#i kept playing her fucking games and i kept losing. but i kept trying

[eriochromatic]

As a character, what do you love most about Silco? As a subject matter, what do you enjoy drawing about him most? (personally, I love his nose), but his fashion ... GOD. I would love to see your take on Happy AU Silco's wardrobe options!

Also, do you do concept art for video games or animation for a living? Your work is so professional, I especially admire your coloring!

I think for fictional characters in general, I love those who have really strong convictions and would do anything for those set of ideals, and then the narrative continuously tests them and pushes them to the edge. Whether or not the character follows through in their ideals or finally reaches their limit doesn't matter to me, I just like seeing them wrangle with their decisions lol

This is why I didn't like s1 Jayce (who to me was a candle in the wind) but I loved s2 Jayce- for s2 Jayce's arc basically revolved entirely around Viktor, from the beginning where he made the decision to bring him back w/ the hexcore (despite Viktor telling him to destroy it), to the end where Jayce basically decides to die with Viktor in the ether. Jayce was brought to his absolute limit and we got to see him grapple with the decisions that he had to make.

Silco was the same in s1, to me he goes through his own personal "corruption arc" in the sense that in s1e9 he betrays his own ideals for Jinx and finally understands Vander's position. He and Vander probably started out as the same idealists, and then the narrative kept punching him in the gut and forged him into who we saw in s1e1. A lot of this is off screen but just the idea of him (after his fight with Vander) sort of losing his moral compass bit by bit which all culminates to producing shimmer just to prove how much he's willing to fight for Zaun, and then later on realizing there is a final line he won't ever cross...

Honestly even if he did cross that line and went like "haha I don't actually care about Jinx" I would still love him as a character (just in a massively different way since he would be like. A completely different person. Idk I watched the Penguin recently and I still fucking love Oz and also my favorite asoiaf character is Stannis so. LMAO.)

Sorry this turned into a bit of a rant HAHAHA but as for your other questions, yes I love drawing his nose as well, honestly it's funny seeing young Silco art that doesn't have his nose where he just becomes an emo anime boy. I'm just like who are you that's not Silco thats Simon LOL

Idk about specifically designing other outfits for Silco though, I just draw him in what feels right for the moment (?) I guess my art process currently is more like "what am I trying to tell with this" rather than just playing dress up dolls (not that there's anything wrong with that! Just not my thing) Like, for that AU last drop thing I drew, Silco, Mylo, and Claggor are all wearing smth more casual since the vibe was like 10am on a Sunday morning but Powder is wearing her normal clothes since she just pulled an all nighter with Ekko (well ok they fell asleep at like 5am before Ekko rudely ran away lol), and Vander was already up anyways probably to do bar admin stuff idk.. so if you're asking me directly what I think is in Silco's wardrobe I'm kind of drawing a blank fjskdmmsmfd

And yes I do concept art/illustration for video games for a living :)

[wawataka]

I JUST GOT RAYMOND ON MY ISLAND FUCK YOUUUU ROSIEEE

[sylustra]

Sylus saying "...don't run" to MC when they're finally being openly honest about their desire for one another and their trust and shared spaces.

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead on Main short part 2

This was not supposed to be this long. It just kept getting longer, just kept going. I found a cut-off point eventually, but there may actually be a part 3 to what was supposed to be a very short little piece. Whoops. (part 1)

Jason never had the time to be concerned about his words when he was young. Neither did anyone else around him. His dad couldn’t be bothered with anything to do with him, and Jason would have been surprised if Willis actually knew what his words were. His mother was more confused by them then anything else, and even then that was only in her rarer sober moments.

Then Jason moved in with Bruce. Dick wasn’t around much when he lived in the Manor. He had just started tolerating him when Jason had died. Dick probably knew what the words were, but they had never discussed it with each other, and Jason couldn’t begin to guess what his opinion was on them back then. 

Bruce used to entertain his fantasies of trying to think up different scenarios his words could be said in, both of them trying to make the funniest good outcome. It became a game they played when bored on stakeouts, obviously keeping the contents of the words private while playing. To be fair, there were a lot of good and funny scenarios. But they lived in Gotham, and Jason had experienced enough of the world, even at that young age, that he understood the likeliness of a bad scenario.

And then he died. And he didn’t think about his words for a very long time. Too busy training and plotting. Busy coming back to Gotham, enacting his plans and building a criminal empire. He barely remembered them himself until he was back in Gotham, operating as the Red Hood, with a trail of bodies behind him.

Assassin training, heads in a duffel bag, counts of arson, and leader of a gang, Jason was not the same kid he used to be. There were few scenarios in which his words could be said that he couldn’t come to understand. And he was at a point in his life where he could find room for a soulmate again. He was settled, secure as the anti-hero of Crime Alley, tenuous agreement with the Bats and all. He had even been by the Manor to have tea with Alfred. 

Arkham breakouts were old hat to everyone in Gotham. Citizens bunkering down, and Bats readying themselves to round up whoever made it out this time. However, this was the first Arkham breakout since his plan with Bruce and the Joker failed. The first since his agreement with the Bats to use non-lethal means. When Jason heard that it was the Joker that had broken out, he planned to kill him, truce be damned.

The Bats could probably deduce that, it was too soon into the truce for any real change to have been made. And this was the Joker. So now it was a race to see who could get to him first. 

Luckily (in this instance), Jason’s base is much closer to Arkham than the Bats. So while they are all stuck driving in from the better parts of town, Jason is already chasing the Joker down alleys. 

Joker is laughing, practically skipping away as if this is a game, and Jason almost loses him as he turns a corner he didn’t see. Jason can hear the Joker laughing, starting to speak. Probably to taunt him again. Then the sound cuts off with a choke and a thud.

Jason turns the corner to see Joker laid out flat, nose bleeding and neck at a funny ankle. A choked breath escapes him, and he looks around to see a man leaning against the alley wall.

The man’s hands are shaking, breaths choppy, and there's a bit of blood on his right hand.

Jason takes a deep breath, which causes the man to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Jason takes in the scene again. And then again, hardly daring to hope even with the evidence in front of him. 

“Is he dead?” Jason asks softly. The man turns to face him, and Jason takes a glove off and slowly, hesitantly, checks the Joker’s pulse.

“Look, in my defense…” The man trails off, looking to the heavens for a moment. “I really fucking hate clowns.” 

Jason, hope fully settled in as the Joker remains still and lifeless on the ground, pulse non-existent against his fingertips, almost laughs. Then his brain does a record scratch. Rewind. Replays the words ‘Look, in my defense’ over again, head shooting up to look at the man who just killed the Joker. 

Jason takes his other glove off, standing. He takes a step towards the man, pushing up his sleeve. The man seems nervous at his advance, watching him warily until Jason uncovers the words on his arm. The cover falls to the ground behind him as he takes another step forward. 

The man’s eyes light up in realization, and he also rushes to push up his sleeve. One more step forward and they are right in front of each other. Arms held up, brushing together as they show each other their marks.

Left forearms pressed together in the space in front of them, one reading ‘Is he dead?’ and the other “Look, in my defense.’. 

The man laughs and Jason takes in the sound of it, the happiness in his eyes as he looks up at him. Jason slowly reaches up to remove his helmet, domino still on underneath it, and lets it fall to the alley floor as well.

“You’re amazing.” Jason breaths out, hand reaching up to cup the stranger’s, his soulmate’s cheek. “You have no idea what you��ve just done for me.”

“Little bit of manslaughter.” He laughs. “Didn’t think it would be received this well.”

Jason smiles in response. “I would worship you for this, if you’d let me. I will never stop thanking you.” 

“Oh.” The man gasps, breath hitching. Jason, one hand still on his cheek, thumb stroking underneath his eye, places his other hand on the man’s waist and backs him up to the alley wall. Deliberately slowly, watching the man as he takes a deep breath, licks his lips, and lets himself be moved.

“Tell me your name and I’ll start right now.” Jason whispers.

“Danny.” The word is breathy and low, only heard due to Jason’s close proximity. 

“Danny.” Jason repeats his name like an anthem and a prayer. Prepared to give his life for this man already. And then kisses him, pressing his lips to his softly, reverently. Wanting to hold this moment forever.

[confused-pyramid]

Breaking Point

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...

word count: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking

a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!

You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.

Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.

"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."

You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."

He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."

The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.

He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.

"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."

He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.

A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."

He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.

You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.

***

He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.

Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.

"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."

You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."

Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.

"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.

You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."

You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.

He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"

You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.

"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."

Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."

You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."

You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.

"I'll walk you to your car."

He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.

You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.

He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.

"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."

He doesn't move.

It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.

Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."

Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.

After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.

Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.

"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."

"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.

You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.

"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"

Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.

Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.

You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."

He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."

You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."

"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.

"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"

His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."

You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."

You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.

***

You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.

He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.

His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.

You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-

The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.

People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.

Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.

When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.

***

You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.

You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.

There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."

"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."

He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.

"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.

Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.

"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.

He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."

"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."

"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."

That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."

"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."

His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"

You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."

His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.

Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.

If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.

Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.

Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.

"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."

It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.

By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.

"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."

He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.

His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.

You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."

Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.

He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.

The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.

He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.

He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.

You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.

Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.

Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.

His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.

After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.

You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.

"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."

"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."

You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.

You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.

[tealvenetianmask]

I want to talk about a kind of troubling reaction I've been seeing to both Apology Tour and Ghostfuckers among parts of the fandom. The person is usually a reaction youtuber but sometimes someone writing on tumblr or twitter. They say something along the lines of "oh, I'm glad Blitz is being forced to confront his crimes/traumas/pain. This is the only way he will finally heal."

That's not how healing works.

I know that reaction youtubers don't always have the most developed takes because they're . . . you know . . . reacting in the moment. But I think it's still worth talking about.

I'm going set aside the people who seem to believe that Blitz needs to be punished for his crimes, and address those who genuinely think that getting a tidal wave of his own trauma in his face is what he needs to heal.

There's an attitude in contemporary culture that traumas are something people need to confront. As in, put on a brave face and dive in like a big boy. I blame capitalism, rugged individualism, and all the pieces of media that tie up a character's arc neatly by having them confront their darkest fears and insecurities. It can put a nice bow on things, but it isn't really how healing from trauma works.

Apology Tour:

Blitz gets confronted by a shit ton of people who hate him, at least some of whom are his exes, who he feels he's personally damaged. The decor and party games are all about killing and torturing him. Verosika confronts him about how much he hurt her. Oh, and then he sees the love of his life, who he's just recently pushed away, making out with another guy- proof, in his eyes, that Stolas is happier without him. And this all reflects the underlying fears he already has about who he is as a person (shown to us by Truth Seekers).

So what was the takeaway? Blitz came to the conclusion that he doesn't always want to be like this (good, but like . . . worth this much pain?). He flops on his steering wheel (relatable). He stops trying to reach out to Stolas (uh oh . . . ). He spends A MONTH spiraling in his own misery and making a mess of all aspects of his life until he's dragged out of it by a caring friend.

The party doesn't empower Blitz to change. It knocks him down and fucking traumatizes him (seriously, images of Stolas from the party show up later in his trauma reel) too much for him to be able to do actually work toward said change. I suspect that if left to his own devices, he would have kept spiraling for quite a while longer. It's one thing to want to change, and another to try to do so alone in the aftermath of a pile-on.

Ghostfuckers

After Blitz drags himself out of his hole of cheesy ice cream and despair to "play sex ghosts" (escapism, again, still knocked down by Apology Tour), infester demon Rolando picks him out as an easy target and assaults him, yes, assaults, with horrific images of his worst traumas and fears.

Not to state the obvious, but Rolando isn't interested in helping Blitz heal. He's trying to kill the guy. He wants to engulf Blitz in his trauma to the extent where he's consumed by it and loses the will to fight back. And as some excellent posts by others have pointed out already, he very likely would have succumbed if not for Millie's support.

Millie helps Blitz get through the onslaught by telling him about what makes him great and how he's improved her life and showing him love and care. And by literally beating the fucking infester out of him. Because there's someone in him who's hurting him, who's re-traumatizing him against his will. She takes him away from the reel of horrible memories.

So . . . do I think that confronting traumas can play a role in healing? Sure. But only if it's consensually (which neither of these situations are) and when the person trying to heal is ready. And most likely in small doses. No one's going and successfully confronting every horrible thing that's ever happened to them in one go.

And in my humble opinion, it's not going to work (for anyone, but especially not for Blitz) alone and without a healthy dose of kindness and compassion (both external and internal).

Blitz has a long road ahead of him toward healing, and it's going to be hard work on his part but also require love and support from the people in his life.

In a wonderful moment near the end of Ghosfuckers, Blitz and Millie work together to get Blitz's wrecked van unstuck and push it back through the portal into Hell. I love it because it's so simple and it kind of tells us everything we need to know. This sweet and salty gremlin has a lot of work ahead of him, but he doesn't have to do it alone.

[vixstarria]

Seeing stars

Welp, I wrote more porn.

Astarion x F!Tav/F!Reader

18+, smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings, jealous Astarion, soft dom Astarion, dirty talk, fingering, PIV, elf ears and more! Humour, banter and fluff mixed in per usual. Tav failing several insight checks in the process.

I also poke fun at the in-game romance mechanics, and Wyll's Act 2 scene in particular.

This is the last time they have sex before the "I want us to be something real" conversation.

Approx. 2,900 words

AO3

“You won’t believe the ludicrous encounter I just had with Wyll.” 

You burst into Astarion’s tent. Well, it was ‘Astarion’s’ tent only notionally at this point. Yours still stood, but it now served solely as storage space for your assorted junk. You had effectively moved in with Astarion, having first coerced him into replacing the wooden plank and bloodstained rags he slept on with some sensible rugs and blankets. 

Astarion lounged half-naked on one of the bedrolls, reading something by candlelight. 

“Oh?” he looked up at you. “Do tell.” 

“First the massage you promised earlier,” you said sinking down onto the floor of the tent and stripping off most of your clothes. “My back is killing me after carrying everyone all day.” 

“Oh please...” he rolled his eyes. “I recall you nearly walked into your own cloud of daggers, again, and would have if I hadn’t pulled you away in time. And then you blasted Lae’zel off a cliff. It’s a wonder we haven’t kicked you out yet.” He shook his head. “And if you’re carrying anyone, I’m the one carrying you.” 

Still, he sat up as you laid down on your stomach.  

“Who do you think you’re fooling with this modesty, darling?” he murmured, noticing that you’d kept your underwear on. “Just lose it now,” he added, as he slid it off, leaving you completely naked, before he settled over you, his fingers commencing work on your shoulders. “So what happened with Wyll?” 

“I was making my way back here, and found him... performing some kind of jig by the campfire, pretending like he didn’t know I was there.” 

“The ‘Blade of Frontiers’, dancing alone in the middle of camp?” Astarion snickered. “Did you mock him? Please tell me you mocked him.”  

“Well... I was going to, but then he asked me to dance with him, very earnestly.” 

“That scoundrel...” he mused. “And let me guess - you agreed, didn’t you?” 

“Oh trust me, at that point it would have been more awkward not to dance with him, I had to play along.” 

Astarion scoffed, with a chuckle. 

“Do you always go along with whatever people want from you just because it would be too awkward to say no?” 

"I try not to – last time I did, I ended up with a vampire who won’t stop sucking me dry,” you deflected. “I figured there was no harm in indulging him. Besides, I don’t see you dancing with me. It was kind of nice,” you teased. 

“I hate dancing,” he said. 

“Right,” you said. “I’m sure you hate dancing just as much as you hate poetry, flowers, art, cats... What else?” 

“Children,” he answered. “I also can’t stand children.” 

“No, that one I could see being true,” you grinned. 

“So anyway, you two dolts pranced around the fire to the sound of crickets, then what?” 

“And then he tried to kiss me,” you admitted, with a sigh. 

Astarion’s hands paused for a moment before resuming their work, slightly harder than before. 

“Well look at you, receiving the Duke Ravengard’s heir’s attention. Moving up in the world, hmm?” 

“I didn’t let him.” 

He laughed. 

“Is there even a single person left in camp that hasn’t tried to get into your pants, darling?” 

You had to think for a moment.  

“Are we counting Volo?” 

“Sure.” 

“Then just Karlach and Withers.” 

“Gods, I fucking love Karlach,” he murmured. “Don’t tell her I said that.” 

“Why? Getting jealous all of a sudden?” 

Astarion was silent for a few moments. 

“I just don’t understand it,” he said. “You’re with me every night. I’m at your side every day. They see us. They hear us. Still, they don’t take me – or you and me – seriously. Tell me, is there something about me that screams: ‘Please, go ahead and take my lover for yourself. Come on in and snatch her right out from under me, I don’t mind’?”  

Perhaps you’d made a bad judgment call when you thought Astarion would find the absurdity of the situation humorous rather than offensive. Still, you had to bite your cheek to keep from laughing at the dramatics he added to the delivery of the last few lines that left his mouth. 

“Stop laughing,” he said.  

“I’m not laughing,” you laughed.  

“I can feel your back muscles twitching in your efforts.” 

“Well, they’re aware this all started as a joke. Perhaps they never realised that it’s long stopped being one?” you offered. 

Astarion’s hands had been moving lower and lower along your back. They had now reached your ass and continued to rub, stroke and squeeze, as you let out a soft groan. 

“That’s not my back, Astarion.” 

One of his hands kept squeezing an ass cheek, while the other dipped to stroke you between your legs. He gave a satisfied hum when two of his fingers entered you effortlessly. 

“Maybe if they could see how wet I can make you just by rubbing your back they’d reconsider how much of a joke this is,” he said, his voice low. He continued to pump his fingers in and out – you were almost embarrassed by the loud squelching sounds that came out of you. You moaned and tried to lift your hips higher, but your legs were encased between his thighs, pinned down on the bedroll. “Do you think you’d be reacting this way to young Ravengard, darling?” 

“Stop it,” you hissed. “You know I don’t want anyone but you.” 

“Stop?” he pulled his fingers out, to your dissatisfied whine. You looked back to see him studying your slick on his fingers. “I should go smear this on his face right now... The audacity to try to get his hands on what is not his.” He licked his fingers clean instead. He turned his attention back to you.  

“Maybe if you were more vocal about your devotion to me the others wouldn’t make these mistakes.” 

His hand returned between your legs, spreading your wetness and slipping lower to tease your clit.  

“I could be... encouraged... to be more vocal about it,” you breathed, trying to grind against his hand.  

“Yes... I should make you scream my name, so they all know who you belong to.” 

His fingers returned inside you, teasing you with shallow strokes.  

“You can try,” you taunted him. 

Astarion let out an indignant huff and shifted to spread your legs open with his knees, simultaneously placing a hand on your back to firmly hold you down. You expect to feel his cock enter you, but he continued to stroke you with his fingers, turning his hand to curl them downwards.  

“Is that a challenge, darling?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You should know better by now than to bet against me,” he said, continuing to flex his fingers inside you. 

It started off pleasant enough, but rapidly grew into... more. And more. You weren’t sure what he was doing but whatever it was, it was just about making you see stars. 

You sputtered as the new sensation started to take hold of your whole being.  

“Ast… what..”  

You couldn't manage anything coherent, as his fingers continued to dig into you, gradually picking up speed and pressure. You started to squirm to try to get away despite yourself, but he simply put more weight against the hand on your back, securely pinning you to the bedroll. 

“Always getting yourself into situations you're not prepared for…" he murmured. "You're not talking your way out of this one.”

His fingers were relentless. You were worried you really would scream and wake everyone in camp. All you could do was bite down on the pillow, hoping that it would muffle your drawn-out moans. 

“Let go, darling... I know you want to.” 

It's not so much that you let go – rather, all your decorum was ripped from you, as your muscles convulsed, the orgasm rolling through your entire body. You panted and shuddered, trying to keep quiet, your hands clutching desperately at the covers beneath you, trying to hold on to anything like your life depended on it. 

Once the feeling subsided, you came back to your senses to find Astarion hovering over you, kissing the back of your neck and shoulders, grazing them with his fangs, almost but not quite hard enough to draw blood. You felt his erection rubbing against your hip. 

“Has anyone fucked you like this before?” he whispered hoarsely into your ear, his breath ragged from his own arousal. “Tell me.” 

“No,” you gasped, trying to catch your own breath.  

“I thought so,” he whispered with a smile, kissing your neck before he sat back up. 

You turned back to look at him over your shoulder. He watched you with a self-satisfied grin, his fingers returning to stroke you lightly between your legs once more. 

“Do you want me to do it again?” he purred. 

A part of you wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face after what he just put you through. Another, much larger part, wanted nothing more than to submit yourself to whatever he would do to you.  

“Yes,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“Turn around...” he narrowed his eyes mischievously. “I want to see your face this time.” 

You flipped around onto your back, under his watchful gaze. His eyes never left yours as he stroked your slit, teasing your engorged clit with his thumb, before his fingers slipped back inside you. 

You found yourself mewling in anticipation before he really even started doing anything.  

“So eager,” he smirked. “So wanton...” 

He curled his fingers again, moving his whole hand to mercilessly claw into a sweet spot you didn’t even know existed inside you.  

You tried to relax into and accept this sensation, now that you were familiar with it. A growing pressure kept building at the bottom of your stomach. It was too much. It was entirely too much. You couldn’t take more of it. You couldn’t- 

“Let go, I’ve got you...” His whisper sounded so tender in sharp contrast to the depraved way he was handling your body. 

You sobbed as what you hoped was cum gushed out of you, your legs quivering.  

“Good girl”, Astarion laughed with glee, bending down to place a kiss on your lips, continuing to stroke you lightly, “Your body reacts so perfectly to me... Do you want more?” 

“You... I want you...” you groaned, biting his lip. 

“If that’s what my good girl wants,” he purred, discarding what was left of his clothes.  

You groaned as his cock entered you, rocking your hips against his, trying to find that feeling again. 

“So wet and needy for me...” he goaded you. “I’ve completely ruined you for anyone else, haven’t I?” 

He held absolutely nothing back as he fucked you, lewd insistent sounds of skin slapping on skin combined with your shared grunts and moans disturbing what was likely otherwise a silent night. 

“Anyone awake knows exactly what I’m doing to you right now,” he rasped, voice thick.  

Your walls clenched at the thought, making him shudder and sigh as well. 

“You like that thought, don’t you..? I know you do,” he continued. “So shameless...” 

Despite yourself, you whimpered, clenching again as another orgasm started threatening to overtake you. 

“That’s it... Come for me again,” he groaned. “Come for me, my love.” 

‘My love’..? Just a figure of speech, you thought. You’d thrown that phrase around, jokingly, but it’s never sounded so... raw. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to keep hearing it.  

“Your what?” you gasped.  

He didn’t answer. Instead he caught your lips in a deep, devouring kiss, pinning your arms over your head.  

Your body gave in and you trembled under him, caught up in waves of pleasure again.  

He released your arms and eased his movements once you rode out your high, but kept kissing you, hungrily, unwilling to release your lips from his.  

Clearly, no further words of love would follow, you thought to yourself with a tinge of both relief and disappointment, deciding to let it go. 

“You’re so good to me,” you managed, breaking your lips from his. 

“Aren’t I just?” he groaned, speeding up again to chase his own release.  

You kissed your way up his jaw to his ear, pausing to nibble on his earlobe.  

You couldn’t see it, but a ditsy, open-mouthed smile started to play on his face. 

Astarion gasped with a sharp intake of breath as you continued further, running your tongue over the inside of the shell of his ear. 

“Oh sweet hells,” he sighed with pleasure, immediately grinding into your harder. 

You smiled as he tilted his head, just about pressing his ear against your lips. 

“Do you like that?” you whispered in his ear, running your tongue over it again, lifting your hands to run your fingers through his hair. You knew he did. You just wanted to hear him say it.  

“Yes... Don’t stop...” His words sounded like a desperate plea. 

You continued to gently nibble on the edge of his ear, soft moans escaping you from his movements. 

“That’s it, take what’s yours” you groaned, as his hips crashed into yours harder. 

His breathing and movements were becoming more and more frantic.  

“Astarion...” you whispered, grazing the shell of his ear with your lips. 

He let out an uncharacteristic whimper, all his usual composure slipping from him, as he bucked his hips, fucking you with quick, shallow thrusts.  

“My sweet...” you breathed against his ear. 

He came completely undone, spilling into you with forceful, jagged thrusts, before finally stilling. His whole body seemed to melt into yours as he stayed on top of you, trying to regain his breath. 

You wrapped your legs around his hips, not wanting to let go of him yet, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to lift himself from you either. Instead he trailed light, tender kisses from your neck up to your lips.  

You delicately traced the contours of Astarion’s face with your fingertips, running them from his cheekbone down to his jaw, as he leaned into your caress, gazing into your eyes.  

Astarion parted his lips slightly, as though to say something, only to seal them again. He tilted his head to kiss your knuckles as your fingers gradually made their way back up, to run through his hair. Eventually he spoke. 

“You would really choose me over the more... blatantly obvious options you have at your disposal here?” he asked quietly.  

“Haven’t I made that abundantly clear already..?” 

“Well of course you have – no one else is this good,” he said with a tired smirk. 

“I’m not talking about the...” you blinked. “You know I’m not with you just for the sex, right..?” you frowned, looking into his eyes. 

He looked away, slipping out of you and moving to lie down next to you.  

“Is that so?” he said softly.  

You found yourself suddenly feeling rattled. Was he simply fishing for compliments again, or had you been utterly oblivious to just how deep his insecurities ran this whole time..? 

“You have a wealth of other qualities that I... enjoy and appreciate,” you said, somewhat lamely.  

Astarion propped his head up on his hand and raised an eyebrow at you quizzically. There was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes despite his outward nonchalance.  

Oh for fuck’s sake, you thought. I’m not ready for any serious conversations now, especially not with cum running down my thighs.  

You turned away to grab something to wipe yourself down with. 

“A gentleman would clean up his own mess, by the way. Not one of your strong points. But you do have some virtues that make up for it. For instance... I can leave cheese unattended around you, knowing you won’t eat it.” 

Astarion went to pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing.  

“You’re a treasure trove of useless information,” you continued. “But unlike some of our companions you usually keep it to yourself.” A hint of a smile played on his lips at that.  

“Your hand feels nice and cold on my forehead when I have a headache.” You laid back down next to him, mirroring the way he was lying. 

“You always smell nice, especially for a dead guy. You never hog the mirror.”   

“What about my hair, won’t you mention that?” he smiled. 

“No, fuck your hair, it makes mine look awful in comparison.”  

He chuckled at that. 

“I do rather adore the garnet puppy eyes though,” you murmured. “What else... You make me laugh, and, more importantly, I make you laugh – which is great for my ego,” you continued.  

“As long as you understand that I’m usually laughing at you,” he countered. 

“Prick... Then there’s the fact you’ve saved my life four times.”  

“Seven,” he said quietly, looking into your eyes.  

“Five.”  

“It’s seven, dear, I counted.” 

“Whatever. When it comes to battle, you’re silent but deadly,” you said. “Like a-” 

Astarion’s hand covered your mouth.  

“Do not finish that thought, darling.” 

You grinned from behind his palm.  

“I think we can be done with this conversation,” he said.  

“Wait, wait, one more...” you laughed. “You’re eccentric, unpredictable, often irrational. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”  

You smiled as Astarion groaned dramatically, covering his face with one hand.  

“Knowing I’ll get to spend another day in your mad company gives me a reason to get up in the morning,” you added, softly. 

“Come here, you sweet fool,” he whispered, drawing you against him.  

You hugged him tightly. It took so long for him to start initiating these embraces that wouldn’t lead to sex... You relished each one.  

Tomorrow, Astarion thought to himself, unbeknown to you. I have to tell her tomorrow.  

~~~~~

Follow up bonus scene

This work is part of a series - here is the master list

Next in series - Confession

AO3

Tags: @littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89

@spacebarbarianweird @kittenintheden - hey, I heard you like elf ears

[little-diable]

Pleasure - Prof!Tom Riddle (smut)

Just a small Drabble about our fave fucked up, dark professor. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Professor Riddle threatens to fail the reader, something she won’t accept. Just pwp

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, choking, degrading, orgasm denial, Tom being Tom, power imbalance

Pairing: Prof!Tom Riddle x fem!student!reader (1.2k words)

“You threaten to fail me? Are you out of your mind?” Her voice boomed through the class room, eyes set on the professor whose assistant she had been for the past months now. His piercing eyes didn’t meet hers, he kept his gaze set on the papers, correcting the homework she had collected minutes ago. All before he had dropped this bomb on her, telling (y/n) that she was about to fail his class. “Look at me!”

“Careful, (y/n).” His eyes snapped up to meet hers, voice sharper than a knife. He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed in front of his chest while staring at her like a snake about to snap at its prey. He had always been a dangerous man, a man whose aura was a warning itself, set on pulling her into his dark trap. But today he had something else to him, something even more ruthless.

“Tell me why!” She was fuming, set on letting go of a piercing scream. This must be a joke, a prank he was pulling on her - her grades were better than most, she was always on time, and when she was working for him, she did everything he asked of her.

“I don’t owe you any explanations. And your behaviour proves to me that you’re not mature enough to work on it. Leave.” (Y/n) didn’t move, she kept staring at Professor Riddle who slowly rose to his feet. A part of her screamed at her to leave, to run before it was too late, but the more stubborn part forced her to stand still and watch his every move. “Is this how you want to play? This is my last warning, (y/n).”

Her body was trembling in anger and need, all while her mind brought back flashes of a similar moment that had happened weeks ago. Back then she had left this room with trembling thighs and his handprint burned into her behind. The following hours had been spent hidden away in her room while pushing herself over the edge numerous times with his name burning on the tip of her tongue.

“I am not scared of you.” She cocked her head, chin pointed in his direction while she looked up at him. It was a foolish game she was playing - a game she was about to lose, but she didn’t care, couldn’t worry about any wins or losses, knowing that whatever would happen between them would count as a win in her book.

“You should be.” His ringed hand found her throat, tugging (y/n) in for a teeth clashing kiss. She moaned into the touch, unable to stop her hands from wandering, from finding the back of his neck to keep him close. (Y/n) felt her surroundings spin, throwing her into another dimension while the professor moved her backwards to heave his TA onto his table. With her legs wrapped around his waist, (y/n) kept him close, not daring to think of parting just yet. “You try to distract me with those pretty little things you wear, you try to make a fool out of me, but you’ll never have this much power over me. You’re mine, (y/n), I’m the one guiding you.”

She could only moan in delight, feeling his hand disappear beneath her skirt to press his fingertips against her clothed heat. Slowly, he began to circle her bundle through the fabric of her panties, feeling them grow damp beneath his touch. A soft chuckle let him, buzzing through both their bodies while his lips moved down her throat, sucking on the spots that drew moans from her.

“You’ve been asking for it for months, so now you’ll take my cock like the desperate slut you are. But I won’t let you cum, not this afternoon.” His words drew a protesting moan from (y/n), eyes wide while she stared at him. No words managed to pass her parted lips, unsure how to speak up as the sounds reaching her distracted (y/n).

Within seconds he had freed his cock, pushing a condom down his length before her panties were tugged aside. Her fingernails left crescent marks on the spot where his shoulder met his neck as he pushed into her, forcing her tight walls to adjust to him. A part of her wanted to beg him to slow down, to give her some moments to relax before taking all of him, but that part didn’t get a chance to speak up, silenced by her loud moans.

Professor Riddle fucked her ruthlessly, he was using her body, set on chasing his own high while sticking to his promise. Tonight he wouldn’t let her cum, at least not for a few hours before finding his way to her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping from her chin onto the back of his hand which was still holding her throat. She was torn between focusing on the way he perfectly stretched her, about to push her over the edge, and the way he held onto her all too possessively, leaving her heart jumping in excitement.

“This is why I need to keep you around, love.” The nickname had a condescending touch to it, leaving her gasping while she tried to focus on his words. “You’re all for me to use, all for my own pleasure.”

(Y/n) nodded her head while another gasp left her, head wanting to roll back - though without any luck as he kept holding onto her. She felt his cock tearing her apart with every thrust, drunk on the feeling of him fucking her this posessively. With moans ripping their way through her, she clawed at his skin, giving into the subconscious need to mark him up to have the same claim on him.

“What would you ever do without me, huh? You’re so needy, such a pathetic little girl.” She was close to letting go, high on the low tones of his raspy voice, on the way he spoke to her with spite and adoration dripping from his tongue. With one hand still clinging to him, she let the other find her pulsing bundle, circling it a few times to give herself the needed push. Something he instantly stopped her from doing after a second or two.

“I told you I won’t let you cum for now. I don’t make empty threats, love.” More tears fell from her eyes as she stared up at Professor Riddle. Her walls clenched his cock, hoping to pull him into her trap - something he didn’t seem to care for as he pulled out of her to cum on her thighs.

“You’ll wait for me tonight, and perhaps if you’re good, I’ll let you cum.”

[writerunnamed]

note: This is something I've wanted to write for a while but I am well aware that not everyone will be into it. There are a few stories I want to tell that aren't the norm so I decided to start this nameless blog to tell them. I am not tagging anyone, if you find it then you find it. xo Joel(stepdad), significant age gap, female reader. 18+ legal, reader is 20 (warnings: pov sex, Joel spits on the 😸, boobie play, really inappropriate dirty talk, an unused sex toy [will make an appearance in another chapter], female masturbation, daddy kink, unfit parent) 5.6k word count masterlist • series masterlist • part 2

He takes up so much space, and it wasn’t just physically. He took up space emotionally, mentally. Mentally most of all. Your thoughts always drifted back to him. Cyclical. An elliptical pattern making him the top of every list you’d go through in your head. He seemed to know it too, in a stoic, quiet, largely unsettling way. Older, attractive men tended to do that. 

It started during that in-between time, when summer, losing your job, and having to move back home pushed you to figure out what the fuck you actually wanted to do with your life seemed to come together like the planets aligning. The precipice of a turning point, a ticking clock counting down the days until your childhood bedroom would be turned into a gym, or an office, or a guest bedroom. The lukewarm welcome from your mother would ice over and you’d really have to get your shit together. 

Your mother was what people who didn’t know her would call ‘a free spirit’, what you called her, was a fucking mess. 

Your earliest memories consist of having to remind her to buy milk or to pay the bill because the electricity had turned off while watching cartoons in front of the tiny, living room tv. You’d had to remind her, in not so many words, that she was the mother, and you were the child. 

To your friends, she was the cool mom. The party mom. Your house was the place to be because she didn’t ask questions, she left her cigarettes unattended and didn’t mind if a few went missing. She kept the bar cart stocked, even if there was nothing but flies in the cupboard and nothing but half-empty condiment bottles in the fridge. Your friends loved it. 

She flirted with the boys your age, she gave sex tips to the girls. 

You smiled when they congratulated you on having the cool mom, and when they all went home, you retreated and pretended to be happy. 

Joel settled her down. Met her in a bar and moved in quick. He came into the picture when you were fifteen and you were almost sure he’d be just like the rest of the lovers she’d taken over the years. You’d given the whole thing six months. Half a year for him to see what a fucking disaster she was. Six months to be a fucking creep, to cheat or get cheated on. 

The only differences you could clock at first were that he was self-employed, and marginally better looking than his predecessors.

He was firmer though, less malleable than the others she’d brought around, he seemed immune to her charms and that only inflamed her. It made her desperate for his approval and his attention. She would throw a tantrum, or play one of her mind games but he’d never rise to her bait. He was patient for the most part, until he hit his breaking point and his temper reared its head. A temper only she seemed to bring out in him. 

To you, it was pathetic. 

He didn’t try with you though, there was no flattery or strong hand, only a silent respect. In a sense, he treated you as the adult, and her as the child. It worked for you, if he’d expected you to call him dad he would have been laughed at mercilessly and he seemed to know this. 

The disturbing part was his respect and his healthy avoidance of you worked its own kind of magic. It made him an enigma, made you curious as to what he got out of the whole thing. A home, sure. A woman who was obsessed with him, yes. Sex–yes. You heard it enough for it to turn your stomach. By the sounds of it, he knew what he was doing.

The thought sickened the healthy part of your brain. The other part though, the part flooding your body with hormones, making it come to life with curiously intense sexual feelings, that part wanted to know what it was he was so good at. How could he pull those sounds out of anyone? It was easier to imagine him with some faceless woman. 

It was shameful to imagine yourself. 

The thought–although enough to fuel a desperate journey of self-exploration–always filled you with an insurmountable guilt. 

For those first few years you could barely look at him. Your mother took it as a healthy dose of teenage rebellion. That only aggravated you more. She never asked questions, never dug to see what the cause of your obvious distaste for her partner was about and so again, you retreated. He, however, kept to the outs of your path. He followed your lead, he let you control any and every part of all of your interactions. He didn’t ask questions. He kept the lights on. He kept the fridge full. 

He burrowed his way in, whether you liked it or not. 

When you turned eighteen, you moved out. He helped, did his ‘fatherly’ duties and moved you into the apartment, he urged your mother to take you on an extensive grocery trip, spoke to your landlord about the safety of the building. You supposed you should have been grateful, you should have said thank you, given him some sort of acknowledgement that you appreciated his help but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you said your mumbling goodbyes, and promptly closed the door on them. Neither of them complained. 

The euphoria of venturing out on your own had lost its shine depressingly quick. A string of chronically unserious boyfriends came and went, the rent climbed higher than you could keep up with, and while already living paycheck to paycheck, you lost your job. Your cellphone had taken the brunt of your frustration at having to call your mother, begging her to let you come back home while you got back on your feet a little more than two years after you’d left. 

Your teeth gnawed at your lips, your fingernails dug into the skin around your cuticles in the attempt to keep your voice sweet and pleading, in the end it was his voice that you’d heard in the background, telling–no, commanding her to say yes. That he would be your champion twisted at your insides. Maybe a small, healthy part of you hoped he’d put up a fight, tell you that you were too old to be coming back home and that you had to figure it out on your own like an adult. 

A healthy part of you hoped that he’d save you again, only from yourself. Hanging up with a heavy, resigned sigh, you set about starting the trek home, ignoring the swirling mess of annoyance, confusion, and perverse glee in your stomach. 

-

The first few days were spent in a depressive episode, a seemingly inescapable loop of sleeping in late, leaving your room only when the house was empty to raid the kitchen for something to eat, scrolling mindlessly–blindly–on your phone and then staying up way too late only to do it all over again. 

They didn’t bother you, but if the annoyed sighs and narrowed eyes from your mother were anything to go by, the talk was coming soon. After the third day of the cycle, you circumvent it and wake up early-ish to shower and dress in something other than ratty old sweats long forgotten by an ex you couldn’t quite remember. 

You came down to find Joel sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes tracked the lines of you, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. 

Your heart leapt. He should have been at work by now. 

“Good morning.” It came out croaky, your voice almost reluctant to come out. 

“Mornin’.” His hair was slicked back, the gray almost sparkling in the golden light. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. His eyes were so intense, you found yourself stuck in place, like a deer in headlights and that ever present, deep-seeded anger reared its head. It was irrational that he should frustrate you so much with his calm presence. 

“Coffee’s fresh, if you want some.” He jut his chin out to the pot, lowering his eyes to his paper once more. Once his gaze had shifted, you found you could breathe again. You mumbled a thanks and moved to pour yourself a cup, thankful, if unsure why, to focus on something concrete instead of abstract self-reflection.

“Your mama’s gon’ be late tonight. I thought I could pick up a pizza on the way home.” He says it offhand and again, your heart races. 

“Whatever.” You scrunch your face up in annoyance, it sounded like such a bullshit, teen response. He doesn’t comment on it, and that somehow makes it worse. You beat yourself about it as you root around in the fridge for the milk. The cereal you liked was in the top cupboard, and you’re not quite tall enough to reach it. 

You heard his chair scoot back and then suddenly he’s there, beside you, pressed up tight. You follow the long line of his throat as he stares up, reaching the box with ease while one big, warm hand lands on your lower back. He smells like the laundry detergent your mother insists on buying mixed with something else. Manly, smoky, with coffee laced through. Your cunt clenches nonconsensually as he stands there and stares down at you, his whole front pressed against your side, his hand still holding your lower back. Your mouth hangs open, stupidly, and he raises an eyebrow again forcing something to kickstart deep in your gut. 

“You okay there babygirl?” The endearment feels unwholesome.

It triggers something strange, strengthening the underlying conflict for him. There’s a lilt in his tone you don’t like, maybe because deep down you like it too much. Maybe you don’t want to admit that, or analyze anything about what the fuck is happening in your body. In your psyche. 

“Yeah.” You step out of his bubble, barely managing not to trip over yourself in your haste to get away and put a healthy distance between you. 

“Yes. Thank you.” You take a deep breath, pressing your lips together tight in what you hope to God is a neutral expression. 

He lets out a bemused huff through his nose, a mischief in his eyes shining out at you that you’ve never seen directed at you. You’ve seen it used on your mom. You’ve seen her go giggly and flirty whenever he looked at her like that. A half-formed escape plan starts to form but he saves you from the need, he puts his things in the dishwasher, and nods his head in goodbye. 

You practically hold your breath until you hear his truck rumble out of the driveway, and down the street. 

-

You manage to avoid him for a few days, staying out late catching up with friends, or feigning a need for rest. You’ve convinced your mother that your days are now spent job hunting, and for the most part they are. You leave in the morning, avoiding any and all contact and you get home late, creeping up the stairs much like you did in your teens even though you’d really never needed to. Your mother never enforced a curfew, and when Joel joined the picture, he didn’t pry. 

The luck didn’t last though, you got over-confident. He was sprawled out on the sofa, up uncharacteristically late one night when you padded through the house. 

“You’re up late.” You quickly check the accusatory tone, “Don’t you have to get up early?” Better, it comes out more concerned than annoyed and he nods. He wore a threadbare t-shirt, the fabric of it having been through the wash too many times to keep its shape. Light, gray sweats were stretched almost obscenely tight over his spread thighs, pooling at his crotch from being shoved up by the couch. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Come sit, we can watch some tv.” He pats the seat next to him and despite the deep desire to retreat into the Joel-free haven of your bedroom, you cannot seem to disobey him. 

You settle beside him on the couch, a little further away than was necessary. He chuckles softly. 

“I ain’t gonna bite you, girl. Not unless you ask nicely.” 

You pretend you don’t hear it, choosing instead to compartmentalize whatever game he’s playing and stare at the screen. He flips through the channels, settling on one thing for a few minutes before moving to something else until he finds a movie that’s already close to midway. There’s an electricity in the air, something about him galvanizing the space between you, charging it enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end. You frown to yourself, barely paying attention while fighting an increasingly confusing mental battle. Why is it so hard to be around him? Why does he inspire such scorn? Is it scorn at all?

You rub at your eyes, scrubbing your hands down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe the slate clean. 

He’s just a man, a man your mother had chosen and for better or worse they seem to work. She is happy with him and he is seemingly happy with her, why then is it so hard to accept him for what he is? Something slithers around in your brain, something that laughs darkly, something pulsing through the network of thoughts and ideas that threatens to crack open your subconscious and throw it right in your face. 

“Well now, ain’t that somethin’?” You pull your hands away from your face to see a very explicit scene playing out on the screen. Heat floods every inch of your body. 

“Almost looks like she’s enjoyin’ herself.” He leaves it on, and you feel stuck, your body betraying you yet again to see the way the woman on screen moans wantonly while under a very handsome man. You let out a non-committal sound, teetering on the edge of madness. You scold yourself, you are an adult, an adult that has had sex before and this isn’t even real. 

“Looks like fake bullshit to me.” The strength in your voice lends credence to the illusion that you aren’t affected. He laughs, calm and completely at ease and that only pulls the anger to the forefront again. 

“They can’t show the real stuff on these channels. If it were real, he’d be doin’ what she needs.” 

“And what’s that?” It comes out before you can stop it. 

“Well,” He smiles to himself, winning a duel you hadn’t even known you were fighting. 

“If it were real, he’d be pressin’ on her clit, he’d be makin’ sure she felt every inch of him and make her take his cock like a good girl.” You let out a heavy breath, half shocked, half grateful it wasn’t a whimper. 

Warning bells go off in your head, just as a heartbeat starts in your cunt because you can see it. You can see him. His face twisted up in pleasure but cocky, his hips moving, his thumb dipped into your mouth and then swirling around your clit. He smiles at catching you looking at his hands and you want to yell at him. You want to smack him across the face and kick him in the balls for saying something like that to you, his partner's daughter, but you don’t. 

Your body almost catapults you out of your seat. Barely unintelligible words come out, something about needing sleep, about being tired and then you hightailed it out of there like a bat out of hell. 

The shower was cold enough to make your teeth chatter, but it did nothing to cool the heat blooming in your core and it was with a terrifying desperation that you ground against your fingers. The slick pooling at the mouth of your pussy was enough to feel even with the water washing everything away except your shame. 

You bit your tongue to keep from moaning out the taboo and entirely inappropriate name you were dying to say out loud. His firm thighs spread on that couch filled your mind, the calloused, work-roughened hands you could practically feel on your hips, on your thighs. You could feel them holding and spreading your legs open so he could make you make those same noises you’d heard over the years. Make you take it like a good girl, his good girl. 

You came with a shudder, sagging against the chilly tile. You warmed the water with a sigh, disappointed and ashamed with yourself, trying, and failing, to put the whole thing out of your mind. 

-

You doubled down on avoiding him after that. 

Your mother worked most of the time but when she was home, things were easier. He reverted to the healthy avoidance, the proverbial disinterest that she didn’t seem to have a problem with. You still heard them some nights, the bed creaking, throaty cries, deep grunts but now they haunted you in a different way. Now you heard his words on that couch and couldn’t help but picture all manner of unsavory things that both disgusted and thrilled you. 

Being unemployed didn’t help. There was nothing to keep you out of the house most of the day, and there were only so many places that would accept you looking for a job in person. 

There was only so much time you could spend with friends too, they had their own lives and jobs and relationships. Too busy to save you from unwanted free time. 

Old habits resurface, and you retreat within yourself while pushing yourself harder. A job would fix things enough to help, you could save up enough money to leave for good and take yourself out of the equation. 

-

The powers that be momentarily take pity on you, and after what seems like a lifetime's worth of job hunting you blessedly get a call back. It’s a part time job, but at this point beggars can’t exactly be choosers. It’s a steady, if insufficient source of income that hadn’t been available to you before. Determined, you buckle down, you channel every guidance counselor you’ve ever had and ace the fuck out of that interview.

It’s not taxing work, but you put your head down and focus with the hope that if you worked hard enough, if you made a good enough impression, made yourself indispensable they’d throw you enough shifts to make up a full time job. 

It helps. Time spent away from the house, from your mothers dried up welcome, from Joel altogether genuinely helps. You feel a bit lighter, less guilty, less prone to imagine the unimaginable. You find comfort in the absence of self-imposed temptation. There is peace in the mindless work, in the life outside of the house that no longer feels like a home. 

It's a double edged sword though, because at the end of every shift, the luck–the peace–runs out. If being at work and out of the house is a respite, returning home only thickens the tension. Time spent outside the house only sharpens the discomfort, clarifies the glaring wrongness of it all when you enter it at the end of the day. What it all is, you won’t name. That way madness lies. Issue is, with every interaction, with every chance encounter in the hallway, or living room, every second spent with him in the kitchen watching his lips touch the rim of his mug the thing inside grows. Parts of him fill the corners of your mind. The curve of his shoulders filling out the flannel shirts he favors. The fullness of his bottom lip when he purses them, something he does while squinting at the paper that you’re almost sure he isn’t aware of. His neck, his hands, the dimple in his cheek when he laughs at something really funny. 

These things jump out, innocent as they may be, but other not so innocent things start to creep in. The bulge in his jeans is a mental mine, it lies in wait and every so often when you think you’ve avoided it, it detonates and you catch yourself staring, both ashamed and so inappropriately curious it eats away at you like acid. 

What you needed was something to fill the emptiness, both emotionally and physically. So you did what any modern, adult woman would do; you bought a sex toy. 

Nothing too crazy, or expensive. After perusing the site for a while you finally settled on a plain, non-threatening dildo. Nothing too big, nothing noisy, just something to be able to focus on, something to use while imagining someone giving you what you need. You ignored that dark thing inside that hissed his name, shooed it away and ordered the package for express delivery. With your mom constantly working, and Joel keeping to himself you figured it wouldn’t be an issue. Neither of them would question a package addressed to you. 

You still aren’t sure whether or not you’d do it all over again had you known the Pandora’s box that little package would open. 

You all but rushed home after work. All day, you’d imagined the relief that toy would bring. You imagined yourself using it in the shower, steam swirling as you took your pleasure. You imagined yourself laying in bed in the safety of the dark, setting a towel down on your chair and riding it to your heart's content. 

Joel’s truck is in the driveway when you pull in, but it’s secondary to the excitement at the chance to sequester yourself with your new best friend and so when you walk into the house, you don’t give him much attention. Until he opens his mouth. 

“You got a package today babygirl. I put it on your bed.” He sits on his spot on the sofa, a funny little smile on his face. A bad feeling swells in your chest, and you look up the stairs before meeting his eyes again. 

“Thanks.” You drop your bag on the little bench near the front door, trying, and failing to keep the nervous feeling out of your voice. He nods, and you make your way up, stopping yourself from taking the stairs two at a time. 

Ice flows through your veins when you see the package is open. 

He’d opened your package, he knew what you’d bought. 

Blood pounds in your ears as you stand there, limbs cold and numb at the realization that he saw it. He saw it. He opened it, and he placed it here, on the very place you fantasized about using it. Sweat beaded on your brow, the bottom of your stomach fell out of your ass as you stood there, barely feeling the soft, worn carpet under your feet. 

“Little small, f’you ask me.” His voice at the mouth of your room made your head twist fast enough to hurt your neck. You hadn’t heard him follow you up the stairs, hadn’t heard him open your door and lean against the frame, arms crossed in haughty amusement. 

“Why would you open my package?” You clutched at it, as though he could forget what he’d seen if you held it tightly enough. 

“I didn’t open it on purpose, I’m expectin’ somethin’ and I didn’t read the name.” He pushes away from the door frame, making his way closer and it’s like the air thins as the space between you shrinks.

“I mean, I could tell you been frustrated, but this doesn’t seem like it’s gon’ help much.” He reaches out, and takes the package from you. You watch him do it, watch him, frozen as he plucks it from your hands and takes the toy out. 

“This all you can take?” He holds it, contemptuously–pityingly. 

You wanted to snatch it out of his hands, the dimming voice of reason urges you to push him out of your room and remind him that he needs to keep a healthy distance but you say nothing, you stand there, and watch him. He puts it all down on your dresser, before stepping a little closer, close enough for you to have to crane your neck up to look into his eyes. 

“No boyfriends around to give you what you want?” His hand comes up, the tips of his fingers sliding across the apple of your cheek, slipping down until his thumb pressed against the cushion of your bottom lip. 

“No one around to give you what you obviously need?” He steps a little closer, until your bodies meet. This is wrong, your mind screams it but your body is frozen under his eyes, under his touch. That part, the frozen part is cheering, it’s running victory laps as it floods your cunt with slick in preparation for something unholy. 

That same, writhing, traitorous thing whispers that this is your chance, the house is empty and your body obeys. You look your fill, you take in the curve of his nose and the furrow in his brow. His eyes are black as a crow's wing, lust-blown and completely focused on your parted lips and your shallow panting. 

Adrenaline spikes and you do something you cannot take back. You rise on your tip-toes and press your mouth to his. 

He hums into it, smiling and once again you get that feeling that you’d made the exact move he’d expected you to. A vague, but fleeting inkling that you were just a pawn on his chessboard. 

At any other time you would have stepped away and repented, ate yourself alive with guilt but his hands pulled you closer, his tongue swiped at the seam of your mouth and you opened up for him. That only made it all the more real, the taste of his tongue in your mouth, feeling his hands lower to hold onto your ass. 

The rational part of you shrinks down to nothing, and that other part, the wrong part–it swells and preens under his hands. He pulls away, and embarrassingly, you chase his mouth in a daze. 

“Oh honey, you’re just dyin’ for it aren’t you?” He herds you towards your tiny bed, the twin mattress that has been the stage for every taboo fantasy about this man, your stepfather. You shoo the word away with a shiver. 

“It’s wrong-” You almost whisper, but you don’t push him away, you let him lay you down in that bed and he laughs. 

“It is, isn't it?” He pulls at the hem of your shirt, you raise your arms for him and the picture of it is wrong, daddy taking off your clothes. The thought, the word,  should disgust you but it only pulls your hands to him. You join in, and pull his shirt up and off, biting your lip at the broadness of him. You take in each freckle, the sprinkling of hair on his chest, the dip of his throat calling out for your tongue like a siren. 

He presses his lips to yours again, licking into your mouth obscenely. Unseemly. 

“You been wantin’ this for a long time, haven’t you babygirl?” He pulls your bra off, and the shock of cold air hardens your nipples. He bites his lip to see it, unable to stop himself from flattening his tongue against a hardened bud. A sound you’ve never let yourself make out loud in this room fills the space between you and that slithering thing luxuriates. 

He moves, languidly, unhurried to the other breast and holds the plump of it in his big hand and sucks at the second bud, sucks as much of the peak as he can into his mouth, breathing through his nose while you slowly spiral into madness.

When he lets go, he presses a kiss to your nipple and his facial hair tickles your skin. 

He pulls your leggings off along with your underwear in one go and the reality of it all hits you when the air hits your soaked core. That’s when the urge to put a stop to it is the clearest, when he kneels between your legs and spreads them wide, stares at the place where he’s already filled a million times in your mind. The place that’s drenched at the mere thought of him. 

“Joel-” You start, but he pushes your legs up, folding you and then he lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth slowly, aiming it, a bullseye right on the lips of your cunt. It’s too much, too filthy and you let out a whimper. 

“I think you wanna call me somethin’ else right now.” He undoes his belt and his jeans, keeping his eyes on where his saliva slides down over the open mouth of your cunt, down towards your asshole. He pulls his cock out and part of you shatters. Your eyes flit to the toy sitting on your dresser, your eyes flit to the open door of your bedroom. 

“Don’t worry, your mama ain’t gonna be home for a while.” He smiles, conspiratorially. It's too real, it’s too hypnotic, seeing him there with his cock in his hand while your legs already ache from holding them up and open. He slides the blunt end of it through the mess he’s caused, through his spit and he groans at the sight of it. 

Your heart races so hard to feel him there, that you see the pulse of it in your vision. 

“Deep breath baby.” he warns before slipping inside the tight fist of your pussy, the size of him making you gasp. This is it, there’s no coming back from this and right now, with him seated deep, his groin pressed up tight and the tip of his cock kissing your womb you cannot even think of why you’d ever care.

This is where he's meant to be. This is where you need him. 

“Oh baby, that’s so good huh?” He thrusts shallowly, pulling out a little more than halfway before shoving his hips forward again. You don’t really know how to form words, you don’t know how to take in what’s happening. This is Joel, your step-dad, fucking you in the bed you grew up in. One hand sits heavy on your shin, holding it, the other slides up and holds onto your breast. 

“Look how fuckin’ wet this little pussy is for me,” he moans the words, “you like daddy fuckin’ you?” He thrusts harder and you moan despite the word hitting you in the stomach like a big drop on a rollercoaster. He shouldn’t say that, shouldn’t call himself that, not now. 

“No-” it doesn’t come out like you mean it to, it sounds wrong, like a caress. 

“No? But I think you do-” He leans forward, keeping his pace while pressing his chest to yours, his mouth all but lining up and despite your bullshit protest, you hitch your knees high on his ribs to make room because if he stopped you’d probably die. 

“I think you want me to be your daddy, don’t you baby, it’s okay, I want to be.” He speeds up and the sounds between your legs are so wet, so filthy. 

“You can say it, I want you to say it.” He holds himself up, his elbows caging in your skull and before you can complain or moan or cry he sticks his tongue down your throat again. Your hands finally join the fray and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight to you. 

“Come on baby, say it for me, tell me how good daddy fucks you.” You moan, closing your eyes while your cunt floods him with wave after wave of slick, enough to drip down your ass and onto your bed, down his balls. Enough for it to soak the curls at the base of him. 

“Look at me when I’m fuckin’ you honey.” His hips speed up and it's hard now, his thrusts making your bounce, hitting a part of you that toy would never touch in a million years. 

You open your eyes, and look at him above you, sweat beading on his hairline. Never has he looked more fucking appealing than he does right then. The word is there, in your mouth and you know it’ll taste sweeter than anything in this world. 

The wrong thing wins.  

“Yes daddy.” You moan it, and the shameful thing sets off fireworks in your being, he smiles, and tucks his head into the damp crook of your neck, feeding his lovely filth right into your ear. 

“That’s my babygirl, that’s it, fuck baby you take it better than your mama.” Something inside recoils at that, but something else, another facet of that fucked up thing inside rejoices.

“Let me hear you say it again, say it when you come.” He licks a hot stripe up your neck. His words are a filthy groan, something to tuck away for later.

He reaches down, pressing his thumb to your clit just like he said on that couch and you keen, the slip and the pressure enough to toss you over the edge with an almost painfully intense orgasm. 

“I’m coming, daddy.” It’s a shuddering whisper as your cunt clenches around him. 

He moves quickly, kneeling between your legs to pull out and then he’s stroking himself over your cunt. It’s still pulsing when he paints it in his come. You catch your breath as he tugs at himself a few more times, milking himself against you with a disturbingly familiar groan. 

The fog clears altogether too quickly. The lights are too bright, you’re naked, and he’s still got his jeans around his thighs while the guilt creeps into your veins, replacing the euphoria. 

What have I done? What have you made me do?

[vampiresbloodx]

Arcane Imagine;

pairings; Vi/reader

Imagine you and Vi moving in together for the first time.

warnings; fluff, established relationship, love sick!vi, more fluff & comfort, arcane au, implied smut reference, teasing, s*xual jokes

a/n; I recently moved <33 so I wanted to write a lil something for vi I can now get back to writing and making silly lil posts because moving is exhausting as fuck lmao

You and Vi have been thinking about moving in together for the longest time, Vi first thought about it when she laid eyes on you when she saw you at the bar

You were with your friends, hanging out, drinks in hand, laughing along with them, she couldn't stop staring at you, how gorgeous you looked that night, how effortlessly beautiful you are to her

She really was a moth that was drawn to the flame

Because randomly, after meeting you, talking to you for a few hours in some bathroom, she was already attached to you, she didn't say it out loud then, it took her ages to actually tell you she has feelings for you

When she did though, it was the best decision she's made, and the one that didn't go to shit

Vi is always by your side, clinging to you, like a lost puppy, it's adorable, you think, as you do the same to her

But when it's just you two, she really let's down her walls and is just completely herself

When there's others around, she puts on that tough act, your very own scary dog privilege

No one can touch you or talk to you in a wrong way, and if someone upsets you, makes you uncomfortable, well they're in for a beating

Vi does not mind getting her knuckles bloody for you

When you brought up the idea of living together in an apartment, even if it wasn't that big and the rent was high, Vi immediately jumped on board

You found it really fucking cute, watching her ramble excitedly about how you two should decorate your room, apartment, she says how you can have your plants in different places, a nice coffee table, a tv, games, you just really liked listening to her talk

Now when you two did the apartment hunting, that was long and slightly boring, having to meet up with strangers to potentially set a deal on your new home, yes, you were both still very excited, and finally, after trying to find the right one, you both found your home

You got what you could afford, and after signing the lease and getting the keys, you were able to officially move in

The moving was stressful, getting everything together, making sure nothing was lost or broken, Vi kept on worrying about her CDs and DVD collection, same with her other collections she has that she didn't want to lose, stuff that she's kept from her childhood, rare items she's found that people have thrown away for some reason and it's actually worth a lot, Vi likes those stuff, she likes finding good things

You like to add to the collections to, when you find things that remind you of Vi

Vi wouldn't show much of her "nerdy" side to anyone else but you had that special spot

There definitely would be Vi making sex jokes, how the new couch would be perfect to try new positions on, or how the bed might not last that long, for that you slapped her playfully on the shoulder, and she laughed hard

She loved teasing you

And will not stop

Vi never really knew she was ever gonna experience this, just that domestic life filled with good moments that will play a huge part in your life for years, and here she was with you, she did not want to let go

Vi was excited about turning this place into a home that shows the both of you, so when they invited people over they would know immediately

She was crazy for you, in the best way possible and you wouldn't have it anyway else

[vivwritesfics]

Hi! I don’t know if you do polys but if you do could you do one where it’s Charles and Lando? So one day the boys and the reader was playing the game on Roblox dress to impress for fun and then Lando kept getting mad they were losing but they had the best outfits so Charles starts laughing and helps calm Lando down by sitting him in his lap for the remainder they play? Sorry if it doesn’t make sense English isn’t my first language. Hope you have a good day or night

I'm changing anything to do with roblox bc I don't know that game to Minecraft bc I love Minecraft

They were halfway across the world, but there they were, laptops open in front of them. Their laptops were making such horrific noises, loud whirring noises as they tried to cope with the games the boys were trying to play.

She'd convinced them to download discord for this. That's how dedicated they were.

Minecraft wasn't their game of choice. It was her game. And they were more than happy to play it with her.

"What's your co-ords?" She asked.

When Charles and Lando (in two different hotel rooms, using two different screens) had loaded into the game, they were in the middle of a field. Every time they used their mouse (she'd insisted they take a mouse with them for 'optimal gameplay'), their character looked around.

"Huh?"

No, they didn't know this game. They played racing games, or Call Of Duty. Or Fortnite, if your name is Lando Norris.

She rolled her eyes, told them what key to press to get up their coordinates. As soon as she got them, her blocky character (dressed in a Red Bull race suit - to piss them off) came into view.

Her laugh sounded, and both boys realised this was worth it. "You guys have are both Steve," she said through her giggles.

"Who the fuck is Steve?"

Charles pressed the arrow keys... and nothing happened. "Ma chérie, how do we move?"

They changed the call to a video call, of them propping their phones up against their laptop screens. "Shit, I miss you guys," she mumbled as soon as their faces appeared. "Come home soon?"

"As soon as I've won the race, we'll be home," Lando said through a grin, and Charles rolled his eyes. It wasn't malicious, and had the three of them laughing.

She talked them through the game, had them cutting down trees to build a base. She did the mining, she fought the monsters for them, she killed the animals so that they could eat.

The boys felt useless, but they loved seeing her have fun. "I can't wait to teach you guys to play this when you get home," she said and picked up the phone to show them her screen.

A rainbow flock of sheep moved around in front of her avatar. "How the fuck did you do that?"

"I'll teach you boys after you win."

[soobinsonly1bf]

a simple head can't ruin a friendship, right?

(soobin x m!reader)

warnings: nsfw, sub!loser!soobin, m!meandom!reader, oral (male receiving obviously), degradation, A LOT of dirty talk, a whole lot of cursing, in reality reader is sweet, soob is just a massive freak (and a homosexual)

!!nsfw under the cut, minors dni!!

you were laying on your best friend's bed, like everyday, while he was playing some stupid video game on his computer, also like everyday. he was venting for the last few hours about some girl not wanting to go on a date with him. not like you were exactly listening to him, you were too focused on your phone.

"jeez, soob, all that talking only because of some girl? come on, bro..." you chuckled, not even hiding the amusement over the whole situation.

"hey, it's not funny! she's really pretty... and she was really different over texts. i thought that after our first date she will want to go on another one, but... she just refused."

"she just saw how much of a loser you are and panicked!" you said, laughing. "i bet she realized that even if she would let you hit, she would have to fake her orgasm."

"you're saying that as if you'd be able to make anyone cum." he said, frowning and stopping his game. he turned around on his chair to face you.

"it would be really nice if you could shut your mouth for once, you know?" you said, trying to ignore him and respond to some random person texting you.

"you don't even look like you'd be able to make anyone make a sound." soobin continued, he was the one to laugh now.

hearing that you just put your phone away, looking at him with annoyance painted on your face. "bro, you're a fucking virgin, so don't even try to be so damn cocky now."

"what? i'm just telling the truth!"

"is this a challenge?" you asked, getting up from the bed. "maybe you could shut your mouth if i kept them occupied." you said simply, just ignoring the way the other boy looked at you.

"what if- what if that is a challenge?"

"then you'll lose pretty quickly." you said, chuckling, as if it's the most normal conversation in the world. well, considering how long you know each other, it kinda was the most normal conversation. you knew this can turn out to be fun... or to be the biggest regret of your friendship.

"maybe-"

"on your knees." you interrupted him, genuinely curious of what his reaction even would be. your eyes opened wider at the sight of your friend getting on his knees in front of you, without a second thought, as if his body reacted to your words faster than his mind.

"oh my... you really are that desperate for some action? or maybe you just like dick after all?" you looked down at him, meeting his dark eyes, locked on yours. "which one is it? or maybe both?"

after soobin stayed quiet, you spoke again. "open your mouth for me and be good, yeah?"

once again, soobin without any hesitation opened his mouth, waiting for your next move. with every moment, you were getting more anxious about doing this with him, but if you already went that far... besides, he would tell you if something was wrong, you're sure of it.

you quickly unzipped your jeans, letting them fall to your knees. soobin was keeping eye contact with you non-stop, not even daring to look down at your cock the moment you took it from your boxers and gave it a few pumps.

maybe it was embarrassing, but seeing soobin on his knees right in front of you, ready to obey and please, was enough to make you hard. he was waiting for your cock, his mouth open. both of you already forgot about the whole challenge thing, now the only thing on your mind was what was about to happen.

"you know, you look pretty when you're on your knees... but if that girl saw you like that, she'd laugh in your face. hope you know that." you said and took a small step forward, now touching soobin's cheek with your dick. you chuckled, smearing your precum on his skin.

"you never did this before, yeah? let's just hope that will shut you up for good." you almost put your dick in his mouth, but you spoke again. "if anything's wrong, just pinch my thigh, alright? now, stick your tongue out a bit and keep your teeth away... don't force yourself." you said, putting your cock in front of his mouth, letting him start at his own pace, which he probably would thank you for, if he wasn't already licking along your length.

soobin immediately went to work, excitement obvious on his face. carefulness thrown through the window, he already put your dick in his mouth, trying to take it deeper. you hissed at the too sudden friction.

"jesus christ, soobin, calm the fuck down." you said, taking a handful of his hair and pulling him away. "start slowly or you're gonna hurt both yourself and me. i seriously didn't know you were so damn desperate to have my dick in your mouth." you sighed, your grip on his hair loosening, but still being there, to remind him to take it slow.

he only mumbled something you didn't even catch and licked the head of your cock. "yeah, just like that. don't try to fucking deepthroat me the second you see my dick."

he gave long licks along your lenght and little sucks on the head, his eyes closed. you fully let go of his hair, letting him do what he wants. now enjoying both, the feeling and the sight, you can't help but chuckle. you never expected to have soobin of all people giving you head. you couldn't complain though.

"tell me, have you always wanted to do that? it really seems like it." you wanted to laugh, but to your surprise, a groan was pulled out from you. soobin took your dick in his mouth again and looked up at you.

you felt yourself throb and you weren't sure if it was because of the sight in front of you or the way soobin rolled his tongue around the head of your cock. probably a mix of both, actually. "fuck, is this really the first cock you have ever sucked? you're a goddamn natural, bro. i'm starting to think it would be a waste if you got yourself a girlfriend."

it didn't took long for the taller boy to have his mouth fully occupied, bobbing his head up and down on your length. he wasn't able to take your whole dick, but for some reason it was still completely enough for you to get closer and closer to the edge. you weren't sure when, but your hand was back in his hair, your head thrown back in pleasure. you couldn't care less about staying quiet. god, soobin really was good with his mouth.

"shit, i'm close." you warned him, feeling the familiar sensation in your lower abdomen. at your words, he only started bobbing his head faster. "pull- pull away..." you said, knowing it won't take long till you cum. when he didn't move, you needed your full self-control to do it yourself.

he whined at the burning sensation on his head, caused by you roughly pulling him away from your dick by his hair. you couldn't even say anything and you were already cumming right on his face.

when your cock stopped throbbing, you took a deep breath, trying to calm down your breathing. you finally looked down at soobin, who just sat on his ass where he was kneeling a moment ago.

"i told you to pull away." at that he just shrugged, smiling. you sighed, but an amused smirk appeared on your mouth at the sight of your friend's face all dirty with your release. "god, look at you. you're really fucking proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"hell yes i am, i just made you cum." he said in a "duh" manner, making you chuckle. his voice was a big rough, his face all red and hair messy. you couldn't help but think he looked perfect like this.

"you're really fucking dumb... but you did well, bro. even really well, i'd say." his stupid grin only grew wider at this. "now go clean yourself, my cum is not becoming your new skincare product."

———————

a/n: i highkey want to write a part two where they remember about the challenge and reader shows soobin he can make him make noises he didnt even know hes able to make...

[stillmonsterz]

my summer girl

pairing: jay x reader

genre: smut, fluff

summary: it's 1975, jay is about to enter his last year of university, and he's still a virgin. however, he plans to change that this summer when he goes abroad to france. the only problem is finding someone good enough to be his first.

warnings: unprotected sex, swearing, voyeurism, dubcon

word count: 7.2k

--

It was the summer of 1975, and Jay was going to lose his virginity. He knew that he was a late-bloomer; 21 years old, three years of university under his belt, and he hadn’t so much as seen a woman in her undergarments. But contrary to the teasing remarks of his friends, it was his decision. Jay wanted it to be a perfect experience, something out of the fanciful, romantic novels he regularly read in his spare time, or like a movie. He wanted his first time to be complete with red roses on white sheets, aromatic oils dripping from their bodies, and swelling music that led to a sensuous, thrilling crescendo. Jay occupied the time not spent on work, school, and his various hobbies with these grandiose fantasies. While his friends cavorted with the women from their established university, Jay bided his time. 

Then he got the best news of his life. As he packed away his clothes for summer vacation, one of his classmates who worked in the school office knocked on his door.

“Jay,” she said, “your mother called.”

Jay brightened; he liked to hear from his parents, and he was fully prepared to brag about both his grades and his prowess on the rugby field. The words that came out of his mother’s mouth, however, dashed away all thoughts of grandstanding.

“Honey,” his mother said as he clutched the phone. “We’re coming to get you shortly.”

“Today? I already booked a flight to visit you guys in a few days,” he replied. “I was just packing up.”

“Well, we’ve had a slight change of plans. We’ve decided to fly to France for a month this summer!”

Jay nearly dropped the phone, but he tried to feign nonchalance. “France? That’ll be a great opportunity to practice my French with the locals…”

His mother cooed, “Oh, aren’t you so practical? We’ll be staying at this gorgeous chateau in a town called Gordes, I’m sure you’ll love it…”

She kept speaking, but Jay was too busy imagining his summer. He wouldn’t just lose his virginity in France, he would be able to  have madcap adventures with a gorgeous woman. A wild summer fling charged with youthful exuberance and set in such a romantic country…it was beyond his expectations.

When he got off of the phone, Jay was practically vibrating with excitement. He rushed to his friends’ dorm room- Heeseung and Jake’s room. His own roommate, Sunghoon, was nowhere to be seen. Probably trying to convince his on-again off-again girlfriend that they should take a break so he could “sort himself out.”

Jay burst inside of the room. “Guys,” he said, opening the door with gusto, “I have some excellent news.”

Heeseung and Jake had been sitting cross-legged on the floor and playing a game of Crazy Eights, a game that they didn’t halt despite Jay’s intrusion. “Are you finally going to get laid?” Jake asked blithely, setting down a five of spades.

“Yes, actually,” Jay said, leaning against the doorframe.

Heeseung and Jake looked at each other, then at Jay. 

“Really?” Heeseung asked suspiciously, while Jake asked, “You’re not going to visit a whorehouse, are you?”

“Yes,” Jay said, pointing at Heeseung. He shifted his finger over to Jake. “And no to that.”

Heeseung chanced a smile. “You’re seriously going to do it?”

“Yes,” Jay said, crossing his arms. “My family and I are going to France for the holidays. I’m going to meet a beautiful woman, and she will be my summer girl.”

Heeseung rested his hands on his jeans, a smirk on his face. “Your what?” 

“My summer girl,” Jay explained, gesticulating madly. The scenes played out in front of his very eyes like a Technicolour romance. “We’ll meet at the chateau, we’ll play tennis together, hold hands, and then I’ll fuck the everliving daylights out of her every single day. Then- stop laughing at me- then I’ll leave her behind, because she’s my summer girl.”

Jay heard footsteps behind him- it was Sunghoon, trotting down towards the room with an annoyed expression on his face. “Hey guys,” he said, walking past Jay and sitting on Heeseung’s bed.

Jake turned to Sunghoon, who was swigging on a bottle of coke. “Sunghoon,” Jake said with feigned innocence, “our friend Jay here is going to find a ‘summer girl’ and ‘fuck the everliving daylights out of her.” Sunghoon choked on his soda as he doubled over in laughter. Jay clenched his hands into fists as his friends teased him. That’s fine, Jay thought, It is not by muscle, speed, or physical dexterity that great things are achieved, but by reflection, force of character, and judgment. And he had force of character in spades. While they dabbled with whores and sluts, he would find a quality, stunning woman to be his summer girl. 

–

As it turns out, not only were there no quality, stunning women milling about the chateau, there weren’t even any whores and sluts. Jay had walked all around the premises of the area in abject horror. The chateau stood by itself, nestled into a forested area with no neighbors for miles. Jay could. The nearest town was a 40 minute drive away, and not only was Jay an unconfident driver, but the town was so small he figured that any single woman was probably single for a reason. He tried to keep up his spirits so that his parents wouldn’t realize that he was disappointed- or worse, attempt to figure out why he was so disappointed. As he trudged through the opulent, spacious chateau, however, he felt a heaviness in his heart and a stiffness in his cock. There was a codgy butler milling around, a cook in the kitchen, and apparently there was a maid. Presumably, they were all related.

Jay slumped onto his bed and sighed. His room was rustic, with dark-stained floors, white-washed walls, and hand-carved wooden furniture. There was a small bookshelf in his room replete with both French and English books, so at least he would come away this summer with a decent grasp of French grammar. Jay groaned again, closing his eyes. He wished that the soft light filtering through the gauzy curtains beside his bed  would turn to raucous thunder and gloomy skies, or at the very least a drizzle of rain to complement his mood.

He heard a knock on the door and sighed. “Who is it?”

“Ah, housekeeping,” the voice said quietly. Jay’s ears perked up; that voice sounded decidedly feminine. Then he came back to reality; maids were generally married women who would have little interest in sleeping with the son of the master of the home. When Jay didn’t respond, the woman continued, saying, “Mrs. Park asked to have some tea delivered to your door, in case the flight unsettled your stomach.”

He wished that it was the flight causing him this internal anguish. “Please,” he said, closing his eyes and crossing his arms behind his head, “bring it in.”

The door opened quietly, and Jay could hear the rattle of the tea tray as it was carried into the room and set on his nightstand. His nose picked up on something, a floral fragrance that wafted in a pleasant cloud. 

He opened his eyes, and then he saw you.

You were wearing a dark blue maid uniform with a stained white apron, but you kept yourself well. You were groomed well, your nails were clipped short and polished, and your face was bright and sweet. And that perfume…Jay wondered how much you had had to save up to purchase it, or if it had been a gift. Maybe a boyfriend had gifted it to you.

“Did you need something else?” Your voice was so kind, and you looked at him so expectantly.

“No,” Jay whispered softly, “nothing at all.”

You nodded and pointed to a small piece of cloth hanging out of the wall above his desk. In his despondent mood, Jay hadn’t noticed it. “If you need me, you can pull that and it’ll alert me. It’s a bit old-fashioned, but this is an older house…”

Jay smiled. “Any time?”

“When you need something, sir,” you replied, smoothing your apron down. 

Jay cleared his throat. “Of course.” He poured himself a cup of tea, dropping two lumps of sugar inside and mixing it languidly. As he sipped his tea, he noticed that you were still lingering nearby. His smirk was hidden by his teacup as he looked you up and down. You must want him already. “Ah…you’re still here, Miss…?”

You told him your name, then said, “I have to be dismissed.”

Jay’s face reddened. “Right. Yes, right, of course. You’re dismissed.” You bid him goodbye and left him with the tea tray. As Jay sipped his tea, his feet crossed at the ankle, his vision for the summer shifted. Instead of wild encounters in haylofts and dirty, wet hot sex in valleys and behind churches, Jay now envisioned himself ravaging you in that little maid outfit of yours. Yes, he thought as his hand slowly crept to his crotch, this was perfect. 

He had found his summer girl.

–

Jay was able to quickly ascertain the problem with his plan- you were his maid. And you had to work. While he lounged outside, sunbathing shirtless, you were inside polishing the silver. He would eat lavish dinners, and you were the one who set the table, brought the food, and stood by on hand and foot. While he enjoyed being able to ogle you at his leisure, he started to feel like a brat. What could he do to prove to you that he wasn’t just a spoiled child? 

When he would stew over this, he would feel indignant. Why did he care about what the wait staff thought of him? He was Jay Park, and you should be so glad that he wasn’t ordering you to hand-wash his boxers. In fact, what was stopping him from just ravishing you the second you walked inside of his room? He was a rugby player, and rich, and he could get away with it. Just as quickly as those thoughts would enter his head, however, they would be cast out. For starters, it wouldn’t be right. Moreover, it wouldn’t have been earned. He had spent years building up to the loss of his virginity, and he didn’t want it to be with a woman struggling to get away from him. He wanted to seduce her, pliant in his arms as he made passionate love to her on his bed, or on a beach, or maybe on the balcony, or by a river…

Generally, these mental deliberations always ended with him squirting lotion onto his hands and soothing his angry cock the best way he knew how. They were always fuelled by the image of you puttering around the chateau. 

You had this way about you that Jay found intoxicating. He would always pretend to read, but he would take peeks at you as you cleaned up. Something about your movements, your manner of speech were all so sensual. The care with which you take care of the house, the knitting of your eyebrows as you scrubbed at a particular spot, the precision you utilized when tidying his room, it all appealed to his more epicurean sensibilities. And, of course, that scent…whenever you left the room, he would stand where you had been and he would deeply inhale its heady aroma. 

After a week of this, Jay had come up with a paltry idea. He tugged on the piece of cloth, and within three minutes you arrived at the door. As usual, your expression was bright. “Hello, sir,” you said politely. 

“Hi,” he said with a tenderness that would have earned him Jake’s derision. “I would like you to bring me some Earl Grey tea. And bring two teacups.”

You gave him a quizzical look, but you said, “Yes, sir,” and bustled out of the room anyway. 

When you left, Jay picked up his small pocket mirror and checked his hair. He unbuttoned one of his buttons on his loose shirt, fluffed out the collar, and parted the curtains so that the light would settle on his face better. He laid on his bed with a practiced relaxation, waiting for you to return. 

You came back with a tea try equipped with two cups. Setting it on the nightstand, you smiled. “Enjoy, sir…”

“No, no, you’ll join me,” Jay replied. The way your eyes widened was so cute, Jay just wanted to kiss you.

“Oh…I don’t know if I can do that, I’ve got to polish the silver…”

“I’ll come down and vouch for you,” Jay said, holding one of the cups to her. “Please? I haven’t been able to talk to anyone near my age in a week. I’m going mad.”

You laughed and warily accepted the cup, which you then set down to pour his own tea. 

Jay rested a hand on yours and shook his head. “Please, allow me. Come on, sit on the bed.”

You did as he said, leaving a fair bit of space between the two of you. He carefully poured the tea for both of you, willing his hand to stay steady. “How do you take your tea?”

“Just like this,” you said. 

“Really? No sugars, no milk, no cream?”

You shook your head, and Jay sighed. “Have you ever tried it with sugar?”

Once again, you shook your head, sipping your tea. “No point in wasting sugar like that.”

Jay gently took your cup and dropped a lump of sugar into your tea, mixing it. “Try it like this.”

You wrapped both of your hands around the cup and took a slow sip. He loved the way you drank. “It’s good like this,” you said. “Very good.”

“Isn’t it?” Jay looked at you closely, and he knew that the warmth bursting inside of his chest wasn’t good for his plan. You were his summer girl, and affection would only ruin that. Jay drank his tea, trying not to stare at you. He decided that engaging you in a conversation might help; reminding himself of the class difference between you two would stave off the feelings blossoming within him. “So…what do you like to do?”

“What do I like to do?” You drummed your fingers on the cup as you thought. “Well…I like to go for walks. The area is simply gorgeous, so I go for walks when I’m not working. I like to sketch, too.”

“You sketch?” Jay swallowed his tea in one painful gulp. “What do you like to draw?”

“Oh…everything, I guess. The things I see. I like to draw flowers, trees. Sometimes people.”

“Would you draw me?” Jay blurted out, setting his tea cup on the tray.

“I couldn’t do that,” you said with a slight laugh. “Imagine how embarrassed I would feel if I made you look bad.”

“I’m sure you couldn’t do that,” he said, leaning against the headboard. “You’re so careful with everything you do. I bet your drawings are lovely.”

“You’re just flattering me, sir.”

“No, no, not at all,” Jay said with a laugh. 

“Or you’re trying to get a free portrait out of me.”

Jay shrugged. “Can you blame me?”

“Yes, I can. Someone like you could afford to fly Elisabeth Chaplin here and have her paint a portrait of you,” you retorted. Then you stiffened; Jay figured that you weren’t used to speaking so casually.

He kept his voice light. “What are you saying then, that I should pay you?”

“How much would you pay for a portrait I did of you?”

“For you-,” he began, but just then, you heard a bell chime in a different room. The veneer of nicety came over you, and you quietly put your tea cup on the tray and lifted it. 

“Thank you for the tea-time, sir,” you said politely. “Have a lovely day.”

“Yeah,” Jay said, dejected. “You too.”

–

After that, he pulled on the cloth and asked for tea three more times. Three more times he had shared conversations of varying length with you, and something dreadful had happened to Jay. Instead of waves of raw, primal lust overtaking him and pushing him to take you on the sheets, Jay felt warm when he spoke to you. 

You told him about your ambitions, about how you had become a maid, your favourite records, your favourite books, how you would walk down the dusty road winding into town and meet your friend halfway. Then you would watch movies with her. You liked movies that were thrilling, a contrast to your own life. Every time you laughed, your eyes shifted, every time your fingers wrapped around the small teaspoon as you swirled a lump of sugar into your tea, Jay felt like the sun was rising within him. 

He watched you as you cleaned up. When you would go outside to tidy up the tennis courts after your parents would play a game, he would watch you, sometimes with one hand shoved inside of his pants. 

Jay knew that his fantasy of using you as nothing more than a warm body and bragging rights was fading away quickly. He had to refocus his efforts…but how? As he paced around his room one night, he got an idea. A damned good one, if you asked him. 

He knew that you got off work at 6 pm, so at 5:59 pm he tugged on the cloth. The scene was set; his bedsheets had been rumpled to mimic a post-coital aftermath, his shirt was sensually unbuttoned, and he had dabbed cologne behind his ears and on his wrists. The record player in the corner was playing a crooning Serge Gainsbourg song. The piece-de-resistance was the bottle of pinot noir that Jay had filched from his parents’ room while they were taking a stroll in the forest, along with two fine-stemmed wine-glasses.

As he heard your footsteps approaching his room, he adjusted his position so that he was lying on his back, one hand draped over his stomach, the other hanging over the edge of the bed. 

“Mr. Park?” you asked softly, rapping on his door.“Come in,” Jay said in a low, husky voice.

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘Come in,’” Jay said normally. You stepped inside, closing the door behind you, and Jay smirked at you. You had no clue what he had prepared for you. As usual, you were wearing your maid outfit, and your hands were clasped in front of your apron. Even from here, he could smell your sweet, floral scent; it was almost an aphrodisiac to Jay.

 “Come sit.”

You sat at the end of the bed so that his feet were pointed towards you. He shifted his position so that he was sitting up slightly. He leaned over to his nightstand and grabbed the bottle of wine.

“Do you like wine?” Jay asked, uncorking the bottle.

You nodded. “I do. I don’t drink it often, though.”

Jay poured you a glass of wine, making sure not to spill a drop. “This is a nice Domaine de Montille Les Pezerolles, from Pommard.”

“Oh, really?” You swirled the wine around in the glass, and he was pleased to see that you held the wineglass’ stem at the bottom. “It sounds good.”

“Yes,” he said, pouring himself a glass. He took a slow sniff of the wine before taking a sip. “This is from 1969, so it hasn’t completely thinned. In fact, it has a full body- you smell that?”

Before you could speak, Jay continued. “It was a dry summer when they harvested these grapes in Pommard in a premier cru- do you know what a premier cru is? It’s a vineyard where high-quality grapes are harvested. Of course, these aren’t the creme de la creme. The best grapes are harvested in what are called grand crus. Do you know Romanee-Conti?”

You paused, then said, “Ah…that’s a very expensive wine, yes?”

“It’s a type of wine,” Jay said, taking another sip of his wine. “I take it you’ve never had any?”

“Well…no.”

Jay pointed his pinky at you while he held onto his wineglass. “I’ll have to get you some someday. I’ve had a glass once, I believe it was a 1956 La Tache, and you can simply taste the caliber of the grapes. The tannins weren’t strong, more on the silkier side…”

You tilted your head. “What are tannins?”

Jay’s face brightened.Somehow, without knowing it, Jay had spent two hours explaining what tannins were, how wine was harvested, the ideal temperature to enjoy wine, and how he would pair the wine they were currently drinking with a meal. After 8 o’clock had approached, you had quietly excused yourself, bidding him goodnight. Jay had waved goodbye gaily, until he looked down at his empty wine glass and realized belatedly that he had squandered his opportunity to fuck you. 

Jay sighed and poured himself another glass of wine, sitting on his bed and closing his eyes. He was running out of ideas, and the third week of vacation was steadily approaching. If he went back to school without knowing what you felt like, what you tasted like, Jay thought he might die.

His dreams that night centered around you lying on his bed, naked save for a black pair of pantyhose. Jay was pouring that wine all over your body and sucking it off of your breasts, licking the sweetness from your stomach like a madman. He poured wine into your mouth, and you kissed him back so that he could drink from you. When Jay woke up, the taste of pinot noir was heavy on his tongue.

–

The next day, after breakfast, Jay knocked on the door of his parents’ room in the chateau. His father opened the door, smiling at him. 

“Hey, kid,” Mr. Park said, affectionately ruffling his hair. His father was wearing the same set of pajamas that Jay wore

“Dad,” Jay said quietly, “I need to speak with you.”

His father’s eyes narrowed in confusion; Jay’s expression was earnest and his tone was pleading. “Sure.”

Once they were safely inside of Jay’s room, Jay sat on his bed. His father joined him. 

“Dad…” Jay hesitated, unsure of how to word his question. Finally, he said it as plainly as he could: “How did you win Mom over? I mean…how did you approach her?”

Mr. Park’s eyes twinkled. “Has someone caught your eye?”

Jay tried to ward off his father, who was nudging him in the ribs with his elbows. “Not-not quite, Dad. Just…for the future, you know? For the future.”

Mr. Park laughed. “Sure, son.” He looked up at the ceiling as he thought, and Jay looked directly at his father. “Well, it wasn’t easy. I had to chase your mother. She was popular, beautiful, and smart, so it wasn’t an easy task. But she said that what she enjoyed was when I would send her flowers.”

“Flowers?”

His father shrugged. “She said it was such a classic gesture, it made her feel like I was more of a traditional man. Not someone who would just toy with her emotions then cast her aside like so much filth.”

“Flowers,” Jay repeated, his eyes darting around. Of course. Flowers.

“I was also honest about my intentions,” Mr. Park continued. “I knew that she was desirable, so I didn’t want to waste time. I told her how I felt and showed her my cards. That might not work for every woman, but your mother and I thought- think- similarly. And that’s what you want to find, Jay. Not someone who mirrors you, but someone who thinks just similarly enough to you that you’ll hardly argue, and differently enough that your arguments will be interesting.”

Jay smiled at his father’s joke, but he quickly became lost in thought. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’ve got a lot to consider.”

Mr. Park ruffled his son’s hair again. “Glad I could help, sport. I hope things go well with this girl.”

Jay smiled at his father affectionately. “Yeah, me t-,” Jay’s face blanched. “I mean, there is no girl.”

His father laughed as he left the room, and Jay sighed. At least now a plan was forming, something concrete. 

– 

Jay spent his entire afternoon wandering through the forest bordering the chateau searching for flowers. He brought his thick canvas bag with him, as well as a pair of shears. Every time he saw a gorgeous flower, he snipped it carefully and placed it into the bag. Violets, white flax, buttercups, sheaths of elderberry, red and purple poppies. Jay had to work fast; he wouldn’t forgive himself if the flowers even slightly wilted before you could enjoy them. As the sun set, Jay’s fingers were caked in dirt, sweat coated his brow, but his bag was filled with various, fragrant flowers. To his delight, he realized that their scent was similar to yours, and he walked towards the grounds of the chateau with his nose buried in a handful of flowers. 

You lived in the servants’ quarters, which was a smaller house located on the edge of the premises. It was past six o’clock, so you would surely be there now, washing up. Maybe you had already changed into something comfortable. Jay darted inside of his bathroom, cleaning all of the dirt off of his nails and changing into a loose shirt and linen pants. He slicked his hair back and applied cologne. Using a light blue ribbon from a package of artisanal biscuits, he tied the flowers together into a rough bouquet. Jay arranged the flowers carefully, placing the violets at the front and tucking the elderberry flowers as accents.

Jay swallowed thickly and walked over to the servants’ quarters. He knocked on the door, and as he waited for someone to come to the door he reminded himself that he was Jay Park, the son of James Park, someone to be revered, someone to be respected. 

To his delight, you answered the door. You were wearing a long nightgown, and your smile was so soft and dreamy Jay could have melted. 

“Hello, sir,” you said, leaning your head against the doorframe. “To what do I owe this honour?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. Then he thrusted the flowers towards you. “Here. For you.”

You beamed at him, and Jay knew he would have spent a month traversing that forest if it would make you smile like that again. “Thank you.” You received the bouquet, touching the flowers delicately. You closed your eyes and took in their scent.

Jay lingered outside of your door. He felt like he was being split into pieces. He wanted to caress your hair and kiss your cheek; he wanted to barge into your house, toss you on your bed, and take what he wanted from you; he wanted to run away until he was a better man, a stronger man; he wanted to be one of the flowers you were stroking, the perfume you inhaled. 

You looked up at him. “The butler and the cook won’t be back until 8,” you said quietly. “They’re still at the chateau.”

Jay’s breath caught inside of his throat. “Is that so?” 

“Yes, sir. So if you liked, we could go inside and talk?”

Jay’s eyes glowed. “Yes, yes, of course.”

You led him inside of the small home; there was one large room that constituted the kitchen, living room, and dining room, a bathroom, and three bedrooms that were hardly more than a cot and a dresser. Yours had drawings stuck on the wall, a threadbare blanket covering the bed, and a dresser that was covered in your makeup, hairbrush, and other toiletries. Jay sat on your bed and frowned as he looked around his room. 

“What is it?” you asked, setting the bouquet on the dresser. “Not to your liking?”

“That’s not it,” Jay said, his eyes fixed on your drawings. “It’s just that you deserve something better.”

You smiled at him. “Do I? Why?”

“Why? What do you mean, why? You’re…you’re too good for this,” Jay said, gesturing wildly. 

“So where should I be?”

So many words sprung to his mind that they clogged in his throat. You should be in my bed, in my college, in that chateau, on a beach being ravaged next to the ocean, lying in a flower field, anything except being a maid. Instead, Jay looked down at his hands.

“I’ll just get a vase for this,” you said, gesturing at the bouquet. Jay nodded, and as you left he gripped his thighs and sighed. He could hear his heartbeat thumping madly, and the fact that he was in your room wasn’t making things any better. Your scent was everywhere, lingered on everything, and it set his heart ablaze. 

With a furtive glance at the door, he leaned down to your pillow and inhaled deeply. Jay moaned slightly; he wished that you would stay away for a little longer, so that he could pleasure himself in a cocoon of your fragrance. He’d leave traces of himself everywhere, in your clothes, in that maid outfit, in your underwear. Jay was considering pawing around in your drawers to find your panties when you came back with a chipped vase. You set it on your dresser and tucked the flowers inside of it carefully, not disrupting the arrangement that Jay had made. For some reason, the way that your fingers deftly placed the flowers in the vase made him shiver from arousal. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore. Three weeks now, three weeks of smelling you and seeing you and learning about you without so much as a touch. Once you stepped away from the glass vase, Jay came up behind you and grabbed your shoulders, pinning you to the bed. You seemed more curious than anything else, your arms splayed at your sides.

“I want you,” Jay whispered. “I want you so...ardently, it hurts.” With trembling fingers, he shoved your nightgown all the way up to your waist. Now, he could glimpse your panties- white, of course you wore white panties. It was like you had been designed to ruin his summer. 

Jay didn’t bother taking his pants off all the way, instead only tugging them along with his underwear down slightly. His cock was hot and already leaking precum as he looked down at you, at your gorgeous pussy that was covered in a fine mat of downy hair. You stared up at him, seemingly daring him to make his next move.

Jay spit onto his hand and coated his cock in a mixture of saliva and precum. His entire body screamed for him to enter you, ruin you, to fulfill millenia of biological hardwiring. Jay trembled in anticipation as he finally pushed himself inside of you. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. You were so warm, inviting, and silky, like you had been made for him. The small gasp you had made as he had entered you was just perfect.

He thrusted inside of you, overwhelmed by the sensation of your velvety pussy. After another stroke, he realized that his orgasm was already racing through him. 

“No, no,” Jay whispered, pulling out of you, but the friction of your pussy as he slid out of you caused him to spasm. Cum spurted out of him in humiliating globules, landing on your stomach and nightgown. 

Jay hovered over you, his eyes widened with shock. “No. No, no, no. That-that was nothing. That only lasted for, what…”

“A minute,” you replied, your face impassive. 

“A minute,” Jay repeated in horror. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry…” Jay squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. Now everything was ruined. He had come in a pathetically short amount of time. You probably didn’t feel a thing. 

Then he felt warm hands stroke his cheek, and his eyes opened. A small smile had graced your lips, and despite his despair he managed a smile too. 

“Was that your first time?” you asked quietly, tracing his lips with your thumb.

Jay hesitated, but there was no point in lying. “Yeah,” he whispered, “it was. You were.”

You nodded sympathetically. “It’s okay,” you said. 

“It…is?” Jay stared at you in awe.

Then, to his delight, you brought his head down and kissed him softly. It wasn’t rough, not the way his friends had described it- teeth clashing, tongues choking each other, hands wildly groping. This kiss was so gentle, and Jay reciprocated, his hands cupping your face. Your scent tickled his nostrils, filled his mind with a haze. 

Soon, you were licking his bottom lip, so Jay parted his lips. You slipped your tongue into his mouth, and he touched it with his, once, twice. He ran his tongue over your teeth, probed into your mouth, sucked on your tongue. He wanted to memorize every inch of you. 

Jay felt one of your hands slip under his shirt, and you ran your hands over his abs. He was proud of the hardened muscle he had worked so hard to cultivate, and he could feel his pride slowly returning. Emboldened, he kissed you even more deeply, and he began to feel your breasts over your nightgown. You weren’t wearing a bra, and he could only imagine how soft they must feel properly in his hands. 

“Take it off,” you whispered against his lips. Jay didn’t need to be told twice. He undressed you slowly this time, helping you push the nightgown over your head. 

Jay groaned under his breath as his eyes flickered over your body. It was amazing. You were like Aphrodite, the Venus of Willendorf, a being designed to be admired. How could he have ever thought of thrusting into you like you were his right hand? “Turn the light on,” he said quietly. 

“Yes, sir,” you said, flicking your standing lamp on. Your body was bathed in the soft, rosy glow, painting you in colours that rivaled the work of the pre-Raphaelites. 

“Don’t call me sir,” he said pleadingly. “Call me Jay, please.” With that, he dipped his head down and kissed your neck softly. You whimpered, and the sound was like the song of an angel. He kissed you all the way down to the space between your breasts. One hand gently fondled one breast, and the other hand held your waist as he kissed the other breast. 

“Lick my nipples,” you whispered. “I like that.”

Jay did as you asked, taking one nipple in his mouth and licking it. The way it hardened was fascinating to him, and he lavished both of your nipples with attention. His hands stroked your waist, up and down, and he could feel you tremble. Jay trailed wet kisses down your stomach, sticking his tongue into your navel to make you laugh. He splayed your arms out on the bed and kissed and licked them. When he got to your hand, he kissed your palm  and your fingertips. Jay lifted your legs up and kissed them from your inner thigh to the backs of your calves to your ankles, all the way to your toes. 

You made these darling little sighs as he kissed you and touched you. “This feels great, Jay,” you sighed out. On occasion, you would tell him to pay special attention to a certain part of yourself; your inner thighs, Jay found, were a sensitive spot. He would frequently return there on his journey around your body and bite and suck at the soft flesh there. 

As Jay gripped your thighs, kissing them, you pulled at his hair so that his face was tugged upwards. 

“I want to teach you something else,” you said, looking him in his eyes. 

“What?” Jay whispered.

As a response, you parted your legs slightly. Jay could see pools of arousal leaking out of your pussy, and his cock stirred. You took your fingers and touched a small, pearly nub of flesh. 

“Do you know what this is?”

Jay had a rough idea, based on the conversations he had had with his friends. “Your clitoris?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yes,” you said, your fingers still threaded through his hair. “I want you to lick it.”

“Lick it?”

“It’ll make me feel good,” you whispered, and you gently pushed his head down between your legs. After one tentative lick, Jay was hooked. You tasted amazing, not quite sweet, not salty, but something else. Something primal and delicious. He laved your clit with his tongue, spreading your legs apart even further. 

For the first time, you moaned, a sound that made its way all the way to Jay’s gut. He kept going, lapping at that little pearl with feverish abandon. Jay pulled away after a while, worried that he was going too fast, being too rough again. “Is this okay?” he asked.

Your voice was tense and high as you said, “Yes, you’re doing amazing, Jay. It feels amazing. Keep going, keep going.”

That encouragement was all Jay needed. One hand firmly split your legs apart, and the other reached up and toyed with your nipples again. He felt you writhe and shiver as he swallowed your arousal, making circles with his tongue around your clit. 

“Jay, Jay, I’m going to, I’m going to…” A series of high-pitched moans passed through your lips and your back arched off of the bed. Jay continued licking your clit until you weakly pushed his head away. Jay stared in awe at your cunt opening and closing on its own, and he inserted a finger inside of you to feel the contractions for himself. He shivered as he imagined his cock in here, but he decided to wait until you weren’t so exhausted. 

Jay dragged himself up the bed so that he was lying beside you, and he affectionately rubbed your stomach. Your face was wet with sweat, lips parted, and your eyes were lidded. Still, that same smile was plastered on your face, and Jay wiped your face with his thumb.

“How was that?” he asked, just to hear you praise him.

“It was great,” you said weakly. “It was…wow. You’re a fast learner, aren’t you?”

“Top of my classes,” Jay said with a wide grin. You playfully pushed him, and he kissed your cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t…you know… last.”

You shook your head. “It’s okay. It was your first time. No one has a very good first time.”

“Did you?”

“That’s a story for another day,” you said with an eye roll. 

Jay traced your stomach with his hand again, his eyes flickering over you. After a while, he whispered, “Teach me.”

You looked at him. “Teach you…?”

“How to please you. I want you to enjoy it, too. Please?”

You glanced at him, and your eyes were so soft Jay got the sudden urge to cry. “Okay. Come on, sit up.”

Jay sat so that his legs were spread, entrapping you between them. You sat up as well, leaning against the headboard. 

“Your pants…”

“Oh, right.” Jay scrambled to take them off, and his boxers too. His cock flopped out, and he was dismayed to see that it wasn’t completely hard. He glanced at you to gauge your reaction, but your gaze was fixated on his dick. 

“How have you managed to stay a virgin with that?” Your hand rested on his thigh, rubbing up and down.

Jay’s heart swelled with pride. “Oh, well, I’m picky, I suppose. I only like the best of the best.”

You smiled softly, catching the compliment, and then your head bobbed down to his cock. His eyes drank in the sight of your wet little tongue swirling around the tip, your hands massaging his balls. Jay moaned loudly, his arms falling back to hold himself upright. “Oh, will you jack me off, too? Please.”

You obliged him, letting some of your spit trickle down his shaft before massaging it loosely. Jay leaned his head back and moaned loudly. He was so glad you two were in the little servants’ quarters and not the chateau, where the sounds would have echoed. The sloppy noises of your mouth wrapped around his tip and your hands fondling his cock, and his own moans. 

Soon, you were pulling away, and Jay was initially disappointed by the lack of his contact. You wiped your mouth and smiled at him, and his annoyances were forgotten. You shifted backwards so that you were sitting against the headboard again.

“Now,” you whispered, “come here.”

Jay crawled over to you, sitting upright as well. He pulled your legs over his, so that you were straddling him. As he waited for you to keep speaking, he caressed your smooth legs. 

“This time, be slow. You want to feel everything, feel the way I fit around you. Take your time. There’s no rush, Jay.”

He kissed you, then, his hands around your throat. Jay pushed himself inside of you again, this time noting how delicious the stretch was, how your pussy squeezed his cock mercilessly. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and your lips were still on his. You moaned into each others’ mouths as he bucked his hips against yours. Jay’s hands fell from your neck to your shoulders to your breasts, fondling them slowly. He grew accustomed to this rhythm, of becoming one with you, and it was better than what he could have ever imagined.

Jay gently pulled you on top of him, his back hitting the bed. He thrusted into you slowly, languidly, and you matched his movements. From this position, Jay could swirl his tongue around your nipples again as his hands groped at your ass. He pushed you down on his cock, forcing you to take his full length. Now that your moans were no longer muffled by his lips, they reverberated all over your small room. The air was thick with your scent percolating with Jay’s, your soft moans with his harsh grunts. 

Jay could feel his orgasm approaching, but he resisted the urge to pound into you. Instead, he rolled you over so that he was on top of you again. He pulled out of you and kissed you the way you liked, slowly, tongues meeting, spit dribbling down chins, hot, wet mouths sharing breaths. While you kissed, Jay’s hand worked down your body and he tried to find your clitoris again. Your hand reached out and gently guided him towards your small nub; he rubbed it in steady circles, and he relished in your whimpers. 

“Are you close?” Jay asked before pressing his lips against yours again.

You nodded, unwilling to stop kissing him. 

With that, Jay thrusted inside of you again, his fingers still playing with your clitoris. He felt powerful as he felt your back arch. When he dug his knee up slightly, he could feel your legs begin to tremble. Finally, he let himself go, rutting into you the way he had wanted from the start, his free hand  on your waist. Jay grunted as he approached his high, his eyes shutting in ecstasy. 

You came first, whining his name and clutching him tightly. Your pussy clenched around his cock, and he came with a final, primal grunt, emptying himself in you. 

Jay didn’t want to pull himself out of you. He wanted you to stay full of him, and the way you held him made him think you felt the same way.

Jay kissed your forehead and laid on top of you, stroking your cheek as you came down from your highs together.  The way you nestled your head into his neck made his heart sing, and your scent was even stronger now. He knew that he could never let go of you.

You were his summer girl.

[goldfades]

★ ALWAYS AN ANGEL, NEVER A GOD ─── CC²² (part 2/2)

❪ requested -> "Can you write something about cc and reader being enemies and hating eachother. but they are on two different teams so they play against eachother and something happens during one of their games and they take their hate out on eachother with smut?" ❫ part one!

─ warnings | nsfw under the cut, read at your own discretion. lots of shit talking, just rivals shit yk how it is. fingering but it's kinda soft (like the actual fucking part), lots of praise and a sprinkle of degradation (if u can even call it that) cause u know me.

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist!

EVER SINCE THE GAME AGAINST Iowa, you were determined to keep up the keep up the momentum and prove that your victory was no fluke.

In the weeks that followed, you poured your heart and soul into every practice, honing your skills with a relentless intensity that left your teammates in awe. Every drill, every scrimmage, every mere second on the court was a chance to improve, to get one step closer to your ultimate goal (you weren't sure what it was at this point, to prove yourself to Caitlin or the world).

But it wasn't just about proving yourself on the court. Caitlin's words lingered in your mind, a constant reminder of the unresolved tension between you. The memory of that heated encounter in the hotel hallway replayed in your thoughts, the desire and frustration mixing into a potent cocktail that fueled your determination.

You found yourself replaying the moments of that game over and over in your head ─ the way you intercepted Caitlin's pass, the exhilaration of your dunk, and the look of pure rage in her eyes (and of course, the kiss that followed). You thrived on those memories, using them as motivation to push yourself beyond your limits.

"Good job, Y/N!" Hailey called out during one particularly grueling scrimmage, her admiration evident in her voice. "What, did you have an energy drink before or what?"

You gave her a playful shove as you shrugged, wiping the sweat from your brow as you walked toward your water bottle. "Just trying to stay ahead,"

Hailey shot you a knowing look, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "This isn't just about staying ahead, is it?" she teased. "It's about Caitlin."

"You can't say her name out loud like that," you joked as Hailey laughed. You didn't bother denying it, the truth too obvious to ignore. "Maybe," you admitted, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

As the season progressed, your hard work began to pay off. You dominated the court with a newfound confidence, your skills shining brighter than ever before. The media took notice, your name becoming synonymous with excellence, just like Caitlin's.

But even as you basked in the glory of your success, you couldn't shake the lingering thoughts of Caitlin. You wondered how she was doing, whether she was training just as hard, whether she thought about you as often as you thought about her.

You kept repeating the moment in your mind, over and over again, feeling some kind of weird excitement at her words.

"I'm not fucking you until we win," she replied, her voice low and husky, the words a mere whisper against the charged silence that enveloped you both. "Until I get the trophy, until your team loses."

However, you knew that pushing her buttons would make the hook-up a whole lot more satisfying. You thought about that particular part a lot more than you should have, the challenge in her voice igniting a fire within you that you couldn't ignore.

Then, one day, the schedule for the next season was released, and there it was ─ the match against Iowa, the game that would determine once and for all who would come out on top. The date was set, and you felt a surge of excitement and nerves at the prospect of facing Caitlin again.

The weeks leading up to the game were a whirlwind of preparation and anticipation. Your coach pushed you harder than ever, knowing how much was riding on this matchup. And through it all, Caitlin's words continued to echo in your mind, a constant source of "motivation", if you could even call it that.

Finally, the day arrived. The arena was packed, the energy palpable as fans from both sides filled the stands. As you stepped onto the court, your heart pounded with adrenaline, and your eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on Caitlin.

She stood across from you, her dark gaze intense and unwavering. You could feel the heat of her stare, a silent promise of the battle to come. As the referee signaled the start of the game, you took a deep breath, centering yourself for what was about to unfold.

From the very first whistle, the game was a fierce clash of skill and determination. You and Caitlin matched each other move for move, your rivalry playing out in a series of fast breaks, sharp passes, and contested shots. The tension was palpable, the crowd hanging on every moment as the score remained neck and neck.

As the clock wound down, the score was tied, and the pressure mounted. You found yourself with the ball, Caitlin guarding you closely, her eyes locked onto yours with a mix of challenge and desire. With a quick move, you faked left, then darted right, driving towards the basket with all the speed and agility you could muster.

As you drove towards the basket, Caitlin moved to intercept your path. With a swift motion, she blocked your shot, sending the ball ricocheting off the backboard. The force of her block knocked you off balance, and you stumbled, falling hard onto the court.

You hit the ground with a thud, the impact jolting through your body as you landed awkwardly on the hardwood floor. Pain shot through your limbs, but it was nothing compared to the sting of defeat that washed over you in that moment.

Caitlin stood over you, her dark gaze intense and unyielding as she glared down at you with satisfaction and you hated it. There was a silent challenge in her eyes, a reminder of the relentless rivalry that defined your relationship both on and off the court ─ you could practically read her mind, "I'm getting the trophy."

As the referee blew the whistle to signal a turnover, Caitlin offered you a hand, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "Good try, Y/N," she taunted, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. "Maybe you should uh, stick to defense."

As Caitlin extended her hand towards you, a smirk dancing on her lips, something inside you snapped. Maybe it was the sting of defeat or the frustration and anger that had been building within you throughout the game, and you couldn't hold it any longer.

With a scowl, you swatted Caitlin's hand away, ignoring the lingering pain in your limbs as you rose to your feet on your own. "Shut up, Caitlin," you spat, your voice dripping with venom as you glared up at her. "You're just a self entitled bitch who thinks she owns the court,"

"I do," Caitlin stepped so she was directly in front of you. You looked up at the brunette, suddenly feeling small under the weight of her imposing presence. Despite the anger that simmered beneath the surface, you couldn't deny the intensity of the moment as Caitlin's dark eyes bore into yours.

"You don't get to talk to me like that," she continued, her voice low and dangerous, a warning laced with barely contained fury. "And didn't I tell you to cut the fucking attitude?"

You just scoffed, however some sick part of you liked this, the way she was talking to you. As much as you wanted to deny it, there was a certain allure in the challenge she presented, the promise of tonight making the whole thing a lot harder to resist.

Caitlin's proximity was overwhelming, her presence towering over you. You felt a surge of defiance rising within you, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"And what if I don't?" you shot back, your voice laced with defiance as you met her intense gaze head-on. "What are you gonna do about it, Caitlin?"

Caitlin's jaw clenched, a flicker of anger flashing in her eyes before she regained her composure. "You wanna find out?" she retorted, her tone sharp and cutting as she leaned in closer, her breath hot against your skin.

You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks, a mixture of fear and excitement swirling in the pit of your stomach. Despite the tension between you, there was an undeniable thrill in the air, a palpable energy that crackled between you like electricity.

But before anything could escalate, Hailey's arm yanked you away, breaking the charged moment between you and Caitlin. The sudden interruption jolted you back to reality, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you were pulled back into the flow of the game.

With a sharp exhale, you forced yourself to focus, pushing aside the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. The game had resumed as quickly as it had been interrupted, the intensity of the match returning with renewed vigor.

But despite your best efforts, Iowa proved to be a formidable opponent, their skill and determination matching your own at every turn. As the final seconds ticked away, the score remained neck and neck, the outcome of the game hanging in the balance.

And then, with a final buzzer, it was over ─ Iowa emerged as the winners, the thrill of victory evident on their faces as they celebrated their hard-fought win. As the reality of defeat sank in, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment, the bitter taste of loss lingering on your tongue.

"God fucking damn it," you muttered under your breath as you glared toward them.

As if on cue, Caitlin turned around and met your gaze. Her expression was satisfaction, a silent acknowledgment of the victory she had secured over you and your team. You felt a surge of frustration rise within you, the bitterness of defeat stinging like a fresh wound.

──

"Y/N?" The reporter's voice pulled you back into reality as you shook your head, opening your eyes with a very forced smile.

You nodded your head. "Yeah, sorry. Zoned out, uh... can you repeat the question?"

The reporter gave you a sympathetic smile before repeating the question. "I was just asking for your thoughts on the game and the performance of both teams, particularly Caitlin Clark. She had a standout performance tonight."

Yeah, of course she fucking did, you wanted to shout but you just nodded. "Yeah, she played a great game," you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. "She's a talented player. Iowa put up a tough fight, and they deserved the win tonight."

The interview was slow and it felt every answer you were giving was fake but you were livid. As soon as it was over, you practically ran out of there. You needed to blow off some steam, and you had no idea how–

Oh.

"I'm not fucking you until we win," she replied, her voice low and husky, the words a mere whisper against the charged silence that enveloped you both. "Until I get the trophy, until your team loses."

You had forgotten about the entire thing until that moment and despite all the anger, your stomach twisted in excitement. However, it was a year ago and you weren't even sure if Caitlin meant what she said, she was probably just really angry because of how the game ended, much like how you were feeling right now.

As you mulled over the memory, a sense of longing washed over you, mingling with the lingering anger and frustration that still simmered beneath the surface. Despite everything, despite the rivalry and the animosity, there was an undeniable attraction between you and Caitlin, a magnetic pull that defied your comprehension.

Then, your phone buzzed inside your pocket.

Cait: got the trophy 🥇 Cait: did you think i forgot?

You had forgotten you even had her number, it was from so long ago. The text made your stomach drop (in a very, very good way) as a rush of emotions flooded through you. Surprise, excitement, and a hint of apprehension all mingled together as you read Caitlin's messages.

It was as if the past year had been condensed into those few simple words, reigniting the unresolved tension between you with startling clarity. However, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt that lingered in the back of your mind ─ was this just another game to her? Another way to assert her dominance and superiority over you?

Cait: where u at?

And that was all it took for her to win you over. You knew you were letting your heart do all the talking but right now, you just wanted to feel good. Was that so bad?

──

The knock on the door shouldn't have startled you as much as it did, especially since you had been waiting for it. But still, when the knock echoed through the room, a shiver of anticipation raced down your spine.

You took a moment to steady yourself, to quell the fluttering nerves that threatened to overwhelm you, before crossing the room to answer the door.

As you swung it open, Caitlin stood before you, her presence commanding and intoxicating all at once. She was wearing a black hoodie and sweats, the hood was up and she looked too good. Your eyes scanned her body and you saw her lips quirk up into a smirk.

You felt your stomach leap out of your body at the sight, and you felt like you were gonna go insane, were you ovulating?

"Hey," she greeted, her voice husky with desire as she stepped closer, closing the distance between you with deliberate intent.

"Hey," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you met her gaze head-on. Despite the tension that lingered in the air, there was an undeniable pull between you, a magnetic force that drew you together like moths to a flame.

And as Caitlin's lips crashed against yours in a searing kiss, all doubts and fears melted away. In that moment, nothing else mattered ─ not the rivalry, and certainly not the consequences, nothing except the intoxicating desire that pulsed between you and Caitlin.

Caitlin's hands gripped your hips as she closed the hotel door with her leg, effortlessly. Her lips stayed on yours as her hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and contour with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. The heat of her touch seared through you, igniting a fire that blazed hotter with each passing moment.

Lost in the heat of the moment, you pressed closer to her, your body molding to hers. With a low growl, Caitlin lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around her waist as she carried you further into the room. Every touch, every kiss, only fueled the pure need that raged between you, driving you both to the brink of ecstasy.

And as you surrendered yourself to her, you knew that this was just the beginning ─ the beginning of something that would consume you fully despite resisting it for so long.

She dropped you onto the bed and broke the kiss, her eyes dark as she gazed at you. You were both breathing heavily as you tried your best to maintain eye contact, despite the pressure that was building your lower stomach.

"Didn't think you'd answer," Caitlin finally spoke, her voice breathless as she began climbing on top of you.

"Why?" You asked as she latched her lips to your neck, sucking harshly as you gripped the sheets beneath you.

"Because you're stubborn," Caitlin murmured against your skin, her breath hot and heavy as she trailed kisses along your jawline. "But I knew eventually, you'd realize that there's no point in all that whining,"

You let out a shaky breath, her words igniting a fierce hunger within you as you arched into her touch, craving more of her intoxicating presence.

"I knew all you wanted was for me to show you why I'm better," Caitlin teased as she began stroking your sides.

You wanted to counter, to say anything back to her but you couldn't ─ she already had consumed you and you couldn't of any reason why you'd want to resist her any longer.

Caitlin pulled your lips into another harsh kiss, pulling a moan out of your lips. That seemed to encourage her because next thing you know, she's pulling your shorts off. Her hands eventually found your neck, pushing you into the mattress as you both moaned into the kiss.

Caitlin pulled away for a second, pulling her hoodie over her head and gazed at you, expectantly. You mirrored her actions and you were left only in your bra and underwear, you felt embarrassed under her gaze until she pulled you into a deeper kiss.

Her hands gripped your face and pulled you from the kiss, earning a disappointed whimper from you. "Look at me,"

You met her gaze, the intensity of her dark eyes holding you captive.

"You're fucking beautiful," Caitlin murmured, her fingers tracing the outline of your jaw.

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, the sincerity in her voice disarming you completely. You nodded, swallowing hard as you tried to steady your breathing.

Caitlin's hands moved to the clasp of your bra, her touch gentle yet deliberate as she unhooked it, letting it fall away. She leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, "I'm gonna make you feel so good, you're gonna forget how much you hate me."

A soft moan escaped your lips as her hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of your skin with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of her gaze. You arched into her touch, your body responding to her every move with an urgency that left you breathless.

As she trailed kisses down your neck and across your collarbone, you felt the last of your doubts melt away, leaving you completely vulnerable and exposed.

Her hands found your thighs and squeezed them, her fingers slowly drawing closer to the place you'd wanted her all night. Caitlin's finger slowly began stroking your clothed pussy, her eyes watching your every movement.

You let out a broken whimper, your head falling back on to the mattress before her other hand gripped your face, guiding your gaze back to hers.

"What did I fucking say? Look at me," Caitlin spat, her voice a mix of authority and desire. You forced your eyes open, meeting her intense stare, the heat between you building with every passing second.

"So fucking wet, all for me," she murmured, as continued stroking your clothed heat; she could feel it pulsing all because of her and it made her ego skyrocket even more.

Caitlin's finger moved and before you could voice your disapproval, she slowly slid your underwear off. You were completely naked now, you could feel her eyes rake over you fondly. She spread your legs again, further this time ─ each leg was placed at her sides, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable under her gaze. Caitlin's eyes darkened with desire as she took in the sight of you, her breath hitching slightly.

"So pretty," she murmured, almost to herself, as she trailed her fingers lightly up your inner thigh, sending shivers of anticipation through your body.

You squirmed beneath her touch, a mix of excitement and impatience coursing through you. "Cait," you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper, filled with need.

She looked up at you, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "I want you to remember this," she said, her voice low. "Every time you think you can challenge me, every time you think you can beat me, I want you to remember how I make you feel right now."

With that, she leaned down, her lips finding yours in a deep, hungry kiss that almost knocked the breath out of you. Her hands continued their exploration, moving with a confidence that left you trembling with anticipation.

"Do you still think I'm a bitch?" she murmured against your lips, a teasing edge to her voice.

You could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a response, but managed to shake your head, a breathless, "No," escaping your lips.

"Good," Caitlin replied, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Because I want you to know exactly who's in control here."

And with that, her finger slid into you perfectly. You let out a surprised moan, your back arching against the mattress. "Oh, fu-fuck."

Her finger began thrusting in and out of you, swiftly. You were so soaked, her finger was moving easily in and out of you. Caitlin's hand gripped your hip, pulling you closer into her.

She slowed down her movements and you let out an disapproving huff, her gaze intense as she looked down at you. "Why did you hate me? Were you jealous?"

Did: as in, past tense.

Her tone sounded almost amused but there was an edge of seriousness to it. "What?"

"I thought that's what it was," her finger slowly began moving again, causing your breath to hitch. "I don't think that's what it was now," she continued, her voice contemplative. "I think it was something else."

You could barely focus, your mind clouded with the sensation of her touch, but her words cut through the haze, making you confront something you'd been avoiding. "I don't hate you," you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I never hated you."

Caitlin's smirk grew, she knew exactly what she was doing. Her finger continuing their slow, torturous rhythm. "Then what was it, Y/N? Why all the anger?"

"Because," you gasped, struggling to form coherent thoughts under her relentless pace. "Because you always got to me. You always made me feel... things I didn't want to feel."

Her movements stilled for a moment, her eyes searching yours. "And now?"

"Now," you swallowed hard, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Now, I can't stop thinking about you."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Caitlin's face, her fingers resuming their movement. "Good," she murmured, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. "Because I don't plan on letting you forget this anytime soon."

Her touch became more quick, driving you closer and closer to the edge once again. The intensity of the moment was almost overwhelming, the culmination of all the pent-up anger and unresolved tension between you. She added another finger slowly, causing you to let out another breathless moan as your back arched.

"Take it, come on. I know you can," Caitlin's fingers never faltered as she gazed down at you. "Fuck, who's the princess now, huh?" she spat as she finger-fucked you, your legs beginning to shake.

As the pleasure built to a fever pitch, you felt yourself letting go of everything ─ the rivalry, the anger, the fear ─ and surrendering completely to the sensation.

"Cait," you moaned, your hands gripping her shoulders as you reached the brink, your body trembling with anticipation.

"That's it, fuck," she whispered against your lips, her breath hot and ragged. "Let go for me."

And with a final, shattering wave of pleasure, you did, your body convulsing in her arms as you cried out her name. Her finger rode you through it, your chest heaving as you slowly came down from your high.

"Can't believe I did that with just my fingers, baby." The pet-name left her lips effortlessly as she broke you out of your reverie. You couldn't believe it, either.

Her fingers slid out of you and she pushed your lips open, forcing them into your mouth. You sucked them clean as she looked down at you, her shitfaced smirk was back.

You rolled your eyes as she removed her finger with a pop. "Yeah, well, don't get too cocky," you shot back, trying to regain some semblance of control even though your body was still trembling.

She laughed, the sound was unfamiliar but genuine; it made your heart flip. "How can I not? I mean, Jesus, I had you literally tell me you never hated me while I was knuckles deep inside you. It was one finger too-"

You groaned loudly, cutting her off as her laughter slowly died down. "I just wanted to cum,"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," you countered, finally meeting her gaze. She had the same cocky ass expression, the one you've always hated ─ but now felt different, somehow.

"Thought I told you to cut the attitude, Y/N," she teased, her fingers trailing along your arm, sending shivers down your spine. Her eyes bore into yours, the intensity of her gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

You felt a surge of defiance rise within you, refusing to back down. "And what if I don't?" you challenged, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest.

Caitlin's smirk widened, a glint of amusement and something deeper flickering in her eyes. "Then I'll just have to remind you why you shouldn't,"

She leaned in and pressed her lips against lips in another heated kiss, her hands roaming your body with a renewed sense of purpose. The teasing edge in her touch drove you wild, a tantalizing reminder of the power she held over you.

"You're impossible," you muttered against her lips.

"And you love it," she shot back, her breath hot against your skin as she moved to kiss along your jawline, her hands exploring every inch of you. The sensation was intoxicating, every touch sending waves of pleasure through your body.

As she continued her relentless assault on your jaw, you couldn't help but surrender to the moment, letting go of all the anger and frustration that had once defined your relationship. In that instant, all that mattered was the connection between you, the raw, unfiltered desire that pulsed through your veins.

"Do you regret it?" Caitlin's voice was softer now, almost vulnerable, as she paused to look into your eyes.

You shook your head, a small smile playing at your lips. "No," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "No, I don't."

Caitlin's eyes softened, her expression shifting from playful to something more tender. "Good," she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Cause neither do I."

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

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[sl0t4matt]

Marc Guiu and reader making up after an argument pls

m. guiu | into it

ik hector doesn’t have his license yet but here he does ok?! also sorry i got carried away and wrote smut :o

warnings: toxic relationship, smut, not proof read

“are you actually fucking kidding me, marc?” you scoff, grabbing your things ready to leave. you were sick of his shit. sick of him taking his anger out on you when you did nothing but support and be there for him. how could be so mean? you understand that him loosing a game would get him upset, but making it seem like it’s your fault, when he should’ve been the one to kick the ball in the net is just not fair.

“yeah run away, like you always do when it gets tough.” he walks after you, shrugging his shoulders. “marc, don’t you take your shit out on me, because the both of us know it’s literally not on me you can’t kick a ball.” you shake your head, clearly having enough of your boyfriends whining. “fuck you can be such a-.” he stops himself before saying something stupid. “yeah, no we’re done. don’t even try to call me because i won’t come back. i mean it this time.”

you walk out the house, catching marc’s sister on the way. “hey, what happened, i heard yelling, are you guys okay?” she gives you an concerned look, probably noticing the tears that have been building up in the corner of your eyes.

before you completely break down in front of her, you decide to give her a nod, before leaving. you couldn’t believe marc. he has gotten mad about his team losing many times, but it has never been this bad. sure you would fight, it’s just something that was part of your relationship, but maybe that isn’t so normal after all.

you were both toxic playing stupid games with each other like how to make the other jealous. you loved it, the fights, the trouble. it’s what kept your relationship entertaining, but now you weren’t so sure anymore.

just fucking great! now you have to walk home. you go to walk on the other side of the street, when you suddenly hear a honk, making you jump. you turn to see hectors car stopping beside you. “shit, you scared me! what the hell are you doing here.” you sigh, shaking your head. “came to take you home.” he answers. “i’m f-.” “just get in the damn car, y/n.” hector interrupts you. you roll your eyes, walking to the passenger seat.

you wouldn’t have needed him to drive you if it wasn’t so dark out. “did marc tell you to drive me?” you ask, looking over at him. he doesn’t reply, instead he keeps looking at the road not giving a reaction, so you must take his silence as an answer. “what happened?” you can’t help but scoff. “as if marc didn’t tell you already.” he shakes his head. “he didn’t. he just told me he fucked up again and that i should pick you up.”

“we’ll at least he knows he did.” you breathe out a laugh. “seriously, what happened?” he repeats. “he’s just bitching about the lose of the game and literally behaves like a child, acting like it’s my fault. he also almost called me a bitch… so told him we’re done.” hectors eyes widen, looking like they are about to pop out. “wait what? you broke up with him, like for real this time.”

you giggle, nodding. “i’m just done with all the fights, you know.” you look out the window watching the peaceful road, with almost no cars to be seen. “but you guys love it.” he furrows. “i’m just tired lf it, you know?” he nods. “that’s fair, he’s dumb for treating you like that.” hector says, before shutting the motor down, because you arrived home. “what are you doing right now?” you ask hector, since you guys haven’t talked much previously. “nothing, why?” you smirk. “you have to stay with me! we haven’t had our gossip sessions in so long.” you nudge him. “yeah, if that makes you feel better.” he smiles shrugging. “definitely. god, there’s so much tea!!” you walk over to your house

…

“i still love him, even if he does stupid shit like that you know.” you tell hector, while stuffing the chips in your mouth. you would probably die if anyone saw you like this, but it’s only hector, he’s seen you your worst times. even though he’s marc’s best friend, he never told him anything when you would talk about him. that’s why you can talk so openly with him about anything, he just won’t tell anyone. “then why don’t you get back with him?” hector asks. a knock on the door cuts in your conversation. “y/n?” you hear marc’s voice, making hectors mouth drop in a gasp.

shit, this looks so wrong right now, with hector laying in your bed as well as yourself. you walk over to the door, opening it a tiny bit to see his sad looking face. he genuinely looks like he’s sorry. you look back to hector that sits dumbfound in your bed. “who’s in there?” marc asks. you shake your head. “no one.” you answer way too quick. he pushes open your door, revealing hector that is sat on your bed. you look him in the eyes to see an hint of reaction, but he doesn’t show any.

“why is he here?” marc asks, way too calm, it’s almost scaring you. “we just talked.” you say your eyes meeting with the ground, mentally preparing yourself for the yelling. “okay.” he just nods. you look up at him, a furrow on your face. have you heard that right? “can i talk to you..alone?” marc scratches the back of his head, nervously. you nod following him out.

“did you fuck him?” woah straight to it marc! also what the fuck? “what the fuck, no!” you exclaim. “okay.” he nods. “marc, can you explain yourself other than replying with an “okay”. why are you here?” he just keeps head low. he almost looks like.. he’s intimidated by you.

“i wanted to apologise.” he finally looks at you. suddenly hector comes out of your room. he points to the door awkwardly, mentioning he’s gonna leave. you give him a smile before looking back at marc.

“marc..” you start. “no please, don’t say anything, just hear me out. i shouldn’t have talked to you the way that i did. it was stupid of me to take everything out on you, because you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me and i would never want you to feel guilty of something that i did. i understand that you probably never wanna talk to me again, but i just need to make sure that despite what i said, you know that i love you.” something in the way he’s saying it makes you believe him, but you’re not sure if you can forgive him so soon.

but fuck, he has no right to look this good right now, you’re supposed to be mad at him! his lips plump and red from the way he’s been biting on them nervously, his biceps broad and strong as he crosses his arms and his eyes looking lowly down on you. how can you be mad at him, when he looks like that? “you’re on probation, i guess.” marc’s eyes light up. “what’s that supposed to mean? please. are you ever going to forgive me?” he asks, needing to know. “like i said, you’re on probation.” you reply, getting closer to him. “that isn’t a yes, y/n. do i need to get on my knees and beg for you?” you can’t help but smirk. “getting on your knees wouldn’t be such a bad idea, actually.”

“fucking hell, well we can always make that happen.” his hand makes its way to your waist, pulling you onto him. in a matter of seconds his lips are on your’s. he tightens his hands on your waist and runs the other up your back, pressing you harder into his chest. your hands move in his hair, pulling him closer, if that’s even possible. he parts your lips with his tongue, to deepen the kiss. his hand on your waist loosens and trails down the side of your body, until he turns it to grab your ass. he lets out a low groan, bringing his other hand also down on your ass. you pull on his bottom lip slightly, making him smile in the kiss before reconnecting them again.

he squeezes your butt, muttering a quick “jump.” before picking you up and carrying you to your bed. he sits down, your legs each spread as you straddle him. he grips your hips, moving them back and forth so you’ll grind on him.

he groans as you feel his dick twitching under your cunt. he unbuttons his pants, making you slide your hand in them to feel his hard and veiny dick. you always forget how big he is.

he groans, taking your hand out of his boxers. “i want to make you feel good.” can he get any hotter? you smile at him, while dropping beside him on the bed. he lifts your arms before taking off your top and throwing it on the ground. he begins sucking and kissing your neck, most likely in order to cause hicky’s so everyone knows who you belong to, but it feels too good right now, to care about. his hand slides down to your loose pyjama shorts, touching your clit. you let out a whimper. you forgot how well he knew what you liked. “you look so good, ma.” he says now kissing your tits, sucking on them like a newborn.

his mouth moves back on your’s, when he slides his cold fingers into your shorts, forming goosebumps on your skin. he immediately finds your hole pushing his fingers inside of you without an warning. he keeps stretching your walls, causing you to moan in his mouth. you part your mouth in the kiss, marc taking the opportunity to bite on your button lip, tasting your cherry flavoured lipgloss. he plumps his fingers in and out of you, whispering sweet words in your ear, in order to show his love for you.

his mouth moves from your face, down to your body, where you need him the most. he starts eating you out like his live depends on it licking and sucking in all your juices. you push his head deeper in your cunt, needing to feel him deeper. “marc i need your dick, please.” you moan. he looks up to you, eyes glistening, having waited for you to say that. as soon as the words left your mouth, he instantly turns you around, having your face meet with the pillow. he pulls your pants down, following with his own. you turn your head to watch him pull out his dick. lord, you’re not sure if you’re ever going to get used to his size.

he stretches your cunt as he slides into you, having you bite in the pillow in order to not let embarrassing sounds out of you. he fills you up moving, his dick in and out of you. your eyes almost fall to the back of your head, from rolling them as he fucks into you relentlessly. “fuck, so tight, ma.” he groans. you move your ass up, for yourself to feel him deeper, according to the fact he isn’t fully in you yet. “fuck, y/n. if you do that one more time i’m gonna come.” he curses.

he buries his dick deeper inside of you, his balls hitting your butt, making you whine of pleasure. he spanks your ass, fastening his peace. “marc!” you cry, as you feel him hitting your g spot. he moves rapidly, squeezing your waist. your legs begin shaking, signalling marc that, you’re gonna come. “do it.” he demands. with a cry, you cum around his cock, making him twist inside of you and pull out, coming on your belly.

he breathes heavily, his sweaty chest rising and falling with each breathe he takes. “fuck.” he mutters before getting up to take a towel from your bathroom. you look on your cum covered stomach, then back at marc that’s coming back with the towel. he smiles slightly, as he wipes it all off of you. “how are you?” he goes to lay beside you, his arms naturally finding their way to your waist, hugging you. “for a person that won’t be able to walk for the next hours, i’m doing great actually.” he laughs, pecking your shoulder.

[misseviehyde]

SIMONE SAYS

You wanted to stop your boyfriend. You wanted to end this right now, but Simone had said you had to sit quietly with the ballgag in, so that's what you were doing.

He looked exactly like her now... that bitch in the mirror. You kept telling yourself she wasn't real, that this was just a game that had gotten out of hand... but the fact your boyfriend was now almost a physical copy of your imaginary friend suggested this was more than some prank. Somehow this WAS real.

She pulled the satin pants into place and reached down for the final item of clothing...

In moments there would only be Simone.

How had this all started? Well it was all your fault.

You'd always had an imaginary friend called Simone that you blamed for everything naughty you ever did growing up. A play on 'Simon says' anytime you'd ever gotten into trouble you told people Simone had told you to do it.

When you'd gotten older, it had continued. Simone got the blame for telling you to cheat on guys, be horrible to people at work and act like a bitch. If anything it was a fun game that gave you license to do whatever the fuck you wanted.

In time it even began to make you act worse. Imagine what Simone would do in this situation... how bad and evil she would act. It made you actually come up with nasty ideas and thoughts.

Your imaginary friend was the most evil, sex obsessed cruel bitch imaginable. And then you'd got your boyfriend involved too.

You'd told Gary about Simone when you'd first met - as a kind of joke. But then he'd told you it kind of turned him on when you did things she would do. So you went along with it.

Simone appatantly told you to suck his dick in public, send him nude photos at work and then even stick your finger up his ass when you were fucking. Gary loved to play 'Simone says' the rules were you had to do whatever she told you.

But then things got weird. You began seeing a beautiful woman in every mirror you passed and so did he. The two of you were astounded to find out that somehow Simone was becoming real.

Now whenever you passed a mirror her evil whispers would fill your mind and make you do things. At first you thought you were just losing your minds - but then you began to see there was more to it.

Your imaginary friend had somehow become real and was now reaching across the mirror dimension trying to get into the real world.

Simone was coming to life and she was hungry for a body. Your body.

The two of you smashed every mirror in the house and tried to escape. Maybe if you ran far enough you could escape her.

You realised your mistake when you walked into the hotel room with its huge bathroom mirror and saw Simone smirking at you.

"Simone says Gary... become me."

You realised then that it wasn't you she wanted to possess but him. As you watched him begin to put on your clothes, he started to change.

"Mmmmmh I feel so fucking good," moaned Gary as his bones shifted and his reflection began to resemble the smirking bitch in the mirror.

With each item of clothing he put on, his change into her accelerated and you watched your imaginary friend being born in the real world. The girl in the mirror laughed and exulted, her actions freakily different to the woman in front of it.

Breasts grew, hips widened, hair lengthened, skin tanned. A beautiful woman was being born and she was loving every second of it as the image in the mirror began to fade. Simon was newly real and the mirror could no longer contain her.

As Gary slid on a blouse his body finished transforming and Simone finished touching up her makeup. The mirror shimmered and suddenly cracked then Simone's ntoken reflection returned... only now just a normal reflection of a real woman. Gary was totally gone.

"Well loser, it's done. I'm finally in your world. Mmmmmh all those naughty things you've blamed me for over the years... well I can't wait to ACTUALLY do all of them.

Simone giggled as she advanced and rooting around in your suitcase found a butt plug.

"Why don't we start with a little BDSM? Simone says bend over."

As you assumed the position, you wish you'd never invented such a fucking bitch...