to leave just yet. You claim a few of the tiny standing tables, again gathered with Erica at one while the other girls try to cluster around another.

“So…” she starts, giving you a look of anticipation.

“So…?”

“What the hell was going on between you and that guitarist?” she asks, her tone of voice high with excitement.

You laugh, looking down and shrugging your shoulders. “I honestly have no idea,” you say, shaking your head and blushing a little thinking about his little performance. “I thought I was crazy until you said something.”

“Well, whatever it was, you should go for him!” she encourages.

“Please,” you scoff and laugh, “you’re ridiculous.”

“No, I’m serious! While you were having your little… whatever you were having, I was watching the whole band, and the other guys weren’t doing what he did. And he didn’t look at anyone else the way he looked at you.”

You stare at her, a blush creeping up on your cheeks and that small fire in your belly growing a little bigger, a little hotter.

Erica looks up over your shoulder, “Oh my gosh, there they are!”

As if on cue, the band walks through one of the back doors. Having just put away their instruments and whatever other equipment they brought. They saunter in, hair wet from the sweat of performing and lifting all their stuff back into their van. Trailing behind the rest is that damn guitarist. He scans the crowd before he sees you, his expression opening with a bit of an urgency as he quickly finds the bar to grab a beer.

You turn back to Erica, mouth dry and nervous. “Please, you have to go talk to him,” she practically begs.

“No, I- I can’t. I don’t even know what to say,” you plead. “I’m so out of practice.”

“Oh, quit it. I saw you looking at him first. You had him going before he got bold with you. You still have game, go get that man!” she says.

“I don’t know, Erica—” you start, but youre quickly caught off by a tap to your shoulder. You turn around and it’s him.

“Hi,” you say, desperately trying to hide the nerves threatening your vocal chords and smile genuinely at him.

“Hi there,” he says. God, his voice is so deep. You couldn’t hear it in all of its beauty before, but it has a bass to it that rumbles in your bones.

You stare blankly at him for a second before you finally pipe up, “Um, that was a good set you guys played.”

“Thank you,” he chuckles, looking down at his beer and leaning against the edge of the table.

Erica watches with wide eyes before announcing, “Well, I’m empty. I’m gonna go get a refill, okay?” She winks as she walks away leaving you and this mysterious guitarist alone together.

You turn your gaze back to him and fully take in his features now. His eyes have their own glow to them that persists even with the dim stage lights littered around this bar. His hair is patchy from sweat but still sits pretty. His strong features demand your eyes and you’re unable to look anywhere but him.

He extends his hand out to you, “Name’s Joel.”

“Hi, Joel,” you say, shaking his hand and telling him your name. He echoes it and it sounds beautiful off his tongue. “Listen, I--”

“Y’know, you’ve got one of those faces that stands out in a crowd, anyone ever told you that?”

You shake your head, “No, not necessarily.”

“Well trust me, we’ve played our share of shows and none of them had a pretty girl like you in the audience catchin’ my eye every two seconds.”

You blush, starting to gather your mind back from the sudden thrust into a conversation with who you think might be the prettiest man you’ve ever seen in your life now that you’ve had time to really study his features up close. “You’re no different yourself,” you offer.

“How so?”

“I’m just saying, you’d think the prettiest member would be the one front and center, not tucked in a corner by an amp.”

His eyes bounce back and forth between your own not breaking contact as he takes another sip of his beer. “I don’t want just anyone lookin’ my way, I guess. You gotta work to see this pretty face.”

“Pretty, indeed,” you agree, stepping ever so slightly closer to him. “You put on quite a show up there.”

He leans down just a bit, closing the gap between the two of you even more, “Well, I did have quite the eager audience, didn’t I?” he asks.

You stare at each other for a moment before Joel starts, never breaking eye contact, “Listen, I don’t really do this… but I also don’t get distracted like I did tonight…”

You inch closer to him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah… your friends bring you here?” he asks and you glance at the other table where Erica lingers around your other friends and they’re all looking your way, trying not to be obvious and failing miserably.

“No, we took an Uber.”

“Well, what do you say to savin’ that money you’d pay for an Uber and lettin’ me take you home instead?”

Am I really gonna do this?, you think. Call it a gut feeling or whatever you may want, but the way Joel is looking at you, the way he put on a show just for you, how he spotted you in the crowd to strike up a conversation… Erica did say I need to unwind and let loose…

You grin back at him, “Whose home are we talking about?” you ask.

“I think you know, darlin’,” his tone drops low and deep.

A shiver runs up your spine, that ever-growing fire in your belly burning hotter and hotter. “Come on,” he says, taking your hand in his, making it look miniscule in comparison, and walks you towards the back door he came through earlier. You glance back to the bar, the girls still watching and Erica flashing you a smile and a thumb’s up.

Joel leads you to his truck, opening the passenger door for you. You see the backseat loaded with what must be his personal equipment before his door creaks open and he sits inside, the whole truck bobbing from the sheer size of this man.

He pulls you closer across the bench seat until your legs are touching, his hand snaking around your waist as you relax against his figure and his hands trace your sides.

“I meant what I said, y’know. That you stand out in a crowd.”

You turn to look at him as he quickly glances at you and you slowly bring your arms up, one landing behind his neck while the other cups his face. You slowly, softly, tenderly kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck leaving open mouth kisses all over. He tilts his head to the side just a little, humming at the feeling and settling his hand right at the swell of your hip, pulling you even closer into his side and squeezing just a bit.

The drive isn’t long at all. He pulls into a parking spot lining the side of the road and once the car is safely in park, he grabs your face with both hands, kissing you deeply. You hum into his mouth, not expecting the sudden movement, and melt into his lips. His soft, warm lips. Your hands trace his body, the two of you unable to get where you want to be from sitting in this truck.

You pull away from him. “Take me inside.”

He immediately leaves the truck urging you to hop out on his side, offering a hand to help you out but not letting go even typing the code for his apartment and after you walk through the door.

You giggle as he pulls you up the stairs of his complex, the two of you itching to have your hands all over one another. You reach the top and he twirls you around in his grip, grabbing you with one hand by the hip and the other cradling the back of your head. He kisses you with an insatiable hunger, like his life absolutely depends on it, as he backs you up until you’re pinned to the door with his entire body pressed against you.

He fumbles with his keys for the lock to his apartment door, lips locked onto you, eyes closed, lost in the soft sweetness of your lips. He snakes a hand behind the curve of your back to brace you as the door swings open and he pushes you inside.

Your hands tangle in his hair grabbing the soft, damp strands unable to pull him any closer but wanting every inch of him in your mouth, on your lips, practically in your skin. You bite his lower lip making him moan a little into your mouth and your hands reach around to his face, wanting to stay lost in the ocean of his tongue and cheeks forever.

He pulls you back and you whine, already missing the warmth and taste of his tongue, but your disappointment is short lived. “God, darlin’… Need to have you.” he says, voice low and completely feral as he grabs you under the swell of your ass and you jump into his embrace. Your hands wander back up to his hair, pulling and grabbing as he trails his kisses down your chin, your jaw, your neck, soft sounds escaping his lips with every tug and whimper you give him.

His legs mindlessly take him to his bedroom, knowing the pathway instinctively. His mouth leaves your body for just a moment when plops you down at the edge of the bed, but he’s right back on you in an instant, reaching down to the hem of your top. You lift your arms for him to pull it off and he removes it in one fluid motion. He moves his hands to the clasp of your bra next. “This okay?”

Your chest aches with these little moments of tender sweetness from him and you nod, letting him remove your bra and he does so with skill, not fumbling for even a second as he tosses it to the floor.

His eyes immediately dart down, taking you in. He’s all but drooling, his gaze burning hot against your skin. He sinks to his knees taking one tit in his mouth and sucking on your nipple. Your hands immediately run through his hair holding him onto you and humming at the feel of his mouth on you. His other hand grabs your other tit, massaging it and thumbing your growing bud before redirecting his mouth to the other side too.

His hands drop to your sides and run up along your ribcage trailing towards your back, closing you in and burying his face into your neck peppering kisses and licks and nips there.

“I gotta have you, baby…” he mutters into your neck. “Lay back on my pillows up there.”

You do as you’re told, lounging against his pillows and the headboard of the bed as he pulls his shirt off over his head and crawls up to meet you, hooking his hands in the belt loops of your jeans. He looks up, his gaze silently asking for permission and you nod. He pulls them down along with your panties in one smooth motion.

You didn’t think about how worked up you had gotten until your hot core, slick with your arousal, meets the cool air of the room sending a chill across your skin. You watch as Joel’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of you, subconsciously licking his lips and softly grunting at the thought of diving in.

You open your legs wider, inviting him in and he settles between your legs, his arms hooking under your thighs locking you right where he wants you, all spread and open for him.

He immediately gets to work, unable to hold back anymore and expertly licks through your folds. His warm, wet tongue feels amazing on you as it dances across every nerve ending down there, each one sending fireworks across your skin. You whine and lean back, lifting your hips up to meet his mouth and squirming under his face.

His hands gently rub your thighs while he drinks you down, his nose occasionally hitting your clit making you whine. He draws flattened circles with his tongue, the surface area hitting you just right.

“Yes… fuck yes, that feels so good…” you moan.

He moans back, unwilling to leave you for even a moment and he keeps going. One hand falls from your thigh and you keep yourself open for him as best as you can when you feel his thick, calloused fingers teasing your entrance. He slides his middle finger in easily, so he adds his ring finger too, curling up and finding the softest parts of you. But God, are his fingers huge.

Your walls constrict squeezing his fingers and you leak more slick all over his palm. His other fingers flay across your lips and ass, gripping you slightly and he’s got you locked down.

His tongue continues at your clit while his fingers pump in and out of you, the tips curling up and stroking you perfectly.

“Right there, Joel… right there… don’t stop… please, don’t stop…” You feel yourself getting closer and closer, the flame burning in your belly all night erupting into a wildfire and igniting every inch of your skin. You feel a tightness start to grow in your belly, inching down your insides as he keeps going, and going, and going, never letting up and reveling in each twitch of your body.

You look up and see him lying flat, his hips subconsciously moving against his boxers and jeans and sheets, getting himself off just from your taste. Finally, he opens his eyes, dark with lust and locks his gaze with you with one especially deep push and curl of his fingers and another wink. That fucking wink.

“Fuck… fuck…!” It sends you over the edge. The coil snaps and a warm flood fills your body spilling out onto Joel’s hand and into his waiting mouth. He grunts and whines, his tongue never stopping, not even for a second, as he drinks every ounce of your slick getting drunk on your juices.

He only pulls away when you pull him off by his hair, a single line if your arousal still connecting him to you and a groan leaving his lips as he lets you go. You fall back onto the pillow, legs collapsing from their own weight and twitching from your orgasm, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Joel sits up licking his palm and bringing his fingers up to your mouth, jaw slacked and panting. Your mouth closes around his fingers and he groans, “That’s it, good girl,” he coos and you hum around his digits.

When you fully come back down to Earth, you can’t help but chuckle in the afterglow of your orgasm. Joel rests on his heels gently stroking your knees and you cover your eyes with your forearm, one big sigh leaving your lips. “I guess I should have expected a guitar player to have some skilled fingers,” you joke and Joel chuckles. “That was so fucking good.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not done with you just yet, pretty girl,” Joel teases, holding out his hand to help you sit up. You do and he meets you with a sweet kiss, his hands cupping almost all of your face as he kisses you sweetly.

When he pulls away and you open your eyes, you notice another amp sitting in the corner of the room. This one looks old, unused, and the cable management could use some work, to say the least.

Joel follows your eyeline. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“That’s a lot of cables for a little speaker like that,” you say, following the tangled mess of wires scattered on the floor. “Why don’t you use that one?”

“Jus’ got old. Bought a new one and I didnt need it anymore.”

A depraved idea pops in your head and the question leaves your lips before you can even fully think it through. “Those wires… how strong do you think they are?”

Joel looks back at your face, eyebrow cocked up slightly, “What d'ya mean?”

Your bashfulness catches up quick, a shy blush pricking your cheeks. “I mean… just the outside looks braided, almost… it kinda looks like… I don’t know, kinda like a rope…”

His face softens, a look of intrigue spreading across his gaze. “Go on,” he says, his voice dropping impossibly low, dripping with sultry tease.

You look up through your lashes feeling more vulnerable that you have to ask specifically (he seems to love it, though). “Well… I guess, how well do you think they’d hold a knot…?”

He bites back a smirk but can’t quite hide his excitement. “Kinky…” he says with a little nod. “I like it.”

He rises from the bed but he doesn’t turn to grab the wires. Instead, he reaches for his belt, the buckle clinking against itself. “But you gotta earn it first, sweet girl.” He pulls his belt out of the loops of his jeans and tosses it to the side.

He pauses a second before reaching for the button and zipper, enough time for you to crawl to the foot of the bed and rest your hands on his. You slowly move them away and take over, undoing his button and slowly zipping his pants apart.

You reach under his groin cupping his covered balls in your hand and he hums. He barely fits in your palm and you salivate at what could be beneath those boxers of his. You look up at him with another gentle squeeze before pulling both down, his cock springing out and up against his lower tummy as he steps out of his pants, the tip already red and leaking.

Your eyes widen when you really take in his size and you salivate. You wrap your hand around him and very slowly pump his length, getting a feel for his size and weight and staring at him the whole time.

He looks down at you, eyes still dark and mouth slightly open. “Go ‘head, baby. Kiss it.”

You feel a flutter in your belly again already and you do as he says, kissing the slit before taking the whole head into your mouth and circling your tongue around it. His eyes roll back and he lifts his head up to the ceiling with a groan, his hand tangling in the hair at the back of your head.

You slowly take him inch by inch making him slick with your spit and using your hand to pump whatever you cant reach. Your other hand gently squeezes his balls and you feel his grip on your hair tighten a bit.

“That’s it, baby… Mouth feels so good f’me…” He starts to slowly push you down his length, taking him deeper and deeper and being careful not to get ahead of himself.

But then you moan around his length sending lightning up his spine and it feels so fucking good… A guttural groan booms from his chest and he starts to slip, pushing you a little too far a little too fast and you gag, pulling off until it just rests on your bottom lip, spit gathering at his tip and spilling over the corners of your mouth.

Tears prick the sides of your eyes and his hand reaches down to wipe them away. “Shit— I’m sorry… are you alright?”

You cough and catch your breath, something new and hot burning through your veins. Something about the way he lost all control… “It’s okay, I’m okay,” you say when you pull yourself together a little bit. You wipe the corners of your mouth and reach up to slowly pump his length again. “Let me try again.”

“You sure, darlin’?”

“I’m sure,” you say, looking up through your tear-soaked lashes, a small smile ghosting your lips as you nod.

He nods back and you take him in your mouth again, closing your eyes and breathing through it, trying to focus on taking as much of him down your throat as you can.

His hands find the back of your head again, not pushing anymore but tangling through your hair as you work.

He looks down and sees your eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration and taking him so well. He drops a hand back down to your jaw, “Eyes on me, gorgeous.”

You carefully open your eyes to look up at him and when you do, his brows furrow with desperation, unable to look away from you as you bob up and down his length, hands once again pumping the length you can’t reach and massaging his balls.

“Shit, baby… that’s it…” he moans, watching the way your cheeks hollow and lips flush red from taking him. He’s twitching in your mouth and you think you’ve got him, flattening your tongue when he touches the back of your throat and swirling up his length as you pull back.

His abs start to tighten and you taste the slightly salty precum leaking from his tip. You work up the nerve to suppress your gag reflex as best you can, taking a few deep breathes before pushing yourself all the way down, taking his cock up to the hilt.

You stay there, letting your protesting throat constrict around him and he whines, his hand in your hair tightening and making you moan, another bolt of lightning taking over his entire being. His cock jumps in your throat and you think he’s a goner for sure—

He pulls you off his length completely and you gasp for air while he catches his breath too. “Nuh uh, baby. It can’t be over yet,” he says breathlessly.

You pout up at him, your doe eyes almost black from how blown your pupils are.

“Get back on the bed,” he demands.

So you do, rising a little wobbly from your knees and crawling back up onto the bed. Joel walks to the corner of the room and unplugs some of the cords plugged into the old amp.

He digs around in his nightstand and pulls out a condom before walking back over to the bed where you’re kneeling on the mattress. He sees you eyeing the little packet pinched between his fingers. “What’s th’ matter?”

You look at him, a blush forming on your face. “Oh, I…” Your mouth goes dry and you clear your throat. “…um, you don’t— I mean, I’m on the pill so, um… If you don’t wanna…” you ramble, trying to find your words but failing in your shyness.

He smiles smugly, tossing the condom to the side. “’S okay. I hear you loud and clear.”

You take a relieved breath and watch him stand there as he starts separating the wires. He twirls his finger in the air and you turn your body to face away from him.

“Gimme your hands, darling,” he says, firmly but gently.

You obey, reaching your hands behind your back. His giant hand easily fits both in one grip and he wraps one cable around your wrists.

You can’t help but smile to yourself, facing away from Joel so he can’t see, but you’re sure it’s audibly obvious when you ask “So this must be where the band name came from then, hm?” as he ties a comfortable knot around your wrists.

“What d’ya mean?”

“Fetters. Like restraints. Usually they’re on the ankles but I guess it’s the same principle.”

He breathes a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t help with the name all that much, but I guess ya’ really do learn somethin’ new every day,” he says just as he tightens the loose, but still restrictive, knot around your wrists.

You shimmy in them a little, surprised at how well they hold together. His hands are still there, rubbing over the covering of the cords and brushing against the warmth of your skin.

“These look real pretty on you, y’know,” he mutters from behind you.

You chuckle and ask, “You tell all the groupies that?”

He grabs your chin to face him, eyes scanning over your face for a second and planting a kiss to your lips before a positively devious smirk spreads across his face. Before you know it, he puts his hand on your back gently pushing down so your chest hits the bed.

“No, I don’t,” he says and you hear his footsteps fade. You sit there, face pressed against the mattress and ass in the air, desperately trying to crane your neck to see where in the world he’s going leaving you like this, all out in the open and exposed.

He treads back into the room and climbs back onto the bed right behind you, calves brushing up against the inside of your own as he grabs your hips to straighten them.

“I don’t tell the groupies nothin’,” he starts. “Usually jus’ ask if they want an autograph.”

The unmistakable click of a Sharpie cap rings in your ears and you feel the cold tip of the pen dragging along the skin right below the small of your back. You gasp, surprised at the unexpected feeling, completely shocked at the sheer audacity of this man, and you can’t help the butterflies it gives you, the way you mewl so quietly at the thought of him marking you with his name — his signature, no less — in such an intimate place.

You need to find a way to keep this man.

The pen trails off at the end and he recaps the marker, tossing it somewhere to the side before you feel his hands smoothing over your hips. He lets out a low toned, one-note whistle at you, staring at the dark ink branding your lower back. “Now, what a pretty view I have,” he says, a tantalizing, saccharine sweet tone lacing his words.

You can’t hold back the whimper that falls from your mouth at his teasing, his big warm hands rubbing big circles over each cheek.

He sees you clenching around nothing. “Want me to fuck you now, sweet girl?”

“Yes, please,” you whine, earning you a light tap on your ass.

He pulls on the cords and wraps an arm around your torso, bringing you up flush to his torso and reaching a hand to your mouth. “Gimme some help.”

You spit into his hand and he hums in content. “Atta girl,” he says, gently laying you back down and pumping his length with the wetness. You feel the tip of his cock rub against your folds and you squirm. He grabs your hip with his free hand as he lines himself up to notch right at your entrance. He slowly pushes just the tip in, the pressure making you moan.

“I gotcha, baby. Jus’ relax f’me,” he coos, pushing inch by inch into you letting you adjust to his size. Your walls twitch at the intrusion and your breathing gets heavier, soft sounds escaping your lips. Eventually, he’s up to the hilt and you swear you can feel him in your lungs. You subconsciously swirl your hips, the movement inside making you whine.

“Shit, baby… so fuckin’ tight…” Joel breathes, squeezing your hips and trying not to lose his cool too quickly. His cock bounces and he grunts, taking a minute before slowly pulling out of you as you whine at the loss. It’s short lived, though, because he’s immediately pushing back into you, the stretch and burn pulling a desperate groan from your throat.

“Fuck yeah, baby. You like how that feels?” he moans, picking up the pace slightly with each thrust.

“Yes— fuck, feels so good…” you moan. The way his cock drags along your walls makes your belly burn hot. His grip on your hips tight and threatening to bruise if he squeezes any harder, but you couldn’t care less. Just another way for him to mark you as his.

“Squeezin’ my cock so good… she’s achin’, baby…” He’s very talkative, you think and decide to play into it.

“She’s all yours, Joel. Pussy belongs to you,” you say as you squeeze him again, the pressure in your belly growing with each gentle kiss to your cervix that his tip gives you.

You feel his pace falter for a second, his grip tightening at that. “Yeah? Say it again. Who’s she belong to?” he says, pounding into you now, unable to keep control of his pace anymore.

You whine loudly with one of his thrusts when he drags up a bit hitting something new inside of you, something your ex surely hadn’t ever found before. Something you definitely had on your own but never this deep…

“Theeere it is,” he coos, pressing your torso down some more to get the angle just right and he’s hitting that soft, spongy part of you with every snap of his hips. You can barely form the words to tell him how fucking good it feels, nonsense whimpers leaving your mouth instead.

“Answer me, baby… Belongs to who?” His pace doesn’t let up and you can’t get the words out. “C’mon, you can do it, gorgeous… tell me…” he insists, slowly rubbing his hand across his own signature that’s been staring back at him.

“Sh… fuck, oh my god… she belongs to you, Joel…”

“That’s my good girl,” he says, leaning down and planting kisses down your spine, snaking a hand around to your front and circling your clit.

You cry out in pleasure, all the sensations getting to be too much. A flood of wetness spills out with a twitch of your insides making Joel’s cock slippery, letting him push in and pull out easier than before. He picks up his pace again with ease, rapidly hurdling you towards the edge.

My good girl…

That one little word finally hits you after a minute.

My.

His unrelenting fingers on your clit… the way his tip hits your cervix with every snap of his hips… my good girl… it’s all too much. “Fuck… fuck… fuck, ‘mgonnacome…” you mumble in a high pitched whine.

“Fuck yes, baby… come all over my cock, that’s it… feels so fuckin’ good, darlin’…” he moans from behind you, the grip on your hips definitely bruising now as he keeps pounding into you. Your back arches and your whole body writhes as your walls squeeze him impossibly tight. Your vision blurs and you have no control over the downright pornographic sounds escaping your mouth. All you feel is warmth everywhere.

“Holy shit—” you hear Joel but he sounds far away, your head still spinning with pleasure. “Fuckin’ hell, baby…” When you feel like you can finally see again, you see a wet spot on the bed and your eyes go wide, quickly craning your head around as best you can and see Joel’s thighs soaked from you.

“Oh, shit— I-I’m sorry, oh my fucking god, I didn’t meant—” you stop mid sentence when Joel plows into you again bottoming out completely, your words trailing off into a wailing moan.

He drags out slowly but quickly regains his momentum. “Fuck, baby… Chokin’ my dick so good… So. Fucking. Hot,” he says, punctuating his words with the slap of his hips on your ass.

Your legs start to give out under you and it’s like Joel already knows you’re almost too gone to take anymore as he unties the knot at your wrists, your arms falling to the bed. He flips you over, managing to stay inside, and lays you on your back. Your hair lays messily on the pillow and Joel leans down to fix it, tracing his fingers along the side of your face and kissing you deeply.

When he pulls away, he stares at your fucked-out eyes, his own completely taken over by his pupils so much that you can barely tell what color they actually are anymore. “Baby, you gotta give me one more…” he begs.

You raise your eyebrows worriedly, unsure if you can actually take anymore. You whine at his ask and he gives you another quick kiss, resting his forehead against your own when he pulls away, your lips barely touching. He’s moving in and out of you at a snail’s pace, so close to his own orgasm that any extra movement would cause him to snap. “Please, baby, I know you can do it. Doin’ so good for me already, just one more…”

You nod weakly and stare through hooded eyes. “Thank you, angel,” he sighs, gently fucking into you a little quicker and peppering kisses at the corners of your mouth. Your hands trail up to his shoulders rubbing up and down on his soft skin. Forehead pressed to yours again, you feel him panting, small moans and whimpers filling your ears.

“Feel so good…” you use all your strength to whimper out, barely above a whisper. His eyes open, brows furrowed in desperation. You feel him twitching hard now, so close to his own orgasm but not wanting this to end.

“S’good, Joel… so big…” He whimpers at your words, his hips moving erratically, unpredictably. He’s close, you think. And it eggs you on.

“Want you to come for me… Please…”

“Yeah? You want it?” he breathes.

“Please…” you say again in a whimper, grabbing his face in your hands.

“Where, baby? Want it inside?”

“Yes, inside… please, please, please…” you beg.

“Come with me baby… wanna feel you squeezin’ me… fuck— c-can you do that?”

You whine and nod, having been teetering on the edge of overstimulation with another orgasm growing in your belly. You roll your hips slightly into him, the extra movement sending shivers down your spine.

“So close, baby, I can feel it… ‘s right there, she’s chokin’ me…” he grunts out, painfully holding back his own until you come undone under him again.

Which doesn’t take long, a flutter of your heart and one big wave of arousal covering you from head to toe making you see stars. Your mouth opens in a silent moan, unable to even make a sound as you come on his length all over again.

“Fuck… fuck… good girl, ‘m gonna come—”

Joel’s breathing quickens, becoming ragged and broken as he grunts and whines and spills inside of you. His lips press to your forehead suppressing his noises with kisses there as he empties himself inside of you, filling you up completely.

Your hands scrape his back at his shoulders, your senses all blurring into one another. Joel’s weight falls on top of you as he moves his kisses down from your forehead to your nose and finally to your lips, his tongue licking into you as you feel his cock finally stop twitching. He sits back to pull out of you watching as his cum leaks out of you. You whine at the loss feeling empty but still so full from him, shivering as you feel it dripping down your body.

Joel wipes his sweat-ridden brow and sighs with a goofy smile as he looks down at you. Your body is still jolting from your last orgasm. Any more and you would have been overstimulated beyond belief.

“Now that I definitely don’t do with the groupies, sweetheart,” he teases.

You give him a playful glare and chuckle at him. “What about all that autograph nonsense, then?”

“Well, you got the first of its kind. Never signed anyone there before.”

You blush and stretch a little, suddenly feeling that damp spot from earlier. You sit up in panic and sit back leaning against his pillows again. “Shit, Joel. I’m so sorry. That’s never happened before, I—”

“Stop,” he cuts you off. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. Sheets can be washed.”

“But I made a mess—”

“C’mere, baby,” he says, extending a hand out to you. You take it and he pulls you towards him, both of you on your knees facing each other as his arm snakes around your torso pulling you even closer into him. “‘M gonna get you cleaned up, ‘kay? Got a spare bedroom we can use anyway.”

You stare into his eyes, his words bouncing around in your head. We can use. “We?” you ask.

He scrunches his eyebrows, raising one at you. “What, you wanna run away already? Was it that bad?” he jokes.

“Oh, quit,” you say, playfully hitting his shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, standing up at the end of the bed and holding his arms out to you. “C’mon, pretty girl, how’s a warm bath sound, hm?”

“Sounds amazing, actually.” You grab his hands and stand up, taking a second to get your balance before following Joel to the bathroom.

When you’re all cleaned up, you walk into his living room wearing one of his t-shirts, a pair of his boxers, and some very oversized socks that he left in the bathroom for you to change into, towel drying the rest of your hair so it's not dripping everywhere. He sits on his couch, fresh pajamas on and dampened hair from the shower he took in the other smaller bathroom.

He taps the space next to him inviting you to sit, TV on and low, playing some random movie he found to fill the silence around him while waiting for you. You curl up into him, you warm from your bath and him warm from relaxing. He squeezes you close, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

Erica was right. You really did need this. Maybe it's stupid that you're growing so fond of this guy and you've known him for just a night, but there really is something about him. Something you can't quite explain...

You spend the rest of the night curled up next to Joel, your entire being content and you can only think one thing:

You’re not letting this one go easily. This one’s gonna be yours.

All yours.

a/n : thank y'all again so much for 100 followers, it means so much seriously 💜🫶🥹 and thank you for reading this fic that absolutely got away from me in the end, this idea tortured me for weeks and hopefully letting him out into the world will give me some peace finally 😭 but really, thank you guys so much and i hope everyone enjoys !!

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tangents-within-tangents · 4 months

Text

Thoughts on Echo as amputee/disability representation

First and foremost, I am not disabled or an amputee and I don’t claim to speak for those communities (and if I was I couldn't speak for everyone). What little I do know mostly comes from this youtube channel (@oakwyrm), this post, and other research I’ve done for my writing (and like one amputee I kinda knew in passing). By all means correct me and add to the conversation, I just have some thoughts I want to share because I haven’t really seen this discussed anywhere

Overview

So Echo is interesting. He is a triple amputee which is pretty rare in media. His disabilities come from extremely traumatic circumstances: injured in a near-death experience, imprisoned and dehumanized as an experiment with no autonomy over what happened to his body.

There are a few moments in the shows where Echo is treated… questionably. Like this bit where Rex uses him as an example of the Separatists' evils to convince the locals to fight back:

To be fair, yeah Echo’s treatment does prove that the Techno Union is not neutral like they claim. The modifications that everyone is gasping in horror at here obviously weren’t made with comfort and accessibility in mind, nor with Echo’s consent. But you still just want to be sure that “They took away his freedom, his humanity, they tried to turn him into a machine” is about using him as a living computer, not the fact that he is missing limbs.

The Batch is also pretty insensitive toward him and his trauma imo, which is weird considering they've supposedly also faced discrimination for their mutations

Disabled people do have to deal with stuff like this in this day and age so I guess it can speak to those experiences. I think especially him being mistaken as a droid (and Hunter going along with it (bruh)) might resonate with some people.

Aside from that stuff, Echo isn't really treated any differently as a character/person which is really good (as low of a bar as that is).

We get this moment in CW where Echo contemplates that yeah things are gonna be different now

While also (imo at least) showing that he is still the same person regardless, evidenced by the fact that he just echoed Rex :,) I also think it's significant that he joins the Bad Batch on his own terms and we're given a really emotional scene to specifically show that he's not just like 'lumped in with the other misfits' but that it is his choice to go where he feels his place is.

A lot of people, myself included, are disappointed that TBB didn't have more time to explore Echo's PTSD, but I think the one panic attack scene we did get is really good. Even thought it's minor it at least is an appropriate reaction from a guy who was medically tortured (which is more than I've come to expect from Star Wars shows lol)

And it's really sweet to see Omega showing Echo some empathy and consideration.

It would have been nice to see more of his adjustment period, and other side effects like chronic pain and maintenance, but there’s a lot of daily life stuff the show never had time for (i.e. we don’t know if he removed his prosthetics to sleep, but we also never saw him sleep anyway). His disabilities might take on a background role (much like the character himself sadly) but for the most part they aren’t invisible or erased, nor do they define his character and arc.

Physical Appearance

Okay this one is bit dicey, bc on the one hand, yes complaints that Echo’s paleness (most likely caused by burns from the explosion or chemical burns from the cryo-chamber) is whitewashing are totally valid. But I also think you can draw comparisons to real life conditions that affect pigmentation/complexion (like you know burns). So while I understand why a lot of fanart will depict him with his original skin tone and with hair, consider that there are real people who have to live with temporary or permanent changes to their appearance, and the idea of “fixing" him by making him look more like his old self can be problematic.

It's also interesting to note that Echo could act as a reversal of the 'disabled/disfigured = evil' trope. He's pale and bald and wears black and red, which is so often visually associated with villains, but we all know Echo is the bestest boy™

The Headpiece

Echo’s headpiece is interesting because within the show we don’t actually ever learn much about it (idk if there is more info in books or whatever bc i don’t have them so?). He didn’t have it in CW so we know it didn’t come from the Techno Union and therefore Echo probably had more choice with it. We don’t know its exact purpose but it’s most likely related to his scomping abilities. When he is hacking with his scomp in CW, before he has his headpiece, it’s clearly very mentally straining:

We don’t see him struggling like this in TBB once he does have it (though that could be bc he got more used to it over time). There doesn't seem to be much of an impact when he removes his headpiece in s3 ep14-15, except that he gets stuck in the ports every time he uses his scomp which is not something we’ve seen before:

There might not be an exact real-world equivalent, but the headpiece is some kind of accessibility aid. It means that someone specifically designed a device to help him adapt to the changes the Techno Union made, as well as a helmet that integrates it. It’s removable and visually very present, much like a cochlear implant would be. (A lot of people actually headcanon it to act partially as a hearing aid, since it makes sense that Echo’s hearing would have been damaged in the explosion, but there isn't really any indication of this in canon.) The headpiece is never really acknowledged in the show, but I think that's a good thing. It's something he needs/wants and it just exists, completely normalized, and that's pretty cool 👍

Legs

Sigh... So from the very first episode of TBB I was really disappointed that the animation team or whoever completely visually erased Echo’s prosthetic legs (I think we all were, honestly, if fanart is anything to go by). It’s one thing when he’s in armor because he would probably want to protect his prosthetics, but we literally see him in his blacks and there is no indication whatsoever that he lost his legs even though it was not left up for debate at all in CW:

Like ??????!?

This is just really strange to me! Idk what went on behind the scenes with this decision but I don’t really see why it would be that much harder to animate or anything since it’s 3D and they've done it before. We do see some pretty sophisticated cybernetic technology in Star Wars canon that mimics real limbs:

But Luke’s fancy hand is technically 20ish years from now, so Anakin and Maul are more of a representation of what level we could expect here

So yeah, for no apparent reason, his leg amputation is effectively, visually and narratively nonexistent. Which is not great 👎

Arm!

The scomp on the other hand (uh lol!) is the complete opposite and I kinda love it!

At first I, like many others, thought it was a bit odd that they didn’t give Echo a prosthetic arm. Losing hands is basically a Star Wars tradition at this point, so robotic arms/hands are well established within the worldbuilding:

We aren’t necessarily given a canon reason for why Echo doesn't get a cybernetic arm (again unless it's in some lore book I haven’t read, sorry). General fanon explanations I’ve seen are that he either couldn’t because the Techno Union wired the scomp too far into his nervous system, and/or the resources to give him one were deemed too expensive for a clone (what about his legs tho?), or that he chose not to, usually because he thought the scomping was useful.

Regardless, I actually really love this choice (and it's the whole reason I made this post), because here's the thing: There’s a lot of problematic tropes out there that either erase/cure disabilities or compensate them with perks (like how pretty much any blind character is actually not blind by some sort of magic power). With amputees that is done with robotic arms. The character is still an amputee or course, and there is still value in that representation, if this story from Mark Hamill that makes me tear up is anything to go by:

but for the most part these characters function like anyone else, just with a limb that looks a little different. It’s no more than a video game skin, an able-bodied actor with a green screen glove. It “cures” the disability, or it actually makes the character even stronger than usual:

It usually makes sense within the world of the story, but the reason it’s not so great in my opinion is that in the real world we just do not have technology anywhere close to that yet. Prosthetics can more or less replace any mobility from lost legs, but not for all the complexities of a hand (and even if they could the average person wouldn’t be able to afford it).

I think it's actually really super cool that Echo’s scomp bypasses the canonically-established amputee erasure and functions much like a stump would irl. He integrates it into his movements and everyday life and it’s (as far as I know) a lot closer to an everyday amputee’s experience.

It doesn’t define his character, it doesn’t hold him back, he lives a full life, the other’s don’t treat him any differently, and he’s still a total karking badass

The only additional thing is that he sometimes uses it as a weapon (which given his story, I think it’s cool to see him taking back autonomy in a way, and we only see that like twice)

And also the scomping, which could be seen as the 'added/compensating superpower' trope. But narratively it's no different than if he was plugging in with a hacking gadget of some kind (he didn't necessarily "need" to lose his arm for it) and it’s not like Echo is completely defined by this skill. Personally, I think it's well worth the positives of him actually having a visible and realistically impactful amputation.

I see a lot of posts or comments out there that say stuff like “how come Echo doesn’t get a hand?” or fanworks that do give him one and I just think it’s a bit of a shame. If he did get a robotic hand, it just would have disappeared the same way his legs and Anakin’s arm did (aside from that one time he got yoinked by a magnet). When Echo did “get a hand” in the last two episodes there were comments like “yay he finally got a hand! but it doesn’t even work” but I was actually so relieved that it didn’t! Bc for one thing that wouldn’t make any sense, he grabbed it off a droid, it wasn’t designed to implement with his scomp, that would be really complicated. But more importantly because it again refused to erase/cure his disability! It functioned like a real-world cosmetic prosthetic (useless beyond appearance) which is exactly what he needed it for, so that he could blend in better with his disguise.

And he continually took it off throughout the episode and ditched it at the end. He only used it for the necessity of a stealth mission, he doesn’t feel the need to visually “fit in” in his daily life.

And, last but very much not least, he made a dad joke and from my intel that is very accurate representation!

TLDR: Echo’s scomp is actually really cool from an amputee representation perspective, especially within Star Wars, and I think that deserves some appreciation

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aclowntiny · 1 year

Text

Ink Trails- Hongjoong x GN!Reader (Soulmate AU)

Just about everyone has a soulmate, a person they're destined to be with, to go through life with in some capacity. The mark of this? Anything you write on your skin shows up on theirs.

Word Count: 2.4k | Soulmate AU, Banter, Faint Humor | Warnings: a bit of language

You weren’t a big fan of drawing on yourself. As a child, you were something of a neat freak, washing all the dirt you could off your hands and never wanting to add ammo to the enemy in yours and the sink’s war. Of course, your favorite sheet of temporary tattoos didn’t count as dirt, not when they granted you several days of carrying your favorite character, a little purple penguin, with you. In fact, you practically ignored the rest of the sheet besides a few snowflakes surrounding him, all of which everyone told you were now decorating some other kid, too.

Well, good, you thought, your penguin was the best and they probably loved it, too. Otherwise they couldn’t marry you or whatever soulmates did. Usually it was get married. Maybe you would get married when you grew up. Your grandparents liked being married.

As you grew a bit older, you wrote in school. Sometimes your pen or pencil slipped, skimming your hand with an accidental line. Sometimes your soulmate was clumsy, too, and you watched a pencil trail appear when you didn’t even have one in hand. The weirdest was when you watched a whole shaky ㅎ appear, the circle looking a bit square, then suddenly erasing and being reborn round again.

And then just like that, it was all gone.

It hadn’t really been your habit to write things on yourself like others you knew- it just didn’t come naturally to you when you had paper and, a bit later in life, your phone. Beside that, given the marks of soulmates, any notes you wrote would appear on someone else’s arm, hand, anywhere they could get scolded for if they had strict family or teachers or a barrier to looking presentable at an academic event. It just didn’t seem fair. That was the same reason why, even years after school and becoming an adult, you chose not to get any tattoos. What if your soulmate hated it? Then they get it removed and you lose yours and the cycle goes on like some sort of stupid cartoon sequence of ink and lasers.

Ok, that part maybe not so much, but you knew how personal and controversial tattoos could be, so kinda weird to put one on someone else without their consent. Sorry about the penguin, you supposed all those years later, I was four.

Instead, perhaps preferably, you doodled a lot on paper, keeping at it even when that rude boy Matthew from seventh grade told you your cat looked so bad, it made him think it was a dragon holding a cookie. Such insults would not be taken from the guy who used ‘I don’t like the color red’ as an icebreaker ‘fun fact’…while wearing a red shirt.

Even if you were no artist, improvement naturally came with age and frequency, and you favored keeping your drawings cute anyway. Yet another reason to put them down on paper- pen ink faded from skin, but on paper, it was like a tattoo. Permanent with all your other notebooks of doodles that would have more than covered your body.

Your body, which was semi-frequently decorated anyway, not of your own accord. Your soulmate, likely around your age, had no qualms about use of the forearms as a notepad, so it wasn’t the oddest occurrence by far to wake up with things like ‘7:00 독주회’ or a more frantic ‘ENGLISH TEST 9:00’ scrawled there. Or even once a very unceremoniously written, shaky, clearly hastily added ‘BUMJOONG WAS HERE’ on the back of your hand. That was a fun one to try to explain. It made you wonder sometimes if your soulmate was a less considerate person than you or if you’d simply proven well in your restraint.

You weren’t expecting any answers, or perhaps more questions, to come in the form they all did.

The morning was like any other: it was your day off, time you’d reserved so as to endeavor some shopping. Making yourself a nice breakfast and choosing one of your favorite outfits, you hopped in the shower. Deciding what the heck, it was your day off, you even busted out the new sugar scrub you’d bought as peals of warm, crashing water echoed around you, lathering some exfoliant luxury upon the skin you’d always cared for.

Never once had you expected it to entertain anyone’s notice.

But there it was as you strolled along the concrete of the shopping center’s sidewalk, completely unaware of what was exposed until you ran into a friend, waving and exchanging the platitudes of two meeting after some time.

“Wow, (y/n), what a surprise, I didn’t know you got a tattoo! I thought you didn’t want any!” Your old friend Brian exclaimed with a wide smile, tilting his head. “May I see the whole thing?”

His words rose slowly to your head as you blinked, gears turning. For you had not, in fact, gotten anything of the sort done. Instinctively you held out your hand, assuming your soulmate had scrawled another vague practice reminder on the back of their hand or wrist, but your skin was blank, just a smooth expanse the same tone it always was.

“No, not your hand, silly! There!” Your eyes followed as he pointed down towards the ground, toward…your leg?

Swiveling at the hips, you bent and tugged on any necessary clothing to reveal, sure enough, writing near your ankle. Your chest sunk.

“I didn’t get a tattoo,” you said quietly.

“What?”

“I didn’t get a tattoo,” you repeated, voice a deadpan.

He pointed, finger rising slowly, almost shakily. “Then what’s-”

“I don’t know. I- I guess my soulmate did it.”

“Your soulmate got a tattoo without asking you?”

“We haven’t met,” you burst out as you raised the fabric around your leg higher, “I guess they don’t care what I think! What’s this even say, anyway?”

Frustration pricked at you at the sheer height of the piece- it wasn’t exactly dainty. Quite a ballsy move, all things considered. Sheesh. Wait, those were wings, huh?

“It says ‘faith’,” Brian supplied, “and I think it’s nice. Could definitely be worse. Could have been a partner’s name or, like, naked Spongebob or something.”

You cocked a brow. “Naked Spongebob?”

“Well, would you want that on your leg?” Brian shot back, crossing his black t-shirted arms.

“No,” you sighed, staring at your new, involuntary body art, “I suppose I would not. Well, you’re right- this is pretty nice. I can live with this. Hopefully it’s not the first one of many, though. My soulmate better leave me some control of my own skin.”

“Yeah, and if they don’t, you’d better give them a piece of your mind.”

A chuckle escaped you. “Yeah, right. I don’t even know where they are.”

“Have you never tried to find out?” Brian’s eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing at you like he was asking the dumbest question he’d ever uttered.

And maybe he was. Your chest contracted in realization that you had, in fact, never once considered taking any initiative into finding whoever it was had those recitals or English tests or who you really hoped had the spine to smack Bumjoong one for defacement of property. The person who, by the universe’s decree, was meant to be some miraculous piece of your life forever and you’d just…assumed they’d walk in whenever it was time. All your concern had gone to not bothering their appearance despite their clear lack of regard on the subject.

“Uh, (y/n)?” A hand waved in front of your face. Brian’s. “You’ve gone all spacey on me, what’s wrong?”

“Brian, I might be stupid.”

“Might?”

You descended back to earth, or at least close enough to its gravity, to find the wherewithal to smack his shoulder beneath the momentous echoing of reality throughout your brain.

“Also, I take it then the tattoo on your arm wasn’t your idea either?”

“The…what?”

Shopping day over.

Hongjoong couldn’t recognize his own handwriting. Or could he? Had he written that address on the back of his hand? He had to have. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. As if his schedule wasn’t busy enough, now here was some other errand he’d forgotten.

Pulling out his phone and typing it into maps, he saw that at least it wasn’t too far away. A reasonable drive, especially for a…tuesday? Oddly specific, but appointments were appointments, he reflected as he swiveled in his leather office chair.

After all, if it wasn’t important, he wouldn’t have written it down so visibly on himself like that. That was a habit he’d largely dropped in adulthood, image of greater concern and regard for mess a bit higher, too. Plus, the only other good it would have served seemed not his lot.

At least a fair number of songs had come from it. Ah, music- the eternal, universal processor. What would he do without it? Music was a way of filling every void-no, scratch that, coming to terms with the existence of voids within oneself- the thing that made him feel complete, or certainly one of them. Jokes had it that music was Hongjoong's soulmate, and while the songwriter didn't appreciate fun being poked at his expense, it was hard to deny the itching grains of truth beneath his skin at the words.

Music-related or not, this short trip was his lot, so why not make the best of it? After all, whoever had organized it picked a pretty nice café as the rendezvous point. Worst case, Hongjoong would at least get a coffee out of it.

You were starting to wonder if nobody would approach you, more singles and even couples getting in line and heading straight for a table or the door than you could count on one hand. In fact, in came someone else right in time with your thoughts, a super hot guy in fact, though he looked confused as hell. His eyes darted back and forth between the chalkboard menu and the industrial-style metal tables as he stood a little bit out of line.

Shit didn’t hit the fan until he pulled his phone out to check it, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. His loose black t-shirt sleeve fell back, revealing a tattoo suspiciously similar to the second one that Brian pointed out on your own body. And that font was very, very unique. And big. And it was on you now.

Moving completely of its own volition, your body peeled from its metal seat and strode right up to him. No thoughts swirled to the surface of your mind even as you reached his side, prompting him to turn on his heels.

The only words your mind could barely form fell out of your lips. "You're the one who gave me these tattoos."

Jumping back, the man gaze at you with saucer-wide eyes, saying nothing as you pulled your own sleeve back to reveal the second and luckily last set of writing Brian had found on your body, this time reading 'No 1 like me', and again showed your ankle.

"I designed that one myself, how could you possibly-" His wide-eyed gape fell slowly into a smile. "I have a soulmate?"

"Yes, of course you do!" You replied, incredulous. "Did you think you didn't?"

"You never wrote anything!" He shot back.

"I was trying not to mess you up!"

"I just..." The man's handsome features fell, first into seeming hurt then just into a pensive look. "For so many years I taught myself to make my own way. Sometimes I was fine with it, sometimes I wasn't."

"No wonder you thought there was no one like you," you said before panicking, thinking better of it, "not that the tattoo isn't cool! And still true. I really like the font, actually? You said you designed at least one of these?"

"Yeah, I knew what I wanted, so I drew up the faith one and..." He tilted his head, sliding his phone from his hand back into his pocket. "wait, do you want to get a table?"

"Only if you buy me a drink," you teased, nodding toward your arm as you got back in line, "you owe me for these."

"I think you owe me for years of radio silence," the man shot back with a smirk, crossing his arms.

Heat crept into your face at the way he fixed the intense look at you, but you refused to back down. "The way you described it sounded like I taught you a valuable lesson."

"Pain can teach lessons."

Ok, you were about spent at that. "Are we really fighting over something as stupid as one free coffee?"

"I mean, fighting wasn't the word I would have used there, but you're right. I've got this one."

"Oh, you two are so cute!" The barista waved her hand as you placed your orders. "I love couples who bicker like old married grandparents! So, what are your names?"

You and your soulmate glanced at each other, your eyes sliding back into those deep, dark, expressive ones you wouldn't mind getting used to. He searched yours, too, and a small smile played on his lips that had you wondering what he was thinking... until you realized it, too.

Maybe you had wildly opposite views over the years on using your body as a notebook, but you two soulmates had the exact same sense of humor.

"We don't know," you both said at the same time.

"I'm Hongjoong," the man in black introduced himself, smiling wickedly now.

"(y/n), nice to meet you," you replied, bowing back to him.

The barista mirrored Hongjoong's initial shock at your confrontation as you both headed to your table, laughing now. Somehow that all came as easily as bickering, all your interactions up to that point having a certain flow you'd never felt before. Placebo effect? Maybe, yet the tug you felt the moment you first saw Hongjoong was yet to fade. It was like those old sayings: it felt like you two were making music.

"Ok, please don't think I'm being rude," Hongjoong's voice cut into your thoughts, "but I'm a songwriter, and I feel like I just have to write down some lyrics right now."

All you could do was just grin at that. Well, shit. Maybe now you really would have to try leaving more of an ink trail.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #soulmate au #can't believe this is my first soulmate au piece tbh...but hope y'all enjoy 😁

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steddieas-shegoes · 9 months

Text

stumbling into you

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'meet-cute at work' rated: M wc: 999 cw: sexual innuendo, semi-public handsy making out tags: making out, getting together, rock star Eddie Munson, modern au

a/n: let me just say getting this under 1000 words took longer than it took to write the original 1484 words it was 🙁

🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢

Steve's first day was going better than expected.

He'd admittedly lied about his skills to get this job, but how hard could it be to run errands?

A metal band in need of throat lozenges and hot tea was in the studio now.

Easy enough task to do.

When he walked into the control room, it seemed empty.

He looked back and checked the room number on the door.

"Let me help."

Steve turned to see the hottest guy he'd ever seen standing by the mixing board starting to walk over to him.

"Oh. Okay," Steve stuttered out.

"Let me grab the teas," the man said, his hand brushing against Steve's.

"I can just-" Steve let him, flushing when he smiled at him. "I could have set them on the table."

"It's okay, you've got your hands full..." he looked at the badge hanging off his lanyard. "Steve?"

"Yeah, sorry. First day."

"Really?" The man took the pack of throat lozenges from him, opening the bag and popping one in his mouth. "Welcome then. I'm sure we'll see a lot of each other over the next month or so."

"Do you record here a lot?"

"Yeah. We've got this studio booked solid for the next three weeks. Album needs to be perfect and we always get the best quality here."

"So do you sing?"

"I sing. Lead guitar, too."

"Is it a band I know?"

The man looked him over, taking in his business casual appearance, glasses slipping down his nose.

"I don't think we play anything you've listened to. Corroded Coffin?"

"My little brother listens to you! His mom never let him go to a concert though, said it would be too rough on him. He's kinda small for his age and she worries." Steve bit his lip. "Sorry, rambling."

"Cute, Stevie."

Steve blushed.

"I'm Eddie."

"Steve."

"Yeah, Stevie, I got that. You like any metal?" Eddie was clearly trying to have a real conversation with him, but Steve was drawing a blank on what the English language was.

"Never listened to any."

"You wanna listen? Something's off, but I can't put my finger on what. Maybe you could give me an idea."

"M-me?" Steve's eyes went wide.

"Yes, you," Eddie nudged him and tipped his head towards the mixing board. "C'mon, honest opinion."

"I-"

"Pleeeease?" Eddie pouted.

"Okay, but I don't really know what good is supposed to sound like," Steve agreed, walking to the board.

"Good is relative. If you think it sounds like metal music should, that's at least on the right track," Eddie pushed a couple of buttons and flipped a switch.

A surprisingly soft guitar melody filled the room, followed by a husky voice singing.

"This sounds..."

"Sounds?"

"You sound sad."

"Well, that's kind of what I was going for, so I guess that's a good thing."

The music cut off and Steve immediately wished he could hear more.

"Do you have other stuff recorded?" Steve suddenly needed to hear more of Eddie's voice.

"You wanna hear more?"

"If you want?"

Eddie flipped another switch, pressed a button, and a much faster guitar started playing, followed by heavy drums.

"This one doesn't have vocals."

Steve wouldn't listen to this regularly, but he could admit when people were talented, and it was very clear that Eddie and his band were talented.

"You're really good," Steve smiled at him.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Eddie shut off the music and stood up.

He leaned closer to Steve, playful smirk on his face.

"You wanna go in the booth?"

"I'm not allowed."

"I'm allowed and I'm asking, so." Eddie wiggled his eyebrows, making Steve giggle.

"Okay, sure."

Once in the small booth, Steve felt overwhelmed with Eddie's presence.

His body heat was enough to make Steve sweat.

"You do all the lead vocals?" Steve asked.

"Yeah. Since day one," Eddie said from right behind him, so close his breath hit the back of Steve's neck.

Steve shivered, closing his eyes as he felt Eddie's hand rest on his lower back.

"Tell me to stop if you want me to," Eddie whispered against his shoulder.

"I don't," Steve gasped.

Eddie turned him, pushing him against the wall behind him.

"Can I kiss you?" Eddie breathed against his lips.

Steve nodded, a whimper escaping his mouth as Eddie's lips touched his.

Eddie was a soft chorus, a soft kiss.

A soft moan when Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie's neck.

Eddie's fingers gripped Steve's hips, tugging him forward so their hips met, both already half hard.

"Wait," Steve said when Eddie started kissing down his neck. "When will they be back?"

"Don't know." Eddie nipped at one of Steve's freckles. "Don't care."

Steve moaned again when Eddie's hand found the front of his pants.

"What if-"

"Don't know. Don't care."

Steve threw his head back as Eddie's hand cupped him over his pants.

"Fuck, feels good."

"How fast can you come?" Eddie's hand squeezed, almost making Steve's legs buckle.

"I-"

"Eddie! Thought you were joining us!" A voice yelled.

"Be there in a few! Just wanted to check something!" Eddie yelled back.

"You're a workaholic!"

Eddie checked through the crack in the door to make sure the person left before he turned back to Steve with a sad smile.

"I probably should join them." Eddie cupped the side of Steve's face in his hand. "Maybe after your shift we can meet up?"

"Really?"

"Really, sweetheart."

"Oh. Um, I guess. I mean, it's probably against the rules, but I can give you my number?"

"I won't let them fire you. I made the move, right?" Eddie dipped his thumb into Steve's mouth for just a second, teasing.

Eddie may have made the first move, but Steve was quick to make the next one that night, not giving Eddie a second to say hi before he was in his lap in the backseat of a hired car.

Steve's job had a lot of perks, but gaining a boyfriend was definitely the best one.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #meet cute

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lamnwar · 2 months

Text

Come here, old man ♡ // Harasawa Katsunori x Fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

A/N: ABSOLUTELY not requested, this is ridiculously self indulgent and I got so into it that it's like... 6.3k words on how much I need that man 😭😭 @sennkawaa @chaotic-nick I did us harasawa girlies a service with this one, hope yall enjoy it <333

Context: a chance encounter with a hot old man makes you loose your sanity.

Warnings: age gap (around 20 yrs assuming reader is in university), alcohol consumption but they have sex sober, aomine being a bitch during his 2 sec of screentime, handjob, oral (f! receiving), mention of unprotected sex but they wear a condom, implied praise kink (reader), coach harasawa is kinda desperate (poor man hasn't got good pussy in months 😔)

Never in your life did you think you'd sleep with a guy old enough to be your dad, yet here you are – caged under the basketball coach's surprisingly toned body, his wavy locks falling in your face.

It's honestly nothing but the result of an unexpected chain of events. What were you, but a simple girl with too much sweetness in your voice and lust in your eyes? Nothing, absolutely not a single star in the sky, could have foreseen such event. While you do appreciate older guys, it never crossed your mind to go after someone who could easily be your senior by twenty years. The single thought of being with a man closer in age to your parents than to you is enough to draw you away from such big age gap. But all that, all that you trusted to be an unmovable preference of yours; it all went down the drain the moment you laid your eyes on Harasawa Katsunori.

It started with a simple invitation from your university friend. Ever since meeting Satsuki Momoi during orientation, you learned of Tōō High School’s basketball team in their prime – the players, their best matches, and their greatest opponents, almost as if you attended that school yourself and was on the bench during every match, witnessing the plays of Tōō’s basketball team. At some point, you got to meet Daiki Aomine, the prodigious player who was at the centre of most of the things Satsuki told you about her former team. He was quite a sight – tall, dark, and handsome, almost hot enough to make you see past his nonchalance and laziness. And in the following months, you came to meet most of the team – or at least, those who were playing during Satsuki’s time as Tōō’s manager.

A special bunch, you noticed, asking yourself how sweet and soft Satsuki got to spend almost every single one of her high school days surrounded by these guys without going insane. Yet, you couldn’t help but stare at them with softness in your eyes, the bond between these boys being endearing. Growing apart, yet never forgetting each other – their recurrent meetings for a shared meal or drink, and for some reason you’d be there because they grew to like you enough not to mind your presence. Never in your life would you have imagined being hanging out with a bunch of big dudes, fairly intimidating ones at that, only to find out that they were no less of goofballs as any other guy their age. You always watched them with a faint smile on your face, quite like an outsider that knows too much about them.

So it was not much of a surprise when they invited you, in a collective feeling of nostalgia for their high school days, to watch Tōō play at the Winter Cup’s semi-finals. You said yes, although you wished you could have witnessed the boys on the court instead of these new players, but it didn’t feel right to turn down the invitation just for this reason. But all that didn’t matter anyway, the moment you stepped foot in the court. You stood back, blown by the ambiance – the cheers, the squeaking of the shoes on the wooden floor, the balls bouncing on every surface. There you were, in Tōō’s tribune with alumni, mind blown as if you were attending some high-level sports event (wasn’t it just high school basketball?).

“Oh look! It’s us!” exclaimed your friends, as their former team walked in from the lockers.

Your interest piqued, you looked down, meeting the sight of yet another tribe of giant teenage boys, surrounded by the kind of aura that made it clear that this was serious business for them. But your eyes quickly trailed to the man leading them, as if your eyes were meant to see him, and only him. Time ceased, granting you with eternity so you could take in every feature of this gorgeous man. From his wavy locks to the way his striped shirt was so neatly tucked in his dress pants. The tall, slender figure of a man who looked mature, yet so fine that you couldn’t wish that he was younger. No, there was such a charm in the small wrinkles in the corner of his mouth, and the slight bags under his tired eyes that were looking up at you…

Wait. Was he looking at you or is it your brain seeing what it wanted?

“Coach, over here!”

Ah, that made more sense. It wasn’t about you, you were merely a member of the public like others, just standing between his former players. You watched, processing your embarrassment, while he smiled politely in the direction of your friends. You would have melted in place if that smile was aimed at you, but it wasn’t. You sat, looking anywhere but at him. Nothing would kill your soul like him catching you staring like a creep. But the minute he diverted his attention back to his actual players, you couldn’t help the urge. Something about that man, so calm yet commanding, it made your stomach churn and twist.

And so you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him the whole forty minutes of play. Eyes diverting from the court every once in a while, just to see him stare at the game intensely, eyebrows furrowed as you guessed that he was thinking about the next best strategy for his players – not that they really needed to change anything to the way they played, if you referred yourself to the score board. When the final whistle blow, a jaw-dropping 108-65 for Tōō got the whole gymnasium on fire, the first one to express their joy being your friends. Hell, even Daiki smiled, showing a bit of care for his former team. Naturally, you looked back at the gorgeous man at the head of this whole team. He had the slightest smile tugging at his lips, but you guessed that winning was no exception for him. It was impressive.

“Girl, you comin’? We’re going to the lockers.”

You jolted at Daiki’s voice. Not just because he wouldn’t usually talk to you, but mainly because it made you realise how much you’d cut off from reality just to stare at your new crush – if you could only call it that.

“Can I come?” you asked, hesitantly. You weren’t a Tōō alumni like your friends, it felt a bit out of place to meet the team in their locker room.

“If I’m telling you, dummy.”

“Daiki! Don’t talk to her like that!” Satsuki scolded the blue-haired man, before turning to you with the sweetest smile, “of course you can tag along.”

And so you did, totally unaware of were that would have led you. You followed close behind Satsuki, feeling like you would when you were just a kid, attending some function with your parents and hiding behind their frame in shyness. It wasn’t like you, but the idea that you may fall face to face with the coach had you feeling out of your habitual state, like a silly teenage girl experiencing her first crush. But that alone would not be much of an issue – no, it probably was more on the fact that he was old enough to be your dad (well, he’d be a quite young dad if it was the case, but still!). And you couldn’t bring yourself to telling Satsuki – let alone any of the boys – how you felt about their former coach.

A guilty attraction that followed you to a nearby bar you all went to after, the middle-aged man unable to refuse the invitation out of nostalgia, or maybe because he couldn’t pass the offer for a nice glass of whiskey after a championship match. You sat at one end, thinking of yourself free of any awkward interaction with him from that position; oh honey, how wrong were you. It was ridiculous, really. It turned out that a bunch of basketball players needed an awful lot of leg space, prompting them to move around so everyone could be comfortably seated. Almost as if you were the main character to a cliché story, you ended face to face to the man you were trying so hard to avoid.

“It feels weird that you’re all old enough to drink now” he contemplated, swinging the honey-coloured drink in his glass.

Ah yes, right. He knew your friends when they were young and angsty. He was probably a big part of who they were now – the young adults you befriended without thinking much about it. And here you were, a mere stranger at a table of old friends, out of place but not deigning to leave. Somewhat, the thought of him being a mentor to these boys warmed your heart. Something about men being nurturing was oddly attractive to you.

“But I haven’t introduced myself to you, have I?” you blinked, wondering who he was talking to.

It is you, idiot!

You nodded your head, gulping your drink. What were you? Some fool who didn’t know how to talk? He let out a breathy chuckle at your face (probably).

“Katsunori Harasawa, coach of Tōō Academy’s basketball club.”

You repeated the name to yourself, muttering it as you hid your lips behind your glass of liquor. You liked the way his name rolled off your tongue, like a song. He had a pretty name, almost as pretty as he was. You sat there, smiling as you introduced yourself – but there wasn’t much to say. You were a student, Satsuki’s classmate, daughter to normal parents, raised in a quiet neighbourhood. No one extraordinary, not even a fan of basketball. But strangely, it didn’t matter all that much to him.

As the glasses emptied and refilled again and again, and you were way too far gone to even care about how you could be perceived, you might have seen him smile. An ever so charming smirk painted on his rose lips, ones he’d moisture with a gulp of whiskey. He’d let the hard liquor drop down his throat without wincing, and that’s how you knew he was a man way out of your league. It didn’t matter how nice he was to you, despite having no prior ties to you; or how nice his laugh was, when his former players would talk shit. Katsunori Harasawa was a man way beyond your scope, someone you’d admire all night hiding behind your glass, while your heart would pound the minute he looked your way.

And the next morning, all that felt like a dream. A weird hallucination of your infatuation for Satsuki and Daiki’s former basketball coach. Maybe you imagined him – he was way too much to your taste to be real. And yet, your mind kept wandering all day, at the most random times. Thoughts of that dark strand of hair he’d twist around his fingers when yesterday’s match was a tad too stressful, while you brushed your teeth. Thoughts of his nicely fitted white shirt and the tie he’d tug loose when you were out for drinks, while you ate your lunch. Thoughts of his sharp eyes and the small wrinkles that would appear when he smiled, while you were sitting in your 2PM lecture. Thoughts of his fine features, the ones you could stare at for days without ever getting bored of them, while you were buying some eggs.

Just thoughts of him, all day, haunting you to the point where you were questioning your own sanity. It’s not like you, not even in the slightest. For all the people you’d been attracted to in your life, no one had occupied your mind quite like coach Harasawa. And you wondered, what could it be? Was it the fact that he was out of your reach, someone to admire from afar? Or the fact that you couldn’t process your attraction to someone easily twenty years your senior? A swarm of obsession, the kind you were breaking your mind to understand. The kind that distracted you from reality, as you aimed on your way to the station, not even realising that the sky was getting darker. Too lost in your inner turmoil of trying to rationalise your thoughts and feelings, to feel the droplets of rain fall on your skin. It took you being almost entirely soaked, bag pressed against your chest in a poor attempt of protecting its content from the water as you cursed yourself for not checking the weather app before leaving home.

“Need a ride?”

You blinked, not sure if you were hearing well. Usually, you’d walk away in a hurry at any man who would drive next to you asking if you’d want to hop in. And for a brief second, you wondered if it wasn’t just your mind hearing what it wanted to hear.

But it wasn’t. Behind the droplets of rain that fell before your eyes was the man of your thoughts.

“Coach Harasawa..?”

“Come on, you’ll get sick if you don’t get some cover.”

You silently went over to the passenger seat, settling there while you watched the drops on your skin, sliding down to the car mat and leaving a dark puddle under you. The heat of his car was somewhat comforting, till you were reminded that it was his car.

“Do you live far from here?” He asked, eyes focused on the road ahead.

“Two stations away” you spoke, surprised by the sound of your own voice.

It was weird to talk to him, considering how you were thinking till just now that he might have just been a sweet creation of your imagination. But he was very real. You could see him blink, and the way the air conditioner would blow softly on the thin hair on his forearms.

“Come and dry off at my place, then I’ll drive you to the station.”

As all kinds of thoughts rushed through your mind at a speed that exceeded one of your words flow, you tried to decline the offer. It was not right, in anyways, to follow him home. At the back of your head came back the multiple times in your childhood when your parents would tell you not to follow a stranger anywhere. You grew up skittish and with fairly apparent trust issues, at this instant, it wasn’t the case anymore.

“You don’t have to but thank you.” You replied, unable to look in his direction without feeling flustered.

“I can’t let you take the train all drenched, it’s the least I can do.”

You couldn’t argue against him. He was right, in some way. And honestly, you wouldn’t mind drying off a bit. The way your wet clothes were clinging to your body was uncomfortable to say the least, but that wasn’t even the worst. It was the way your makeup was erased by the few drops that fell on your face, and the way your hair got frizzy. And you had to be seen by him in that state. Not that you’ve been the kind to care all that much about your appearance, but it didn’t feel right to look like a mess next to a man who was so well groomed.

And it didn’t feel right either when you stepped in his apartment – so neat and simple, yet homely. It matched him so well, giving the aura of something way too classy for someone who, at the end of the day, was no more than the coach of a high school basketball team. You let your drenched shoes at the door, soggy socks leaving trails behind you as you took each step hesitantly.

“Wait, I’ll give you a towel. Would you want a change of clothes, too?”

“Huh? No need, I’ll head out right after anyway, I don’t want to be a bother.” You urged, clearly out of place in his home.

Your presence felt invasive; you were no one to him. Not a friend, not even a former student. He’d only met you last night, wasn’t it absurd to ask so much from him? For all you knew, he didn’t even remember your name, maybe just your face. He was probably being nice and caring out of his habit of taking care of unhinged teenagers.

“It’s spring, y/n. Evenings are still cold.”

You sighed, a part of you warmed by his words. He sounded like a doting mother, which contrasted with his rather stern look. It was getting harder for you to say no, so eventually, you folded and took the t-shirt and sweatpants he handed you, walking to his bathroom, hoping that you were the only one hearing the thumping of your heart in the silence of his apartment.

It felt surreal, you thought to yourself as you undressed and patted your skin dry. The kind of coincidence you’d only see in a cheesy romance story, far from realistic or even logical. The materialisation before your eyes of the man of your thoughts alone was way too good to be true; but being here, at his? That was beyond your comprehension. The way his pants were barely too big for you reminded you of his small waist, the one held by the sinch pair of slacks he was wearing when you saw him yesterday. Even today, he was wearing a rather formal attire, even a tie. A purple tie that was now hanging loosely around his neck when you walked out of the bathroom, seeing him standing over some papers. It was such an ordinary sight, but every single little detail about it caught your eyes as if you were looking at an artist’s magnum opus.

“Thank you for the clothes and for lending me your bathroom” you said, with a slight polite bow.

It was weird and awkward, and somehow, it made him smile a bit.

“No problem at all.”

He was nice, too nice. Part of you hesitated to be too blunt, scared of appearing rude or too prying to him, but you had to ask, because it might just be better to be honest.

“If I may, why are you helping me out?” you asked, unable to look at him in the face. “I mean, I’m not your student or… anything, really.”

You simply saw his slim fingers on the dark wood of the table, as he put down the papers he was so seriously analysing. You felt bad for a second, heart beating in at an anxious rhythm while you longed for a reply.

“Huh? It just felt right. Besides…” he sighed, pulling a chair out for him to sit on it. “My players like you, don’t they?”

“Is that reason enough to invite a girl you barely know to your place?”

You followed your words with a short gasp, realizing that you’d spilled your thoughts with no second guessing. Crazy enough, in this situation where you had been overly cautious, this might just be the first time you were honest.

“Aren’t you a blunt one?” he raised an eyebrow, following by a quaint chuckle. “Can’t argue with you on that one, though. It isn’t quite my most rational decision, but I’d argue that I still know you a bit.”

“Is that so?” you mused, resting yourself on a chair.

“You’re quite talkative when you drink, you know?”

The flustered look on your face drew a light laugh out of the man’s lips, but to your opinion it was far from amusing. While, yes, you were well aware of the fact that you had a tendency to run your mouth when inebriated, your biggest issue was certainly the possibility of you saying something you shouldn’t have last night. And as you expected him to elaborate on that – potentially digging your grave – he simply got up, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“Care to accompany me?”

You chuckled nervously. “I mean, should I? What if I end up saying too much?”

“What do you think that is, some interview?” he clicked his tongue, a glass landing in front of you. “It’ll warm your insides, trust me on this one.”

“Talking just like a dad.”

He scoffed, the sound making you feel just as warm as the liquor that flowed down your throat. He was nice, as much as you wanted to question that, he undoubtedly was. You didn’t feel like letting your guards down yet, but maybe you were too vigilant. Maybe it was the first impression you had of him, when he walked on the court last evening, suit pressed and face stern – dark eyes scanning the court and the way he commanded a bunch of overly energetic boys. Or it was what his relationship to your friends – a mentor or a father figure, someone they trusted and loved years after last being under his care.

So how could you not be scared of him, even in the slightest? How could you not be terrified at the idea of being stupid in front of him?

Well, eventually, you weren’t. Not once you’d emptied your glass, asking him for seconds. You were getting too comfortable, but it started to feel just right the more you got accustomed to being here, alone with him. Comfortable enough to get in his kitchen, determined to give back for his kindness in some ways.

“I’ll make us snacks, can’t drink on an empty stomach my parents say” you hummed, after getting his permission to rummage his fridge.

“How many drinks do you expect to share with me?”

“Hm?” you pouted in reflection, patting yourself as if you were trying to gauge something, “till I’m fully dry, I guess. But I’m only halfway there.”

“You know what? I don’t mind the company.” He nodded, pouring the both of you another drink. “It gets boring being alone sometimes.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend or something?” you asked as you prepared a plate of appetizers, but you were quick to answer your own question. “Ah… I guess you don’t, if I’m here alone with you.”

Your words escaped your mouth without much thought or intent behind them, leaving you both in a lingering silence. For once, he was the flustered one – almost as if your words were projectiles hitting him right where it shouldn’t. You figured you were better off not adding to it, retreating in silence as you walk back to the dining table, nervously sipping on your drink.

“Is that an issue to you?” His voice broke the streak of quiet, forcing you to glance in his direction.

“I don’t have the right to any opinion on your private life.”

He shook his head, a soft chuckle coming out of his lips, “it’s alright, you can think what you want. And by letting you in my house, I’ve kind of made you entitled to judgement, haven’t I?”

“That’s one way of seeing it.”

“So? I feel like you’re an honest one but that you’ve been holding back” he remarked, and you couldn’t argue against it in any way.

He had you figured out, which was no surprise coming from a man whose job was to strategize and read people. You suddenly felt vulnerable, a sense of loss taking over you; yet you weren’t playing any games. It was mostly you, putting things in your head and reacting at the way things unfolded in what felt right – or so you would conclude, after a long series of thoughts that with retrospective, was based on speculation.

“You want my opinion on the fact that you’re single, that’s it?” You cocked an eyebrow, for some reason embarrassed by the request.

“It’s more that I know that you want to say something but you’re not doing it.”

You let out a breathy laugh, taking a sip of liquid courage. Ah shit, I’m gonna say it.

“I’m glad that you’re single. Here, said it.”

You took your breath, heart beating like crazy that you even said it. It wasn’t even a confession, but it wasn’t nothing either. Your words travelled straight to his head, the meaning so clear that you couldn’t even lie your way out.

“I figured.”

The calm with which he expressed himself was unsettling. You were a mess, unprepared and with no exit plan. No one prepared you to this, to the humiliation of your crush, who was significantly older than you, figuring out your attraction for him.

“Ah…” You groaned, slumping on your chair, “this is humiliating.”

“It isn’t. Not at all.”

You didn’t dare look up, but he was there. He was standing, leaning towards your chair. His voice was soft, like a feather that caressed your ears.

“I don’t understand.” You let out, in clear confusion.

“It’s frankly flattering that I caught your eyes. I’m overworked and I dress fancy to tell a bunch of teenage boys how to play with balls. I’m not really a prized bachelor by standards.”

You chuckled, genuinely amused by his words. In some ways, it made you feel better, more at ease in this instant. But you’d argue that he was wrong in multiple way. Katsunori Harasawa was a suave man, one that had such delicacy in his self that you wouldn’t even care about any of the defaults he found for himself.

“Don’t ask me why I like you, I just do.” You looked up at him, meeting his sharp dark pupils, and it made your heart jump.

You couldn’t tell why, but it felt right in that moment to lean in to leave a soft kiss on his mouth. You could cry at how soft his lips were – the taste of honey and cinnamon from the whiskey you were both drinking, and the scent of his perfume coming to you from the proximity of your bodies. And to your surprise, he kissed you back. He did, cupping your face gently and tilting it to the right angle so he could get a better taste of your sweet mouth.

And now, here you are. You can’t even make a sensical thought, not when his warm hands are travelling down your body, lifting your shirt up with urgency. His touch gets you dizzy – too far gone to even question what you are doing. All you’re able to do is tug on his hair, soft whimpers leaving your lips as you cover his face with kisses of all sorts. He laughs softly – how sweet are you, an adorable little thing in his hold. He stands back, taking in the sight of you. Your messy hair, his t-shirt rolled up above your gorgeous breasts, those pretty eyes that look up at him with the kind of need that he hasn’t seen in years.

“Pretty…” he mutters, lips trailing down your neck to your chest, leaving traces in their wake.

You blush – you feel silly, all flustered by the words of a man, when you are the one who initiated all this with a kiss. But you can’t deny the way his hands and lips touch you, proof of the years of experience he has on you. He is smooth in his transitions, the wet kisses you were feeling on your neck mere seconds ago now marking your chest. His breath is hot against your hardened nipples; he is so close, but he still doesn’t get to your sensitive buds, no matter how much they beg for his attention. No, coach Harasawa vows to take his sweet time with you. Your desperate sounds are nothing but a nice song to his ears, the soundtrack to his ministrations that exalts his senses and his cock. You can feel him hard against your thigh, the simple sensation driving you insane.

You squirm, desperately kissing him as your own hands slide down his torso, untucking his shirt from his pants and clumsily unbutton them. His skin is pale and warm, like a tropical beach, and it makes you melt, the way he feels under the pad of your fingers. You trace the outline of his muscles, proof of the carrier as a professional player that he mentioned yesterday. You had no reason to doubt him, but you were far from imagining that his body would have still been toned. It is a delicious mix of softness and firmness, one that you want to cling to.

“Can I touch you, coach?” you ask, tone too innocent for the kind of demand you’re making.

He stands back, unbuckling his belt as he clicks his tongue.

“Don’t call me that, it’s what the boys call me.”

“Are we on first name basis, then?” you question him, helping him out of his pants.

Your palms rest over his bulge, taking in the size of it. Akin a sun, it is a life beating in your hold. He hisses, sensitive – your touch is delicate and curious, and he could melt at the way you look at him with so much need.

“I think it’s totally appropriate given that your hands are on my penis” he replies, following his words with a soft laugh.

You would never peg him for a jokester, but apparently, he has some humour. You giggle – although flustered by the bluntness of his words. He is, indeed, in the hold of your hands, as you stroke him gently. He is a man of composure, but your touch could easily make his resolve waver.

“Katsunori… aah! It’s weird calling you that” you groan, looking away. The way his name rolls out your tongue feels weird, but he couldn’t disagree more.

Every word that falls of your lips is the prettiest sound to be in the man’s opinion, especially his name. It feels intimate, the way you say it. He shivers, grabbing your chin to kiss your lips softly.

“You’re doing a great job pretty, keep going and I might fuck you right away.”

“Ah? I thought you were more of gentleman.”

He chuckles, fingers tangling in your hair and tilting your head back, planting an eager kiss on your lips. The honey and cinnamon taste of whiskey on his tongue melts you, reducing your entire self to a simple being of pleasure. You’re so cute like that, he thinks, a nice girl that wants him, simply. He’s found himself warmed every night by the arms of solitude for so long, that your presence – your body, so close to him – feels like a breath of fresh air. Here you are, the first ray of sun after a cold winter, with your eyes sparkling with admiration and lust, and your hands, soft and warm as they stroke his cock.

“I am a gentleman, but you do make it hard for me to behave like one.” He smiles, fingers delicately angling your face towards him. “You look at me like a starved woman, how long has it been for you, hm?”

You pout, the sight of you like that making the blood course through his body to his hardened cock, throbbing in your hands. He’s right – you haven’t had sex in quite a few months, probably explaining in parts your insatiable thirst for the man; but he shouldn’t have put you in the spotlight like that! You would love to huff and puff, making a fuss for the way he’s got you figured out, but he doesn’t even give you the time to.

Once again, you can’t explain how you’ve found yourself in this predicament. He’s got you on your back, breathing heavily as he rolls your panties down your legs. You want to hide yourself at the sudden exposition, but you fail to. His hands prop your legs open, kisses trailing all over your thighs. What a sight, one of your glistening cunt begging for attention, and Katsunori Harasawa can only think of making it his. Every part of it calls for him – for his fingers, for his tongue, for his cock.

“I’m gonna taste you, is that ok with you, doll?” he asks, breath fanning over your erect clitoris.

The question is unnecessary, the answer is evident. You nod eagerly, a small hum coming out of your lips.

“Ah, ah… wanna here a clear answer.” He urges, leaving kisses on your inner thighs.

You groan, face buried in the palms of your hands as you feel yourself blush like a silly girl. He’s a man, you figure, your weak sounds are nearly not enough for him.

“Yeah... it’s ok” you finally say.

It’s all it takes for him to give you what you crave – at last. His tongue laps at your slit, tasting your sweet nectar and you writhe under his ministration. Your fingers tangling in his wavy locks, pushing them away from his face to look at him as he devours you. It makes you smile between your soft moans, the way this man eats you out with a kind of passion you’ve never experienced. Little do you know, that he hasn’t been with someone for so long. It’s more due to circumstances of life than anything else, but he is indeed a starving man. Seeking touch and warmth in ways he himself wasn’t aware of, until this very moment where he has you writhing under him, your essence on his tongue. He hums at the taste – sweet, like the rarest honey, and your fingers tangling in his hair. He rejoices in the melody of your cries, the wordless pleas for more. What a sweet thing you are, a puddle of desire in his hold.

“Fuck, gonna…”

“Yeah? Let it out, doll.” He coos, pacing his tongue like you want him too, willing to take you to a place of ecstasy.

You whimper, feeling an impending explosion coming. How long has it been, since a man last made you come so fast? It’s blinding, a mirror reflecting white as your thighs threaten to close around his head. He holds them still, watching you unfold as he gives you a last teasing lap – more for him than for you, in all honesty, just so he can get a last taste of you. Under the music of your pants, he stands back, watching you. You’re a sight like no other – naked on his bed, the hills and valleys of your body, an endless land all for him to explore. His cock hard in his hand as finds a condom in his cupboard – it expires in two months, he’s in luck. At the back of your mind, though, you have the dirty fantasy of doing it raw, feeling him in the tightness of your cunt in the most intimate manner. It’s wrong, you are aware of it, but something about the man before you makes you irrational.

“Hey, I’ll push in, alright?” He whispers in your ear while you feel his tip tease your entrance.

“I can take it” you nod, your odd confidence drawing a soft laugh out of his lips.

The flushed look on your face speaks a thousand words, but your resolve doesn’t budge. You hiss at the feeling of his head in between your walls looking at the man over you. His eyes are focused on you, but his mind can only think of the warmth of your pussy. It takes everything in him not to push in his whole length – coach Harasawa isn’t usually a patient man. But with you, he must be. Every second counts, so he can feel more of you.

“You’re doing so good f’me…” he mutters, a sense of pride at the way you take in every inch.

You struggle to keep in the noises that threaten to leave your throat, too embarrassed – who moans from just that? He hasn’t moved yet, but you feel overwhelmed. Maybe it’s that whole situation. The warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne, the locks of hair that tickle your forehead, his grip on your hips. You don’t know, and you don’t care to know either. All that really matters is the way he slowly fucks you, as if you were made of crystal.

“Yeah, feel good?” you mewl.

“Of course, pretty” he sighs, catching your lips in a kiss, “you feel heavenly.”

His praise sends a jolt down your body, cunt clenching in response. He grunts, not expecting your walls to hold him in such a tight grip, and it makes him dizzy.

“You like it when I compliment you, hm?”

You nod, the sparkles in your eyes making his cock twitch. He strategically holds back in his thrust – you feel way too great for him to risk ending this too soon. But that languid pace drives you mad. You buck your hips to meet his, a needy whine leaving your mouth. He laughs; the message is rather clear.

“Calm down, doll, I’ll fuck you right. Here…” he coos, pushing deep enough to knock the air out of your lungs. “Shit! You were made for me, weren’t you?”

He chuckles, drunk on you. It takes a few more thrusts and more of your desperate sounds before his resolves finally breaks. You hold the sheets, mind going blank when he finally gives you what you crave. His thrusts – deep and powerful, make you twitch and squirm. He holds your body tight, in fear of you slipping away; but you aren’t going anywhere. As you sense your orgasm coming, you whine. It’s too soon, it can’t be!

But you are too far gone. Your pants and moans mix with his groans and whimpers, the symphony of your encounter sending you over the edge. Praises fall in your ears – such a pretty thing, taking me so well… good girl, come for me.

“I’m right here, make me proud.”

It’s all it really takes for you to unleash your pent-up arousal, body shaking as you’re washed over by the wave of your orgasm. He fucks you through it, relishing in the way you cling to him. It doesn’t take long till his own release approach. He stills, head buried in the crook of your neck as he lets go of all inhibitions. You gasp, overwhelmed yet head empty.

From that moment onward, Katsunori Harasawa is all you have in mind.

#hmmmm the grip that man has on me is INSANE #that's 2 month worth of work bc yeah #hoping to rally more people to the harasawa nation with this one #harasawa katsunori #knb #kuroko no basuke #harasawa x reader #knb x reader #harasawa smut #knb smut

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liauditore · 1 year

Text

hehe. small.

just some casual brainrot art for the au i have in my head that i should probably draw the intro comic to sometime👍putting these under 'liaumercAU' til i find a better name 😭😭

look below the cut for my nonsense 👍

OK SO.. this was originally gonna be called the 'ethubs mercenary au' cus it was mainly ethubs-centric (and still kinda is) BUT i have scope creep issues and slowly it's become more and more broad and now the entire player list of the life series has some sort of role to play in it along with several hermits. yes i have a problem don't. Talk to me.

anyway,,, these guys are a pack of orphan street rats menacing the streets of Rivendell, living off of pick-pocketing and other mischief. Absolute public nuisances.

No exact ages cus I don't like em but Martyn's the oldest and has a bit of a leader complex about it. You'll most likely find him challenging other boys to prize fights in the middle of the street.

He and Jimmy have formed a bit of a partnership that they call the 'property police' in which they (attempt to) run a mafia-like extortion scheme with the local shopkeeps by charging them protection fees. They're only successful with the few that choose to show them pity or just think their antics are cute.

Grian's just a bit younger than Martyn and likes to lie comparatively low but secretly thinks of himself as the lead in that "these idiots would be dead without me" kinda way. Despite his age he's got connections everywhere and wants to leave the empire one day to set up his own little settlement somewhere out in the wilderness (he calls this "project EVO").

Just cus he's more logic-oriented and prefers to send any of the other three to do the dirty work doesn't mean he's afraid to thrown down when pissed though, which a lot of people have learnt the hard way. He's frail but his punches HURT.

Pearl's the youngest and the most likely to just grab your wallet and run away with it while cackling. She's got way too much energy for anyone to deal with so it's probably a good thing she has Martyn to roughhouse with. She's got the worldview of one of those small dogs that thinks they can take on pit bulls and huskies five times their size and won't hesitate to jump into a fight if she sees one of her friends involved (she has bitten so many people).

Scott just shows up from time to time to hang out with them and is weirdly secretive about who he is or where he came from. His clean shoes and ability to read hints that he's probably more well-off than the four. Grian's somewhat wary of him but nobody else is willing to put up with Pearl's mud-wrestling when Martyn's not around so he's allowed to stick around.

That's all for now before i spoil the whole thing but despite their hardships they have each other 👍until bad things happen and they don't but that's for the future 😊😊

#my art #liaumercAU #scott smajor #pearlescentmoon #grian #martyn inthelittlewood #jimmy solidarity #tried to base these mostly off of their old skins with some creative liberties here and there #<-- cus grians old skin is link lmao

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stirthewaters · 1 year

Text

Too Sharp to Touch pt.2

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Language

Summary: After your fight last week you've been sentenced to community service in Jericho, and you take a break at the Weathervane for some peace and quiet

Pairing: Wednesday x Reader

“This stinks,” you muttered to yourself as you pulled a discarded paper cup from the sidewalk and placed it into your bag.

After your so called ‘dogfight’ a week before, you’d been sentenced by Weems to go out and do some community service in Jericho. On a Saturday. So unfair. So while you could’ve been drawing with Xavier and Eugene in the shed, instead you were stuck outside in the unusually hot September sun, picking up bits of trash, surrounded by normies, a few of those who’d give you dirty looks as they passed.

It wasn’t the act of simply cleaning up discarded trash and whatnot that bothered you; it was the fact that it was boring, hot, and unfair. Since when did a little fight deserve this cruel of a punishment? And on a Saturday? That was just cruel.

Grunting slightly, you moved your trash bag over to your right shoulder, kneeling slightly to grab a broken plastic spoon from a crack in the sidewalk. This punishment was stupid; there was barely any trash anyway. You’d been out here for nearly an hour and a half and yet your bag was barely half-full; was Weems just trying to make you suffer? Deep down you knew of course she wasn’t, but still. It felt good to complain about something while you were forced to endure this.

Your muscles still felt uncomfortably tight from your fight. Sure, you had given the other guy a pretty good whooping but even you couldn’t deny that he had beat the shit out of you; your bruise lingered on your cheekbone and jaw, and every time you moved too sharply your side ached. You could definitely go for a nice cool shower right now, but no. Today was not a good day.

Maybe Wednesday was right though. You weren’t the best at fighting, especially for a werewolf, which was pretty odd even to you. Sure, you could throw a decent punch, but couldn’t anyone? You wouldn’t admit it to her but you wished you were as good at fighting as Wednesday was.

Every time you thought of that fight you remembered the feeling of her eyes on you, examining you, thoughts and focus only on you.

It made that little bit of fur on the back of your neck rise and tingle, embarrassingly enough.

You were walking by Uriah’s Heap when you heard the bell at the door signaling someone exiting the shop, and you briefly glanced over your shoulder to see a young-aged man in a plaid button up with a gun slung over his shoulder exit the store. Eyebrows furling in slight disgust, you started to move on, trying to hustle away from him, but you weren’t fast enough and felt a hand clamp on your shoulder, followed by his voice

“Hey, you’re that Lyall kid, right?”

Eyes rolling with a little bit of disgust, without even looking behind you, you muttered, “you’ve got the wrong person,” stepping forward and away, but the man hurried to catch up beside you.

“No, no, I’ve seen you before, I swear.” The man’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Aren’t you some kinda wolf freak?”

You started walking faster, getting irritated; you needed to control yourself or you were going to get into another fight and get punished even worse.

“I’m not supposed to be talking to people right now, okay?”

Completely ignoring what you had just said, the man walked alongside you, tone prodding you for information.

“You know, I’ve heard some pretty wild shit about you,” he grinned, showing a single gold tooth replacing one of his canines. “Aren’t you rolled up in that weird-ass school, Nevermore?”

Not wanting to seem rude, you just stared straight ahead as you walked, muttering, “yes.”

The man smiled, seeming pleased to get some sort of information out of you. “So what are you doing all the way in Vermont instead of in New Hampshire? With your daddy?”

“This school fits me better,” you responded stiffly, rolling your eyes again.

“What, because you’re a freak?”

Clearly this man was just trying to provoke you. And, annoyingly, it was working. You could feel that familiar bubble in your chest that made you want to get mad. Punch someone. Especially him. Yet, you knew that if Weems heard about you beating up a normie in town, your punishment would surely be so much worse.The man continued to pester you as you passed the antique shop, your eyes flickering to the gun strapped over his neck as you muttered, ready to be out of this conversation, “look, I gotta go.”

Without waiting for his response, you turned sharply and crossed the street, garbage bag thumping repeatedly against your back. Skirting around a parked car, you paused on the sidewalk, looking over at the man on the other side of the road, wondering if he was planning on following you. Relief flooded you and your stiff posture disappeared as you watched the man turn the corner and disappear.

Still a little on edge, you noticed that now you were right in front of the Weathervane. Hesitating, you debated your options. It was hot, you’d already been out there for a while, and you had to admit that what little trash there had been around town was now safely tucked in your bag. Surely you deserved a break at least?

You let out a long exhale of relief as you entered the shop, the air conditioning soothing your sore muscles from bending over all morning. The smell of coffee grounds was particularly strong and you felt yourself untense further as your fear started to melt. You headed for the counter, and then stopped short, immediately recognizing a familiar goth seated in one of the booths in the corner, eyes focused on a book in her hand as her mug sat beside her, seemingly untouched.

It took you a moment to pull your eyes away from Wednesday before you walked over to the counter, ordering yourself a hot chocolate as you let your bag drop to the floor. Pulling off your tight latex gloves, those of which you shoved in your pocket, you paid for your hot chocolate, thanking the kid working there, and headed straight for the table in the back.

When you approached her, you watched as Wednesday’s eyes didn’t move from what she was working on as she spoke. “Done already?”

“I should be,” you huffed, taking a sip of the hot chocolate. “It’s too damn hot.”

The raven raised an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes. “So you’re not done.”

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head, “I’ve been working for like three hours; it’s a cruel punishment.”

“Lucky you,” she muttered, turning back to her work as she spoke, writing a little bit more. Without asking, you slid into the booth opposite her, not noticing her turn on the page faltering slightly as you did so, adjusting yourself comfortably as you placed your hot chocolate down.

Not feeling much of a need to say anything, you just stayed silent, laying against the cool cushioned padding of the booth and taking a well deserved break, the sound of customers murmuring, coffee cups clinking, and the turning of pages doing well to add to the comfortable atmosphere.

You two both sat there in silence; Wednesday never once speaking as she worked, you relaxing with your eyes half closed, not noticing the raven’s eyes flicking up to observe you every now and then.

It was the most peace you had gotten the whole week and it felt good.

And you couldn’t deny that you were maybe watching Wednesday too. You weren’t being creepy at all, but you were just always drawn to those dark brown eyes, always filled with focus and concentration, and the sea of freckles dotting her cheeks. The way she read every single line as if she truly wanted to understand it; how she took notes every now and then, muttering under her breath as she did so. Hadn’t you ever called her pretty before? Because she definitely was.

The silence lulled on until it was broken by the ringing of the bell to the entrance of the shop, you turning your head to see Enid followed by Yoko enter; as the blonde spotted you and Wednesday, immediately that stupid grin came over her face; the one that you knew too well; she was up to something.

You rolled your eyes and turned away, returning to drinking peacefully and reluctantly realizing that this peace wasn’t going to last as long as you hoped.

You heard the sound of Enid skipping over to where you and Wednesday were sitting as Yoko approached the counter, with a cheerful “hiya, Willa! Didn’t know that when you left this morning you were going out for coffee with Y/N?” The blonde waggled her eyebrows suggestively, a smirk on her face as she looked between you two. Oh, she was so dead.

You had to bite down a smirk of your own as you saw Wednesday stiffen even more than she usually was, slowly looking up from her book to glare at Enid. Oh, if looks could kill the blonde would be six feet under right now, although both you and Enid knew that she’d never follow through on any threats she might make.

“I’m merely reading. I had no intention on Y/N being here, nor is this any form of…” - the raven paused, her eyes scrunching up slightly in disdain as she refused to say the word - “affectionate interaction. Y/N was fulfilling her assigned punishment and happened to interrupt me.”

This time you actually smirked when you saw Enid’s smug smile disappear and you stuck your tongue out at her, though that promptly resulted in you catching an elbow thrown into your side, you letting out an ‘oof’, and doubling over as Wednesday smirked slightly.

“You’re skimping out on your service?” Enid asked, tilting her head slightly in exasperation. “If Weems catches you…”

You cut her off, “even if she does find out, she’s got a soft spot for me. At the least I’ll get a detention. Simple.”

You heard Wednesday scoff softly, though she stayed silent otherwise.

Yoko shortly returned, with two drinks in hand, giving one to Enid. You watched as through her shades the vampire’s eyes studied both you and Wednesday, a tiny smirk appearing on her face, eyebrow raising slightly as she glanced between you two. Nodding once at the raven, who didn’t respond, as well as you, she gave Enid a little nudge on the shoulder. “Come on, E, let’s give ‘em some space.”

You watched as Enid gave you and Wednesday a wave goodbye, the latter of which met both Yoko and Enid with a glare that could’ve easily frightened any grown man. Both Enid and Yoko exited, leaving you and Wednesday alone.

“Idiots”, she muttered under her breath, eyebrows furrowed in slight annoyance. You chuckled softly and leaned back in the booth, resuming your own little trance of being comfortably aware of everything around you, your sensitive hearing picking up every single noise. The clinking of coffee cups. The sound of the machine whirring and hissing every now and then. The turning of pages. Soft murmurs of conversation.

It almost made you forget about the conversation you’d had earlier with that man.

It was after another good thirty minutes that you glanced down at your phone as it pinged, receiving a text from Weems notifying you that she would be picking you up in estimately thirty minutes.

Which meant that you had to leave.

Damnit.

Sliding out of the booth, you glanced at your phone and then at the door, sighing with disappointment as you grabbed your hot chocolate and downed the rest of it easily. You noticed how Wednesday’s eyes briefly flicked up to you as you started pulling your gloves on. “Going to complete your procrastinated duties?”

You nodded grimly with a small sigh, “I’m sure as hell not getting another detention this week.”

She hummed ever so softly, eyes falling back to her paper as she deadpanned, “if your behavior isn’t corrected than you surely will be.”

You didn’t even hesitate to give her a small kick to the shin, which was met with a harder one to yours in response, you groaning “don’t be a dick.”

Finishing with pulling your gloves on, you rubbed your sore shin with a grimace, shooting her a dirty look, though you had to look away to stop yourself from laughing, rolling your eyes at her smirk. You walked backwards with your bag, sticking your tongue out at her, causing her to roll her own eyes in response and return to her book as you exited the cafe, a grin on your face and the heat of the sun on your back not as prominent in your mind as it was before.

In your mind, you could still hear her turning the pages

—————

pt.3 here!

#wednesday addams #wednesday series #wednesday x reader #wednesday #wednesday 2022 #wednsday addams #jenna ortega #werewolf reader #werewolf #tstt

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rzyraffek · 1 year

Note

Could you please do headcanons Slashers (like Michael, Brahms, Billy, The Sinclair brothers) as caregivers for their S/O who is an age regressor

Or headcanons for those Slashers when they find out their s/o is an age regressor?

Okay I acually went and educated myself on this topic for you my dear anon🥰🌼

if your uncomfortable with topic of age regression pls dont read that😭

So basically as far as I understand age regression means that somone acts like child due to some traumatic event??? And like they act childlike and participate in child typical activies (such as drawing with crayons, speaking like a toddler, drinking from bottles ect) if i make headcanon that don't make any sense im sorry! I have no experience with this topic! ALSO this is pure platonic! Age regression isn't a kink or a fetish!!

Slashers with age regressor y/n

Brahms Heelshire

Tbh y/n acting childish kinda woke up his inner child, CUZ HE LITTERALY GOT LOCKED IN WALLS IN AGE OF LIKE 10 so he kinda missed out on some fun stuff

100% plays hide and seek! Or tag! My man loves some good round of hide and seek, this place is huge! *insert british accent* "oh you little scallop... if I find you I will tickle you so hard..."

Question: age regression is like temporary or like forever thing? Like regressor acts like that when they are in bad metal state or just always? Bcs if always then it might be hard with Brahms, see he kinda.... has mommy's issues has huge need to be taken care of, probably similar to y/n's, he kinda wants a person who will just pamper him and make him feel like he's the single child yknow? All the attention on him? Yknow what i mean??

If y/n draws him something nice, dude will put it on a fridge with a magnet and be proud

If thats like temporary thing, he acaully will ask a lot of questions: how should he act? Do you remember anything? How does it work? Can he get some cuddles? Do you still love him while regressing? (Ofc you do, but he doest understand)

Billy Lenz

You guys vibe

Dude won't see any difrence😭

Yay one more reason to watch cartoons together! (His favorite ponny is rarity and fluttershy)

If y/n babytalks and uses toddler-like vocabulary... dude will mimic it😭 he just thinks that will help with communication😭 its not like you guys struggle with it or anything, Billy is just build like that

Yall draw together, his artstyle already looks like toddler drew it (not in cute way)

Plays dolls with y/n (but he acually makes it interesting! Like he makes it all dramatic and the tea is just jawdropping)

Also don't bother explaining what is age regression, just say "sometimes I act like kid to cope"😭

Micheal Myers

Judges

But kinda likes it, not in weird way! He enjoys taking care of y/n, but he has his own ways of doing so

He won't play with them or let them cuddle him too much

But he accepts little drawings and stickers that y/n gives him

He is still stalking them, making sure noone tries to bully them or anything

He is very protective, for example if y/n cuts their finger while making food, dude is all over them: Oh no no dont cry! Uhhh.... uhhh oh! See a pretty bandage? With puppies! Pls dont cry...

On rare days he is acually around (phicially i mean, cuz hes always around just not interacting with y/n) and it happens for him to be in good mood too, he will let y/n nap on him or put some stickers on his outfit- he never takes them of btw, the only reason that stickers wash of is the field he 'works' in? Yknow a lot of mud blood and water. He also holds y/n hand if they are spooked

And he fucking loves fluttershy and applejack

Steals some cute shirts and socks for them!

Sinclair Bros

Bo is the least understanding, tbh he will lisen to y/n only if they have very good relationship

Vince is just 👍

And Lester is acually very open to the idea

Drawing and playing dolls with Vincent

Going on cool drives with Lester

And napping with Bo

Whole fridge is covered in drawings and cute magnets

All Vincent's notebooks and Lester truck covered in stickers

Even Bo gun didnt escape the sticker apocalypse

Vince made special wax figurines for y/n

Lester calls them "kiddo" 😭😭

Bo puts his hand on their head and rubs it till their hair goes all puffy

They all act like older brothers who have to take care of younger siblings while perents are away😭😭

Vince acually vents to regressing y/n and they are just like: "man I just wanna pet the dog"

Bonus round! Added few more!!

Bubba Sawyer

Bestie vibes

Yall just spend time playing with dolls and drawing together

Absolutely lets y/n nap on him

He totally combs their hair and puts them in nice bun (or if y/n has short hair he will just brush it)

He kinda sees age regression as lil break from reality? Like you two can just vibe and act they way you want to😊 he enjoys, cuz tbh he do be acting like child(not in bad way!) And his happy that you both can do all those child-like activities without being judged by other person

Bit y/n once

Asa Emory

Ew a child

I mean

Idk he gives me "the dad that never has time for u cuz he has too much work"

Like yep he will read y/n a bed time story and he will tell them all about bugs and nature. But hes busy most of time

OMG ABOUT BED TIME STORIES Asa will read you one but he is so exhausted that he acually falls asleep first

He trusts them and knows that even whilr regressing they wont do anything dumb, but he still bans them from his 'workroom' theres... well some photos and drawings of victims and i doubt y/n wants to see it

Lets them sit on his lap while he reads newspaper like middle-aged man he is

Gives lil head kisses before sleep

Bug themed plushies and figures

Makes y/n watch animal planet and bbc nature with him

When he's out for longer periods of time he will buy them McDonald's as an apology

Welp

Done. I hope it makes sense! I never witnessed anyone age regress so idk how relatable it is!! I used x reader tags only to reach bigger audience

#slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #brahms heelsire #brahms x reader #micheal myers #micheal myers x reader #asa emory x reader #the collector x reader #bubba saywer x reader #bubba sawyer #age regression #sfw agere #request open #asa x reader

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vetinarivimesy · 2 years

Text

Kenobi-centric fic recs

Everything here will heavily feature Obi-Wan Kenobi in some fashion, and will vary wildly by ship, tone, and fic-type though I'll do my best to give little blurbs/not-too-spoilery summaries.

The fics range from gen to explicit, in some cases pre-date tagging ettiquette, and, no, no I have not re-read them all (ye gods have you seen the word counts).

In a few cases I'm basing my summaries on very hazy memory and I have a noted bad habit of skimming straight past explicit porn when I don't want to read it, then forgetting its there entirely - so caveat lector!

These are mostly fics that I currently mentally catalogue as Wonderful Obvious Obi-Wan Kenobi Goodness fics rather than expecting to dig up any obscure hidden gems. The list would probably look very different on a different day. It's far from comprehensive, and the categories are loose at best. But here it is!

I've been contemplating putting something like this together for a while but been a bit nervous of sticking my head up above the metaphorical parapet. As, follows my fave character around without caring overmuch about the ship trash, I've got quite a list of Star Wars fics inhaled/rediscovered.

(Wee bit too used to coming into very dead fandoms long after everyone's left, put the chairs up on the tables, the metaphorical lights have been turned off... and the not so metaphorical bills have stopped being paid. More than once I've stumbled into a wonderful old fandom fic archive only for it to vanish into, Only What Was Saved on the Internet Archive Remains status. Even when the archive isn't actually an ex-archive, many don't actually allow for interaction. Apologies to the authors I've never worked up the courage to comment on, this is an explanation not an excuse!)

Obi-Wan's apprenticeship fics:

Commander Kenobi - norcumi (complete, 9646 words)

Obi-Wan gets de-aged in the midst of battle. Cody gets to find out what teenaged Obi-Wan was like. Given Obi-Wan thinks he's fresh out of Melida-Daan, nothing like whatever Cody might have been expecting.

A Town Called Stagnation - deniigiq (complete, 33,000 words)

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan take a trip to Stewjon, to let Obi-Wan get in touch with his roots post the horrorshow of his early apprenticeship. Smalltown thinking and the trauma of recent events clash horribly for everyone involved.

Another brilliant author who's whole fic-output is well worth checking out. Their wry utterly charming character voices never fail to amuse, even when the POV character is one I'm currently in an... actually I wouldn't mind some bashing of this guy kinda mood. I draw amusement and sympathy for Qui-Gon's character in every single one of their immediately post-Melida Daan fics for context here, with my knowledge of that event thoroughly warped and contaminated by the current popular fanon take on the matter too.

Though more Cody-centric, and thus Clone Wars era, than anything parallelogram (Complete, 33,000 words) and they're neutral (complete, 9900 words) by the same author are also wonderful.

poisoned chalice - qigiined (Complete, 9900 words)

Another author with the wit and deftness of characterisation to make immediately-post-Melida-Daan Qui-Gon's POV both amusing and sympathetic. They've also got quite a few other gems!

Qui-Gon's very wry POV as he tries to navigate raising a very traumatised child, and appeasing his various lineage members.

through hardships to the stars - kivaember (WIP, 148,000 words)

Canon divergence where Obi-Wan's apprenticeship snafu on Melida-Daan went just that much worse than those Legends-were-never-technically-canon novels would have it.

As a result Obi-Wan and a very young Jango Fett end up on the run from a terrifying darksider, whilst Jaster Mereel and Feemor despearately try to catch up with the pair.

Little Lights Stories - ms_nawilla (WIP, 628,000 words)

Qui-Gon neglected too much of Obi-Wan's training, so Obi-Wan isn't immediately knighted post-Naboo despite saving Qui-Gon's life and defeating the Sith.

Anakin goes to the creche, Qui-Gon's in utter denial, and Obi-Wan begins the rocky process of finding his own feet post-Naboo, getting through the thorny process of working out who you are as your own person after living under someone else's oppressive shadow for far too long.

Super detailed epic detailing all sorts of wonderful possible jedi-culture headcanons, illuminated manuscripts! beer! force-manipulation games! communal caring! crystallography! sex ed! old-people's homes! the engineers! clerical branch! outreach via art! dance instruction! reincarnation! politics! spies! terrible james bond esque spy films to hide that the spies were really real! lightsaber classes! non-jedi temple residents! U and L leaning prejudice! Alderaan!

Just what would happen if Qui-Gon Jinn were exactly the sort of irresponsible unpleasant adult who should never ever be given a child a lot of fandom suspects he is. His implied treatment of Obi-Wan here can be fairly harrowing, for all that its emotional neglect rather than anything graphic.

The jedi are never depicted as anything less than trying their best, unfortunately no matter how thorough the system tries to be, sometimes people do just fall through the cracks. As was v.nearly the case for Obi-Wan in this verse.

Mostly character driven, though the hints of the greater plot bubbling away underneath all of this glorious worldbuilding and character growth are both ominous and intriguing. The pairing is a hell of a spoiler, but also one that could potentially be a bit of a squick, I don't want to spoil the slowburn of this thing but I do want to give fair warning. Does tumblr offer spoiler tags?

Preventing Order 66 fics:

When Duty is Done - thosenearandfarwars (WIP, 257,000 words)

Wonderful long-form piece - technically a WIP but all installments so far are complete - a what happens next post-Palp's getting his comeuppance, messily. Features Codywan, grief, internalised ableism, jedi order reforming in a very nuanced 'we were this close to the brink' and lost so many people to the war sense *not* the sneaky 'jedi-positive but actually bashing' sense.

Hell I wholeheartedly reccie just about everything this author's ever done tbh!

(This Too Was a Gift (Complete, 69,000 words) is also utterly wonderfully done, and a complete fic in a similar vein, albeit much more focused on the ramifications for individual characters than the ensemble cast of thousands that is Star Wars.)

I Got My Head Checked - frostbitebakery (Complete, 79,000 words)

Codywan Sith!Obi-Wan AU. Cody falls for the hot Sith in the next cell...

Light of the Mists- Snowy Egret Chimes of Kyber, Songs of Kyber, and Anthem of Kyber (Complete, 166,000 words)

This one technically also fits the Obi-Wan's apprenticeship category too. Bit of an epic of, what would happen if Obi-Wan never made it to Bandomeer, and instead trained under a force sect with rather different ideas about how things worked than the modern jedi order?

Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi - stonefreeak (WIP, 113,000 words)

Wonderful crackfic premise done mostly seriously. (WIP)

By an extremely obscure bit of Senate Legalise, Obi-Wan finds himself thrust into the role of Supreme Chancellor. Palpatine is furious.

How A Romance Novel Saved The Galaxy - Ariana Deralte (WIP, 184,000 words)

The galaxy takes a left turn when a popular novel takes the world by storm, and the Jedi and Mandalorians mutually discover their two cultures aren't so different after all...

sanguine - glimmerglanger (complete, 158,000 words)

In which Obi-Wan being a vampire, with all the nasty prejudices that come with being a non-human in the GFFA, somehow saves the galaxy.

Just Go Kill Palpatine - nevertheless_turtle (WIP, 6662 words though this is likely an underestimate due to formatting of a wonderful epistolary/OutsiderPOV social-media-centric chapter)

Just as the title says. Obi-Wan goes and attempts to do just that. Wonderful and hilarious.

The More I Live the More I See this Life is Not About Me - K_R_Closson

Another de-aged Obi-Wan fic. In which post-Melida-Daan suspicious of everyone and everything Kenobi somehow fixes things. Everyone around Obi-Wan is suitably horrified by the news of just what his apprenticeship under Qui-Gon entailed.

Not Quite Sure How to Catergorise these...

This category is the equivalent of the draw marked 'misc.' sorry! Mostly a mix of action/adventure stuff and fics I suspect will turn into, and they prevented order 66 fix-its, but maybe not, with some other truly misc. things thrown in.

backdrop - esama (Complete, 2300 words)

Short and sweet self-contained little tale. Very succinct, but what the author does with those words...

Gunslinger's Paean - Idiot's Array + Homeworld Elegy - Ashcroft_Writes (WIP, 299,000 words)

Epic, what if Obi-Wan post-Rako Hardeen paired up with Cad Bane action adventure tale. Mistrust. Violence. Gunslinging. Espionage. Murder attempts galore!

We Brothers, We Sisters, We Vod'e Few - infinitecompositions(WIP, 322,000 words)

Hell of a fic. WIP. What if canon were to take just a step to the left... Post-Naboo Obi-Wan finds himself recruited for the Shadows branch of the jedi order...

Another epic, cough, can you tell what style I like yet? Uh, starts off as a bit of a dark action adventure romp, rapidly morphs into a detailed dissection of spy-craft, espionage, and galactic politics - but becomes no less tense for it.

Kneading - Threebea O (WIP, 79,000 words)

Manages the miraculous trick of being canon, whilst seeming to be a fluffy bakery AU for a significant chunk of the first few chapters.

Jango/Obi - Jango falls for a local baker whilst hanging out in small town with Boba. Increasingly important to the fate of the galaxy shenanigans inevitably ensue when aforementioned baker turns out to be Obi-Wan Kenobi undercover.

Be Your Love - glimmerglanger (complete, explicit, 9000 words)

I tend not to go for 'real world' AUs but this author's work is so very excellent that I'm reccieing this one - hell I think most of their work is well worth a look through, and every fic-genre they've attempted has proven very fun indeed.

Heed the tags. Explicit Codywan BDSM stuff contained within.

Wizard of the Jundland Wastes - phoenixyfriend (complete, 3200 words)

Obi-Wan on Tatooine, outsiderPOV.

One of many wonderful Star Wars fics this author has written. If this one doesn't catch your fancy, one of their many delightful utterly bizarre premise taken to logical conclusion fics probably will.

Father of the Year (Not) - phoenixyfriend (complete, 2430 words)

Obi-Wan and Jango find out they're each other's soulmates. Mostly they're furious.

Wonderful very pointed skewering of all the usual soulmate and Jango is actually a decent dude tendencies in fic-writing.

Time Travel fics:

I thought I fought this war alone - stonefreeak (Complete, 3783 words)

Wonderful short and sweet Obi-Wan time travelling to his padawan days fix-it.

this is unexpected - MarbleGlove (Complete, 4461 words)

Very succinct and perfect with it time travel what if. Old Ben Kenobi goes back in time and immediately ruins Palpatine's day.

This author tends to be delightful no matter the fandom.

The Sun Swings East - kj_feybarn (Complete, 33,000 words)

Brilliantly done timeloop story of woe and hope. As much about recovery as the initial plot-driven despair. Mind the tags, Obi-Wan is understandably severely depressed throughout much of this fic.

The Making of Mavericks - AppoApples (complete, 146,000 words)

It was extremely difficult to choose just the one time travel fic from this author. Their output is wonderfully varied, don't like their particular take on the Jedi Order and/or the Mandalorians in this fic? Pick another, and odds are they'll have explored the concept from precisely the opposite angle.

This author has a wonderful exploratory sense of, okay okay, so how do we fix this thing/how do we make it worse?

In this case, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Cody, and Rex time travel to the past. This creates broad sweeping changes to the timeline, not always for the better.

The Desert Storm (complete, 1,144,599 words) & Rise and Fall series (WIP, 396,000 words) - Blue_Sunshine (WIP)

Wonderful epic-length time-travel fic. Highly recommended. Technically a WIP, but what there is already is well worth the time.

Ben Kenobi, now Nasaade, in utter furious despair finds himself back in time, pre, well, everything. He decides to take matters into his own hands and change things.

Gorgeous character-work, where by the end of the piece the characters are all in very different places than where they started out. And you utterly believe the growth (positive and negative) that got them there.

Draws from both legends and canon in a bit of a hodgepodge approach - despite drawing from a few of the more leaning towards the jedi were the bad guys sources in legends, impressively manages to tread a nuanced stance on, okay so what if the jedi and mandalorians did decide to start reforming in the face of this grave existential threat that's been brought to their attention?

Wonderful utterly enviable pacing - I know this one's extremely long. But at no point do you ever feel/notice the length when reading this thing.

It Was Another Time and I Another Man - Pell_Binterhol (WIP, 196,000 words)

Multiple Kenobis time travelling. Absolute chaos for absolutely everyone else; fellow time travellers, fellow Kenobis, and plotting Sith alike.

the massive machinery of hope - Killbothtwins (Complete, 150,000 words)

Obi-Wan travels back to his padawan days and annoys everyone else into helping him save the day. Wonderful sense of wry humour throughout this fic.

Living Memory - elsa3beth (WIP, 363,000 words)

Epic very detailed wonderful fic detailing just what General Kenobi would do if he had to fight the war again.

Deals with just what could happen if Anakin had ever had to face his fellow jedi with even a few of his flaws laid bare, and the fallout.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan, just barely managing to hold himself together, fresh out of the middle of his exile to Tatooine, is desperately playing four-dimensional chess against Palpatine and trying to use the awful structure of the Republic's Army to save both the Jedi and the Clones.

The 212th Attack Battalion's Guide to Saving the Galaxy by Accident - antigrav_vector & quarra (WIP, 783,000 words)

Long, character driven fic that's an incredibly fun take on just what might happen if Obi-Wan and a bunch of Ghost Company stumbled into Jaster Mereel's True Mandalorians and get themselves adopted. Heed the tags wrt pairings!

All the complications that come from being an adult stuck as an apparent child ensue. From being squicked out about being a kid again, to having other people being concerned that a kid is behaving like an adult, to just... time travel complications, kidnapping, force esoterica, and fighting a small war.

Plenty of Jedi thoughtfully staring at this strange miniature jedi master, lots of Mandalorians being both stunned and horrified by these tiny soldiers, and Dooku/Sifo-Dyas being a surprisingly lovely central pairing.

Not Qui-Gon friendly in the least, and in this verse you can't help but feel he very much deserves it.

Suicidal Misunderstandings - nevertheless_turtle (WIP, 67,000 words)

Obi-Wan spends much of this fic convinced he's hallucinating and on a bad spice-trip. The trigger warning is very much in the name here.

That said, wonderful, often hilarious time travelling Obi-Wan fic, as the jedi desperately try to work out 1) what's wrong with Obi-Wan, and 2) how to stop Palpatine.

Re-Entry (Complete, 568,000 words) and Re-Entry Journey of the Whills (WIP, 889,000 words) - flamethrower

Fair warning, might turn into a deadlink fairly soon. The author's stuff is in the process of being transferred to another archive. Not a big deal (though fandom being a collective arse is, ffs), as with many older fics this one has moved home fairly often! (Squidgeworld.)

Wonderful absolute epic time travelling Obi-Wan Kenobi fic. Even if you're not a fan of the central Qui/Obi pairing it's written from a very believable perspective, of you can see precisely how these two adults got there, and an extremely enjoyable read with it.

Starts off as a fairly character-driven piece, as the plot slowly builds into something extremely ominous indeed, though once the plot momentum gets going ye gods it gets going.

Another case of technically a series that's a WIP, but every individual story that's up is complete and a satisfying individual whole.

Filled with all the things I love in a Star Wars fic, Obi-Wan getting to be awesome, force esoterica, Obi-Wan getting to be a little shit, plotty plot, the jedi getting to be nuanced and awesome, canon and fanon star wars lore all over the place, and plenty of action adventure and gorgeous character work.

I don't want to go into too much spoilery detail here, but suffice it to say this one is a classic in the fandom for a reason, and deservedly so.

Warning that the dark stuff in this fic can get dark, the level of whump Obi-Wan endures goes all the way up to extremely creepy Palpatine-torture on par with the Ventress/Sith-mask/Alpha-17 situation. It's never gratuitous with it, but in places this fic is explicit, at turns in both the fun porny way and the whump sense.

Star Wars crossovers and fusions:

Alas this section will be shorter than I'd like it to be - unlike a lot of other sci-fi fandoms Star Wars fandom seems to shy away from crossover fic by and large. There's both less of it, and what there is seems to get a hell of a lot less interaction than it would in a different fandom. Not guilt-tripping, again, I am very very guilty of failing to interact myself, just a weird, 'huh, where are all the crossovers?' thing I've noticed.

Rouge Handed - nevertheless_turtle (complete, 2190 words)

As the name hopefully implies this one's kinda sorta a Moulin Rouge crossover. Ish. In that it's firmly set wholly in the GFFA.

Delightful little crackfic.

The weeping stone - Gabriel4Sam (complete, 6965 words)

A wonderful crossover with The Mummy that somehow manages to thread the needle, hitting the humorous tone of those films perfectly whilst simultaneously making you feel very sad indeed for Obi-Wan.

A Star to Steer By - dogmatix, norcumi (first fic in the series is complete, second a WIP, 109,000 words)

Absolutely wonderful Stargate crossover/fusion - it somehow manages to be both a crossover and a fusion at once.

Largely told from Jack's POV, the Jedi are symbionts, with all the misunderstandings that would imply, given the SGC are much more used to dealing with malevolent parasitic Goa'uld than benevolent symbiosis.

Lost Jedi - Augusta Pembroke (complete)

A Velvet Goldmine crossover fic. Curt Wild meets Qui-Gon Jinn, and things get complicated. Qui/Curt with implied unfulfilled Qui/Obi feelings.

All the unhealthy messy relationship stuff the Velvet Goldmine tag and the age of the fic implies is probably present and correct here.

Qui-Gon ends trapped on the wrong side of the galaxy, he finds Curt who's force sensitive, and trains him to help him get back home to Obi-Wan... Things get messy.

Snow and Cinder - MrsHamill (explicit, complete, 16,000 words)

The pre-requisite wonderfully done Highlander/Methos crossover fic. Obi-Wan hangs out with the ROG for a while post-Naboo in a bid to get over a falling out with Qui-Gon Jinn and work through his own messy feelings on the matter. The main pairing is Qui/Obi as many older Master&Apprentice archive era fics are.

All you really need to know about Methos is he's very old, and very cynical. He's literally seen and done it all.

This one doesn't fall into the all too easy to fall into trap of having Methos, understandably an extremely old and cunning immortal being so much better at anything and everything than everyone else around him that it stops being fun and starts bashing the other-verse in the crossover, for which I'm extremely grateful. It's a difficult balance to tread and this author manages it wonderfully. (I say this from first-hand, I have tried and failed to airdrop this character into other sci-fi fandoms you'd think he'd work well in, fic-author perspective rather than as a crit of anyone else's work!)

Look at the publishing dates please.

A few of these fics pre-date Attack of the Clones. They were written in the 90s.

If I find out someone's been bashing an author for outdated terminology or characterisation or for not using the current 2022 language, or a character the fic pre-dates in a fic they've not looked at for over twenty years, or how they wrote the central pairing in the era when the punchline to every single joke in Hollywood was 'haha they're gay!' I... Well... I won't be writing another one of these rec lists. Which isn't much of a threat I realise, but please, be civil.

I could probably easily fill a couple more of these lists tbh, and get more specific with it genre-wise... But as a general, here's a few fics I remember fondly often. I can feel myself getting neurotically 'this has to be perfect' at this thing, so, this'll do for now.

#star wars #fanfic #fic recs #obi-wan kenobi #fanfic rec #long post #(stupidly long post)#recs list #fanfiction recommendation

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starlightwoofwoof · 13 days

Text

you know what frick it

I’m making a Spooky Month AU based off of one of my favorite Goosebumps books

anyway for the whole starting point of this, here’s if Skid, Pump, Ross, Roy and Robert attended King Jellyjam’s Sports Camp (and also featuring some skin complexion headcanons as well cause why not heh)

Extra info :

Lila let Skid go to Camp Jellyjam after he saw a sign-up poster for it in town. Not sure why, but she eventually let him go there. Pump kinda just tagged along with Skid-

Skid is always wearing something skeleton related and Pump is always wearing pumpkin related lol

They stay as close to each other as possible, even entering the same competitions just to be with each other

Buddy (the head counselor, you can see him in multiple of my previous posts lol) thinks they’re slightly annoying, but they’re super energetic. He also thinks they should probably try to actually compete instead of them entering the same competitions just so they can be with each other, and letting each other win-

I’m not sure if they would ever meet King Jellyjam in person, but if they did, they would either think he’s super cool, or they would be too distracted by how bad he smells to care about his ‘coolness’-

Skid and Pump had tried to befriend Alicia multiple times, but she’s a bit shy. They were honestly worried about her after she disappeared, but they were happy to see her after everyone was saved.

Speaking of that, the boys were honestly a bit suspicious about the whole thing, especially after Alicia went missing. They weren’t really able to figure it out though before the whole secret came out.

Alright, that’s it for Skid and Pump, I think.

HATBOI TIME

Extra Info :

Okay, first off, Ross. Obviously, of course Jaune let him go-

Ross, despite being a bit of an introvert and also the slight age gap, had made good acquaintances with Elliot

I kinda headcanon Ross liking music, and a lot of bands, so I wanted to give him a band shirt. Problem : I don’t really have any knowledge on any bands, so I just picked my sister’s favorite band-

Also yes, he sharpied a replica of Aaron’s tattoo on his arm-

Buddy thinks Ross could be more sociable, and less nervous when he’s competing, but he thinks he’s kinda cool. Ross doesn’t mind Buddy, but he does think he’s kinda creepy sometimes cause of how happy he is, and his signature grin

Okay, time for Roy. I’m not sure why in the world Carmen or Richard would let him go to a sport’s camp- maybe they saw how ‘expensive’ the playing fields, equipment and dorms were and thought he deserved to go to ‘experience luxury’ lmao

Roy is extremely competitive, despite not really being a sport’s guy. He always tries to win, probably because of an ego thing, or to de-stress, idk

Roy kinda made ‘friends’ with Jeff. (well it was more of a frenemy kind of thing, y’know, them both kinda being bullies and them being competitive)

I didn’t know what outfit to give him honestly, idk what a ‘elegant summer look’ even would be, so I just gave him the outfit from the Mother’s Day 2024 drawing but with the sleeves rolled up lol

Buddy doesn’t like him all too much, thinks he’s incredibly rude, but he does like how competitive he is, and tries to be as friendly as he can to him

Now, as you can see, Roy got 6 King Coins. That means he can go onto the Winner’s Walk :D (and also be a slave for King Jellyjam but let’s talk about that later)

Ross and Robert were extremely happy for him, but they started to worry once they realized he went missing the next day. They practically interrogated Buddy on it, until they gave up, figuring he went home

Roy didn’t go home, though. He was busy cleaning King JJ before Wendy came to save everyone. Luckily, he didn’t die, but that incident might carry with him, along with all his other trauma (poor boy why did I pick you to be the one to suffer ☹️)

A n y w a y, Robert is last. He’s just a little silly :3

He really does like everything- but his personal favorite sports were baseball, soccer, and the Marbles Tournaments

He likes talking about aliens, and other cool things in the spare time he’s not playing sports (which is literally almost never)

Robert also made nice acquaintances with Elliot

Robert misses his siblings tho, he wishes he could at least talk to them :(

He could also been seen with Ross and Roy a lot when they’re not busy with sports

These three were all roommates, along with some kid named Joe. Who’s Joe? JOE MA-

Buddy quite likes Robert, they both think each other is cool

OKAY ENOUGH OF THAT-

okay, to end this off, here’s some more general info I thought up for now :

Since the two medias take place in completely different time periods (assuming the book’s events take place the same year it was released, it would be 1995), I wasn’t sure what to do, but I just picked SM’s time period, around 2012

I don’t think it’ll change too much, honestly, just with the whole pay phones not being there. I don’t think they’ll allow cellphones at Camp Jellyjam anyway- (everybody’s ages will probably remain the same too)

omg just imagine one of the SM adults attended the camp as a counselor

OMG KEVIN

okay I think I’ll shut up now uhhhh

one more thing, here’s something with Buddy

I’m losing it

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mikalame · 1 year

Note

Heyyyy I’ve been reader some of your stuff and I really like it!!🫶🏻 Could you write 2005 Tom and same age reader are Friends and she finds out Tom has already had his first kiss and reader is kinda embarrassed that she hasn’t yet so one day she goes to toms house and they start talking abt their life’s and they get to the topic of kissing and she confessed that she hasn’t had her first kiss yet and we’ll dosent know how to kiss and Tom decides to show her how to kiss like the good friend he is and it js leads them to making out and getting caught my Bill! Please and thank you!!🖤

OMG thx so much anon 🫶 this migh be a lil rushed but np

taglist: @oppopotamus @violentnewmarley

'BAM' Tom rushes in the room, the door slamming behind him "TOM HAS GONE IT AGAIN GUYS, UGH ARENT I AMAZING" Tom yells his voice echos though the house "ugh tom shut up whats happened now" Georg groans sitting next me placing his phone on his leg looking at tom with a bored exspression while rolling his eyes as Tom drones on about how he was making out another girl while proudly showing off the hickeys adored on his neck.

Bill and Gustav come into the room, bill sits down on the opposite side of me and Gustav leans on the table in the living room bit. After a while Georg gets annoyed at Tom and starts talking about all his kissing rendezvouses, Bill desides to join in aswell they spend a few good minutes talking about this when Bill desides to ask Gustav if he had any storys to share Gustav looks down a bit embarssed before sharing his storys.

' Buzz' you look down and see your phone buzzing you answer the call after telling the boys to be quite, you hear your dad talking about how you need to come home and stuff, you bid the boys your fair wells and hug them good bye. Just before you hug Tom you look at his neck and feel as if you should of had a story to share aswell, feeling as if you are behind in life by not having a first kiss.

On your walk home you keep thinking about the convo from before feeling a weird feeling in your stomach still thinking that your behind when you reach your house you start up the computer and google 'when are you supposed to have your first kiss' you see it say that it says fifteen (this is just what google said dont feel pressure to have your first kiss) this just adds even more feeling of dread in your stomach you shut off the computer and walk to your room you get ready for bed and lie there you think back to all the storys the guys were saying today and knowing they probably have more storys they just didnt share you try to think about somthing else to get your mind off of it but cant you go to with the same strong feeling of dread.

it had been a couple of days since that incedent you still feel a bit embrassed that you havet had a kiss and so when ever one of the boys rom the table talk about a new kiss they had gotten you unknowingly zone-out trying not to draw anyattiention to your self in fear they would ask you and would think of you as less because you haven't kissed anybody yet. You though that nobody had seen you zone-out when they talk about it and how you were acting more down then usuall but somebody had the infamous Tom.

He had seen the way you look down and how you were more quite then usually, he had always love your bubbly personaity and he wanted to see what was up and what was making you feel down.

You were walking down the hall on friday ready to go home and wollow in your self pity before a pair of hand grab at your waist scaring you making your sqeal. "AH" you turn around trying to see who had done that and see Tom standing there with a grin plastered on his face "HAHA, i scared you so bad ____ should of seen your face" He says. You roll your eyes before you contiune to walk home you hear heavy footstomps behind to and see tom again in your peripheral vision "awe im sorry i scared you didnt mean it promise" he says placing his hand on his chest over his heart. He continues to speak when you dont "you should stay at our house tonight we havent had a sleepover just us in ages, we could watch movies i just rented a new one forgot the name tho and we could get snack and just chill humm how bout it" he looks at you with puppy dog eyes begging you to say yes "uhm idk..-" "comeon you seem so sad and who would be more fitting then your have person ever" "um okay fine" you groan "YAYYY" Tom yells he grabs your hand running dragging you along with him to his house.

I get pulled inside and see bill in the kitchen making a snack "help me" you mouth he shakes his head and laughs at you before heading to his room upstairs "my parents are out for the night so we can pretty much anything right now" tom says while he gets the snacks ready in a bowl "oh cool " you say still feeling a bit bummed. You grab the snacks and head to his room its not the first time you've been in there but you see new posters on the wall and a couple photos of just you two or just the band on his bedside table. "You can wear my top and and some shorts to sleep in, yk cuz you dont have anything else to wear" tom says throwing some clothes at you, you catch them "yeah and whos fault i that hmm your the one that dragged me hear, turn around so i cant put these on" you say tom turns around and puts his hands over his eyes as you put on the clothes "mabey i just wanted you in my clothes hmm" he flirts raising his eyebrows up and down you hit his shoulder playfuly".

You chuck on the movie he rented and played it, it was the new King Kong you havent seen it yet so you were very exsited. You had been so engrosed in the movie that you completely forgot about what you were feeling bad about just a hour prier to the movie. After the movie finished you and tom were talking about how good the mvie was and so on until he says the question you were dreading.

"So___whats been up with you lately you seem real sad" Tom asks worry laced in his tone, you wait a second stunned as you had completely forgot about the whole ordeal and now its coming back to you "oh um nothing im all good" you mumble before grabbing a handful of popcorn and munching on it "you can tell me ___ im your friend after all" Tom say reasuringly wrapping an arm around you pulling you close to him "no its nothing i-its stupid" you stutter realy not wanting to have this conversation "please tell me __ it seems to be really getting to you, your so quite at lunch and down really handout with us as much, did we do something to upset you, d-did i..." he says now anxious to know if they really did something bad. You pull away desiding to say this to get it off your chest " um no you didn't do anything tom um it just god this is so embarrassing, y-you remember a couple days ago when you and the guys were talking bout all your like kissing story's well it kinda made me feel like i was behind the curve and that i should of had my first kiss by now" you mumble the last bit while you look anywhere but tom. You feel him move "that all oh my days ___ you had me thinking someone was bulling you" he chuckles your face turns bright red from embarrassment and you hide you face in your hands

"If that was all it was i can kiss you if you want then you can say to people you has the awsome tom kaulitz as your first kiss" he says while pulling your hands away from your face, you look at him with a shocked face trying to think if he had really just said that "okay" he say before leaning in a bit "I dont know how to or what to do" he pulls back and say "ill teach you okay" you puts a strand of hair around your ear and wait for you to say okay once you do he slowly leans in.

You feel his lips pressed agaist yours, you take in the feeling of his smooth lips and you flutter your eyes closes wanting to really savour the feeling you, a couple seconds later you feel his mouth open and he says "just copy what im doing" you do just what he is doing just a little bit hesitant tho still unsure but feeling as if a weight had been lifted of your shoulders. After a couple minutes of that you pull away both of your guys lips swollen and i bit red you look away giggly and tom smiles before grabbing your jaw to kiss you again.

"Hey guys to got any M&M's i ate all of mine...." Bill says after opening the door and just stands there hodling his balcket around his shoulders like a cape while trying to prosses what he had just seen "uhm ill- ill come back later, have fun you to" he says winking before walking out closing the door behind him.

"We should do this again" Tom says leaning back "you getting better but i still think you need mabey a couple more lessons before you kiss anyone else" you hit his shoulder playfully "agreed" while leaning against the headboard aswell.

AHHH I hope you like anon i spent my afternoon on this (dw about the spelling lol) ❤🫶😝

#tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz imagines #tom kaulitz x you

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that-gay-guy-from-hell · 1 year

Text

Where There's a Will, Right?: Dante x Male Reader

SUMMARY: After Dante’s successful defeat of Argosax, he’s been ever-so-slightly more talkative than before; at least, that’s what you think. Both Trish and Lady noticed that Dante’s mood hasn’t improved and, if anything, he has only become more distant. Upon telling them that they’re wrong, they both tell you something that sends your mind reeling.

MINORS DNI--Seriously, go away >:[

BEGINNING NOTES: ✨Dom/Top Dante* x Male Sub/Bottom Reader *Takes place between DMC 2 and 4 on the timeline; meaning Dante’s a bit angstier than normal--kinda Vergil-esc but he gets closer to normal at the end. ✨Unestablished relationship but everyone (including Dante) knows that you have a thing for him ✨The reader lives at the shop ✨Mentioned dark topics (nothing in depth but Dante having been suicidal is mentioned a few times) 🍊🍊🍊 ✨Fluff ✨Angst (? kinda) ✨Smut; Dante’s first time--the reader’s body count is not specified but it is implied you aren’t a virgin--meaning he is very sensitive to your touches. ✨Biting--draws blood and enjoys it. ✨Rougher--It’s not great but I wanted to try writing something a bit rougher, experimentation if you will.\ ✨Oral--Dante receiving ✨Reader gets emotional afterwards; like sad fluffy stuff. 🍊🍊🍊 ✨A little self-indulgent. I could’ve written this as G/N (and if anyone wants a re-write, I can totally do so) but I wanted something a bit gayer than normal smh ✨I know absolutely dick-diddly about motorcycles, so you best believe I just googled all of it lmao ✨Not used to writing Trish or Lady so they might be a bit OOC; if anyone has any better ideas for how they should sound (if they sound off) please let me know! I want to try and use them more often. ✨The reader uses Revenant (as per usual) and Ifrit. How can you use those wonderful gauntlets? You are just stubborn or strong enough to resist their demonic nature; idk just let me have this lmao. Demons are from DMC 1, 2, and/or 4 (Also I didn’t really feel like writing too much combat since “Bound by Blood” is so combat heavy, kinda got bored with it lmaoooo). ✨THIS IS NOT A PREQUEL TO “Deep Regret” THAT FIC. IS STILL IN THE WORKS (AND IS REALLY ANGSTY LMAO)

“Really?” Trish leaned against the wall of the garage, watching both Lady and you work, “You sure we’re talking about the same Dante?”

“What?” you set down the socket wrench and looked over at her, “Don’t believe me?”

“No, not in the slightest,” she mindlessly looked at her nails as she continued, “I don’t think I’ve heard Dante say more than five words at once in years and you’re telling me--”

“That he and I talk all the time?” You stood up, wiping your hands on your jeans, "I mean, we do live together-- what's so hard to believe?"

Lady laughed, catching your attention, “Well, Dante’s not exactly the talking type anymore,” the raven-haired woman turned from the workbench, “Can’t say I blame her, hun.”

“But that’s where you guys are wrong,” you sighed, “I mean, he’s not super talkative but we can hold a conversation for a good while,” you walked over to the stairs, grabbing your open beer on the way, and sat down with a huff, “You’re telling me that he doesn’t talk to you when you are on a job or anything?”

Lady shook her head, “Do you know how rare it is for him to even say “hello” anymore?”

“Bah,” you made a dismissive flick of your hand, “You two are full of shit, there is no way he’s that quiet.”

Trish said something under her breath as she crouched down to check the work you'd done.

“Huh?” You cupped your ear in a joking manner, “I’m getting deaf in my old age, Trish--you gotta speak up.”

“I said,” she stood up and turned to look at you, “Maybe it is because Dante loves you.”

Beer shot out your nose as you choked on it, going wide-eyed feeling flustered beyond belief.

“You can’t tell me you don’t have a thing for him,” the blonde walked over to Lady’s workbench, pushing up on the edge and sitting on the tabletop.

“I do not!”

Lady shook her head, “It is painfully obvious that you have a crush on him,” she leaned her side on the bench, facing you, “I’m sure he knows, too.”

“How is it obvious?! I mean--” You pursed your lips knowing you just dug your own grave.

The women shared a laugh before Trish answered, “The two of you are practically joined at the hip.”

Lady then jumped in, “He won't do anything without telling or asking you first.”

"You're the only one allowed in his room."

"And the only one that can use his weapons without him getting pissed, especially Rebellion."

“Dante stares at your ass a lot.”

Once again, you choked on your drink.

Lady laughed at Trish’s comment with a shrug, “Can't fault him for that, you do have a nice ass.”

The sound of the roller garage door being lifted caught everyone’s attention. In the doorway stood the very topic of the conversation with a few bags of groceries in his arms.

“Welcome home, Dante!" You shot him a warm smile, "How'd shopping go?"

Dante stared at you then at the women, “Why are they here?” His voice was cold and flat, his typical way of speaking nowadays.

“Oh!” Your voice was semi-cheery as you stood up, tossing the beer bottle in the nearby trash, “They stopped by right after you left. Asked to use the workshop for a bit.”

He stared at them for a few more seconds before walking through the garage, past you, and into the shop.

Lady grumbled to herself before sticking out a hand, gesturing at where he’d gone, “See! I told you!”

“You two are looking too deep into it. Dante doesn’t,” you shrugged, “you know…”

“Bullshit!” Lady pinched the bridge of her nose, “I swear-- if the two of you don’t hook up soon, I’m going to--”

A quiet sound of a door being cracked open cut her off. Dante looked at you and quietly mumbled, “You coming?"

“Huh? I-- Yeah,” you smiled at him, “I gotta finish the oil change and I’ll be in, okay?”

He said nothing and shut the door.

Trish slid off the bench with a sigh, “Come on, let’s give the lover boys their room.”

“Try not to break ol’ Dante," Lady jested as she picked up her tool bag, "He’s not as spry as he used to be."

You flipped her off and she stuck out her tongue in return. As they left you meandered back to Dante’s bike, you couldn’t help but mull over what the girls said.

“There’s no way that they are right,” your brow furrowed, “Dante is-- well, Dante. He’s a ladykiller, not into men… right? I mean, he has a mountain of bikini girl magazines-- ”

Lost in your thoughts, your hand slipped and you dropped the open bottle of oil, “Son of a fucking bitch!”

You snatched the bottle as quickly as possible but the damage was already done; over half of the contents were now in a black pool on the floor. A dejected grumble left your lips as you laid on your back, staring at the ceiling of the garage with a forearm resting across your forehead.

“Everything okay?”

“Hmm?” You tilted your head up slightly and saw that Dante was standing right at your feet, “Yeah… Just my good ol’ butterfingers…” Your head hit the concrete again as you sighed and looked at the mess, defeated.

His eyes trailed over to the oil on the floor before he wandered off. You propped yourself up on your elbows and saw Dante had grabbed the cat litter.

“You don’t have to--” He looked at you for a moment before dumping the litter on the spill, “Thanks, I-- Sorry, that was like a brand new bottle,” you leaned up in a sitting position, “I promise I’ll clean it up and replace the bottle.”

“It’s fine,” Dante stuck out a hand, helping you up.

As you got to your feet, you fell into him a bit and found yourself leaning on his chest. Your face instantly became hot as you froze. Strangely, Dante made no move to push you off of him or remove you, he just stood there and waited for you to do so yourself

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to invade your space, hah…”

Dante didn’t say anything, but rather, he grabbed your hand and pulled you inside the shop. On his desk was a box of fresh hot pizza and a few cold unopened beers.

Which in hindsight, you aren’t sure how he got the pizza. He didn’t have it when he entered the garage. Unless he got it delivered at the exact moment he got back… Or he had already stopped back in the foyer of the shop only to come around back to “interrupt” your conversation--but there’s no way he would do that, right?

“So,” you grabbed a slice and sat on the edge of his desk, “What’s the special occasion?”

“ ‘was hungry,” he grabbed a slice for himself and sat in his desk chair, putting his boots up on the tabletop.

A look of shock spread across your face, “Really?"

“What?”

“It’s just,” you shook your head, “I’m just glad that you’re eating, is all," you smiled warmly, "It's nice."

The red devil stared at you for a moment before continuing to eat.

Ever since defeating Nelo Angelo, Dante’s “human” habits had gradually deteriorated. He wouldn’t sleep, bathe, or even eat; any and all self-care was put on the back burner. You had to force the poor man to take care of himself--which is much easier said than done.

At one point, things got so bad that Trish acted more human than Dante. There was a small ray of hope, however; since Argosax’s defeat, Dante had begun to regain some small bits of life. He’d been bathing more often, eating every once in a while, and even smiling again. Most importantly, however, Dante hadn’t tried to off himself in almost six months which was a victory in and of itself for the tormented man; this, by extension, made you feel a little more at ease that the chance of you coming home to Dante on the cusp of death had slimmed significantly.

“Hey,” you pursed your lips and waited for him to look at you in acknowledgment, “Do you care if I turn on some music?”

He shrugged, "Don’t care."

You hopped off the desk edge and waltzed over to the "well-loved" machine. Hitting a random track--and praying to god it worked--you went back to your resting spot against Dante's desk. The two of you sat and ate together, listening to the jukebox and enjoying the quiet company.

===

A loud knocking at the front door of the Devil May Cry woke you up. You must've fallen asleep downstairs. Across from you, in the middle of the room, was the coffee table with a TV that had been playing a DVD’s menu screen for only god knows how long. You were on your side and resting on the floor, in front of one of the couches… Even though there was an open couch adjacent to this one.

A large blanket was draped over you and onto the furniture behind you. That's when you heard a snore and realized why you weren't on the couch. Dante was fast asleep and face down against the coffee-colored pleather. Goosebumps ran up your spine as you realized that his arm was across your chest, his fingers loosely grabbing the fabric of your shirt. Carefully, you slipped away from the sleeping devil and let out a soft groaning yawn as you stretched.

Another set of knocks.

You sighed and stood up, walking over to the door, opening it.

“Ah, good morning Mr. Morrison,” you smiled tiredly at the man, welcoming him into the shop.

“You know, you make me feel old when you call me tha--” he stopped and stared at Dante, who was still asleep on the couch.

A small huff of a laugh came from your nose as you whispered to Morrison, “I know. Shocking right?”

His volume matched yours in return, “That would be an understatement," he turned to you, “Sorry to wake you but I have a job for the two of you that requires immediate attention,” he held out a manila folder.

“What is it?” A flat voice asked, making both Morrison and you jump.

After the two of you took a moment to calm down from the unexpected voice, the broker walked over to Dante and handed him the file, “Huge swarm invaded a nearby city--didn’t even have time to evacuate.”

You walked over to Dante, peering over the edge of the file. He noticed your interest and scooched over to one side, allowing you to sit beside him. As you attempted to read, you found yourself leaning towards your partner, squinting harshly at the small text. Dante moved closer to you causing your sides to touch; which, despite how many times he’s been this close (and closer) to you, never failed to make your heart race.

As the two of you looked at the file, you couldn’t help but remember what the ladies had said yesterday; how stony he is to them compared to how acted with you. Dante might be a bit cold but he has his sweet moments--even if it’s him sharing paperwork filled with pictures of hundreds of demons and a destroyed cityscape.

You whispered to Dante, “So, wanna do it?”

His eyes flicked to you before he looked over the file once more, “Fine.”

“Sweet!” With a jovial smile, you grabbed the paperwork. Your eyes flicked up at Morrison who moved to the edge of Dante’s desk, leaning on it with a lit cigar--as per usual, “We’ll take it!”

The broker shook his head with a small smile, “I’m beginning to think you enjoy these types of jobs.”

“Actually,” you stood up and walked over to him, “I do. Don’t have to worry about destroying things," you handed him the file which he grabbed.

He laughed softly and shook his head, taking a puff of his cigar, “You two are quite the pair.”

You tilted your head in confusion; that’s when you felt an exhale of air on the back of your neck, making your hair stand on end.

“We takin' the bike?” Dante’s voice was low and his warm breath lightly tickled your ear.

“Y-yeah,” you turned your head to the side and were only inches away from the sultry devil.

His turquoise eyes locked onto your gaze for a few seconds before he gave a flat, “Ok,” and went upstairs to get changed.

Once the youngest son of Sparda was upstairs, Morrison laughed as he stood up from the desk, “I’ll let the city know you're on the way. You two be careful,” he nodded goodbye and headed for the door before stopping, turning his head over his shoulder to you, “Don’t forget that there is still a lot of people trapped and--”

“And we should try and help them, don’t worry,” you winked at him, “Dante and I got this.”

Morrison opened his mouth but said nothing; instead, he continued out the door whistling a tune to himself.

You raised a brow at the odd action but decided it was not worth dwelling on.

Humming to yourself, you made your way up to your room. One of the spare bedrooms of (The) Devil May Cry that you were “only staying in for a few months”... that was over a decade ago. A smile tugged at your lips as you reminisced about a time long since passed.

===

Rain quietly beat on the roof of (The) Devil May Cry as the well-loved jukebox played quietly in the background. It had been exactly a year since Dante had officially named the shop and begun to take jobs as a demon hunter. Sitting at the large wooden desk was said devil hunter without a shirt on, only opting to wear his pants and boots. His arms were placed neatly on the top of his desk with his head resting on them, facing down at the tabletop, snoring happily. A half-eaten pizza and several empty beers were scattered about, painting the same old scene that he partook in night after night.

That’s when you showed up in his life.

You burst into the shop, stumbling and out of breath; leaning against the door, holding it shut.

“We’re closed,” Dante didn’t even open his eyes.

Before you could reply, obnoxious loud banging and shouting could be heard from the other side of the door. Dante raised a brow and tiredly looked up at you, curious as to what was pursuing you so fervently. The shirtless young man’s ears twitched as he made out what was on the other side of the large wooden door; it wasn’t demons or devils, it was humans. A mob of what sounded like fifteen to twenty people that were spouting off insults that ranged from vaguely rude statements to flat-out death threats.

Dante sighed, standing up from his desk with a huff. Casually, he grabbed Force Edge from the wall it was resting against, walking over to you.

You, of course, were terrified, debating if it was better to take your chances outside. Bursting into some random dude’s shop was dumb but you didn’t expect a smoking hot white-haired man (who was possibly the owner) to approach you with a massive gothic sword.

He flicked his hand telling you to move off to the side, which you fearfully obliged. With a warm, soft, friendly feeling, he smiled at you revealing his oddly sharp teeth, “You’re gonna owe me for this,” your face instantly became flushed in embarrassment.

Dante opened the door wide open and stepped out of the shop, the large blade resting on his shoulder. As he slowly went down each stair, the mob backed up away from him, “I’m only gonna say this once,” his voice was cold, loud, and angry, the complete opposite of what you’d just heard, “Get lost.”

One of the group’s men decided to act tough and approached Dante, “And if we don’t? What are you gonna--!”

The red devil grabbed the man by the face and held him up, not phased by the man’s struggling, “You know, I hate people like you,” his fingers tightened, “People that just don’t know how to listen.”

Muffled complaints came from the man as Dante’s fingers tightened further before tossing him at the others, knocking several of them over. They helped each other stand back up but none of them moved to leave.

“Now scram,” Dante’s brow furrowed, “Last chance before you really start pissin’ me off.”

With that final warning, the group ran like the wind and disappeared. A small laugh came from the red devil as he re-entered the shop.

“So,” Dante set Force Edge back where it was, “What is a guy like you doin’ being chased by a mob at this hour, huh?” He leaned against the edge of his desk, folding his arms.

“I uh,” your face became hotter and hotter as you looked at the smiling man, calling him stunning was an understatement. It didn’t help that he was lightly soaked from the rain which was dripping down his body, emphasizing his physique, “I just pissed off the wrong folks, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Dante pushed off his desk and wandered over to you, “That why you smell like gunpowder, blood, and demons? Or’s that some sort of weird cologne?”

You froze.

“You know," he continued, "it’s not every day I get to meet someone in the same line of work as me,” he now stood in front of you, his hands stuck in his pockets and a casual tilt to his posture.

“I-- What?”

Dante’s smile widened, “You’re a demon hunter, right?”

Your expression said it all, making the young man laugh.

“Now,” he turned from you striding over to the corner of the room, “as payment for waking me up from my nap,” the white-haired man stood near one of the couches, grabbing his black long-sleeve shirt off the back, “You’re gonna take me with you to finish your hunt.”

As he slid the tight fabric over his body, all you could do was stare. Not only was watching him get dressed semi-erotic, but, the idea that you’d finally met someone else who enjoyed demon hunting like you do was enough to send shivers down your spine.

“That’s what you were doing right?” The red-clad man raised a brow as he slid on his vest, buckling the straps.

You blinked back into existence with a nod, “Yeah, you sure you want to come with? It isn’t exactly a small job, and,” you avoided his gaze, “it’s not only demons.”

“There are cultists, too--I know,” Dante slid on his gloves, “Figured that out the moment I saw ‘em outside,” he tossed his coat on, adjusting the lapels.

“O-oh…”

He meandered over to the same sword from earlier, placing it on his back, “So,” he raised a brow, “We doin’ this or what?”

You smiled sheepishly, “Sure.”

“Ah… Almost forgot,” Dante turned around and opened a desk drawer, grabbing his keys, “Here, catch,” he tossed you a box of shells, “Those work?”

“Really-- I- Yeah, why are you..?”

Dante began to walk out the door, you right behind him, “Can’t do all the work myself, babe,” he turned to you with a smile.

After he locked the door, you led him to a building that was right outside of Red Grave; it was an old abandoned apartment complex. The two of you made quick work of the job; given, it was half-finished from your earlier attack.

Despite not even knowing each other’s names, the two of you fought together quite well. Neither of you got in each other’s way. When you did interact, it was damn near perfectly choreographed; as if you’d known each other for a long time.

“You know,” Dante dodged a Death Scissors, “You’re pretty good at this.”

“Oh yeah?” A small amount of playful sarcasm loomed over your words, “I’m still not impressed with you,” you ducked underneath a Frost’s attack and shot it right in the small of its back, “mister white-haired stranger.”

“Eh,” he used Force Edge to slice three Abyss in half, “Had to leave you something to fight.”

Both of you shared a laugh and stood in the middle of the room, looking around at the carnage. Dante turned to see a cultist trying to escape. The red devil pointed Ebony up and shot the human, much to your dismay.

“Hey,” you shoved his shoulder, “You stole my final kill.”

“Oh,” he holstered Ebony and turned to you, “Didn’t see your name on ‘em, sorry.”

You playfully rolled your eyes and sighed, “Thanks for your help,” you avoided his eyes, which were trained on your face, “I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Dante smiled, “This was fun, been a long time since I’ve had a partner to work with,” he stretched his arms upwards, cracking his shoulders, “Lady’s been off doing her own thing lately.”

“Lady?” You raised a brow, suspicious of the red devil’s seemingly fake person.

“She’s an old friend,” Dante and you began to descend back down the building’s stairs. It wasn’t until the two of you got outside before he spoke again, “Hey, so,” his voice was quieter than before, “You work by yourself all the time or?”

“Yeah,” you sighed and placed a hand on the back of your neck, “Never been able to find someone who’d join me on a hunt.”

“Well,” Dante put his hands in his pockets, “If you want, I’ve got an open spot at my shop...”

“Really?”

“Mhm, haven’t had a partner in a while and could use the company.”

You laughed.

“What?”

“I don’t even know your name and you are offering me a job?”

The red devil stuck out his hand, “Name’s Dante.”

You smiled and shook his hand, “Well, Dante, I think I’ll take up that job offer,” you sheepishly turned your head away and mumbled, “I think I could use some company, too.”

===

“You coming?”

A sudden flat voice from your doorway made you jump with a loud startled shout. Quickly, you turned around to see Dante, fully geared up, and leaning against your doorframe with his arms neatly folded.

“I- Yeah, sorry,” you shook your head, “Just lost in thought.”

Dante stood up, saying nothing, and headed back downstairs into the garage.

With pursed lips, you continued to get ready; that’s when it hit you. Dante must've been standing there for quite some time, watching you; you who was standing in bagging half falling off underwear the entire time. Your face became hot, the idea of Dante seeing you this exposed was enough to make your mind reel. Shaking off the growing hot feeling, you shoved yourself into your hunting gear; which included Dante’s Ifrit and your shotgun, Revenant.

Upon reaching the garage, you saw that Dante had already started the bike and was waiting outside for you to join him. Although you weren’t sure, you swear it looked like he was smiling at you; only hinted at by small creases in his cheeks. You joined him in the alley with a stuck-out hand, waiting for Rebellion, which he gave you. As you slid the sword on your back, you flashed a wide smile and playful wink at Dante. Then you mounted the back of the bike and a heavy wave of embarrassment filled your face as you firmly placed your hands on Dante’s waist.

Without a word, Dante kicked up the stand and you were off. As you held onto him, you couldn’t help but lean further onto his body, your face against his back. His cologne was that of lemongrass, lavender, and a light dusting of patchouli. You took a deep inhale, sighing longingly at the comforting scent; which didn’t go unnoticed by the white-haired hunter.

The two of you arrived shortly at the nearby city. Once both of you dismounted the bike, Dante stuck his hand out--mimicking what you’d done earlier. With a smirk, you pulled Rebellion off your back and held it out in front of you, blade facing down and your fingers tightly wrapped around the grip. The red devil grabbed the sword, making sure to just barely ghost your hand with his in the process.

A bright blush adorned your face as you gave him a small content laugh and looked at the less-then-happy scene before you. To say that the place was crawling with demons would’ve been an understatement.

An irritated long groan came from you as you slumped forward, “Those pictures must’ve been old; this is so much worse,” you looked over at Dante who was staring at you, “Wanna call in the ladies?”

“No,” he turned from you and began to walk toward the city.

With a baffled sigh, you shook your head and jogged to catch up to him, walking right beside him.

When the two of you got to the edge of the zone, a large platoon of soldiers was along the city’s edge. As expected, the two of you were approached by the armed people and questioned as to why you were there.

You sighed softly, “We were hired by the city to come in and exterminate the infestation.”

A mixture of various “bullshit”s and “no way”s were heard throughout the platoon. A greatly unamused Dante slyly reached down and grabbed one of your fingers with one of his, a sign he used when he wanted to move forwards.

“Just stay out of our way,” you shoved past the soldiers, Dante right beside you. Before you got too far, you stopped and turned to the men, “Wait about thirty minutes and start sweeping this end of the city for survivors, continuing further inwards; we’ll have most of the demons cleared out for you.”

Once more there were various forms of ill-natured or overly skeptical comments from the crowd; but, after all these years of hunting, it was expected at this point. The two of you just continued onwards, Dante’s finger still wrapped around one of yours.

It didn’t take long for you to encounter a horde. At first, you were excited and readied Ifrit; however, Dante has taken up to not allowing you to fight anything more than Misras or Frosts. Today was no different.

You vocalized your irritation (as you had done many times before) but it always fell on deaf ears, Dante simply didn’t care. Things came to a head when you were nearly finished with the job and the red devil had been nearly gutted by a group of demons but he still wouldn’t let you fight.

“Dante,” you furrowed your brow as the two of you walked on, “Could you at least let me kill something? I’m getting bored with fighting small fries and playing cheerleader.”

The red devil stopped and looked over at you, but said nothing.

“Come on,” you made your best puppy dog eyes and stuck out your lip in a pouty manner, “Please?”

“I can handle it,” he turned to continue on the path, “You are a human; humans are fragile.”

“Excuse me?” You walked beside him, “You forget you’re human, too?”

“I can heal within seconds,” he glared at you from the corner of his eye, “You can’t.”

You moved your jaw in thought, mulling over things before speaking again, “Yes, but that doesn’t mean you should push yourself like this,” the red devil’s head turned slightly, indicating he was listening, “Just ‘cause you can heal…” You reached out and lightly grabbed his bicep, “I’m your partner, remember? I’m here to help you.”

Dante stopped and pivoted to look at you. His brow was slightly upturned and his eyes held an odd unplaceable emotion, “I know.”

A small sad tilt decorated your brow as you lightly squeezed his arm before letting go. You had an inkling as to why he acted this way but had never been able to be sure; hell would have to freeze over before you’d get a clear answer from the red-clad half-breed.

The two of you entered the center of the city where the demons seemed to have come from. In the middle of the large leveled area was a large mass of sorts. Both of you knew exactly what it was, the start of a demon nest.

Almost as if on cue, an insurmountably large quantity of demons revealed themselves. The two of you split apart. Finally, you were able to fight something decent and were relishing in it. Your targets were, for the most part, Blades and Gladiuses; which wasn’t that big of a challenge but it is better than nothing. A smile shot across your face as you got to have some fun with Ifrit for the first time in years.

In the complete opposite of an over-strained Dante trying to deal with several Plasmas and Blitzes.

You had nearly finished up your half (well more like two-thirds) of the horde and destroyed the budding nest before you noticed Dante struggling. Quickly, you killed the last of your targets and rushed over to help the red devil, who had just been thrown through a building.

“Dante!” You kneeled down by him, “Hey, you alright?”

“I’m… fine,” his voice was strained as he tried to sit upright, only to bare his teeth with a grimace.

“Stay here, I’ll take care of this,” you stood up but found that your wrist was ensnared by Dante’s grasp.

“No,” he attempted to stand again.

“Dante, I can handle them,” you tugged your hand away, “Let go of me, please.”

His expression was blank as his fingers only tightened around you.

“Dante…” Now, you are starting to get irritated.

“I can handle them, just let me do it,” he stood up and you saw that his ribcage had concaved, clearly broken.

“No Dante-- You are in no condition to fight right now,” you pursed your lips, “I can finish this,” giving him one last chance to let go.

“No, I am fine.”

“Goddamnit Dante!” You snapped at him and yanked your hands out of Ifrit’s gauntlets, removing Dante’s grip on you, “You’re always protecting everyone else, so please, for once in your life,” you stalked over to Rebellion, which had been stuck in the ground nearby when Dante attempted to stop himself, grabbed it tightly and turned back to him, “Let me protect you.”

His eyes widened, showing a mixture of confusion and anger, but you didn’t give him a chance to refuse. You had already gone off and were slaying the rest of the demons using Rebellion. If Dante wanted you to stop, he could have recalled his sword; he should’ve recalled the blade but, for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to.

Although you were still concerned for Dante, you couldn’t deny that you were having the time of your life. You'd only been allowed to use Rebellion one other time on the field, which was shortly after being hired at the DMC. The feeling of wielding such a mighty blade was insurmountable; not only that, but the frictionless feeling of slicing through demons was damn near erotic. A wide smile spread across your face as you finished off the final few demons, pinning the final Plasma down into the ground using the blade.

“You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“You’re just jealous that I got more kills than you,” with a playful shake of your head and a small laugh, you pulled Rebellion back out of the ground and turned around. Dante had healed and was giving you quite the venomous glare, your expression dropped, “What?”

He aggressively grabbed the sword from your hand, placed it on his back, and turned to walk back the way you came, “We’re leaving.”

You bent down and picked up Ifrit, sliding the fiery devil’s gauntlets back on, “Huh? We haven’t done our sweep back--”

“Now!” His voice was much angrier than you’d heard in a long time, so you remained silent and followed behind him.

The walk and ride back to the shop were eerily quiet. Neither of you said a word, not even to the soldiers that you passed in the city. During the bike ride, you did your best not to latch onto the red devil and held onto the bike itself--which wasn't exactly comfortable or easy, but you were pissed off and didn't care.

As the two of you entered the shop, you had thought about saying something to the devil but weren’t going to give him that satisfaction; no, you just silently went up to your room and slammed the door behind you. Leaving him in the foyer, alone.

Doing your best to ignore the guilty feeling in your gut, you hopped in a quick shower and took a small unintentional cat nap on your bed right after. Around an hour later, you woke up and groggily wandered downstairs to get a glass of water--and to see where Dante had gone. As you looked around, you pursed your lips in confusion. Dante typically after a job would just get drunk at his desk or on the couch but he was nowhere to be found. It was rare for him to actually go to his room; but, then again, it is even rarer for the two of you to have a disagreement or fight like this. A sigh left your lips as you traversed back to your room. A small amount of regret lingered at the edges of your mind for using such harsh words at the poor devil.

Mindlessly, you had wandered to stand in front of his room and stood there with your hand up, ready to knock. After a minute you decided to put your hand back down, hoping that maybe he’d be the one to come to you and apologize for once. With a heavy sigh, you entered your room and turned the light on, then nearly had a heart attack.

There, sitting silently on the edge of your bed, was Dante in his boxers and a long-sleeve black baggy shirt. His forearms were resting on his legs--one of which was bouncing nervously, his hands intertwined as he mindlessly twisted and played with his fingers, and his gaze fixated on the floor.

“Uh… Dante? Everything okay?” You shut the door, set your glass of water down, and slowly walked over to the bed, sitting beside him.

“You remember why I hired you?” His voice was soft and sad, something was wrong.

You shook your head, confused at the seemingly out-of-nowhere question, “Huh?”

“Do you remember why I hired you?”

“Because you said you needed company..?”

His lips twitched at the answer; however, he said nothing and just stared at the floorboards in front of him.

“Dante?” You gently and cautiously grabbed his forearm, making his leg stop bouncing.

His voice became even softer, becoming barely audible, “Do you regret it?”

Your brow softened as your fingers gripped him tighter, “Dante…”

His brow furrowed as he moved his jaw for a second before giving you a sad huffed laugh, “I wouldn’t blame you if--”

“Stop,” you stood up and moved to stand in front of him, then knelt between his legs, “Look at me,” his eyes coyly met yours as you grabbed both his hands, “I have never regretted anything I’ve done with you, nor will I ever.”

A small quiver found its way to Dante’s lip, “Why?”

“What do you mean why?” You gave him a bittersweet smile, “I like being with you, Dante.”

He opened his mouth but no sound came out, only a crack and a small whimper as tears filled his eyes. Then you did what you should’ve done the moment he started talking, you stood up and enveloped him in a tight hug. Dante quickly wrapped himself around you. The red devil’s fingers dug into your back and grabbed generous handfuls of your shirt.

Half-formed sentences and choked-up versions of “I’m sorry” are all that he could manage through the unwavering barrage of tears. All you could do was hold him tight and tell him that everything’s okay--that he doesn’t have to apologize, not for breaking down like this. Gently, you kneaded against his shoulder blades and placed one hand in his hair, petting him. You noticed his hair was wet; which, not only meant that’s where he was when you were searching for him but, this was the first time he'd taken a real shower in nearly three weeks. It seemed like a lifetime had passed before his tears began to slow, eventually boiling down to just small hiccups.

However, his hold on you didn’t loosen, if anything, it got tighter. You had placed the side of your face against the top of his head and quietly hummed, hoping to comfort him.

“Hey…” Dante’s voice was thick and quiet, a hint of nervousness ghosted his words.

“Hm?”

“Would it be okay to stay like this? Just for a little longer…” He waited with bated breath for your response.

“Mnmm… How about this,” you pulled back from him, making him hesitantly release you. A small warm smile tugged at your lips as you straddled his lap and re-wrapped yourself around him with your legs around his middle, “This okay?”

Through your shirt, you could feel Dante hum with a small smile, “Mhm,” his arms regrafted themselves to your body as he pushed his head into your body.

The two of you sat together for nearly two hours, Dante softly purring against your skin as you lightly rubbed his back and played with his hair. If the front door hadn’t opened, the two of you would’ve stayed linked together for much longer.

“I’ll get it,” you slid off his lap but were stopped by Dante grabbing your wrist.

“Do you have to?” His expression was oddly shy, which sent a sharp pang of love through your heart.

“Join me?” You smiled as you pulled him up. A small surprised laugh left your mouth as you felt him lace your fingers together.

A bright smile adorned your face as the two of you made your way downstairs and found Morrison standing in the foyer.

“Afternoon, Mr. Morrison!” You waved with a small happy noise but realized that he was staring with wide eyes.

“I’m not… interrupting, am I..?”

You stared at him in confusion before you realized how the two of you looked; both of you were semi-disheveled, only in underwear and a shirt, and Dante’s hand was in yours, “No! No- not at all! We-- It’s not what it--”

“You are," Dante released your hand, moving further into the room, “but it is my fault for not locking the door. What’s up?”

A sputtered confused noise left your lips as your face became unbearably hot, mortified at what Dante was implying.

Morrison laughed, “Blunt as always, huh Dante?”

“Why bother lying about it,” Dante leaned against his desk, arms folded casually.

The broker shook his head with a smile, “I’m just here to drop off payment from the job earlier,” he handed Dante a thick envelope, “The client was impressed with how quickly the two of you worked--made sure to get it to you just as fast and added a little extra cash, too.”

“Oh? Really?” Dante opened the packet and counted the cash quickly, “Huh… Thanks, Morrison.”

Morrison did a double-take, taken aback at not only Dante’s words but, Dante’s willingness to talk, “No problem, Dante…” The broker looked over to you with a raised brow before turning to leave, “Sorry for interrupting, I’ll lock the door on the way out. Goodnight you two.”

“ ‘Night, Mr. Morrison!” Your voice was sweet but still had a lingering sense of embarrassment to it.

Dante opened the top desk drawer and tossed the money in it, smiling.

With a sudden nervousness, you approached the pants-less devil and joined him near the desk, “So… What was Morrison interrupting, Dante?”

His turquoise eyes slowly moved up to meet yours, a heavy odd feeling behind them.

Your face became even hotter as you swallowed hard, “Dante..?”

“We were sitting together,” small creases formed on his cheeks as he smiled wider, “Why? Did you have something else in mind?”

Another loud set of sputtered discombobulated noises came from you, unsure how to respond to such a loaded question.

A dark chuckle came from Dante as he meandered over to you, slowly inching you towards the wall behind his desk, then placing a hand beside your head, “Something wrong?”

“No, I--,” you closed your eyes and shook your head, trying to keep yourself from spontaneously combusting in embarrassment, “I’m f-fine.”

He lifted a brow and placed his free hand on your cheek, running his fingers gently across your skin, “I dunno, you seem rather feverish… You’re not sick, are you?”

“I’m just a little warm, that’s all,” you let out a half-hearted laugh, doing your best to ignore the pounding in your chest.

The red devil wasn’t satisfied with this answer and moved his face closer, putting his nose right beside yours, and made half-lidded eye contact, “I don’t believe you.”

Bit by bit, you leaned closer to him, placing your lips as close as you could without touching his. The two of you hovered for a moment before Dante pulled away and turned to look to his right, “Do you mind?”

You mimicked Dante's action in confusion and saw Trish standing in the shop.

“Lady forgot a few things in the garage,” Trish raised a brow and addressed you, “You believe us now?”

“Trish!” Dante’s face was bright red, “Seriously?”

“What?” She placed a hand on her hip, “You do love him, don’t you?”

Dante mumbled something you didn’t quite catch before his voice returned to the previous volume, “Can you leave? You’re kinda killing the moment.”

“Just make sure that you two can work in the morning, we have a contract to do.”

“Trish!”

She gave you a wide smirk and a wink, “Have fun.”

The two of you waited for the garage door to shut before Dante sighed, “Guess the moment’s kinda ruined, huh?”

He sheepishly turned to you, to which you grabbed his shirt and yanked his lips down to meet yours. A surprised muffled grunt came from the red devil as he placed his hand over yours, his thumb slowly running over your skin and removing you from his shirt. Gradually, he regained control over the situation and pushed you back against the wall. His lips were broiling and desperately pushing against yours, almost painfully so.

Dante grabbed the sides of your hips, picking you up slightly, so he could pin you against the wall using only his body and a knee that he had placed between your legs. Your hands frantically grabbed at his body, eventually settling for one hand in his hair and the other groping at his upper back. His hands wandered all over your body, sliding underneath your shirt and touching as much as you as he could.

Eventually, you managed to wrap your legs around his middle and his hands slipped down to support you from underneath your thighs. You cupped his face in both your hands to deepen the fervorous kissing. The red devil bit lightly at your lips, asking to enter your mouth. At first, you didn’t let him and playfully denied him entrance. Dante wanted to taste you and wasn’t taking no for an answer, forcing his tongue inside. His tongue was hot and he wanted nothing more than to explore every bit of your mouth, to devour as much as he could. The unexpectedly long appendage made you jolt and gag slightly in surprise, which made Dante smirk with a small amount of pride.

Only once you were both out of breath did the two of you separate, leaving you with labored breathing and hazy loving smiles.

Your thumbs gently rubbed the stubble that decorated his jawline, “Dante, do you really..?”

He meekly smiled and mumbled, avoiding your eyes in embarrassment, “You think I’d treat anyone else like you..?”

You placed a soft kiss on his forehead, “I love you… So much”

A soft huffed laugh came from his nose.

“What?”

He placed a small kiss on the side of the base of your neck, “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

You laughed softly, “Dante,” he looked up at you and you ran a hand through his hair, “You want to know something?”

“Hmm?” He began to purr and melt into your touch.

“Although, there’s obviously more a more emotional aspect now,” you broke eye contact and turned away to avoid his gaze, “When we first met if you had asked me to… ya know… I would’ve,” your face was completely on fire as you regretted opening your mouth.

“Oh?” Using one hand to support you, he used a hand to turn your face to his, “What was that now?”

Your voice was high-pitched and cracked from embarrassment, “N-nothing!”

He had a sultry smirk tugging at his lips as he ran his thumb over your trembling lips, “You know, I thought about asking for that--instead of joining your hunt.”

“You-- you did?” Your face only became hotter with each word.

“Mhm,” Dante put his lips above yours again, “Not every day a smoking hot, sopping wet, guy busts into my shop.”

The two of you connected lips again and Dante’s hands gripped the sides of your thighs harshly, his nails digging into you, and dipped your ass lower to meet his growing heat. A small growl came from the back of the red devil’s throat as he ground his hips against you. Your hands grabbed his shoulders as you let out a small moan from the friction of Dante’s grinding. In response, Dante began to roll his hips harshly against you, shoving you against the wall with each thrust. Your hips jolted from the sudden rough movements and you broke from the kiss, letting out a low hissing groan. Dante, however, wasn’t done tasting you and immediately placed his lips back over yours; making sure to devour each one of your sweet noises.

He turned around and began to support you using only one hand again. With his free hand, he moved his mother’s photo to the desk drawer, closing it softly, and then swept his arm across his desk, throwing everything else off the top--making an absolute mess of the already cluttered shop.

Dante dropped you onto the desk and broke the kiss. Quickly, he removed your shirt and began to bite at whatever he could, making you squirm from the sudden, almost animalistic, aggression. His teeth broke through your skin and Dante excitedly lapped up the crimson lines, letting out a continuous lowly growl. A sharp loud gasp left your mouth as you arched your back towards him in response to him biting your neck; still drawing blood as he did for the other marks. Your fingers dug into him only further encouraging him to do it again.

However, you weren’t about to let Dante have all the fun. You kneaded your way down his torso and to the edge of his boxers. Coyly, you palmed over his bulge with widening eyes. Of course, it was easy to tell that Dante had a nice dick from how visible it is through his pants but you didn’t expect it to get that much bigger.

The sultry devil caught onto your sudden surprise and let out a small breathy laugh against your neck, “What’s the matter, babe?” He ran his tongue along one of the bleeding marks, “Surely you knew..?”

“I,” your mind was blank, “I thought you were a shower, not a grower,” you let out a half-huff half-laugh noise through your nose.

“Oh, just you wait,” a small seductive laugh came from him as he leaned back up to look you in the eyes, “Still not quite there yet.”

You rolled your eyes and casually draped your arms over his shoulders, “You know, just cause it’s big doesn’t mean anything if you don’t know how to use it,” you let out a playful low laugh, staring at him with half-lidded eyes.

Dante leaned in, “Oh, don’t worry,” he kissed you again, “I know exactly what you like,” smiling happily.

The two of you exchanged loud pecking kisses, “Mhm, sure you do.”

He stopped and left his lips right above yours, his breath ghosting your kiss-swollen lips, “I can hear things, you know…”

Your eye went wide, “Wh-what are you--”

“Every night, in your room,” he moved to kiss right behind your jaw, whispering against your skin giving you goosebumps, “Begging for me, saying my name,” he ran his tongue along the shell of your ear, “You’re much louder than you think, babe,” Dante gently bit your ear before he leaned back up to meet your gaze.

All you could do was stare back. Admittedly, it had crossed your mind a few times over the years that Dante might be able to hear you but you figured that he would’ve said something by now; especially with how long it’s been since you moved in. The idea that Dante had been listening to you for so long made your entire body hot and threw you for a loop.

Through all your discombobulated noises, you finally managed to sputter out, “Why didn’t you tell..?”

“Because,” he leaned in, intensifying his eye contact, “I get off listening to you,” he kissed your jawline, “I love hearing you come undone.”

A shiver ran up your spine as you completely froze.

The red devil noticed your change in expression and began to panic, “I didn’t upset you--!”

You yanked him down to your mouth, kissing him harshly once more. As you did, your hands ran up his shirt and began to grope at his pecs, eliciting a moan from the white-haired devil. Your nails ran down his body leaving loving irritated red skin, making him groan much louder.

He broke off from the kiss and quickly pulled his shirt up and over his head, tossing it in a random direction in the shop. When he looked back at you, his heart skipped a beat at the face you were making. Although you were obviously already flustered, your face had turned darker by tenfold and your eyes were wide; staring directly at Dante’s bare body.

“What?” He smiled with a tilt of his head and hips, “Like what you see?”

You coyly reached out to touch his chest again, Dante watching you intently. Softly, you kneaded against him and whispered, “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

Now it was his turn to become red in the face, “H-huh?”

“I said,” your voice returned to normal volume, “You’re gorgeous, Dante…”

He stared at you. Although the red devil plays the confident type, his self-esteem was rather poor, and, to be quite frank, he hated how he looked most days; being reminded of his dead brother every time he looked in a mirror. However, hearing you say something so simple and, yet, so impactful made his head spin and his heart wrench.

You leaned in and placed a string of gentle kisses along his collarbones. As you did, you could hear him purring ever-so-slightly and were able to feel the vibrations through your lips. Eventually, Dante snapped out of his stupor, he slipped his hands into your underwear and found purchase on your ass, groping and kneading against you harshly. Next, you placed kisses up his neck and placed a long kiss against his Adam’s apple, pushing against it slightly; eliciting a groan from Dante.

Now back up at his lips, you connected with him once again. The red devil leaned you back onto the barren desk, without breaking the kiss, and pulled your hips tight to his. Once you were fully laid back, Dante moved down your jaw all the way down to your chest with soft kisses. A loud hiss left your mouth as you felt him bite down on one of your nipples, tugging on it slightly--doing his best to make sure he didn’t give you an accidental piercing.

“Fuck… Dante,” you ran your hands through his hair and looked down at him, he was already staring back at you; something was different, “Hey,” he released his bite, “You-- You alright?”

His brow twitched in confusion and he tilted his head, his gaze thinned.

“Your uh… eyes are--” You pursed your lips, his eyes had become a vibrant burning red-orange

“Oh- Oh!” Dante laughed softly, “Don’t worry about that,” his voice was quiet, seemingly shy, “I’m just excited, that’s all.”

You smiled at him and placed a hand on his cheek, thumbing over his flushed skin. He moved back up to you and stared down at you. His eyes are the exact same as when he uses his Devil Trigger except for his pupils, which are heavily dilated. It was a chilling reminder of how dangerous Dante really is, how much stronger than you he is.

“Are you sure you are alright with me-- with us-- doing this?” His brow was upturned and his voice was filled with a unquenchable lust that made your entire body hot.

“Of course,” you gave him a long drawn-out kiss and bit his lower lip, slowly pulling on it, “I wouldn't have it any other way,” you felt him shift his hips slightly and whispered against his lips, “I want you, please, Dante.”

He nodded and took a deep breath, leaning back up.

Before he could do anything, you sat up and pushed him away lightly with your fingertips on his chest. A sultry smirk tugged at your lips as you slowly slid down to your knees, placing the occasional kiss along his abdomen.

Dante’s breath hitched upon realizing what you were doing, “You don’t have to- ah~” He let out a small groan at the feeling of your lips against his still-clothed cock.

You looked up at him and placed a few more kisses down his trapped shaft, feeling him twitch against you. With almost painfully slow movements you kissed back up his shaft then slid your fingers behind the band of his boxers, pulling them down. His cock sprung up proudly, already dribbling pre-cum.

With a small smirk, you looked up at him and ran your tongue up the underside of his dick, making sure to lap up the small bits of milky fluid. His eyes broke from yours and were staring upwards.

“Dante,” you stopped, making him look back down at you, “Look at me, please,” you leaned back in closer to his body, whispering against his sensitive flesh, “I want to see if you are enjoying what I am doing or not”

He swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath, “I don’t know how long I… If I watch you.”

You smiled and let out a sultry laugh, placing a kiss on the underside of his tip, “That’s fine, as long as I get to watch you cum.”

The red devil’s face was bright red, not only from your words but from, watching you give his slit small kitten licks. You made your way down his shaft with slow kisses again, reveling in how much he was squirming from your touch. Once down to his base, you moved to the side--between his cock and the meat of his thigh--and bit down on him, leaving a loving dark mark. All the while Dante was groaning quietly as he bit his lower lip, attempting to stifle his vulnerable noises. In fact, he was biting down so hard that blood had begun to trickle down his chin.

After you felt the mark was dark enough, you placed several kisses on his balls and curled your tongue around his shaft, moving from the very base all the way back up. Slowly, you placed your lips around his cockhead and made sure to watch as Dante released his lower lip, unable to contain himself any longer. Bit by bit you took his length into your mouth, to the best of your ability; it’s not every day you suck an eight-inch cock after all.

Unhurriedly you bobbed your head up and down, making sure to savor his taste and the lewd mewls that he was making. You used one hand to play with his balls, making him buck his hips at the unexpected touch. Cautiously, he placed a hand on the back of your head, his fingers just barely ghosting against you. Noticing his hesitation, you used your free hand to push his palm harder against you. As you worked yourself into a rhythm, you noticed that he was moving his hips gently into you, making you take him in ever-so-slightly deeper with each intake.

You placed your free hand on your own dick and began to stroke yourself at the sight of Dante towering above you. He was breathing heavily with half-lidded eyes and was moaning sweet praises; such as “Holy shit” or “Goddamnit”.

After a while, you moved back to kiss down his shaft and his balls. Carefully, you licked his sack and took one of his balls into your mouth very gently sucking on it.

Dante put his hands against the wall, pushing up, and arched his back as he let out a loud unfiltered moan, "Fuckin~~! God~" His fingers clawed through the wallpaper, all he wanted was to grab you and fuck into the back of your throat, but he needed to be careful and have patience; the last thing he wants is to hurt you.

As you released his ball, you lightly ran your teeth against the skin, making him let out another loud moan. You flattened your tongue and ran it up between his balls, making sure to go slowly between them, all the way back to his tip only to generously give his slit more kitten licks.

Once again, you returned to bobbing up and down on his cock, moving a bit faster this time. One of your hands began to fondle his balls again whilst the other wrapped around to hold the back side of his thighs; encouraging him to thrust harder into your face. The red devil caught on quickly to the idea and placed both his hands on the back of your head and began to thrust his hips into you.

Admittedly, it was perhaps a bad idea to encourage him to face-fuck you since he managed to make you deep-throat him; something you weren’t able to do. Tears sprung to the corners of your eyes at the feeling. All you could do was wrap both your arms around his thighs and hold on for dear life, hoping he didn’t get any rougher.

Thankfully, it didn’t take Dante long to reach his peak. Your eyes met with his and he let out a thunderous whining moan as his fingers dug into the back of your head, pushing his cock as far into your mouth as he could. As expected, his cum didn’t taste the greatest--caused by his diet or lack-there-of, it was very salty and rather bitter. On top of that, he was choking you and pushing rather hard into the back of your throat but that didn’t matter much; you got what you’ve been lusting after for so long.

The look on his face alone made it worth the probable sore throat in the morning. He was disheveled with his hair falling in front of his face, some of which was stuck to the thin layer of sweat on his brow. His eyes were heavy and even more dilated than before. A dark red stain adorned his lower lip from his own smeared blood. Heavy labored breaths left his ajar lips, giving you a good look at his sharp teeth. You could tell that he wanted you, that he wasn’t done with you yet; which is exactly what you’d hoped for.

You felt him pet the back of your head as you removed his cock from your mouth. With heavy eyes of your own, you looked up at him with your mouth hung open slightly and breathing heavily. He noticed the tears that had finally run down your face and thumbed them off your cheeks, cupping your face in his hands.

Without breaking eye contact, you leaned against one of his hands and took his thumb into your mouth, biting it softly.

Dante’s voice was soft, “Can we do more?”

With a smirk, you let go of his finger and stood up, placing a hand on his chest, “You sure you’re up for it?”

The red devil picked you up, placing his head between your neck and shoulder, whispering in a low dark tone, “My room or yours?”

A shiver ran up your spine, “E-either one’s fine-!”

Dante bit down softly over one of the marks he made earlier in an attempt to satiate some of his growing desires, internally he felt himself becoming increasingly impatient. After a minute of thought, he went upstairs with you still in his arms and kissing your marred skin. Dante decided to use his room; after all, he knows where his lube is--plus he doesn’t have to worry about ruining your bedding, bed, or room in the heat of the moment.

He supported you with one arm as he futzed with the doorknob. You grabbed his face and moved it to yours, kissing him once again. Dante’s kisses were much less innocent and sweet this time; this time, they were overtly lustful and sinful. He wanted to indulge both himself and you in these unholy urges, to make you feel as good as he does; which, come hell or high water, is exactly what he’s going to do.

Finally, he got the door open and pushed it open using your back. Your hands made their way up to his hair, grabbing handfuls of it as he placed both his hands on your ass, pulling you as tight to him as he could. The only light in the room was provided by the sunset that was peaking through the blinds on his window; which poured directly onto the bed. He brought you both to the foot of his bed and laid you down, moving his kisses down your neck and to your shoulder.

When Dante leaned up the sight before him is one that will be immortalized in his jumbled mind. You were a hazy mess and were sprawled out on the untidy sheets. The sunlight gave your body a golden glow and only emphasized how beautiful you are to him. You looked heavenly, angelic almost. A small amount of pity sat at the edge of Dante’s mind, pity at how he is going to stain your pure and holy nature; how this devil is going to destroy you.

He grabbed one of your hands and kissed the back of it, placing genteel warm kisses up your arm and stopping on your shoulder. His breath was hot and tickled your ear as he whispered to you, “I love you,” he placed a long kiss on the side of your neck, “So damned much…”

Before you could speak, he placed a soft peck on your lips and stood up, moving over to his bedside table. You scooched up further onto the bed and Dante climbed onto it, a bottle of lube now in hand, sitting on his knees. To say he looked stunning was an understatement. You weren’t sure if he looked heavenly or if he looked demonic; perhaps he is both a devil and an angel wrapped up in a half-human shell. The sunlight made him appear god-like; between the sheer definition of his frame and the orange eyes that were trained on you, he looked surreal. Said eyes were flicking all over your body, absorbing every bit of you that he could, but he was hesitant; what if he messes things up?

After a few minutes, you sat up and placed a hand on his bicep, “Hey, you okay? We can stop if you don’t want to do more, Dante.”

He shook his head, “No, I want this, I want you. I just--” his gaze broke from yours and mumbled, just barely audible, “I’m nervous.”

You gave him a gentle smile, thumbing over his arm, “You’re doing great, Dante,” you leaned the top of your head against his chest, closing your eyes, “Besides, that’s supposed to be my line.”

He let out a warm laugh and placed his hands on your back, kneading against you.

After a moment, Dante leaned you back down and slid his hands into your underwear. He pulled your last bit of clothing off and tossed it somewhere within the messy room, then he took his own off; leaving you both completely exposed. The red devil then paused in thought for a moment before carefully turning you over onto your stomach.

You peered over your shoulder at Dante. He was staring at your bare form, biting his lip. A small groan left your mouth as you felt him place his warm hands on your ass, kneading. After a moment, you heard him shuffle around and then he sat for a moment. A sharp gasp came from you as you felt him smack your ass then aggressively grabbed the slowly redding side. Dante’s lip twitched into a smirk as he did it again, hearing you let out another moan.

He put both hands back down and groped at your ass, listening to your whimpering beneath him. Admittedly, he wanted to continue teasing you but he was losing grip on his own emotions; fighting back an urge to Trigger. So, he let go of your tender flesh and grabbed the bottle of lube. Instinctively, you put your ass up a bit; laying in a downward dog position. Dante split apart your cheeks and applied a generous amount of lube before slowly running his finger around your hole.

A small buck of your hips back told Dante you wanted him to hurry up so he slid one finger inside you. You buried your face into the bedding in hopes to suppress your voice but were quickly pulled back up by Dante’s hand carefully around your throat.

Through a strained growl, Dante confidently huffed, “I want to hear everything, and,” he leaned down, slowly adding a second finger, and whispered in your ear, “I don’t want you to fake anything.” He kissed the back of your neck, “I want your real reactions, ‘kay?”

Quickly you nodded, laying your head to the side and letting out a quiet groan as you felt his fingers fuck into you faster. Dante curled his fingers towards himself and felt you jolt forwards as you let out a guttural groan. So, he repeated the action and, when you repeated the same response, he continued to do it faster and faster.

Dante added more lube and slid in a third digit and saw that your brow furrowed a bit, grimacing slightly; however, you didn’t tell him to stop so he pushed it in further. As he played with your hole, he noticed you had begun to practically ride his hand. Mindlessly he opened his mouth and began to play with his teeth using his tongue, he found himself distantly regretting waiting so long and wished he had been able to gratify these taboo feelings sooner.

“Dante,” you stared at him from the corner of your eyes, “I want you,” you felt his fingers quicken, making you moan, “Please, Dante.”

The red devil shifted his jaw in thought, still playing with your ass. He wanted to watch you squirm underneath him longer but he couldn’t deny that he was also growing increasingly desperate. With a small sigh, he removed his fingers and gently coaxed you to turn over; laying belly up.

Slowly, he ran a hand down your middle and gently thumbed over your aching cock, and the pre-cum that decorated the tip. You whimpered from the unexpected feeling of your long-neglected arousal. Dante leaned back to sit his butt on his heels and, using some lube, stroked himself to the sight before him.

Once fully slicked up, Dante aligned himself with your hole. A devilish smirk tugged at his lips as he teased you, running his tip along your hole; he wanted to hear you beg as he had heard in secret for so many years.

“Please Dante,” you pursed your lips and rolled your hips, “Please, I can’t-- Please~!”

With a low growl, he pushed his tip inside and you let out a sharp gasp at the feeling.

Bit by bit Dante entered your body. You were doing your best not to tighten your body around the unfamiliar feeling. Admittedly, it made your whole body tingle in delight; never had you had such a large partner--living or plastic--making this quite a new and thrilling experience. It took nearly a minute for Dante to finally be fully inside and both of you were already on edge. You reached up for Dante’s head, pulling him down for a kiss. Your legs rested on the outsides of his hips, allowing him to bend down fully to kiss you. The kisses were slow, loud, sloppy kisses; both of you were a mess.

Dante sat back up, holding you around your thighs, and ever-so-slightly pulled back then pushed back inside. He continued these small careful movements for some time.

“More, please, Dante,” you spoke between heavy breaths, “I don’t want you to hold back,” you flashed him a warm sultry smile, “Do whatever you want with me, Daddy~” You added a playful wink to the end and laughed as his eyes went wide with embarrassment.

Your laughter quickly died down when you felt him quickly pull out over half his length and jab it right back in eliciting you to let out a loud unfiltered moan, “Do whatever I want, huh?” He gave you a dark full-teeth smile, you felt your stomach drop in a fearful arousal type of way.

Dante pulled out almost the whole way and, once again, slammed right back inside. You let out another sharp moan and arched your back at the feeling. The red devil repeated this action until all you could hear in the shop was his balls hitting your ass and you spouting out random jibberish; singing the devil’s praises.

You went to jack yourself off but were stopped by Dante’s hand grabbing your wrist. Without slowing down, Dante leaned down and looked you dead in the eye, “You only get to cum when I say you can, babe.”

“What~Ah~!”

Dante yanked you up to sit on his lap, making hard deep hard jackrabbit thrusts right into your prostate. As he did that, he also had begun to bite over your skin again and his hands hand found their way to your ass; groping it hard. You wrapped your arms around him and held on to him, leaving deep scratches on his upper back. His lips met with yours again for more sloppy wet kisses, his hands slowly traveled to underneath your thighs.

In one swift motion, he had both of you up off the bed and you pushed against his wall. His thrusts had slowed to a moderate pace but were still short, only pulling out two or three inches. You decided to give him a taste of his own medicine and bit down on his shoulder. Dante let out a loud sharp unfiltered moan and his fingers dug into your skin, clawing into your thighs.

Once you felt the mark was deep enough, you placed a few more; making sure to mar up each side, and with each bite, you got another frantic moan. You leaned back to admire your work and felt him start making longer, more drawn-out movements, purposefully teasing.

Now resting his head against the side of your neck, he placed a few kisses, “I don’t remember saying you could bite me, babe.”

“Whatcha gonna do about it, hm?”

Dante pulled out of you and the next thing you knew you were being pushed face down into the floor, his hand grasping the back of your head tightly. He re-inserted himself inside you and began to fuck you even harder than before; pulling out to the very tip and slamming into you. Using his other hand, he took one of your arms and held it behind you, pinning it to your back. Your free hand was stretched in front of you and you were gripping the floor with your fingertips, desperately trying to ground yourself.

Admittedly, you were on cloud nine as you felt him continuously re-penetrate your hole. Your legs felt weak and you began to, unknowingly, drop your hips down; which caught Dante’s attention. The red devil pulled himself back out and took you to the bed, laying you face up. He remained on his feet and re-inserted himself, then yanked your legs up and over his shoulders. All you could do was grip the bedding tightly and continue to babble random moaning phrases to him, egging him on further.

This pose didn’t last long, Dante removed your legs and leaned down to you. He gave you a long impassioned kiss before resting his forehead against your chest. One of his hands grabbed yours, intertwining your fingers, and the other found purchase on your cock. With each jab inwards, he jerked your dick in rhythm with his hips. Your free hand gripped his hair, holding him into your chest.

Dante’s voice was ragged and low, almost desperate sounding, “I don’t know how much longer I…”

“Cum inside me, Dante,” you didn’t even need to hear the rest, you knew that he wanted to know what to do.

He moved his head to rest between your neck and shoulder then picked up his pace tenfold, in both his hips and his hand. Your body arched tightly against his and your fingers clasped even tighter around his hand and his hair. It only took a few more short sharp jabs for him to reach his climax, spilling himself deep inside you. Dante’s teeth sunk deep into your skin, breaking it once again, and creating a vice grip on you.

The hot feeling from his cum quickly spread throughout your body as his pace around your cock sped up, the combination of the two soon brought you to your own peak, “Fuck, Dante~!” Your voice was loud and semi-whiney and you pushed your head against his.

A gentle purr could be heard from him at the sound of your orgasm, despite him still having his teeth sunk into you. You gently ran your fingers through his hair and felt as if you were going to cry. The two of you laid connected for a few minutes, just enjoying the feeling of being so close.

Dante carefully removed his bite, making you let out a hiss in pain, and released your hand from his. He leaned up and gently removed his cock from your body, making a shiver run up your spine. With a happy content huff, he relaxed back down on you and propped himself up by resting his forearms on your chest. A warm smile and half-lidded eyes adorned his face as he placed a soft innocent kiss on your cheek and then rested his chest on his arms, staring at you.

Your hands slowly ran up his biceps and rested on his shoulders, mimicking his smile with one of your own. As you thumbed over his skin, you couldn’t help but think about how much you truly cared about Dante. Wandering thoughts devolved to the memories of coming home to a near-dead Dante laying on the bathroom floor; which only further darkened to the idea that it could always happen and, someday, you might not make it home in time to--

“Hey,” Dante’s soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. His smile was gone and his brow was creased, “What’s wrong?”

A tremble found its way to your lips as you stared at him and you realized that you had several tears running down your face. Unable to spit out what you were thinking, you spoke with a small crack in your voice, “Can you come closer?”

He gave you a small sweet smile with a happy huff, “Here.”

Dante stood up, picked you up, and placed you on the bed--laying you the correct way. The red devil then slid onto the bed next to you, placing his head on your chest. He laid with his body half on top of you and wrapped his arms around your middle, allowing you to do the same. Although you typically would’ve immediately gone to wash up after such a strenuous event, you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of him. A loud robust purring filled the room as both of you relished in the feeling of holding one another.

You placed a soft long kiss against the top of his head, lingering against him for some time before whispering sweetly against his disheveled hair, “I love you, Dante; you know that, right?”

The red devil turned his head to look at you better and placed a soft kiss against your lips, “I love you too babe,” he placed his head back on your chest, nuzzling into your hard, his arms wrapping tighter around you, “So damned much.”

ENDING NOTES: ;skfajfjlkdsjafkldj this wasn’t supposed to be this long--it’s 22 pages in docs; how the fuck-- This was supposed to be a short Dante smut fic, what happened lmaooo 🍊🍊🍊 Quick thing: If you are curious as to why I think a younger Dante would have issues with how he looks; it is because it reminds him of Vergil (Vergil has the same issue when his hair is down, thinking he looks like his brother--I mean, they are twins after all). 🍊🍊🍊 You know, I have written quite a bit of smut, right? So you’d think that I would stop laughing and getting embarrassed over writing words like “nipple” or “balls” but no, I fucking still giggle to myself like a fucking idiot when I write those words like… wtf is wrong with me smh Like I sit here typing one letter at a time all flustered when writing those two words specifically even though I just wrote about Dante fingerings the reader or like the reader linking Dante’s pre-cum like wtf is wrong with me lmaooo

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